House of the Golden Flower

I could hear him in his forge as I walked up.
He was leaning over the flames, sweating, lips tight with focus on his chosen craft, sparks flying from the hot iron every time the hammer swung down. His black hair was tied back with a strip of silk; his bare chest gleamed in the light. I slipped in, seated myself on a bench behind him and watched quietly.

When the tool he was making took shape, a hoe, he was gentler with the metal, and sweat ran in rivulets down his back. The forge was ripe with the smell of heat, stale water, hot iron, flame, and his scent. When it was done, he plunged it into the barrel of water, causing steam to rise. Wiping his hands on his shirt, which dangled from ater,ter, he turned to look at me from between his arms, the dark hair under exp exposed.

"What is it you wish, Fin?" He asked lightly.

I found it hard to remember how dark he was inside, seeing him here, in his element, at his craft, for once peaceful and not coldly calculating against me and mine.

"Do not call me that." I requested.

"I'll call you what I like." He said, wiping his chest with the shirt. He eyed me shrewdly. "Why have you come, Glorfindel? Willing to take me up on my offer?"

"Which offer was that, Maeglin?" I asked icily.

He stepped close, far too close, and as I was sitting, he was looking down on me. He was warm. I was aware of just how improper, how cold was this thing I had been asked to do. I smiled serenely, showing none of my inner loathing. His eyebrows lifted in question.

"You once offered to make swords upon enquiry. Consider this a request." I told him.

"Swords, indeed." He said softly, stepping away. "Very well. What would you like?"

"I would like two swords. One a bit smaller, as it is a present for Idril." I thought a moment, then said also, "And a third, made with the first, a brother sword."

"And they are for?"

"For Turgon, and another."

His flirting mood dissipated with that statement. "Trying to buy back his favor? What a whore you are, Fin." He purred, barely audible. I did not reply, as I wanted nothing more than to snap at him \enceence!', and that I must not do. I contented myself with thoughts of Idril, who was sweet and deserving of everything bought for her, at any cost.

He returned with three measuring rods. "Hold this." He handed me the largest. He eyed it, then handed me the second. With a nod to himself, he took both and put them away.

"Any particular designs in mind?" He asked sweetly.

"Yes, in fact." I replied, not trusting his judgment.

"There is parchment on that table, there. Draw it, and go."

I did as requested, brushing dirt off the paper before beginning. I named them with a flourish. Brother swords and a sister, which would be wonderful if Maeglin did as I asked. He brushed up against me as I was drawing Turgon's. "You need not buy *my* favor." He hissed stealthily in my ear.

I drew my knife and showed it to him. "You had best watch your tongue around me, or you shalse ise it, along with anything else you lay upon or against me." He scowled disappointedly.

"I'm going to begin a collection of assorted body parts, I think. Would you care to make the first contribution, Maeglin?" I told him sharply, for I hated his roving hands with a passion.

He chuckled.

I finished my business, and left the forge. The fires flared as he pumped the bellows in my wake.