Scattered Stars by Raiyana

Chapter 2

Aman was not all he had dreamed when he lived beneath stars tracing their mirrors across his beloved’s soft cheeks, but it slowly became home. Watching Tinwië grow up safe and happy brought him some peace – and learning all that he might from the Smith of the Valar was an unexpected joy in their new life. In the workshops and forges of Aulë and his Maiar, Mahtan found happiness, and even a sense of completeness that made it easier to bear the weight of his losses.

“You cannot take a little girl to the forges with you,” Naica told him, fond but exasperated, one hand on her hip as she looked at Tinwië playing in the gardens, “she’s just going to get hurt.”

“She is my daughter; she will like to go with me a few days a week,” he replied, an echo of the same stubbornness that had brought them to this new life in his voice; they never discussed it, but Naica had stayed with him and shared the house he had built – in many ways she was the closest Tinwië had to an ammë, but she was still Mahtan’s sister and Tinwië called her Auntie. “And she’s old enough not to cause accidents,” he pointed out, feeling more than hearing Naica’s disapproval. “You did not object when I taught her how to carve buttons…”

Watching the light turn Tinwië’s hair aflame – she looked like him, the hair, the strength of limb, and he already knew she would grow tall; Tindómë had not been a short nisse, but Mahtan thought Tinwië might yet grow taller than her lost ammë – he smiled.  He had made her a small shovel to match Naica’s own gardening tools, and Tinwië was currently digging into the soft soil, her voice floating into the house on a light breeze as she told her favourite doll exactly how the shovel was made.

Naica snorted a laugh. “Aye, brother,” she chuckled, “there can be no doubt she’s your daughter.”

Turning, he scowled at her, instantly contrite at the way her face fell, the laughter dying on her lips.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I miss her, too,” Naica whispered, her gentle hand pressing against his shoulder for a moment before she turned, opening the door and heading into the garden. Looking at the two, his daughter and her aunt, Mahtan felt the smile that had dimmed with the thought of Tindómë’s absence return to his face. Tinwië had found some clay, her small fingers shaping it into what he thought was a face and making Naica laugh again.

He took Tinwië to the forges the very next day, watching her small face contort into a grimace of concentration as she stared at the piece of wood he had given her, making small slivers come off with her knife; not yet certain in the craft, but excited to learn and possessed of a good eye for shapes.

Mahtan smiled, turning his focus back to his own work and falling into an almost tranquil state of creation until a small voice interrupted him, slender short arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind as she clambered onto his heat, staring over his shoulder at the copper he was working.

“We have a fox-cub present today,” Aulë rumbled, his booming laugh filling the large workspace though the nickname was fondly meant when he spoke it. Tinwië stared, keeping a hold on her father’s hair for safety but showing no fear in the face of the Vala who smiled at her.

“My daughter, Tinwië, Lord Aulë,” Mahtan replied, getting to his feet with a light bow in the direction of the Smith. Tinwië waved bravely.

“My husband is correct,” Yavannah said, smiling at Tinwië who shyly smiled back, reaching out to pat one of the trailing vines that grew among the Valie’s flowering tresses. “She looks much like you, Master Mahtan.”

“A craftswoman in the making, I see,” Aulë rumbled, studying Tinwië’s small carving, “I daresay it looks like me!”

“A grand likeness, my love,” Yavannah smiled, pecking his cheek. “May I keep it, young Tinwië?” She asked, Her smile so soft and kind that Mahtan was not surprised to feel Tinwië’s hand leave the safety of his trousers. Aulë handed over the small toy, which – even if he took paternal pride into account – Mahtan did think bore a striking resemblance to Himself, and Tinwië handed it solemnly to His beaming wife, accepting a pale red rose bud from Yavannah’s hair in return.

“Thank you,” she said, gaining confidence when the Lady smiled at her, offering her own thanks for the gift.

“Such talent must be nurtured, Mahtan Aulendur,” Yavannah said softly, running a finger along the roughly cut lines of the small doll.

“Yes,” Aulë nodded thoughtfully, handing another block of wood to Tinwië that a Maia had suddenly appeared holding, “you should bring young Tinwië here as often as you please.” Turning, He offered Yavannah his arm, continuing towards His private forges, a half-finished thought left hanging in the air: “Perhaps there are more of the Children we could teach… these Noldori seem very fond of metal…”