[Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. (I only wish…)

I wander through the dim woods of Nan Elmoth, marking new shapes, new designs for my art. There, a flower that grows in a certain way that is unfamiliar to me. Here, a tree that is bent thus-and-so. The inspirations are endless-

What is that?

A flash of white moves through my dark woods, almost casting a light of its own, like a star come down to rest in the midst of the forest. Silently, I move to investigate.

A sharp intake of breath. A woman. A woman, so fair that she puts my best art to shame. Her hair is an unbroken fall of black to at least her knees, though it is hard to tell with part of it bound up, I suspect to keep it out of her way. Her skin is the white of moonlight, glinting almost like silver in the dark of my woods. She is clad all in white, an interesting contrast to my own dark garb, which is black to better fade into the shadows of my trees.

I want her.

I want her as I have never wanted anything before. She calls to me, stronger than my urge to create, stronger even than my love of darkness. For her, I think I would dare the sunlight-

What am I thinking? I-I do not know what has come over me, I who have always held myself apart from those elves who cast themselves at the feet of maidens, preferring my more predictable iron and steel to their coy games. The only maid who ever held herself aloof from those games was Melian's daughter, and I knew better than to set my sights on her; Thingol would never stand for me as a suitor. I am too strange, too dark, and too.Dwarven, for lack of a better word.

But this woman.this woman seems to have cast a spell over me, like Luthien over her many, many suitors. I will have her, at whatever cost.

These woods are mine in truth, mine in a way that no paltry king can hope to compete with. Every tree, every bush, every stone knows me and bends to my will. And now, my will is that the path of this maid will turn ever more slowly toward my door, while I go to prepare my home for her. All must be perfect.

****

"Welcome to Nan Elmoth, my lady." I say, making a deep bow, after the custom of Elu Thingol's court. Her reaction surprises me; instead of giggling or some other silly thing, she returns me a cool nod, as though she is used to such treatment and takes it only as a matter of course. I wonder.

"Thank you, my lord. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?" Her voice rings, bell-like, in the quiet of my shadowed home.

"I am Eöl, sometimes called Dark Elf, but no lord. I leave that title to the gentle folk of Thingol's court."

Her face darkens with a swiftly concealed grimace at the mention of Thingol's name. I wonder how the king managed to incur her wrath; it might be useful to know such, that I might not do the same. Swiftly, I move on to safer ground (I hope).

"And your name, my lady?"

"Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, often called the White Lady of Gondolin."

Gondolin!? She would come from that nest of Noldorin scum! I can hardly contain my anger, and it is with much effort that I manage to answer civilly, "I imagine that you are tired, my Lady Aredhel. Would you care for some refreshment?"

"Indeed, Lord Eöl, I am indeed hungry and weary. These woods are rather inhospitable to those unused to foraging for themselves."

And well they might be, for my woods seem to have acquired my distaste for visitors. But I do not say this aloud, saying only, "Then, my lady, shall we to dinner?"

****

I keep stealing furtive glances at my unexpected, but not unwelcome guest. I'm still not entirely certain how to react to her homeland. Gondolin is full of Noldorin beasts, yet they somehow produced this. Each glance at her gives me a new idea, another design. I could create a thousand new pieces from this one meal with her. It seems strange, this feeling. I don't know if I like it...

Aredhel moves with the same grace displayed by a bird in flight. A falcon or a hawk. Certainly not one of those birds kept in cages to sing, whiling away the empty time of the equally empty heads of those who think themselves so important. My music is the ringing of hammer on steel, the sizzle of a new blade in the cooling waters.

The voice of Aredhel breaks into my reverie. I look up as she repeats her question. "If I may ask, Lord Eöl, how did you come to be living here in these dark woods?"

I shrug my shoulders, which are stooped from constant bending over the anvil. "Eöl, my lady. I am no lord. In truth, I sought peace. I am no lover of the intrigues of court. I prefer solitude and the company of my friends the Naugrim, who are smiths, as I am."

Her interest sparks, and she asks while I lift a goblet of wine, "A smith?"

I nod, and she continues, "My uncle was a smith of renown. Perhaps you've heard of Fëanor, the--"

I choke and slam my goblet to the table. Wine sloshes over my hand, bearing an uncanny resemblance to blood. My voice is as cold as unworked iron as I say, "My lady. If you have any respect for me as a host, do not ever mention the name of that--murderer--" I can think of far worse names for that creature than that. "--in my house again. Never."

She recoils, whether from my tone or from my condemnation of her uncle I do not know. I am sorry that I have insulted her so, but I will not have that Kinslaying madman praised within these walls. Recovering her composure, she replies, "I crave pardon, Master Eöl. I did not realize that Fë--my uncle offended you so. May I ask what he has done to incur your wrath?"

"Besides his murder of my kin, his war-mongering ways, and his greed? Nothing."

A light dawns in her face. "You are Teleri, then?"

"Indeed I am, my lady."

"Then I am doubly sorry. Once for my thoughtless words, once for my uncle's actions. Forgive me?"

How could I remain angry with her? "It is willingly granted, my lady."

We eat the remainder of our meal in silence. The food tastes different than ever before; wine is sweeter, meat more tender, the fruits fresher than when they were still on the tree. It has been years since I have enjoyed my food this way. I thought my sense of taste dulled long ago, burned away from hours spent in my forge, but Aredhel's apparently genuine pleasure in the meal is infectious.

The hall is brighter, somehow, for her presence, though the lights are as dim as usual; I allow no more light than that provided by a few rush lamps and a fireplace in winter. As with all the changes in me in these past few hours, I am not sure if I like it. But then, I am not sure that I don't either.

****

Dinner at last over, I have a servant show her the way to my only guest chamber not arranged for the comfort of a dwarf. I--I don't trust myself enough to take her to a bedroom. I would rather have her willing than unwilling.

I watch her glide out of the room, then I turn and stride to my forge. I have a great deal of thinking to do. A very great deal.