Two months by maeglin

Mirdan i Doriath

Two notoriously hard-headed Elves, and a sword.

Doriath

My cousin approaches me and kneels.  His bearing shows both a deference that is not fawning and a dignity that is not pride.  So like my brothers, yet so different.

"Rise, kinsman, and speak."

"I have brought you a gift, Elwë."

"A sword, by the look of it."  My smile is somewhat strained - I have more than a dozen swords already, and well he knows this.

But within a minute I know it to be the finest blade I have ever laid eyes on, much less held.  Elbereth's stars!  It is at once light as a night-breeze, and heavy enough to cleave stone, if I am any judge of steel.  

"What have you named it, Eöl?  I know you could not leave such brilliance nameless."  

He bows, with twinkling eyes.  "I have named it for that which I have so oft earned from you, my Lord.  Aranruth.  King's Ire.  I do but gift it back."

I laugh, bid my cousin sit beside me, and for a while we are friends again - all insults, real and imagined, forgotten. 

I do believe that was the only time he called me anything other than Elwë.

Chapter End Notes

Aranruth is the canon name of Thingol's sword, which was indeed forged by Eöl, who was Thingol's "kinsman."