Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

It was the 387th Year of the Sun in the First Age, two years since Aurion had entered the shadowy, enchanted forest of Nan Elmoth and pledged himself to the service of Eöl, the Dark Elf. For two years, he had labored in the forges, hammering steel and shaping iron, all to earn the approval of his master. Yet, despite his unrelenting efforts, Eöl remained distant, offering neither guidance nor praise.

Aurion worked tirelessly, his hands calloused from wielding tools and shaping metals. Every weapon, every piece of armor he forged, was a silent plea for Eöl's recognition, but the Dark Elf's sharp eyes seemed to see through him, and his cold demeanor never wavered.

Among the whispers of the other smiths, one legend haunted Aurion's mind above all others: the secret of Galvorn, Eöl's legendary creation. The black metal was said to be stronger than steel, light as a feather, and nearly indestructible. It shimmered with a dark, mirror-like sheen that reflected the shadows of Nan Elmoth itself.

The formula for crafting this miraculous metal was rumored to be hidden within Eöl's personal forge, deep in the heart of the forest, a place forbidden to all but Eöl himself.

One evening, during a rare moment alone with Eöl, Aurion dared to voice his curiosity.

"Master," he began cautiously, keeping his tone humble, "I have heard tales of Galvorn, the wondrous metal of your making. Might I—"

Before he could finish, Eöl's hand lashed out, striking Aurion across the face with the back of his palm. The blow left a stinging mark on his cheek, and Aurion staggered slightly, his pride more wounded than his body.

"You overstep," Eöl growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Do not speak of what you do not understand. Galvorn is mine, and mine alone."

Aurion clenched his fists, anger and frustration boiling within him, but he kept his head bowed, swallowing the bitter taste of humiliation.

The other smiths, though secretive by nature, were not immune to idle gossip. During breaks from their work, they speculated about what lay hidden within Eöl's personal halls.

"Some say the secret forge is guarded by enchantments," one whispered.

"Others claim Eöl keeps treasures there, things he's taken from the Dwarves or made in secret," another added.

One smith chuckled. "Perhaps he's hiding a wife—a Dwarf-maid, judging by how close he is to the folk of Nogrod and Belegost."

Aurion listened carefully, his curiosity growing with each passing day. The idea of Eöl's personal forge—of the formula for Galvorn locked away within—consumed his thoughts. He had come to Nan Elmoth to learn, to grow, and to surpass the masters who had come before him. How could he do that without the knowledge Eöl so jealously guarded?

Aurion began to form a plan. He would find a way into the heart of the forest and steal the formula for Galvorn. It would be a dangerous gamble, but the prize was too great to ignore.

As Aurion sat in his quarters that night, staring at the Hammer of Fëanor, he felt a surge of determination. This hammer, once wielded by his great ancestor, was a symbol of creation, of forging a path forward even in the face of insurmountable odds.

He ran his fingers over the hammer's intricate designs, feeling the faint hum of its ancient power. "If I am to honor you," he murmured, "then I must do what others dare not. I must seize my destiny, just as you did."

The stars outside his window seemed to burn brighter, as though they too were urging him forward. Aurion tightened his grip on the hammer, his resolve hardening.

Aurion knew he couldn't act recklessly. Eöl was a master of his domain, and the heart of Nan Elmoth was rumored to be riddled with traps and enchantments. He would need time to observe, to learn the patterns of Eöl's movements, and to discover the weaknesses in the protections surrounding the forge.

In the meantime, he would continue to work in the forge, honing his craft and biding his time. He would earn the trust—or at least the complacency—of those around him, all while gathering the information he needed to execute his plan.

One day, when the moment was right, he would make his move. And when he did, the secrets of Galvorn would be his.

For now, Aurion would wait, sharpening both his skills and his cunning. But deep in his heart, he knew that his time in Nan Elmoth was only a stepping stone. When the secrets of Galvorn were his, he would journey to Nogrod and Belegost to learn from the legendary smith Telchar, whose works were renowned throughout Middle-earth.

Aurion's ambition burned like a forge-fire, unquenchable and relentless. As he extinguished the lamp in his quarters and lay down to rest, he smiled to himself.

"Soon," he whispered, his voice a promise to the future. "Very soon."