Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The air of Nan Elmoth was thick with a silence that seemed to hum with anticipation. The dark woods stretched endlessly, their towering trees blanketing the land in perpetual twilight. The forest had an almost sentient quality, as though it were watching, waiting. Aurion's footsteps fell softly upon the moss-covered earth as he followed Eöl, who walked ahead with his usual imposing grace.

They had reached near the heart of the forest, and Eöl stopped before a large stone building—his forge. It was a place of dark majesty, a towering structure that seemed both part of the forest and apart from it. The walls were made of stone as black as the night, adorned with veins of silver that gleamed faintly in the shadowed light.

"You will work here," Eöl said, his voice flat, without warmth. "You are free to roam Nan Elmoth... within limits. You cannot leave the forest. If you do, you will not survive. The creatures of this land do not take kindly to trespassers. And do not even think of trying to escape. The forest will find you." He turned, his piercing gaze locking onto Aurion's. "There is one place you are forbidden from entering—the heart of this forest, where my personal hall lies. That is mine alone. If you try to enter without my permission, I will make sure you die a gruesome death. Understand?"

Aurion nodded, his eyes unwavering. He could feel the weight of Eöl's words—their venomous edge. But he knew better than to show hesitation.

"Good," Eöl continued. "You will work here, and I will come to check on you from time to time. Do well, and you will earn my trust. Fail, and you will not leave this forge alive."

With a final glance, Eöl turned and walked away, leaving Aurion standing at the entrance of the forge. The heavy door creaked as it swung open, revealing the dark, metallic interior. The forge was filled with the rhythmic sound of hammers striking anvils, the scent of molten metal filling the air.

As Aurion stepped inside, the heat of the forge seemed to sink into his bones. He could feel the power of the place, the intensity of the work being done. The other smiths, clad in leather aprons, paused for a moment to observe the new arrival. Their gazes were guarded, but not unfriendly.

Eöl had given him complete freedom, for the most part, but his words lingered in the air like a warning. The rules were simple—stay within the confines of the forest, work well, and never enter the heart of the woods. But the second rule, the one about Eöl's personal hall, tugged at something inside Aurion.

As Aurion settled into the forge, he observed the other smiths at work. They were skilled, their movements fluid and precise as they hammered out weapons and tools. He had heard stories of Eöl's craft—how he was revered by the dwarves, and how his weapons were of unparalleled quality. Aurion couldn't help but be curious about the man who had bought an entire forest with his craft.

He approached one of the older smiths, a stout elf with a scar on his face and rough hands. "Tell me," Aurion asked casually, "what is it that lies in the heart of the forest? Eöl has forbidden me from entering, but... well, I'm curious. What's in there?"

The smith glanced up from his work, wiping sweat from his brow. "Ah, the heart of the forest..." he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's a place no one speaks of lightly. Rumor has it, Eöl keeps things there... things he doesn't want anyone to see. Some say he has a family—strange, isn't it? An elf like him, with a family. Some of us joke that he's married to a dwarf, of all things. He's got close ties with the dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost, you know."

Aurion raised an eyebrow at the mention of the dwarves. "A dwarf? Interesting."

The smith chuckled softly. "Aye, that's the joke. But whether it's true or not, no one really knows. Eöl is a private sort of elf. He's got a lot of secrets." He paused, then added, "Some say the heart of the forest is where he keeps... his greatest work. But no one's been in there and lived to tell about it."

Aurion's curiosity deepened. Eöl's personal hall, his greatest work, a family—there were so many questions, so many layers to uncover. But for now, it seemed wise to keep his thoughts to himself.

Instead, Aurion shifted the conversation. "What do you think of the dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost?"

The smith's face softened for a moment. "They're great smiths, no doubt. Belegost is known for its weapons, and Nogrod for its craft. Eöl's ties with them go back a long way. But there's more to it than that. Eöl's reputation in those cities is as solid as stone, and those dwarves respect him. There's no telling what kind of arrangement they have."

Aurion thought about this for a moment. His mind raced. His father, Arinyanénar, had played a key role in saving the cities of Nogrod and Belegost from the armies of Morgoth. The dwarves of those cities would welcome him, should he ever need their aid. Perhaps, after he had learned from Eöl, he would journey to Nogrod and Belegost. He would meet the dwarves and learn from one of the greatest smiths of their kind—Telchar, a legend in his own right.

Aurion's heart stirred with the thought. If Eöl was indeed tied to the dwarves in some way, it could only benefit him. He had the blood of Fëanor and the legacy of Arinyanénar in his veins. He would be welcomed as an ally.

But for now, he would bide his time. His place was here, in the forge, learning what he could from Eöl. And perhaps, in time, he would uncover the truth about Eöl's secrets—his family, his work, and his connection to the dwarves.

For now, though, Aurion's eyes lingered on the dark, shadowed path leading deeper into the heart of Nan Elmoth, the place he could never go. But curiosity gnawed at him, and he knew that one day, he would have to find the answers to the mysteries that lay hidden within the heart of the forest.