Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

It had been a few days since Curufin gifted Aurion the legendary hammer of Fëanor, Tulcanelcar. The young elf was eager to share the news with Celebrimbor, who finally returned from his journey to Caranthir's realm.

Celebrimbor strode into the forge where Aurion awaited him, his face lighting up at the sight of his friend. "Aurion! It's good to see you again. I trust my father hasn't been too harsh while I was away?"

Aurion chuckled, gripping Celebrimbor's forearm in greeting. "Not harsh—just testing. But he did something I'll never forget." He placed the hammer of Fëanor, Tulcanelcar, on the anvil, its silvery-golden glow casting shimmering light across the room.

Celebrimbor's eyes widened in awe as he leaned closer. "Is that...?"

"Tulcanelcar," Aurion confirmed, pride tinging his voice. "Your father gave it to me, said it belonged to your grandfather and my great-grandfather. It's unlike anything I've ever held."

Celebrimbor examined the intricate golden inlays, the embedded gemstones glowing faintly, and the sheer craftsmanship of the hammer. He let out a low whistle. "Aurion, this... this is beyond rare. To wield the very tool Fëanor used to create the Silmarils—it's an honor. I can't think of anyone more suited for it."

Aurion's smile grew. "Wait until you see this." He gestured for Celebrimbor to follow him.

Together, they made their way to the hidden forge Curufin had shown Aurion earlier. The moment Celebrimbor stepped inside, his breath caught. The air felt charged with history, as though the forge itself remembered the hands of Fëanor shaping tools, weapons, and wonders of unmatched beauty.

"These are..." Celebrimbor trailed off, running his fingers over a set of tongs engraved with delicate star patterns.

"Everything your grandfather left behind in Valinor," Aurion said reverently. "Preserved here by your father."

The two of them spent the rest of the day working together, crafting small projects with the tools that had once belonged to Fëanor himself. Rings, intricate knife hilts, and delicate chains took shape under their combined effort. The glow of the forge and the warmth of their camaraderie filled the room with life.

Later that evening, Aurion decided to wander the grounds of Himlad, seeking a moment of peace under the starlit sky. As he rounded a corner near the stables, a low growl rumbled behind him.

He turned sharply, hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword, only to find himself face-to-face with a massive wolfhound. The creature's eyes glimmered with intelligence, its sleek coat catching the faint light.

"You must be Huan," Aurion said softly, lowering his hand.

The hound tilted his head, as if understanding, before stepping closer. Despite Huan's immense size, there was no threat in his demeanor—only curiosity. Aurion knelt and extended a hand, which Huan sniffed briefly before nudging it with his nose.

Aurion laughed, patting the great hound's head. "A friend of Oromë himself," he murmured. "You're even more magnificent than the stories."

The two spent time together, Huan occasionally letting out soft, contented huffs as Aurion spoke to him. Their bond grew swiftly, and for a moment, Aurion felt a deep connection to the ancient and noble hound.

Before long, the sound of boots echoed on the stone path. Aurion looked up to see Celegorm approaching, a faint smile on his face as he saw his hound with Aurion.

"I see Huan has taken a liking to you," Celegorm remarked. "That's rare. He's usually more discerning."

Aurion stood, brushing dirt from his knees. "He's extraordinary. I can see why he's called the greatest of hounds."

Celegorm let out a short laugh. "He is. But, sadly, our time here is short." He whistled, and Huan obediently padded over to his master's side.

Aurion watched them leave, a sense of loss settling over him as the great hound disappeared into the night. But as he turned back toward the halls of Himlad, he couldn't help but smile. This had been a day filled with memories he would treasure forever.