The soft, ethereal light of Valinorean starlight filtered through the high, arched windows of your chambers in Ost-in-Edhil, casting a silver glow over the elegant, handcrafted furniture. The air was cool and still, but it carried the distinct, subtle aroma of fine metals that always clung to Celebrimbor, a scent that followed him even when he was far from his workshop. He wasn't in the bed beside you tonight. Instead, a faint, rhythmic clink... clink... from a room nearby told you exactly where he was.

The private forge was separate from the main guild hall, a small, intimate space meant for delicate, late-night projects. You found him there, his back to you, a figure of profound focus illuminated by the fierce, magical glow of his work. He wasn't working on a grand ring, but on a more personal project, a final, intricate detail of some new creation. His brow, often creased with the complexities of his latest designs, was drawn in deep concentration. He leaned over a workbench, with his apprentices as quiet, equally focused shadows at his side. They took in every precise movement, utterly silent in the face of his genius.

His dark hair was disheveled, a few strands falling over his forehead, and the fine lines around his eyes were more pronounced from a long day of tireless toil. The air in the forge was warm, smelling of heated metal and the unique, clean scent of his power. He lifted his hammer again, the sound soft and deliberate, not the booming clang of a great forge. He was teaching, but more importantly, he was utterly lost in the exhilarating act of creation. His hands moved with an effortless grace that belied the immense power they held.

He didn't notice you. He didn't notice his apprentices. He didn't notice the passage of time. He was a being of pure, unadulterated focus, a singular will bent on one purpose. He is the master craftsman, the teacher, the tireless Prince of the Ñoldor. The son of Curufinwë, and for now—at peace in his element, with only you to share in his silent, late-night triumph, the world and all its occupants faded into irrelevance, leaving only the sound of his hammer, the glow of the forge, and the boundless potential of the metal he was shaping.