Is a "sword" a euphuism? (BL)

There were no great changes in the days immediately after Glorfindel returned.

The ancient Elf's report to Elrond had not sparked any panic or hastened preparations for the looming danger.

At least none I could see. And being a blacksmith I should be among the first to be called when the drums of war sound. 

Amateurs focused on strategy, the professionals knew the importance of logistics. Elrond had seen enough war in his thousand of winters, to know that. 

In a way, life at Imladris continued in the same unhurried place as if nothing had happened, preserved against the peril and time. 

"I have spoken with Glorfindel," Archer told me at dinner, which as always he made, the day after. I

would have felt a little guilty that he was always making our meals, except he really enjoyed cooking. And was a much better cook than me.

A similar situation was with the house chores. Perhaps it was unfair, but it worked for us.

"Did he tell you why Elrond had sent Grolfindel after us?" That had been bothering me a bit. Just me. Archer was unperetubed.

"I didn't ask," Archer replied, pouring me another cup of tea. It was a delicate blend of forest berries and fresh mint, its aroma wafting up to fill my senses. His teas were great, but I really missed cocoa. "But you can. Tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" I sipped it, letting the taste ensure my tongue. I let out the loud sight of appreciation. The tea was that good, but it also for pleaded little smile Archer made when I showed how enjoyed what he made for me.

"Our next sword lesson with him." 

I nodded, then nearly spit my tea. "I had completely forgotten," I said, standing up.

"Forgotten what?" he asked, frowning. He didn't like when I left my meals unfinished. Especially the ones he made.

"Sword," I replied, and then clarified, "Larmo is still broken. I need to see if I can fix it by tomorrow." 

Immediately after the fight, while Archer was removing any evidence that could link us to the conflict, I had put the pieces of Larmo into my scabbard.

There were two main areas for doing that. The first to conceal that my sword had been broken. And second to test the addition function of the scabbard.

It was no Avalon, but still, scabbards I made for Archer and myself were supposed to clean, sharpen and repair minor damage to the swords while they were in it.

Not that good elven swords required any sharpening. 

But Larmo was shattered by the Witch-king's dark spell. That amount of damage in estimation was beyond the abilities of the scabbard to repair.

Now, where had I put it?

"Here," Archer interrupted with my sheeted sword in his hand. "You were looking for this."

"Thanks, now just to see the damage," I said.

To my surprise, when I drew Larmo out of the scabbard, the sword was whole and in pristine condition. Its blade shone like silver in the sunlight, and its hilt was adorned with delicate engravings of elvish runes.

I couldn't help but marvel at the sword's beauty, even though I remember making it. However, there was something different about Larmo. The everpresent hum, the subtle song of Unseen, was different.

Larmo had repaired itself. Perhaps I should have checked it earlier, but I didn't think I would need a sword so soon.

On the other hand, scabbard exceeded all of my expectations. Almost enough that I thought about naming it. 

"There is something strange about it," I said, looking the swords over. I couldn't find any flaw, but Larmo felt strange in my hand. Unfocused. 

"Try the second form," Archer commented.

I did as he suggested. Rather than the detection device I made with his help, I only had a single diode in my hand. The root of device, the diode rumored to contain a tear of an angel, was all that remained from it. It was like the scabbard considered my work to be a damage. 

"Well, I did think about upgrading the device, maybe turning it into proper Mystic Code now that I have access to quality materials." 

The day after we had our first sword lesson after ancient Elf returned and after it, I asked our instructor the following question. "I just have to ask. Why us? Why did Elrond think that we were specifically targeted by the Enemy?"

"Just you two?" Glorfindel replied, his voice tinged with surprise. "No, my task was to warn all of Imladris' inhabitants who were outside our borders once we learned the Nine were approaching. I found Glavroliel first in the nearby mountains, searching for gems. I sent her back immediately. As for Elladan and Elrohir, they were with a group of Rangers hunting Orcs."

"I didn't know that twins were back in Imladris," I asked next because I didn't recall them dropping at my forge, or generally seeking me out, which they usually did after returning from a trip. 

"They are not. When they heard about Ringwraiths, they insisted on going with rangers to gather as many Dunedain children as they could and bring them here. We will soon have more guests."

There was something in his tone of voice that suggested that disagreed with their decision. But whether it was about bringing large numbers of Edain children here or about twins risking themself I didn't know and it would be impolite to ask.

So what I said instead was "That would be nice. We have space. We have far too much space. Fano, you should make something special to greet our new guests."

"I would be glad," Archer replied to me and then added to Glorfindel. "Do you know when twins will return with Dunedain children?"

"No. But I hope soon. The enemy has retreated for now, but they are still in the region."

"That I will make something will not spoil. Do you have any idea of the number?"

"I wouldn't expect a large number. The threat is still too nebulous for many parents to send their children away. And they are not numerous people."

That was a bit depressing. So I changed the subject, "So what happened after you had found Elladan and Elrohir?"

"I went looking for you two. But then there was the battle at Amon Sul. Even a day's ride away, I could see the light and fire."

"Amon Sul again?' Archer interjected. "That's where we found that lost Arnorian artifact on our way to Bree."

"I heard about that from Elrond. Perhaps it was you disturbing those ruins that called them here? But that timing doesn't match. Anyway, I hurried in that way, but by the time I had arrived on site, the battle was long over. I have found mangled bodies of horses, with shredded black cloth and some armor. It was like they were attacked by a siege engine. The last time I saw similar damage was during the siege of Barad Dur."

"You don't think the Dark Lord had stuck his own servants," I added.

"But it could be someone who had studied his foul arts."

"So someone used the Dark Lord's own weapons against him. And yet, you don't sound pleased by that."

"It is perilous to study the arts of the Enemy. Many who do so fall into Shadow. And often all of the good that was managed by such foul means was quickly eclipsed by evil done next in service of the Enemy."

I guess this was the elven version of the "don't do drugs" speech.

"What did you find on the hill itself?" Archer asked, "Any clues about who fought the Ringwraiths?"

"Well, there was one thing I didn't find. Any trace of the siege engine. But from scant clues, I think it was a small group, certainly less than five, and maybe even a single person. But after the battle, their parts diverged. I had to make a choice and I chose to pursue the enemy I knew. They were stripped of their raiments and on foot. And for that, they moved too slowly. Almost as if they were wounded. It was an opportunity I could not miss."

"If they walked unseen and untraceable, how did you manage to track them?", I had to ask.

"Not untraceable. Even if bare wraiths leave no traces in the physical world, their very existence is unnatural and their passing causes great disturbances to the Unseen. You are young, and in time you will learn how to track such disturbances. Maybe even soon, for you have shown yourself to be gifted in such endeavors. But to return to the matter at hand I had followed them to the north and the east, but they managed to reach Mount Gram before me and I was forced to abandon the pursuit. Ringwraith I could fight alone, but Rignwaith and a company of Orcs were a bit too much. After that, there was little point looking for you two, so I returned to Imladris, and you were already here."

With this, we finished talking about that, and he began to talk about our progress and our mistakes.

"Fano you must stop trying to copy my movements. You are not me. Your swordsmanship should not be a reflection of me but of you. Only when flesh and spirit align could true mastery be achieved. Rin, stop observing and act. You need to really focus more on your instincts. I have also noticed that you managed brief moments of silent communication with each other. Keep practicing that in your free time. To speak without words is a skill that you will find useful in many situations."

Now that he mentioned it, I did remember brushing Archer's mind. It was a familiar feeling. After all, he had been my Servant, and thus type of a familiar. That bond was broken when he regained his living flesh. I was eager to regain parts of it. 

It was a few days later that I left my smithy with a gift for Archer. I looked for him at my house, but he wasn't there. I expected to find him there because he had been installing running water, electricity, and manna conductors all leading to the Otherworld that came into our possession. The Otherworld. I hoped he was there. I had something for him and was a bit impatient to show it to him. 

Fortunately, that was easy to check.

"Is Archer here?" I asked Central Intelligence, immensely after entering through the police box which had been parked in the secret Workshop in the basement.

"User Archer is in the greenhouse," it replied. It was useful like that.

"Lead me to the greenhouse," I commended. The space within was something between a ball of yarn and a constantly moving clockwork puzzle. Somewhat difficult to navigate, even with my senses.

I mean I could get where I wanted, it would just cost both time and effort. This was just easier.

"Two steps left. Wait. Now, seven steps to the right. Turn quarter clockwise. Six steps forward. One step backward." What happened next was hard to describe. As I took that backward, the door seemed to both stand still and rush at incredible speed at me, stopping just shy of hitting me. "You are in front of the greenhouse door." 

I opened the door and entered the greenhouse. In truth this second time I had entered the greenhouse. Once when we first discovered this Otherworld, and now. It was more of Archer's domain.

The greenhouse was no longer empty. Plants were everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Like all of Otherworld space was twisted so, the rows of greenery existed in all directions. Right, left, upwards, twisted in helices and even stranger configurations. Light also changed, somewhere was the golden light of the day, and some places were under the red light of the dying sun, and some plants were under harsh blue light.

And yet I could see one thing clearly. Archer. He was working on the plants, only dressed in light green pants, artificial sunlight lighting his skin. He was the only normal thing in place that was twisted like a reflection in a broken funhouse mirror. 

Watching a shirtless elf working in an eldritch garden, almost made me wish for tentacles. Pity my only tentacled familiar was in the underground rivers that served as trenches for the underground building under Amon Sul.

"Archer!" I called him. My voice echoed strangely in this place.

He turned and walked to me. It was vertigo-inducing to watch because he didn't appear to arrive in a straight line. He was approaching from the left, no right, no ceiling?

As soon as he was close enough and before he could say anything I said first, "I brought you a gift."

"Is that a prayer wheel?"

Those were the facts.

Prayers worked.

They had a measurable, beneficial effect on the environment.

But I hated praying. So I have done the intelligent thing and automated unpleasant work.

Prayer wheels were just the only design of a mechanical praying machine that I could remember on hand.

I missed the internet. It was much easier when I could easily have access to gathered human knowledge. 

Prayer wheels had worked much better than I expected.

Truth be told I was not sure if the design was the same as actual Buddhist Prayer Wheels. It was not something that held any interest to me. 

The one I brought to give to Archer was not the prototype. That one was still in the forge.

This one was made with a simple electromotor to provide rotation. Making an electromotor proved very simple, and it was made by just using elven technology. Wires were no problem, and there was a simple technique that turned any piece of metal into lodestone.

There was no battery since I meant for it to be installed here in the greenhouse. So just plugging it in should work. Every part of the Otherworld was wired for both power and water. 

"Yes." I said, offering the device to him, "One for your garden."

On the bronze cylinder, I had engraved both images and text from Ainulindalë concerning Yavanna, among them most prominent the image of the Two Trees.

The first one I crafted was dedicated to Aulë and it used the heat of the forge to create motion.

He frowned. "Prayer isn't really my thing. The last time I made a deal with a higher power it didn't end so well for me. It was mostly my own fault. I got exactly what I was asked for. Still, I am not in any hurry to repeat the experience."

"Neither is mine, although I don't have any long-winded explanation for it. I just don't like it. That's why I had this made. Put it in this garden and see if it helps."

"An experiment. Like what you did with dice."

"You remember that? But this is more of a confirmation. I had a prototype installed in the forge, and it had a beneficial effect. So I remembered that you like spending time here and made one for you."

"There is a place where I could use it. Come, let me show it to you," he said and took my hand. We had learned pretty quickly that without physical contact it was too easy to get separated here. Not that I minded holding hands with him.

He led me through the greenhouse quickly and confidently. It seemed that he got more used to this place than I was. Perhaps I have been using Central Intelligence too much instead of learning how to navigate the twisted space.

Should I change that habit?

No. It was still both faster and easier.

He stopped at a patch of fresh earth and asked, "So how do I install it?"

"Why don't you ask Central Intelligence? Whenever I had to integrate something in here it had proven very helpful." Did I rely too much on something I knew little about? Well, it reminded me a bit of having access to a computer connected to the internet. I missed that. And besides, I was testing it. For now, it passed all tests.

"Integrate? What have you been doing?" he asked, breaking that line of thought. The light had shifted again. Under this one, his hair looked like it had been dipped in blood, like in legends of redcaps. It wasn't a bad look for him. 

"Various bounded fields, for security, for the preservation of materials. Basic physics experiments. I needed to see if the material worlds work mostly the same, like for example a machine I made to separate hydrogen and oxygen in the water." 

"You made something like that?" He sounded interested.

"Well, I needed to see if water is H2O or something ridiculous like an Element of Water."

"Not what I meant. But can I have it? The machine you made. Alcohol had proven less useful than I thought. Maybe hydrogen would be better."

"Sure. I'm done with it. But what are you planning on doing with it?"

"Let it be a surprise. I will show you when it's done."

"No problem. I'm sure it would be a nice surprise. But while we are talking about projects, what are you growing here?"

"A mallorn tree."

"I thought they only grew in Lorien."

"You thought right. But still, Lady Galadriel regularly sends nuts to other elven settlements. Whether she is being generous or smug I really can't tell."

"So you decided to take on her challenge?"

"If you want to see it that way. And how are your projects going?"

"Much better after I found a copy of Feanor's treatise on the light buried in Elrond's library. The explanation of the spiritual nature of light was very useful, but one thing surprised me. Once I stripped the overly flowery language that compared light to the song I realized that he had managed to intuit wave-particle duality. I knew that he was a genius, but..."

"Admire him as much as you like, but don't follow his example. Don't start a war over a pet rock."

I laughed. "Should I make an oath that I will make no gem that I would not be willing to destroy?"

"That sounds like the start of a tragedy in three acts."

I snorted, then proceeded to shift the topic, "I have been meaning to ask you this for some time. Have you managed to fix broken records in your Reality Marble?"

"You must have misunderstood. The history recorded itself is fine. It just ends with the blade being broken."

"So, projecting a partial history isn't possible? Stopping at a specific moment before the breakage?"

"I've tried that approach," he admitted with a hint of frustration. "But there's something peculiar about blades that stuck at Ringwraiths'. The blades' fate seems to be fixed as broken. No matter how I manipulate or shorten its history, it invariably ends with it shattering."

I pondered for a moment before suggesting, "If subtraction from history is not an option, what about addition?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Addition?"

"Yes, think about it. If the blade's history ends in breaking, why not forge a new chapter? Let's reforge the blade."

His eyes lit up with understanding and a hint of excitement. "Reforging... That could indeed create a new trajectory in its record. A fascinating proposition."

Although the solution sounded simple there were slight problems with execution.

Because we weren't just trying to reforge Noble Phantasm broken by the magic from a World utterly foreign to it, which by itself would be a task worthy of a note, we were trying to reforge a record of it stored in a metaphysical realm existing only within Archer's soul.

It took weeks to even find a plausible idea on how to reforge a broken record.

During those days there were secrets revealed.

"Either they destroyed the written ring-lore or refugees never brought here after the fall of Eregion. So we can eliminate that as a possible solution to your problem."

We were in a workshop, with all of the material I could find about Rings of Power in Elrond's library spread on the table. There wasn't much of it. 

"Are you certain that it would be of use in this situation?" Archer asked. There was something weird in his tone. I almost missed it, but I knew him for over a decade. 

"Well, to be honest no. But I had to consider the possibility. Especially since it's probably an effect enacted by one of the Rings of Power," I clarified.

"Could it have been something else?"

Again with slight hesitation.

"Yes. It could have been a consequence of the defensive application of black magic. But it's much more likely a side effect of what Ringwraiths really are. Although we call them wraiths, they are not undead as the Magi use that term."

"Not undead?"

"They never died. Although we can not say that they are truly alive, neither can we say that they died. The closest thing would be how Elves fade after spending too long in Middle Earth. From what I could gather, from what few records remain the original purpose of the rings was preservation. I wonder what that would be the effect for an Elf? Would it prevent fading or would it allow faded Elf to interact with the material world? Anyway, a body that destroys weapons that harmed it is one possible side effect of wearing such a ring. But that is irrelevant because the betterer sources of ring-lore are in either Isengard or Mordor. Whether it was from shame or prudence, there is not enough knowledge here on that topic," I explained.

Long speech made my mouth dry so I gulped some iced tea Archer made. Excellent like always. Archer had managed to make a refrigerator in his spare time. It's a pity summer ended before it was ready because I really liked ice cream in summer. I could see that Archer was fidgeting.

That was enough, I usually wouldn't do this, but I was tired and it seemed all time spent gathering available ring-lore would be for nothing. "You are being weird. Please stop. Even if I wanted, there is not enough information here to forge even a lesser ring. And we have agreed not to meddle with Frodo's journey. For now."

"It's not about that," he replied. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Did he have a migraine? Could Elves have migraines? He finished that, opened his eyes, looked right at me, gaze filled with determination, and said, "What if I have another source of ring-lore?"

"Another source?" I asked. Where could he have gotten that knowledge? Not in Elrond's library. I searched that place quite thoroughly. Had he been listening to Sauron's channel on the radio? No. He was smarter than that. Then I remembered. "You managed to see Celebrimbor's hammer. One he used to forge Rings of Power. At least in that timeline."

He nodded.

"So that was one of the things you wished you didn't know. And I thought it was just morgul blades."

"Those weren't morgul blades. Only when the wraith blade is entwined with iron through the method I would like to forget, and will not speak, is the morgul blade created."

"You have seen all kinds of depravity Magi performed. You mean to tell me this is much worse?"

"Yes," he replied and would say nothing more on that matter. 

So I tried to change the topic, "Celebrimbor's hammer must be named. Can you tell me its name?"

"I can," he replied, then teasingly added, "But should I? If only you could motivate me. Perhaps a kiss."

I obliged. Not that it was any sacrifice. As I tasted his lips, for a moment our minds touched, and I could taste a bit of emotion too. Unfortunately, I was as bad at deciphering his feelings as my own. It was a jumble of affection, arousal, maybe love, and just a touch of fear. 

I pulled back, composed myself, and said, "Are you motivated enough now."

I could not decipher his look but suspected that the exchange was mutual.

He replied with just one word. "Turánn."

That sounded familiar. I exclaimed, "That is the name of my hammer!"

"It is the same hammer. It was made by Sauron and offered to Celebrimbor as a gift. In one timeline he accepted and used to forge all Rings of Power save the One. In this timeline, Celebrimbor was wearier and refused the gift. So Souron gave it to another elven smith, who used to forge one of the Rings of Power. That Elf was Yúlon, your teacher and from him, it passed to you."

"So you knew ring lore from the moment you saw my hammer." I accused. That was the reason he was being so weird. Then I added in a more teasing tone to show that I was that angry about it, "So have used the knowledge to forge me a magic ring, while planning to forge a master ring in secret and bind me to your will."

"I would be insulted by lack of trust, but you sound more aroused than accusatory."

"Well you seem to be having much fun, so I have been wondering how it would feel from the other side."

He sighed. "We can try."

Unfortunately, the attempt at role reversal didn't go well.

Archer simply didn't like hurting me. And not by using whips. He preferred his tongue.

He flinched with every strike, which killed any joy I might have felt. Who was supposed to be tortured here?

He was also unwilling to push my boundaries and was clearly uncountable with being in control.

I may have been hesitant, but he was... indecisive. 

That rendered the whole experiment unpleasant for him and utterly unsatisfying for me. We agreed that we would not try this again.

Or speak about it.

Archer's knowledge about rings of power was also mostly useless. He had a partial record of how rings were made, but no theory of why those methods were used.

Surprising discoveries were made.

"Manifest your Reality marble on my mark," I said. We were performing a series of experiments but compared him overwriting the reality with his own with the materialization of the police box. We were again in the workshop and cleared space for it, and drew two runic circles in which we would perform experiments. "Mark."

He chanted his aria and fire consumed the interior of the circle, replacing the stone floor with iron sand. The boundary of the circle grew red. "Hold it"

He didn't speak aloud, but I could still hear him, "I am trying."

We were getting better at this telepathy thing. The fire crossed the boundary and I lost the input from the circle. Then it moved faster and soon tow us were again in the wasteland with numerous swords.

"It's enough for now. There is little point in keeping it active longer."

He nodded, and in a moment we were back in the basement. I moved to the table and replaced the crystal I used to record the experiment with a blank one. 

"I am sorry. I just never had the need to use it in this way."

"Practice will do you good. Still, I got some information. Now for the second part," I said. I took out the and commanded, "Manifest entrance within the second circle."

The police box appeared within the second circle. "Return."

I went and again replaced the crystal.

"On my mark, start again and try to stop when you reach the boundary. Mark."

He began to recite the aria to summon the Unlimited Blade Works, and I waited until the last part.

"So I pray, Unlimited Blade Works/Manifest entrance within the second circle," we said at the same time.

At the moment the fire reached the boundary of the circle, I commanded, "Return."

And Archer dismissed the Reality Marble before it could swallow us both, but it had still passed the edge of the circle.

"Sorry," he said.

"This should be enough to start. If we need more data we can always repeat the experiment. I just wish that we had more of this."

"More of what?"

"This entrance to the Otherworld."

"You mean that blue police box? Why do you need more for this experiment?"

"No. One is enough for this purpose. I meant in general. If we had more the Otherworld would be much more useful for extending our reach. Rather than just being a shortcut to caves under Amon Sul, it would become a hub for fast travel."

"Fast travel? You have been playing too many video games. How improper for a proud magus."

"You recognized the term too."

"But then I am just third rate. Barely above being a Spellcaster."

"All paths lead to Root. And you have walked one clearer than most. You have refined the concept of the Sword to a startling degree in just one generation. If you have a proper successor you would have restored Emiya's name, although you would shift their focus." 

It was an old argument between us. One that Archer wasn't in the mood to rehash, so he returned to the previous topic.

"It is not as shut in like you would need to travel anywhere, but if you want them why don't we make more?"

"Make more?"

I assumed that it would be impossible. Because it looked like a TARDIS, I assumed it was next to impossible to reproduce.

"Yes. It's a simple wooden box with a door. Should be easy to make more."

"It couldn't be that simple. If that was true, an outhouse would work." 

"Well, it would be less conspicuous. Why don't we just ask? That Central Intelligence thing."

It was that simple.

Not only that but also any door would work as an entrance to the Otherworld as it had a lock and we inserted one of those keys into it. And as a bonus every entrance once used would be recorded and could be reused. That was the purpose of the podium in the entrance hall.

We didn't spend all of our time on research. There were still our lessons with the Balrog Slayer, my work in the forge, and Archer's in the greenhouse.

And there was time for recreation to avoid burnout, some of which we spent together, but some also apart.

I spent mine in Elrond library, reading less relevant texts. There were histories, and stories all of which were about real events, but no speculative fiction. And although the quality was excellent, especially for eleven authors, the quantity was lacking. In half of the year, while I was rather busy, I read a good portion of it. 

And finally, we arrived at what could be called a workable solution.

What is Unlimited Blade Works? It's a Reality Marble. What is a Reality Marble? An innate bounded field that projects the inner world on the outer world. Kay part of that for this purpose was a bounded field.

What is Unlimited Blade Works, again? It was a wasteland filled with weapons, but It was also both a forge and an archive. Forge was a concept we needed.

After all, I possessed several millennia-old elven smithy. A proper place to reforge even Noble Phantasms.

So the final solution to our problem was to place a bounded field over my smithy and then to "marry" it with Archer's reality marble. So smithy would become part of it, and yet remain part of the World.

"It is ready," I said as I thrust my right hand into the forge fire. I had no need for tong, for my little slime was rated for sex with fire elementals and volcano spirits. It was perfectly able to protect my hand from the fire. I pulled out a glowing red ruby. "This is Ruist. It's a keystone for the bounded field I have set over the smithy."

"You have named it," Archer commented.

"That is not relevant," I was not in the mood to explain. Naming strengthened the enchantment, but it also strengthened the bond between creator and creation. It was a tragedy, or perhaps better said corruption, of Jewel magecraft, that one had to pour so much effort into making valuable and beautiful things only to destroy them in the end. That was why I didn't name the previous series of gems. After all, there was no point in naming meals. "What is relevant is that it is ready for the union."

"What do I need to do?"

"Bring forth the Unlimited Blade Works, I will do the rest.

I put the ruby on the ground and we began to chant in unison.

"I am the bone of my sword"

 "The unveiling of the company of heaven."

"Steel is my body and fire is my blood"

 "Every man and every woman is a star."

"I have created over a thousand blades"

 "Every number is infinite; there is no difference."

"Unknown to Death,"

 "Come forth, o children, under the stars,"

"Nor known to Life."

 "And take your fill of love!"

"Have withstood pain to create many weapons"

 "I am above you and in you."

"Yet, those hands will never hold anything"

 "My ecstasy is in yours."

"So as I pray, Unlimited Blade Works"

 "My joy is to see your joy."

With the last of his words colorless fire appeared, and yet rather than to consume the smithy and replace it with a wasteland of swords it was drawn into the ruby. And with it my consciousness too.

I was floating in the sea of red. Red like blood. Red like fire. The same red as the ruby.

I was naked, and my body was made of flames.

I was not alone.

Before me was Archer. He too was naked. And his body was made of swords.

And one, in particular, rose to greet me.

He thrust that sword into me, and my fire engulfed it.

It was a familiar dance. And yet it was new.

Even if my body was made of ephemeral flames his thrust still hit that special place.

Even if his body was made of swords, he still felt my caress.

Pleasure mounted until it reached its peak. And in that transcending moment, I knew Unlimited Blade Works. I knew every blade in it.

It was not knowing I could keep. It faded like a memory of a forgotten dream. Leaving just shards and embers. Most clear were things I already knew about, like methods of construction of Azoth swords.

And I was back in the smithy, with my pants wet. With a thought, I set familiar to cleaning it. 

But there was change. I could feel every blade, every weapon in the smithy. In much better detail than before, even when I used Structural Analysis.

"Did it work?"

Without any word or effort, he materialized a broken blade. 

"I think it did. I feel like I am still within it."

"Then let's reforge that blade and see if it works."

"Yes. Together."

"Together.

It worked. Even better than we expected, for the broken blade was reforged stronger than before. 

So we went to work on the rest of them. We were finishing the last when the twins returned to Imladris with their charges. As Glorfindel predicted there were not many of them. Less than two dozen. The oldest was about sixteen and the youngest was about nine.

And half-elf twins were just in time. 

The next day winter started early heralded by the northern wind. The wind was bitterly cold and there was a foul voice upon it. It chilled more than just flesh.

There was still no sign of Frodo—something needed to be done.