Stars, hide your fires by Lyra, Independence1776, , Fernstrike, , Raiyana

Chapter 2: or else o’erleap

e can feel it in us. We are roiling, turning in on ourselves. We can feel Him, Him, our collector, Him, our benefactor, and we can feel his Song. It is sad. Sad, but full of such conviction. We remember wondering about worlds and listening to the conversations of the stars that watched them. We remember the Songs of this world. We can feel them like dark cords inside him, and he is telling us -

He is telling us not only of himself -

He is telling us what to do.

He is giving us a purpose.

A purpose? Not just someone else’s Song to capture.

It is strange.

It is wonderful.

We gleam, and we turn, we feel like we burn but we only become stronger, and every strike of the hammer is a push in the right direction, and every scrape on the swiftly-spinning grindstone refines our dream, and we know.

We Know.

And we have conviction like His suddenly.

At the time, he'd thought them both insane, deciding to lug two pieces of heavy black wood and the lump of metal that he had hidden away as his own treasure when Eöl was making his dark swords, all the way from Nan Elmoth to Gondolin.

Several times since then, too, in all honesty.

But now, looking at what his hands had wrought, feeling the weighty-yet-smooth feel of the grip, perfectly balanced for his hand, Maeglin had to smile.

Perfection.

The blade was - in his own opinion - more than equal to those he had watched his sire craft, the edge keen enough that even looking at it felt sharp.

"Well-forged, my son," Irissë told him, her voice appearing out of memory and time; a reminder of the sweeter days that had been among the trees of his first home.

She had always been proud of his efforts, no matter how simple the craft, and Maeglin felt an echo of that pride rush through him like warmth, filling his soul with the soft touch of her fingers ruffling his hair, her lips pressing against his temple as he showed off his creation.

His sire had not praised him often, but Maeglin knew that even he could not find fault with this weapon, and the knowledge was more satisfying than he cared to admit.

I name thee Dragonsbane.