Who: Thorin and Zanta Where: Thorin's forge What: Commissioning weaponry When: Now Warnings: The clash of hard-headed royalty
He got up early in the morning, as always; or as much as one could tell, in this sterile world of metal and unchanging light. Even deep underground, there were subtle hints to tell what was going on in the world above, the light changes of air currents, sounds barely audible, vibrations in the rock... Here, there were some of these things, but he had yet to learn how to read them. The sounds, the vibrations, meant nothing to him.
In his forge, though, things were familiar enough; a forge was a forge, and the strangeness of the place was hidden in the trappings of the craft. After speaking with that woman the night before, he wanted to make sure everything was in order. After all, she'd doubted his skill, he wanted nothing to give her reason to think herself correct in doing so. But no, everything was in its place, weapons hung neatly, sharpened and gleaming. Tools laid out precisely, ready for his hand. Even his apprentice's gear was stowed properly; he'd been driving her lessons home very firmly. A rare smile slid across his face as he moved further into the room, working on the fires until they were blazing once more.