Eisenknall, or Iron Bang by Moringottocake  

First Date

This was for Angbang Week 2026. 

Melkor Bauglir, the co-owner of Silmaringen’s hardware store and a small scale building company Bauglir & Finsterweber, is on his way to Aulë’s Smithy to personally inspect and receive five boxes of the finest custom-made ironmongery to stock up his shelves. Those gizzmos sold like hotcakes and that certain Smith at Aulë’s just knew how to fabricate them most preciseley. The product was a case of doing it properly, or half-assing a mediocre device that promised a lot but delivered headaches to DIYers and professional builders alike.

Melkor parked his car on the customer parking strip. He did not want to turn off the radio yet. His random playlist had decided to bless him Ella’s rendition of “Stormy Weather”. So he treated himself to sit through the entire song before finally getting out of his car. The sun had come out again after a mostly rainy day and the ground was gradually drying.  Before stepping inside the workshop area, he had to remind himself again that Mairon was not going to rip him another one just for existing in his workplace. This place was his supplier and his customers loved him for stocking the best hardware and ironmongery a person could get, but doing business with these people was something else.

It was Aulë and his family that depended on his business, but that special feeling of entering the principal’s office after being called out in class still crept up on him every time he drove out to pick things up. Mairon was brilliant, so he accepted the volatility and the thrill that came with these visits. He had been discussing “bitey Mairon” with Gothmog over many Feierabend (after work) beers.

“Bauglir!” he announced himself, trying his best to sound casual and exactly like the self-assured mover and shaker he actually was. “I am here to pick up the stem-bolts!” There was some banging in the back, where Aulë had his tools for making small hardware pieces. Mairon appeared, removing his protective goggles. The skin around his eyes was clean, making him look like one of those posh tourists who came here to ski in winter. “I swear to the stars, Bauglir!” Mairon placed his goggles on a palette full of boxes. “If I have to make one more of your fussy self-sealing stem bolts in the foreseeable future, I will come and let you have it!”
“Let me have what?” Melkor thanks himself for reacting quickly. 
“My fullest attention.” Mairon snaps back, but is smiling. A genuine smile, not one of his snide sarcastic lopsided smirks.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Melkor plays the ball right back with a grin of his own. 
“That depends on you taking your order with you and me for a drink.”

Did that temperamental metalworker just ask him to ask him out on a date? Melkor had braced for almost anything, but Mairon approaching him on a personal, even private level was not on his bingo card today, or ever.

What an honor?!

Mairon sat perched next to his discarded goggles, still smiling. Melkor had nothing else to to do today, since this chore had been the last item on his to-do list for today. Apart from having another  conversation with Ungoliant back at the office how to expedite her sabbatical she was so eager to take, he could not think of anything else that might be waiting for him at work. The prospect of doomscrolling at home on his sofa was also not the most appealing thought either. So why not risk a drink or two with Mairon? He was feeling brave today.

“If you help me carry those boxes to my car, I can show you a nice place close to the station that has a whisky menu worth it’s salt.” What if he thinks I am an alcoholic builder? Melkor pushed away that fear quickly. He had been asked about “a drink” and not “coffee”, so suggesting a good stiff drink should not be out of the question. 
“Irmo’s on Bahnstraße?” He heard Mairon ask for clarification, instead of dishing out more condemnation. “Sounds good to me!” 
Melkor felt a certain satisfaction, that Mairon already claimed to know of the place. “I have never seen you there.”
“Your orders keep me stuck in this place.” Mairon’s grin widened. “Now it’s up to you to make up for this injustice with something smoky and peaty.” With one of his reddish eyebrows raised, his dirty face looked quite cute when he was opening up, Melkor noted with a tiny butterfly finding it’s way into his stomach. Also, that snarly smith seemed to share his taste in whisky. That’s something to build on!

“I take those and you the others,” Melkor indicated with his head towards the boxes in question “and then we can be on our way.” Melkor suggested,  himself picking up three of the boxes containing his precious self-sealing stem bolts. “Also fine with me.” Mairon lifted up the remaining two and they made their way to his car. “I secretly enjoy seeing your car with those two extra stars on.” Mairon commented about Melkor’s old black Mercedes.

“Ha!” Melkor enjoyed hearing that confession. A lot. “Ungoliant keeps threatening to break them off because she thinks it’s stupid to drive a Mercedes, especially one with three stars.” 
Mairon fitted the two boxes he had carried into the back of the car. “Hasn’t she gone full hippie and wants out of your company?” Melkor closed the rear door over the boxes, its opaque black window hiding the content. “Ugh! Don’t mention it. She wants to remain co-owner, but her sabbatical thing is starting to make me want to go on one myself.” He chuckled.

“Maybe Ungoliant simply wants your car stars to hang round her neck during her time away?” Marion asked after they had sat in silence through several traffic lights. 
“As if!” Despite the partially irritating subject they had now touched on, Melkor was looking forward to see what this sudden date would turn into. “She just hates my car, because it’s not like the BMWs she and her brood prefer.” 
“Bavarian?” Mairon giggled, his tone conveyed rolling eyes.
“Bingo!” Melkor had found a spot just in front of the bar, he could not believe his luck today. He reversed in and looked over to Mairon and the situation inside the bar. It was not quite full yet. So much luck was making him want to be suspicious. “It looks like Gothmog is not here, so we will not be talking shop tonight.” Melkor felt better laying down one ground rule. He was not going into this evening with that redhead without setting some symbolic boundaries. 
“That’s fine with me.” Mairon closed the car door, Melkor hit the close button on his car key and they walked up to the bar, where Melkor held open the door for his date. “After you!”

***

Inside, the usual jazzy lounge music wafted around in the background, and Irmo was wiping the bar where two people had apparently just left. “Sit down! I got something in today you might like!” 
“Which one of us?” Mairon asked, hanging his jacket over the back of the barstool. 
“Both, actually.” The bartender answered, putting down two of those stemmed whisky glasses that made the actual liquid smell and taste somewhat more intense than from crystal tumblers. “Guess what?!” Irmo made sure to cover the bottle’s label with his hand and a dish towel while he poured each of them a sample to try. 
“Aren’t you driving home after this?” Mairon quipped while smelling out the content of his glass. 
“I live right up the road.” Melkor answered while inhaling a very welcome salty, smoky aroma. “I’m not moving that car again today.” He took a sip and Mairon did too. “This is the good stuff, Irmo!” 
The bartender just grinned and put the bottle out of sight. “What do you two reckon you are drinking?
“It’s got to be from Scotland!” Mairon insisted. 
“It’s probably from an island?” Melkor narrowed Mairon’s guess down, looking for a look of approval. 
“You are both wrong.” Irmo grinned. “Come again!”
Mairon sniffed again. “It’s a dead ringer for some island.” He said, and took another sip. “Is it maybe one of those distilleries from central Europe that age their casks at sea?”
“You are getting warmer.” Irmo doled out a top up for both. “Melkor, you should hold on to this friend. He knows his stuff.” 
“So you come here more often?” 
“As I said, my schedule due to your orders does not always allow for spontaneous drinks after work. Also I have bike tours on lots of my weekends.” Mairon stuck his nose back into his glass. “So I have a feeling you are giving us something local.” He sipped again and put down his glass with a light thump, as to not break the precious stem. Melkor caught his gaze. 
“You have a point, some of those up in the Black Forest have really started to churn out some astonishing results.” He looked over to Irmo who had put the uncovered bottle on the bar for them to marvel at. The silhouette of a large black raven dominated the label. 
Nachtkrapp! Melkor struck a hand to his forehead. “Whatshisface from that Scottish island had been their master distiller for a while now?” 
“Fëanor MacFinwë, is the name to that face you are grasping for.” Mairon held up his forefinger, stabbing the air in mockery of a teacher. “And he’s such a smug asshole, I met him at a distillery tour last year.” 
“Look who’s talking.” Melkor smirked while signaling to Irmo to pour them both a full glass of Fëanor’s finest each, and Mairon held out his glass to receive his refill. “You think me arrogant?” 
“Whenever I visit your smithy it’s as if you are scrutinizing every twitch and breath of mine, to be honest.” Melkor hoped this morsel of scrutiny he threw at Mairon would not get him chewed up. 
“Thank you. I do very much enjoy scrutinizing you.” Melkor did not want to say anything yet, but that short flicker in Mairon’s gaze was surely a case of being undressed in the observer’s imagination. 
“Besides that, I know what I am doing and what I want.” Mairon said to his defense. “That MacFinwë may be good at making that impression,” Mairon held up his glass in salute to the absent master distiller. “But he is not of my caliber.”
“What caliber may that be?” Melkor was fascinated by Mairon’s ability to appear approachable while still oozing that authoritative appeal. Minus the heebie-jeebies.
“I for one like to talk about my craft.  Locking heads with like-minded individuals who hold themselves to high standards is my lifeblood, if you might not have already guessed?” Mairon paused. “I was brushed off when approaching him with questions about the shape of his pot stills and who made them.” He continued. “And of course we all have our trade and craft secrets, but come on!  What’s so horrible about chatting about the ins and outs of copper stills with a metalworker?”
“Are you like that when you visit a winery? Do you ask them questions about their steel tanks?” Melkor enjoyed seeing this side this former casual adversary. 
“You bet I am. With some of them I have to be careful not to become their permanent person to call for advice for any metal tool or container, payable with complimentary boxes of wine on the house.” Mairon put his glass down. “If that were the case, I could just as well build my own wine cellar.” 
“I’m not stopping you!” Melkor thought Mairon would be just the type to own his own wine cellar. “You couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

Their conversation carried on in the same vein and they soon found themselves each enjoying a glass of something 16 years old and very peaty. Because they had not eaten anything before going straight for the spirits, Melkor suggested they ask Irmo if they could order something from Ristorante Angamandi next door. 
“I’m not having pizza!” Mairon held up his hands, warding off the very idea. Melkor realized that this man was not one for big, flat, cheesy pizza anyway. “But Angamandi makes that mean Penne all’Arrabiata.” 
Instead of ordering now, Mairon went on to study the menu Irmo had produced from behind the bar. Melkor sat back and watched him browse the pages, eyes flitting up and down, a snort here, a huff there. He could work with that. “I’m buying, if you tell me why you scared the shit out of me for years whenever I dared to place an order with Aulë that would go through your capable hands?” Mairon snapped the menu shut and placed it on the table for Melkor to look through. “You’re the Mayor’s brother, and Pastor’s grandson!” Mairon was looking at Melkor again like he was born yesterday. “Why should bloody Manwë and my god-fearing Father have anything to do with me, apart from being related to me?” Melkor was caught off-guard, even though he very much could have worked that issue out by himself. “I get it, he can be intimidating, but I’m not a politician and have never been moving and shaking in his circles, thank you very much.” Melkor handed Irmo the menu back “We’ll both have the Penne all’Arrabiata” he hoped that was what Mairon actually wanted to eat, and was glad to get no signs of protest. “Anyway, so I had to suffer your ire because of my brother?” Melkor kind of understood, but was very curious to know more details now. Mairon remained silent for the moment, so he added a jovial “if you want to share of course” to hopefully soften the mood in case he had pried to much. He would hate to see this evening fall apart because he was too pushy. Mairon looked thoughtful and he decided to just give him space to think through whatever was on his mind. Irmo was giving him an upwards nod and Melkor ordered a big bottle of sparkling water. After all that whisky he would not have the usual heavy red he usually enjoyed when ordering from Angamandi. And then he remembered. “Two pieces of Torta Moringotto afterwards.” He said loud enough for Irmo to catch before he disappeared in the back room to make the call for their food. “Of course!” the barman confirmed. Mairon, still silent, lifted one of the corners of his mouth. “I like chocolate.” He uttered. “He speaks!” Melkor was delighted to hear that voice again.

“I must admit, that I was a bit of an ass.” Mairon began, not looking at Melkor. “It’s just complicated to be honest.” He conceded. Melkor could accept that in this moment. “I get it, anything or anyone associated with Manwë Sulimo can be intimidating.” Melkor said to acknowledge Mairon’s confession. “But if I may pry?” Mairon asked. “Of course!” Melkor was happy to answer any halfway reasonable answer Mairon had about his bloody brother. Maybe this night would move into territories he had not even dared to dream about this morning while he was dreading the pickup of his stem bolts. “Why do you brothers have different last names?” 
Now this was so basic, Melkor was a little disappointed that Mairon’s question was not juicer. “You bore me!” Melkor dared to nudge Mairon a little who had moved closer to him after ordering food. “Our parents never took on a joint surname, It was a huge scandal back in the day.” He was glad that he was too young to have had to live through all that scrutiny, thank you very much. “And so Serfina Bauglir Sulimo converted from catholism to the Lutheran church, got married to Pastor Eru Illuvatar and then had two sons. As kids our last name was Illuvatar-Bauglir-Sulimo. As soon as I was old enough to decide for myself, I changed my last name to Bauglir, and Manwë chose to go by Sulimo.” The explaining Manny and he had to do in school or elsewhere after their name change was worth it though. Filling out forms had become much less time consuming. 
“Did Pastor Illuvatar mind his sons not taking on his name?” 
Melkor had never been much of a believer, he preferred making informed choices. That attitude hat lead to many discussions and misgivings at home, so his choice of last name seemed almost insignificant to him. “He had bigger fish to fry with me.” Melkor admitted. “And my brother enjoyed frying them with him.” 
“Ouch!” Mairon almost flinched. “I should have anticipated that.” 
“Not to worry.” Melkor smiled. “I am glad we are talking about this here, because I might have thought you scary, but also enjoyed tension between us.” The whisky must have encouraged him to let that spill out of his mouth. 
Mairon folded his hands in front of him, looking sideways to Melkor. “And there was I, wishing to ask you out since I first saw you enter my workshop to discuss your first set of those stupid stem bolts!” He managed to utter through several giggles. “And when I realized who you were, I got my head all up my derrière because I did not want to become attached to anything or anyone remotely resembling a public figure.” 
“So Mairon the admirable, genius craftsman does not seek fame and glory?” Melkor teased his new friend. 
“Being good at something is not essentially tied to having your face plastered everywhere.” Mairon smirked. “Also, my dearest father is a big fish in a little pond like yours, so I was more afraid of wagging tongues in town, than maybe you saying no.” Melkor rolled his eyes. “Tell me something new!” He raised his glass and emptied the last contents. The smoke did taste even better now, the aftertaste brought out welcome notes of sweetness. Mairon did the same, clinking with Melkor’s empty glass on the bar. “To not giving a shit about what people say!”

The food arrived. Melkor did not wish to talk shop, but they eventually bonded over how much a certain group of Silmaringers protesting against any of Ungoliant’s projects that involved chopping down so-called beloved trees. “No one cared about those three sick chestnut trees that had to be removed to rebuild the beer garden!” Mairon snorted. 
“They were already sawing off some of the branches, lest they not break off and hurt any patrons!” Melkor said and scoffed. “Also, when I chopped down that oak to allow for more parking in front of the shop, no one was rallying for the rescue of those trees.” He shook his head. “I don’t want her to leave me here for a year, to be honest.”
“From how I saw you two from afar, you do seem like that type of ride or die type of company owners.” Mairon said before taking a sip of bubbly mineral water. “The stem-bolts are a pain to make but her idea to add a self-sealing mechanism to the pedestrian stem bolt is a stroke of genius.” Mairon paused to make brief eye contact. “The self-sealing part might be a nightmare for me, but it’s also a sign that people still believe in their craft like I do. And I love that.” 
Melkor smiled. “May I?” he asked and waited for Mairon to signal his okay to put his arm around those well trained shoulders he had wanted to touch for a long time. “Is that just your work in the smithy, or do you work out too?” Melkor asked. 
“I try to go to the gym at least once a weak.” Mairon leaned even closer into Melkor’s arm. “But you are also no stranger to weights and heavy lifting.” 
Melkor looked to the side at his arm draped over Mairon’s shoulder. “I could actually do something more tomorrow before I spend the day my office, so I don’t loose any of this.” 
The pasta was good, and they stuck to more of the sparkling water when their dessert was served.

“I don’t indulge a lot” Mairon said, cutting into his portion of glistening, dark chocolaty, almond based cake. “But this is as seductive as it can get.” 
“If I told you that Moringotto was my nickname in vocational college?” 
“Did you eat so much of the stuff that you smelled as delicious as this piece here?” Mairon held up his fork and Melkor could not hold back and stole the piece with his mouth. 
“Cheeky Bauglir!”
Melkor leaned away from Mairon to avoid repercussions. “Coffee here or at my place?” Mairon looked like he was about to pounce Melkor right now, but held back. “I would love to, actually.” He said. “But my brother asked me to help him repair his bike first thing in the morning.”
“Morning is a flexible word.” Melkor quipped, pulling Mairon back into his arm. There was no protest, so he squeezed a little just to make sure Mairon knew how happy he was. 
“Sadly, Curumo is an earlier bird than I. He insisted I do it tomorrow because he spontaneously promised his buddy Olorin to go on a bike tour this weekend.” 
Melkor knew that name. “You mean Olorin as in one of my brother’s aides?” 
“One and the same.” Mairon said with some strain in his voice. 
“Those city hall folks are their own type.” Melkor leaned back and took Mairon’s hand. “So you take care of that bike and I will see you again before you forget we are not at each other’s necks anymore?” 
Mairon grinned took Melkor’s other hand. “I would love to.”

Chapter End Notes

Will be added later, the notes are on Ao3.