26. Mirdan i Doriath
My cousin approaches me and kneels. His bearing shows both a deference that is not fawning and a dignity that is not pride. So like my brothers, yet so different.
"Rise, kinsman, and speak."
"I have brought you a gift, Elwë."
"A sword, by the look of it." My smile is somewhat strained - I have more than a dozen swords already, and well he knows this.
But within a minute I know it to be the finest blade I have ever laid eyes on, much less held. Elbereth's stars! It is at once light as a night-breeze, and heavy enough to cleave stone, if I am any judge of steel.
"Have you named it, Eöl? I know you could not leave such brilliance nameless."
He bows, with twinkling eyes. "I have named it for that which I have so oft earned from you, my Lord. Aranruth. King's Ire. I do but gift it back."
I laugh, bid my cousin sit beside me, and for a while we are friends again - all insults, real and imagined, forgotten.
I do believe that was the only time he called me anything other than Elwë.
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