Glorfindel approached the House of the Hammer upon horseback, having procured a temporary mount from Turgon’s stable. Being late in the day, most were returning to their homes for the evening. This gave Glorfindel a variety of people whom he could ask about Rog’s whereabouts. He settled on the young man who served as Rog’s squire, a lad of some thirty years. Despite his youth, his face was hardened from the war they had been in, his hair that short ‘military style’ that Rog required of his troops. As it happened, Rog decided to stay late at the forge, and the squire offered to either fetch his master or stay with Glorfindel’s horse while the lord went looking for him. Glorfindel chose the latter, dismounted, and headed down the path to the isolated building beyond the main house and barracks.
The majority of the apprentices and artisans were exiting the forge as Glorfindel reached the doors, on their way home to their own suppers. Glorfindel recognized a few of them, and found out after offering his greetings that the lord of the house was still intently at work with plans to finish an item he was crafting. There were a few artisans and masters still at work when Glorfindel entered, but none paid any attention to him as he sought out Rog at the largest and most intricately designed forges in the back. Rog’s workspace took up three times the space of any other, and his tools were uniquely designed, some with smooth marble handles of black with red and silver veins running through the stone.
There was a bench of stone with a marble slab resting on the top which Glorfindel sat down upon as he waited for Rog to finish, knowing well that it was bad luck to interrupt a master at his craft. Glorfindel had not spent much time in forges, and found the environment pleasantly cozy in a way, between the warmth, the glow of the fire, and the harmonious sound of hammers beating metal into items both delicate and deadly.
It did not take long for Rog to realize that he was being watched, and when he looked over his shoulder for a moment when he wiped the sweat from his brow, he did not appear surprised to see Glorfindel sitting nearby. Then again, Glorfindel assumed Rog never looked surprised about anything, even if he was surprised. Rog returned to his work after a brief tilt of his head in acknowledgement, and Glorfindel amused himself by looking around the area and attempting to guess in his head what each of the implements did.
A little while later, Rog turned and plunged something into a vat of water, causing a screen of steam to rise up around him. He looked at Glorfindel for a moment, and then stated matter-of-factly. “Your hair is getting too long again.”
“You should consider growing yours longer. Like a proper elf,” added Glorfindel, feeling a little bolder than usual around Rog.
“No, thank you.” Rog turned back to the forge and began to work on his project again. “I am certain by now that someone has told you that I used to have hair as long as yours sometimes is. It fell past my waist when I did not pull it back.”
“But it was a battle hazard,” said Glorfindel flatly, knowing Rog’s line well. “Too long to be practical for a blacksmith.”
Rog continued to work and did not answer until he had to turn to cool the steel again. “Everyone thought I was a Feanorian. Everyone equates red hair to Feanor. Feanor had black hair. The red hair came from his wife’s side – which I am related to. Nerdanel had a sister, and that sister was my grandmother. Unfortunately, no one remembers that. However,” said Rog as he inspected his work, “I believe now that I should have cut it long before I did. Now that I am a soldier, a captain,” he added pointedly as he looked up at Glorfindel, “it is necessary.”
“I have a feeling that even if I shaved my head clean, the stubble would still be too long for your liking,” said Glorfindel.
“Probably.” Rog placed the item aside on his crafting table, and Glorfindel saw now that it was a piece of a set of bracers. One was completed, and the other now waited to be assembled before it would move along to another crafter to have designs tapped into the metal or perhaps painted on. “In times of war, one cannot be too careful.”
Glorfindel stood up and walked to the crafting table where Rog now was. There were many stools, crafted of iron, with marble seats of black and silver, and each sat upon one, facing each other across the table. “If we were not at war, would you ever consider growing your hair long? I must admit, I have a fascination about seeing you with more than a bit of red fluff on your head.”
Rog gave Glorfindel an odd look and mumbled something about having been sent by his wife, but cleared his throat and said, “No. I just does not suit me.”
“Just as shorter styles do not suit me very well.” Glorfindel changed the topic as he watched Rog taking the lids away from small boxes of metal pins and rods. “What are you working on?”
Ever seizing any opportunity to share his knowledge of the craft, Rog began to explain what he was doing with the pieces and how they would eventually be fit together and mirror the one he had made earlier in the day. “Having a metalworking facility in one’s jurisdiction gives a fair advantage,” explained Rog. “There are not only monetary benefits, but an advantage when it comes to safety. I know the weaponry of most of the houses, as well as the armor and other things because for quite a while my house was the only house available for those items. Even with Maeglin having his own forge, I still have information on most of the other houses.”
“But we are never going to go to war with each other,” said Glorfindel, laughing a little. Rog did not share in the amusement.
“You can never be too careful.”
Glorfindel frowned. “Then why tell me? I could well be the enemy.”
Rog did smile now. “No enemy is ever so vain as you are.”
“I am... trying to decide if that is a compliment in some way.”
“Just an observation.” Rog retrieved a few smaller tools that he could use to complete his work and then sat down again. “If you did establish a forge, you could make your own weapons. The raw materials cost far less than the finished products. In fact, if you also create a mining camp, you could acquire the materials for the cost of labor alone.”
“That is all well and good, Rog, but I do not know the first thing about blacksmithing. My passion is horses, not weapons.”
“I can train you.”
Glorfindel sat quietly for a little while, half-watching and half-contemplating Rog’s offer. “I have this feeling in the back of my mind this is some sort of crafty ploy you have to keep my hair short.”
“Me? Crafty? Nonsense,” said Rog, but another smile crept up.
There was no longer any light coming in through the windows, and the forge was lit by the fires alone. Still, Rog’s hands were sure and it seemed he might have been able to finish his work without looking. When he did set the second bracer aside, Glorfindel said, “I came to let you know that supper is waiting for you.”
Rog showed only a hint of alarm. “I did not keep everyone else, did I?”
“No, just me, and I did so willingly. We can spend supper discussing this idea you have of putting a forge in the middle of my pastures.”
“Not in the middle,” Rog said. “Are you simply humoring me, or are you giving the idea serious thought?”
“I will not say no without first giving it careful consideration,” said Glorfindel.
“Speaking of careful consideration,” commented Rog as they left the forge and walked to the stable, where Glorfindel’s mount was still being tended to by Rog’s squire, “have you given Ecthelion your answer yet?”
“No...” Realizing that Rog knew whatever it was that Ecthelion was going to ask him, Glorfindel decided to be sneaky while the opportunity presented itself, and he added, “How would you answer him?”
Rog stopped suddenly and gave Glorfindel a hard look. “He has not spoken to you yet.”
“Of course he has.”
“Then tell me what he asked you,” demanded Rog in a calm voice.
Glorfindel rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth as he considered how to answer. “Well... obviously, I know what the question is. I just want to see if you know what the question is.”
“You better check your boots, Glorfindel. I think you are standing a pile of bullshit.”
“I had to try,” admitted Glorfindel with a shrug as they each mounted a horse and rode off to the tower.
