A happy Ending for Eöl

Chapter 3: Nan Elmoth

In the next days she was exploring the wonders of his home. He gave her a tour around and she couldn't hide her admiration for all the masterpieces casually scattered around his halls - the exquisite everyday objects, like mirrors and dishes, the fine clothing on the tables and the silken tapestries, the unusual number of books, that made her gasp, the filigree carvings in the wood of the furniture and the doors. When he took her to his smithy, she couldn't supress her exclamation of awe and it made him smirk. The room was larger than the dining hall of the chieftain of her people, a roaring fire burning brighter than the sun, its power leashed by dwarven machineries, whose purpose she did not even try to guess, gears turning and pipes leading in different directions, and the floor was buzzing in a barely perceptible vibration. He showed her his amazing creations, pride in his eyes, explained her some of the principles of the dwarven forge and she noticed that he had never spoken so much before. She enjoyed the conversation and his attention greatly, asked him numerous questions just to see the flash of joy in his otherworldly eyes.

Her confidence grew with every passing day and she was often roaming his halls. She didn't miss the life of misery back in her village. On the fateful day, when she crossed the border of his land, she had stepped into a world of wonders. He let her move about without worrying that she might be tempted to escape - he realized that she is in love with her new home. The magic lingering in this place and the pure elven food had an amazing effect on her in a matter of days: her pretty features softened, her eyes gained depth and glow, her skin turned flawless, her reddish hair fell softly to her waist in silken luscious curls, her moves became more feline and graceful.

She wasn't exactly beautiful, at least not according to the classic elven standards. But there was something endearing in her features, something that made a long-forgotten warmth rise deep within him. The way she looked at him when he was telling her of his life in the isolation of Nan Elmoth, the way her body had stopped fighting and surrendered to his occasional rough hungry kisses, it all made him wish for more. As they met he thought he just wanted to possess her, to keep her around until his curiosity about her kind got satisfied or her destiny claimed her. But now he caught himself craving her company, her attention, her enthralling smell, the heat of her body, the song of life in all her fibres, like a praise and prayer to Manwe. He felt how the fireflies of her days were creeping away between his fingers and he wondered how much is left. To his surprise he found himself worried that death might claim her before he got enough of her.

This evening he led her out in the night forest, hand on her lower back, guiding her gently to a clearing not far from his home. It was a small hill, covered in pale spring flowers, bathed in the mythrill starlight of the late evening. A cool breeze picked up from the forest, carrying the scent of moss, rotting leaves and herbs, playing with their hair and weaving their long strands together, as if Manwe himself was silently blessing the union of human and elf and the forest was their only witness. She stood there, still feeling his hand on her back, while he spoke of his fascination with the night sky, his long fingers drawing invisible lines in the air and tracing the shapes of the constellations. She did not interrupt him, savouring his handsome features and the glow in his eyes, surprised by the length of his monologue and his content tone, while he described the marvellous dwarven inventions for observing the moves of the celestial spheres. Magic and promise hovered in the night air and it was not the cool wind that made her seek the warmth of his embrace. He wrapped his arms protectively around her and contemplated the way the starlight reflected in her eyes. As he kissed her softly, he realized the fragility of her short existence, doomed to end soon, and it both fascinated and frightened him. For the first time in his long life he felt a rush of tenderness and need to protect. Since he met her he was trying to figure her out, but it was all too much for him to comprehend - the intensity, with which she perceived the world, the streams of heat under her skin. The pulse of Illuvatar was beating deafeningly loud and hasty in her veins and Eöl thought that sometimes, when she was quiet like this, he was able to hear the desperate prayer of every single fibre of her body - a plea for more time, for slowing down... but her soul - her soul was silent. Or it was speaking in a language he could not understand - a language of desperation, haste, worries and problems, whose existence he never suspected of. Eyes glowing in budding affection, she leaned her head on his chest, an overwhelming gesture of trust, and she sighed deeply, as if understanding his concerns. He looked up and a bright dying star crossed the sky, stunningly beautiful in its last moments. The symbolic meaning of it curled his lips into a sad, knowing smile: if elven lives were constantly there, ethereal, cool, perfect and eternal like the stars in the night sky, human existence was a falling star - bright, burning hot flash of light, transforming entirely the night sky for a moment, mesmerizing and different, but short; its path and the motives behind its animation known only to Eru.

Whenever he pondered over the riddle of her mortality, he needed to feel the warmness of her body, his control over her, his rising desire - an intoxicating mixture of sorrow and pleasure. Tonight, he felt content just to feel her close, watching the doomed dance of the falling stars and enjoying the song of the wind among the leaves, until the night chill urged them to go back home.