We Said We'd Live Forever by Ilma

Chapter 1

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Sweat and soot mixed upon her face in the most unattractive way imaginable as her callused hands gripped the hammer and brought it down again and again. The copper twisted with each blow of the sledge, and her frustration grew.

It still did not look right, Nerdanel thought despairingly. She placed the hammer on the table braced her hands on either end, eyes squeezed shut, seeking her fleeting inspiration.

Hands that were warmer than the fires in the forge settled over her smaller ones; they placed the hammer back into her grasp. She was pressed against a strong chest, and larger, more muscled arms rested by hers as they guided the hammer to the metal, lifted it, and brought it down. With a deep breath, Nerdanel forced herself to relax and the other's presence overtook hers; she was flooded with that she knew not to be hers. Somewhere, her buried idea worked its way from the recesses of her mind, and there it was. Inspiration returned, and she retook control of the sledge.

Hammer strokes fell slowly and steadily, until she became aware that the piece she'd been working on was done. Suddenly unsure, she opened her eyes, only to find the very perfection she'd imagined.

Nerdanel spun around then, but the Elf who had aided her was already walking away; tall and lithe was he, though still strong looking, with jet-black hair bound in a messy plait down his back.

She realized then that the forge had become very quiet. Nerdanel glanced around. The other apprentices were either staring out the door where her helper had left, or at Nerdanel herself.

As she turned back to her work, despite it being finished, a murmur broke out among the other Elves.

"Prince Fëanáro, aiding her?"

"Who is she?"

"But a daughter of a common smith."

"Nay, she is Mahtan's daughter; a very skilled smith is he."

"Nonetheless, she is very plain..."

"It is remarkable enough that the mighty Fëanáro should deign to us lowly creatures..."

There was an outburst of laughter. Her face burnt, but not as greatly as did her hands, where the High Prince-a nervous, breathy feeling in her chest at that-Fëanáro had touched her.

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Tirion bustled with movement Laurelin was beginning to mingle with Telperion. Nerdanel had made a half-hearted attempt to clean herself off, then considered it a lost cause. She was halfway home when a tall, willowy figure stepped directly into her path.

The hands gave him away-they were strong, beautiful, and unmarred, despite having spent much time in a forge, which would naturally bring about calluses and burns. And she saw, to her amazement, that it really had been the High Prince of the Noldor assisting her.

Her head did not even reach his chin, but she craned her neck to stare into the brightest eyes she'd ever seen. His face was expressionless but for his eyes, which held a thousand emotions, but she could not discern which ones were intended for her.

"My Lord," she mumbled as she made a small curtsy, suddenly remembering etiquette.

"Lady Nerdanel," replied evenly.

"I-ah, thank you, my Lord, for your help this afternoon-"

"Think not of it. I would have stayed but...I prefer a more silent setting in which to work." And that he had been granted, she thought. In his early years in Aulë's halls, the other apprentices had murmured darkly of how he was favored for being the son of the King-and then they looked upon his work. It was favoritism well earned.

Unsure of what to say, Nerdanel nodded.

"I have been waiting for you."

She could not help but look shocked. "Oh?"

He nodded. Fëanáro's eyes blazed, though his face was still blank. "I have seen your statues."

"And...are they pleasing?" she asked hesitantly.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, for the first time, a small smile graced his lips, making him all the more handsome. "Yes."

"Thank you, my Lord. And your work...it is breath-taking."

Instead of thanking her, he simply nodded. She supposed that he had heard the same thing so many times it was no longer an opinion or praise, but the truth.

"My Lord-"

He frowned then. "Stop that."

Nerdanel was taken aback. "Stop what, my-"

"That!" Fëanáro sounded irritated, and she took a step back. "I have a name, Nerdanel, so that people may call me by it."

"I am sorry...Fëanáro." His brow smoothed, and he appeared thoughtful. "But I must be on my way home. My father will be angry if I am late."

He waved a dismissing hand. "If he has taught you to be so respectful to royalty, surely he will not mind you being late for suffering the High Prince's affections."

"Wh-"

Her question was cut off as Fëanáro bridged the gap between them and stared intently into her eyes for a moment, their noses touching. Then his lips descended upon hers, and his hand came to rest lightly on her hip. Nerdanel could feel the heat of his touch even through her tunic.

In actuality, she was sure the kiss could not have lasted more than a few seconds-for all it amounted to was a pressing of the lips-but it seemed like years; it seemed as if each Tree had waned and waxed countless times before he pulled away and stepped back. "I will see you again soon, yes?"

"I-"

"Good." A quick smile fluttered across his lips, and then he disappeared into the crowd. Nerdanel spun around, looking for the hushed whispers and wide-eyed stares she had received in the forge, but no one seemed to have taken notice.

Or perhaps they were no longer interested? It was common knowledge that the Prince was not particularly chaste; she could recall several times hearing the gossip of how Fëanáro was caught in a compromising situation with a daughter of his father's lords.

Which made it all the more shocking that he should be kissing her. As she hurried home, Nerdanel was struck with a sudden desire to forget the day had ever happened while still reliving it every moment.

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Chapter End Notes

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