What Old Tales Say by StarSpray  

“…and always carry a bit of iron with you,” an old man was saying to his younger companions. They were clustered around a table in an inn, crowded and smoky-aired. Someone in the corner near the hearth played music and sang drinking songs for most of the company to join in, no one in tune, yet somehow all of them creating a cheerful and cozy harmony.

Maglor’s mouth quirked as he listened to the wise elder dispense advice. “Iron will burn the flesh of an elf if one tries to play one of its tricks,” he was saying. “Burns them like coals, though it’s cool enough to you or me.”

How oddly the old tales changed and twisted through the years! Maglor had spent many long hours in the forges of Beleriand, singing songs of power into the iron he and his brothers pounded into shape. The smell of burning oak and ash clung to them for many days after, and he could never catch the scent of fennel without thinking of those long ago war-torn days.

The young men all checked their pockets for iron filings, or old bent nails, or other small bits and bobs. Their elder nodded in sage approval before taking a long swig of his ale. Satisfied that they were all protected, he launched into a tale of elvish magic that only distantly resembled a tale that Maglor himself had sung in a king’s hall long ago.

Maglor departed before it was done, but he stopped to buy another round for that table on his way out.

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