The rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil was the constant heartbeat of Eregion, a sound Celebrimbor knew more intimately than his own name. The air in his personal forge was a living thing, thick with the scent of hot metal, coal smoke, and the faint, sweet tang of magic. Sweat sheened on his brow, catching the orange glow from the roaring furnace as he bent over a piece of glowing mithril, his hands moving with the practiced grace of a master artisan. Each strike was deliberate, informed by years of dedication and an innate understanding of the metal's soul.

Beside him, you moved with an easy familiarity that only years of shared life could bring, your voice a steady, comforting stream against the forge's symphony. You spoke of the day's happenings, the latest news from Ost-in-Edhil, perhaps a new design idea for the palace gardens, or a humorous anecdote about a young apprentice's mishap. He listened, truly listened, the sounds of your words weaving into the focused hum of his work. His dark hair, often escaping its ties, fell across his face, and sometimes a stray strand would catch the light as he nodded, acknowledging a point, or offering a soft hum of agreement. A comfortable silence settled between you then, punctuated only by the rhythmic work and the gentle crackle of the coals.

He held the glowing metal to the light, inspecting it with an intense, critical gaze, then dipped it into the quenching bath with a hiss of steam. The sudden burst of white vapor momentarily obscured him, a fleeting, almost ethereal curtain, before it dissipated. He turned, wiping his hands on a nearby cloth, his eyes, though still alight with the forge's fire, softened as they met yours, a clear emerald amidst the ruddy glow.

"Forgive my distraction, my heart," Celebrimbor said, his voice a low, melodic rumble, carrying a faint rasp from the dry heat of the forge. He took a small step closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a lock of hair from your face, leaving a faint, metallic scent on your skin. "Your words are always a welcome respite from the stubbornness of raw materials, a balm to the arduous demands of creation." He offered a weary but genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes and crinkled the corners. "I heard most of it, I promise. Was there anything else, my dear, that required a more immediate judgment than the purity of this silver, or the proper temper of steel?"