[Child of the 7th Age]

"Aye, that is right," Lindir responded. "Look here. Underneath the encrusted grime is a layer of pure gold. And from the weight of the thing, I would guess that the entire helm may be crafted in gold. I can not imagine who would ever want a helm with such weight. It would give me a massive headache."

Lindir set down the stake on which he had speared the fish and wandered over toward the others, bending down next to the fire to examine the find more closely. He could not see the surface of the helm, encrusted as it was in a thick coat of grime, but he could make out its outlines with his fingers. With the skill of one who has made his living at the forge, he cradled the object in his hands and ran his palm over the outside. At the top of the helm was a decorative crest, a shape that caught his memory even though he could not see the actual physical object. His eyes opened wide in surprise, as he shook his head in disbelief, scarcely believing what he might be holding.

"Look here, Orëmir. Malris, come quick," Lindir called out in excitement. "Do you see how heavy this thing is, and how the gold shines through? Observe how the crest is formed. Wings, and a tail....you can even make these out under the grime. I know of only one thing that fits this description, although I can scarcely believe my eyes.....the Dragon-helm of Dor-Lomin, that which once graced the head of the Mannish warrior Turin and even sat in the hands of our own leader many years before."

Lindir dreamily mused, "But how is that possible? And, if true, what does it mean for this isle and for our fortunes? Or perhaps I am letting the old tales run away with my heart?" He stopped and sighed staring up at the crested hill that loomed above their heads and then continued in a firmer voice, "But if it is the Dragon helm, what I would give to see it in its glory. For Telchar of Nogrod made this as surely as he crafted Narsil and Angrist. He is the one Dwarf who could hold his own in any circle of Noldor craftsmen. Indeed, such an object is worthy of respect." Lindir clutched the helm tightly to his breast.

All the while, the Elf's eyes glowed with wonder and desire. For a moment, it seemed that over three thousand years spent trudging through the mountains had vanished in a single instant. Lindir the Scout was gone; in his place stood Lindir the Forgemaster who, along with other craftsmen, had helped to create blades and rings of amazing beauty, objects that could tempt the soul of an Elf and sometimes carry disasterous consequences.....