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@emidances has received a starter Estinien had turned the thought of it over and over in his mind, worrying at it like a dog with a bone. He had slowed past jewelers at the Crozier. He had imagined how he might make the request. He had counted his coin for the first time in moons. Counted twice and thrice because he hadn't trusted the first number.
In the end, it was an armorer he'd gone to. The selfsame who forged for the Temple Knights, whose works were bright and masterful but plain, too, and practical.
Mithril. The rings ought be made of mithril. Dragonfire would not melt them like gold or silver. They could last unscratched and unmarred through any adventure. And the object of his heart sprang from one adventure to the next like light between mirrorsβ¦
"Aye," the armorer had said, rubbing his soot-darkened hands on a rag already filthy from the forge, "Aye, we've time for such a work. I was hoping I might live long enough to see this day. But you must be fitted for a ring, Ser Estinien. And so must she. Or you must divine some means of gauging her sizeβ¦"
He had left, hands on his hips, and paced on the flagstones in the cold wind and snow, ears bare to the chill, flushed and scowling. How? How could it be done without her guessing? She was so clever and he so blunt and artless.
"Fury guide me," he muttered, turning his scowl heavensward. Ought he seek out Ser Aymeric? Alphinaud? He could not manage this aloneβ¦
And that was how she spied him, standing without the forgemaster and glaring skyward as if he were considering whether or not he might strike down the very weather.
