[Thenamir]

Five minutes walk from the entrance of the White Horse a hammer rang down in a slow rhythm upon the curved blade glowing in malleable orange-red atop the well-worn anvil. 'Twas no spear-tip or sword of war from tales of battle glory, just the head of a simple farm axe. That did not stop the meaty hand that gripped the hammer from ringing it just as soundly upon the shapen metal, nor did it lessen the joy that the man at the other end of that massive arm took in his labors.

Laevin the blacksmith took pride not in making things of great craft and beauty, but in making quality items useful to the everyday people of Rohan. Things like plowshares, pruning hooks, and yes, axes. His smithing skill was not quite as high as that of the dwarves with whom the people sometimes traded, but then neither were his prices. While there were Riders of the Mark in this town, there was not too much demand for armor and swords (though he could fashion them with some skill). He was by no means a rich man, but he was good at what he did, and he enjoyed what he did, and he was well-liked in the community. Life was good.

He thrust the axe-head back into the center of the fire with his long black tongs and stepped back to wipe the grimy sweat from his face with his equally grimy kerchief. The light of the setting sun was beginning to peek in under the roof, glistening in reflection upon the wet-leather apron he wore to keep stray sparks from igniting his clothes. Shading his eyes, Laevin began to think about shutting down the shop for the day. Bethberry over at the White Horse Inn had seen him the day before about some new ironwork for the kitchen, and had invited him to a party this evening, and he would not want to be late. He turned again and strode purposefully to the furnace. Switching to a smaller hammer he pounded out the axe's finer edge, allowing the furnace fire to die away with the glow in the axe head. Dipping the axe head in a bucket of water with a steaming hiss, he decided he'd just have time to clean himself up a bit. He headed for the dwelling-half of his small house.

Half an hour, several buckets of cold well-water, a bit of soap, and a change of clothes later, the powerfully-built smith stepped out of his front door a changed man. He was dressed in what he called his "relaxin'" clothes, freshly washed so as not to have the smoke and sweat smell ever-present in his house -- to Laevin it was a comforting smell, but it didn't seem to affect others quite the same way. The sun was near to setting, but he could have found his way to and from the White Horse in the blind dark. He had enjoyed many a night there with a mug of ale and a roomful of friends, and it was his favorite way of ending a day, when he had time. And with the proceeds of a recent sale jingling in his pocket, it was all the better.

He was a bit early when he arrived, but the doorway was blocked by a ragged traveller, probably a beggar, who regarded the sign and the door at length. Realizing what was going thru the man's mind, Laevin walked up and clapped the man on the back. "Welcome, friend!" he said in a booming baritone, Don't be shy, come on in! Your dinner tonight is on me!" The man looked up into Laevin's face with a haggard grin of thanks. Laevin opened the door, put an arm around the man's shoulder and practically dragged the traveller in with him.

"Bethberry! So good to see you!" he shouted across the room at the innkeeper who was obviously busy putting the finishing touches on party preparations. She waved a cheery hello to the newcomers as she approached, setting down her work. Her face fell just a bit at the sight of the worn traveller, but her smile never faltered. "My dear Bethberry," Laevin said, "this man will need food and lodging for tonight, I'll take care of the bill, there's a good girl." The mouths of both Bethberry and the traveller fell open in surprise and astonishment. He turned to the man and said, "join me here once you've had a chance to freshen up a bit." He then strode over to his favorite table, leaving a speechless pair in his wake.