Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The morning sun had barely risen when Aurion departed Himring, the cold wind of the early hours brushing against his face as he rode swiftly toward Himlad. His excitement to see Celebrimbor again spurred him onward, his Dark hair streaming like a banner behind him. The journey, though typically four hours on horseback, took him only three as he pressed his steed onward with relentless energy.

As the fortified halls of Himlad came into view, Aurion felt a swell of anticipation. These were the halls of his uncles Curufin and Celegorm, brothers to his grandfather Maedhros. Though the past bore scars of mistrust between their houses, Aurion had no doubt they would welcome him.

When he arrived at the gates, he was greeted warmly by the guards, who quickly ushered him inside. Word of his arrival must have spread swiftly, for Curufin himself appeared in the courtyard to greet him.

"Aurion!" Curufin called, his voice rich with enthusiasm. His dark hair and sharp features bore a striking resemblance to their father, Fëanor, and it was clear that Curufin recognized the same likeness in Aurion. "Welcome to Himlad, nephew!"

Aurion dismounted and gave a respectful bow. "Thank you, Uncle Curufin. It is an honor to be here."

Curufin stepped forward, clasping Aurion's shoulders with a warm smile. "The honor is mine. I have heard much about you from your grandfather. Come, you must be tired from your journey. Chambers have been prepared for you."

Celegorm, though less effusive than his brother, appeared briefly to offer his greetings. "It's good to have you here, Aurion," he said with a nod, his dog, Huan, standing at his side.

Aurion was led to his chambers, where he was given time to freshen up. The room was modest yet elegant, with intricate carvings on the walls and a window overlooking the rolling hills of Himlad.

Once settled, a servant informed him that Celebrimbor was in the smithy. Without hesitation, Aurion made his way there, eager to see his friend.

The smithy was alive with the hum of activity—metal ringing against metal, the hiss of hot steel meeting water, and the warm glow of forge fires illuminating the room. In the midst of it all stood Celebrimbor, his dark hair tied back as he worked intently at his anvil.

Aurion paused in the doorway, a smile breaking across his face. "Celebrimbor!" he called out.

Celebrimbor turned, his eyes lighting up with recognition and joy. "Aurion!" He set down his tools and crossed the room quickly, clasping Aurion's forearm in a firm greeting. "It's been far too long, my friend."

Aurion laughed. "It has. And I see you've been keeping busy." He gestured toward the anvil, where a set of delicate rings lay gleaming.

Celebrimbor followed his gaze and grinned. "Ah, these." He picked up one of the rings, its surface engraved with intricate designs that shimmered faintly in the forge light. "I've been experimenting with designs and techniques. This hammer"—he gestured to the silver tool glowing faintly with blue light—"has been a wonder. I've thought of you often while working with it."

Aurion stepped closer, examining the rings with admiration. "Your work is exceptional, Celebrimbor. These are unlike anything I've seen before."

"Coming from you, that means a great deal," Celebrimbor said, his smile widening. "But enough about my work—tell me of Himring. How fares my uncle Maedhros? And how have you been, my friend?"

The two fell into easy conversation, the hours slipping by as they shared stories of their lives over the past five years. Celebrimbor showed Aurion his latest creations, and Aurion shared tales of his time in Himring, from the things he forged to the lessons learned under Maedhros's watchful eye.

As the forge fires crackled and the evening shadows grew long, it felt as though no time had passed since they had last stood together, hammering out dreams in glowing steel. Here, in the heart of Himlad's smithy, their friendship was rekindled like an ember roaring back to life.