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[handofsilver]

(Oh how he wishes he could simply write this instead of speaking to the populace directly. But his conscience will not allow him to take the easy way out.)

I wish to apologize profusely for my behavior. (He will not name anyone specifically - and further embarrass them - but his dark head is hanging dejectedly.)

For those who desired an Elvish sword, I have made five. You are welcome to come by the Forge to test them for yourself. I am certain you will not damage them.

(Because he made them and his works last.)

Comments

[handofsilver]

My naive utmost. (He had closed his eyes until it was too late. The Deceiver was talented with his tricks and he had blinded Celebrimbor with charm and the promise of power.)

You are very kind, Henry. I am relieved I did not force my attentions upon you.

[hotspurred]

As am I, now that I see how it has wounded you.

[Henry touches the back of his head, then tips it, a half-smile forming on his lips. Yet his eyes retain their serious air.]

'Twas a tradition familiar to me... a small piece of greater revelries whence I came. For that reason I merely regarded it with mirth.

[He did not consider how the mistletoe might be harmful to some. A friend, no less.]

[handofsilver]

I will gladly kiss your cheek without mistletoe, but I like to be the one to choose.

(That smile is a comfort and his expression softens tenderly.)

I can see the fun of it and I would have incorporated it in my court too if I had known of it.

[hotspurred]

A fair desire.

[He says with a touch of laughter, before Celebrimbor's next words catch him off-guard.]

What say you? Your court...? You are of royal blood?

[Where he is from, royals don't usually have trades. The smithing throws him. But no other rank possesses their own court.]

[handofsilver]

We can choose so little and the simplest of gestures can hold great meaning. I do not wish for my intentions to be confused.

(Except where Hux is concerned. He likes getting under that Man's skin.)

I was born a Prince and I later became a Lord. (So yes. Henry is speaking to the last Fëanorian to walk on Arda.)

[hotspurred]

[So one does not feel entirely powerless, he supposes. There are rare moments when even Henry feels that way. He does not linger on that thought. Instead he gives Celebrimbor a curious look. That Celebrimbor is a prince doesn't alter his behaviour.

He has never been one to be intimidated by his betters — it's part of why he has a reputation for being bold. Fortunately it is expected of Hotspur.]

Eschew you your title by choice or convenience?

[Though it occurs to him, he does not suggest guilt as a possibility.]

[handofsilver]

(He will never hold his title over another's head - nor does he expect anyone to speak to him differently because of it. He was born a Prince, but he has spent a long time perfecting his skills as a Smith.)

I am the reason my people were killed. I saw my wife and child murdered before my eyes and I was tortured until my death.

The title does not suit anymore.

[hotspurred]

[Henry bows his head.]

God rest their souls. Or — your equivalent.

[He awkardly amends, because Celebrimbor is definitely not from his world.]

Forgive me for bringing such terrible losses to mind. I hope you yet find a measure of peace.

[He faintly grimaces as he lifts his head again.]

...This cavern is not ideal for that end, one admits.

[handofsilver]

We call souls fëas. (It's a Quenya word and it refers to the immortal part of all beings. Bodies perish; souls do not.)

You bring me a measure of peace, Henry. I see in you all the strength I should have had.

(It is even more humbling that Henry is a Man.)

The company helps.

[hotspurred]

[Celebrimbor's words are unexpected but most certainly welcome. It means much to Henry that he makes a difference, however small. Touched, his smile is genuine.]

After you are done at your forge for the day, you should join me for a drink.

[handofsilver]

I would be glad to! (He grins suddenly, amused.) I must warn you. My tolerance for alcohol is much higher than yours. But I will enjoy it nonetheless!

[hotspurred]

[Henry lifts his chin.]

I do not shy from a challenge. Simply let me know when you are ready.

[handofsilver]

Give me another hour and I will be prepared. (He is in much better spirits, alcohol or not.) Shall I meet you at the Headquarters?

[hotspurred]

[Henry nods in answer.]

All right. 'Til then.

(Action?)

[handofsilver]

(Celebrimbor bows his head in answer and cuts the contact. He finishes some lesser projects in the Forge and then cleans himself up. When he is wearing a clean shirt and his hair is newly brushed and braided, he travels to the Headquarters for the Guards and searches for his friend.)

action!

[hotspurred]

[Henry uses the time to go home, remove his armour and tend to it — he knows better than to go drinking wearing it. After he has changed out of the under layers and into some scavenged clothes, he returns to HQ and gets on with some paperwork until Celebrimbor shows up.

When he spots the elf, Henry puts away his work and gets to his feet, pushing in his chair.]

Let us not dally here. The bar awaits.

[He says with a grin as he joins Celebrimbor.]

action!

[handofsilver]

(The tension he carries with him - so like Henry's armor - dissipates at the sight of the other. A smile blooms tentatively on his features, reaching up to his silver eyes.)

Certainly not. (He glances at the table despite his friend's words.) Is all well?

[hotspurred]

[And such striking eyes they are — like metal glinting under the sun, absurdly fitting for a smith.]

Headquarters is rebuilt, everyone seems mostly if not recovered from last month, and Nick has finally mended his crippled leg. Things could not be more well by this cavern's standards.

[Henry takes the lead, heading for the door which he then holds open.]

I call those good reasons to raise a cup.

[handofsilver]

(He is the grandson of the greatest Smith of Arda. Some might argue he has even surpassed him, though Celebrimbor will not boast.)

If he needs tips on how to handle a staff or a cane, I can give him some pointers. (He follows Henry, smiling at the Man's exuberance.)

I say so. What is your favorite drink?

[hotspurred]

Wine.

[Henry answers, picking his way down the street. The easiest route from HQ to the bar is past the orchard and mopeds then across the second bridge.]

Of the finer sorts. As the son of an Earl I am no stranger to certain luxuries. What of you?

[handofsilver]

I commend your palate. (If he is to drink at all, he prefers a good Elvish wine, though the vintages of Men are not bad.) Ah likewise. We Elves like our wines and we have plenty of time to let them mature.

(The Elf that bottled the wine can enjoy it a century or more later.)