How long can a woman run? I ask myself absently as I follow the white shape that is Aredhel. What she doesn't know is that she is running towards my home. I should have waited for her, allowed her to grow accustomed to me, but I didn't. The end result will be the same -- I *will* have her for my wife.

Ahead of me, she slows and stops. I suppose she's trying to get her bearings, to find her way. A faint smile passes swiftly across my face and is as quickly gone. I know exactly where we are. The door of my home is not more than a few minutes walk from here. I can smell the acrid smoke of the forge.

Aredhel starts walking, not running this time; probably she has decided that since I'm not chasing her, I must have given up. I wonder what she's thinking about me. . . I don't imagine she's any too pleased with the way her steps are leading. I wouldn't be.

We continue in this manner for a little longer, but now I turn aside and take a more direct route home. I wait for a few minutes, then Aredhel breaks into the clearing. She stops, bewildered when she sees me standing there waiting for her. My smile is almost a smirk.

"Welcome back, my lady."

She says nothing, only crosses her arms and waits for me to explain.

"I have many talents, my lady," I pause and glance up at the trees. This is the darkest part of Nan Elmoth, but the sun can find the smallest cracks and send her rays even into the deepest forest. "Perhaps we should move this discussion indoors."

Her expression of distaste at this suggestion is just short of horror. "I prefer the sunlight." Her voice is cold.

"But I do not, my lady." She doesn't move. I sigh. "Very well. You may stand out here all day if you like."

I turn and stride into my house, leaving her to stand alone in the darkness of Nan Elmoth for the next twelve hours. After ordering one of the servants to watch her, I go to my forge. I need to think about this. There must be a way to win her, even after tonight's debacle.

****

"Sir, the sun is setting."

"Wha--oh, thank you."

I look at the lump of iron that I've been pounding on for the past hour. As yet, it has no definite shape, except for being flat. If I leave it now, it won't hurt anything. And I need to do something about Aredhel. So I hang the hammer and tongs on their pegs, and signal to my assistant, whose name I do not know and do not care to know, to cease pumping the bellows. I have worked days at a time before, but I think Aredhel is more important than a project for which I don't really have a plan.

I pass through my storage room on the way, and pause for a moment. Should I bring a gift as a peace offering? I think I should. But which one? I examine each piece of jewelry minutely, trying to decide which, if any, would be worthy to ornament her beauty. Maybe this, a necklace of delicate iron filigree, twining around and around itself in patterns of vines and flowers. Or perhaps this, one of my experiments in silver, delicate links that are so closely interwoven that it appears to be a solid piece, but is as flexible as cloth, like galvorn, only glowing white.

No. Not those. This.

I must have had her in mind when I made this. Tiny gems wink out of the cloth-like folds that fall from a crown of intertwined strands. The entire piece weighs no more than a veil of the same size. This will be my peace offering. I hope I can salvage something.

****

"My lady Aredhel?" I don't wish to frighten her again so I stand back, hopefully far enough away that she doesn't feel threatened. I am afraid that it may be a futile gesture, this peace offering of mine, but I can at least *try* to win her before--well, before forcing her. I'd like her to choose me, but she will be mine. I don't care what I have to do.

"My lady?"

The eyes she turns on me are wide and frightened. I take a step back. "Why do I always find myself back here? Why do I walk in circles when I know I follow a straight path? Why can't I leave?"

"I told you; I want to make you my wife. These woods know me and obey me. I have lived in this darkness since Thingol began his rule. As long as I don't want you to leave, you won't."

"You are harsh, Master Eöl. Very harsh."

"No, my lady. Not harsh. Determined." This conversation is not going well at all. "Aredhel, am I so strange, so repulsive, that you shrink from me? Am I so terrible that you fear me so?"

"Oh, no, *no*, Eöl."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

I take her chin in my hand, gently turning her to face me, and hold out the carefully chosen gift to her. She starts to push it away. "Take it. I may not be as well-featured as your kin, but I can make things of beauty quite as well."

"I can't accept this."

"Why not? Because of what it means? Or is it because I'm not one of the Kinslayers? Would you accept it from one of them?"

"You're asking me a question I cannot answer."

"Cannot? I think you mean will not. Fine." I drop the glittering thing to the ground. It's worthless if it can't win her for me. "My lady, you can't leave Nan Elmoth. I won't allow it, and here, I rule as no king ever could. You can choose as you will--live with me in comfort or starve in the forest."

It is no choice at all, and we both know it. I am half-astonished at my own actions, but I don't care. I have to have her. She has become an obsession. Somewhere in my heart, I know this union of light and darkness can only lead to sorrow, but if I can only have her for a little time, death itself will seem a small price to pay for the privilege.

Aredhel's gaze is about as warm as a sword-blade as she looks searchingly into my face. Then, as if finding something she did not expect, she smiles faintly and her expression thawe a little. I wonder what her eyes found in mine . . .

"How can I resist such a generous offer?" Her smile widens slightly, but it is devoid of any real warmth.

My hand has not left her face all this time and I am suddenly very aware of her skin under my fingers. Her skin is so soft and smooth. My hands are so rough and hard, unused to this gentleness. Metalwork is not an art that encourages softness. I am almost afraid that I will hurt her. Her eyes close. Steeling herself for an expected ordeal?

I jerk my hand away as though burned. I don't want her to have to close her eyes to bear my touch. I want her to want me, to enjoy my caress. I turn away.

"Come inside whenever you wish."

****

Why in all Arda did I do that, I ask myself. She could hardly refuse me, not without condemning herself to death. Why did I stop?

I pace up and down in my empty bedchamber, berating myself for not taking her when I had the chance, yesterday. It would have been so easy; I am far stronger than she is, from working days at a time at my forge. . . But would I have been able to live with myself if I hurt her that way?

I don't know.

I suppose I still cherish some kind of hope that she will come to me willingly, but that flame died to an ember long since, and the ember is swiftly dying completely.

Damn the woman anyway! Why did she have to come along and confuse me so? Life was so much easier before she came. I understood everything so much better. Before she came, I was content to work my forge and visit my friends at the mountain for metals. I was so sure that life would never change.

Almost, I don't believe that only three weeks have passed since I saw the white gleam of her garb shining through the darkness of my woods. So much has happened. . .

"Milord?"

I turn, startled. Aredhel is silhouetted in the doorway, watching me. My breath comes faster. I am sharply reminded just what this room is.

"Aredhel." My voice is unfamiliar to my ears, harsh and rasping. "Is there something you need?"

"I'd like to speak with you."

"So speak. I won't stop you."

She steps further into the room, though not, I notice, shutting the door behind her. Is she so afraid of me that she feels she must leave a way of escape? I do not find that a pleasant thought.

"I thought I should apologize for my coldness. It was a lovely gift you offered--"

"Don't pretend with me, Aredhel. If you hate me, hate me, but don't try to pretend to me that you don't."

She starts as though caught doing something she oughtn't.

"I don't hate you, I just. . . don't like you very much at the moment. How could I? You are forcing me to leave everything I've ever known for a life I'd never imagined could exist a few weeks ago. But even with that, I don't think I could hate you. You confuse me, Master Eöl. I don't know what to think of you, but I don't hate you."

"Don't you? I think you do," I say. I hope I didn't sound bitter, but I doubt it.

"I don't, truly."

Is that so? I ask silently. Then you wouldn't mind another kiss, would you? Maybe even more than a kiss…