Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

Five years had passed since Aurion had first arrived at Himring, and in that time, his friendship with Celebrimbor had grown into something profound and unshakable. The two were inseparable, their shared love for crafting and smithing forging a bond that was as strong as any blade or shield they had ever created. Himring had become quieter without the presence of the other Sons of Fëanor, but for Aurion and Celebrimbor, the fortress had become a haven of creativity and camaraderie.

Aurion, now fifty-five years old, had matured significantly in skill and stature. Though still young by elven standards, he was already an artisan of exceptional promise, and his talent in the forge rivaled even seasoned smiths. Under Celebrimbor's guidance, he had refined his abilities, and together, they had spent countless hours pushing the boundaries of their craft.

One crisp morning, as the forge fires roared to life, Celebrimbor approached Aurion with a glint of determination in his eyes.

"I have a task for us," he began, holding a sketch of intricate designs. "I've long wanted to forge a hammer—something truly extraordinary. Not just a tool, but a masterpiece. Something worthy of my grandfather's legacy."

Aurion studied the designs and felt a surge of excitement. "Let us make it, then. Together."

And so, they began their work. Days turned into weeks as the two poured every ounce of their skill and creativity into the hammer. They selected the finest silver, known for its resilience and purity, and engraved its surface with elegant Quenya script. The words were etched with precision, telling stories of craftsmanship, creation, and hope—an homage to the art they both loved.

The hammer was beautiful, its design both practical and artistic. The silver shone with a cool brilliance, and the engravings seemed to shimmer as if alive. Its head was perfectly balanced. Yet, its true marvel was revealed when it was used—at the first strike against an anvil, the hammer glowed with a soft blue light, a testament to the magic woven into its making.

When the final touches were complete, Aurion stepped back to admire their work. "It is magnificent," he said, his voice filled with awe. "A creation that rivals even the tools of Feano."

Celebrimbor smiled, running his hand over the hammer's surface. "It is the finest work I've ever crafted," he admitted. "And I could not have done it without you, Aurion."

Aurion shook his head. "This is your hammer, Celebrimbor. I only helped shape what was already in your mind."

Celebrimbor chuckled, gripping the hammer with a sense of pride. "Then it carries both of our legacies. Together, we've created something that will endure."

Their celebration was bittersweet, for the completion of the hammer marked the end of Celebrimbor's stay in Himring. A message had arrived from his father, Curufin, summoning him back to their realm in Himlad.

On the morning of his departure, Celebrimbor stood at the gates of Himring with the hammer strapped to his waist. Aurion joined him, their bond evident in the silence between them.

"Will you return?" Aurion asked, his voice steady but tinged with sadness.

Celebrimbor nodded. "I will. Himring has become a home to me, and you, Aurion, are like a brother. But for now, my path leads me elsewhere. My father will need my skills, and there is much work to be done."

Aurion clasped his friend's arm tightly. "Then go with the blessings of Himring. May your hammer forge wonders wherever you walk."

"And may your own creations surpass even this," Celebrimbor replied, gesturing to the silver hammer.

With that, Celebrimbor mounted his horse and rode out of Himring, his figure soon disappearing into the horizon. Aurion watched until he could see no more, a sense of pride and loss mingling in his heart. He returned to the forge that day, determined to honor the lessons he had learned from his friend and the bond they had forged—both in steel and in spirit.

It is now the 380th Year of the Sun of the First Age