Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

Aurion woke early, his mind buzzing with anticipation and unease. The faint ache in his arm from the poison was a constant reminder of the risk he was taking, but he couldn't let it stop him. He had a plan: today, he would explore the east and south wings. Lossiriel's absence gave him an opportunity, but it wouldn't last forever.

With his hammer and dagger concealed beneath his cloak, Aurion moved silently through the halls. The castle felt alive in the early hours, with guards patrolling and servants bustling about. Avoiding detection required every ounce of his cunning and stealth.

Aurion began with the east wing, slipping past a pair of guards stationed near the entrance. This section of the castle was more lively, and he quickly realized why—it housed the barracks and Maeglin's chambers.

He tread carefully, avoiding areas where the guards gathered, but his curiosity pulled him toward Maeglin's room. The door was ajar, allowing him a brief glimpse inside. The room was stark and disciplined, with weapons mounted neatly on the walls and a few pieces of dark furniture. A half-finished sword lay on the table, gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Aurion knew better than to linger, but as he turned to leave, a pair of guards passed dangerously close to him. He pressed himself into the shadows, heart pounding as their voices grew louder.

"Eöl's back, so stay sharp," one of them muttered.

The other nodded. "And keep an eye out for anything suspicious. That intruder could still be around."

Aurion held his breath as they passed. Once the coast was clear, he retreated from the east wing, barely avoiding a second patrol near the exit. He exhaled sharply once he was back in a safe corridor.

"Too close," he whispered.

The south wing was another matter entirely. He already suspected this was where Eöl and his wife, Aredhel, had their chambers, and his suspicions were quickly confirmed. Unlike the north and east wings, this area was heavily guarded, with sentries stationed at every key point.

Aurion took his time, moving slowly and deliberately. Each step was measured, each shadow a potential hiding place. Reaching Eöl's chambers was no small feat, but his determination drove him forward.

Finally, he slipped into Eöl's room. The air was cold and heavy, the space dimly lit by a single flickering lantern. The room was austere, filled with dark wood and metalwork, but one corner caught his eye—a desk piled with papers and books.

Aurion searched the desk carefully, his hands trembling slightly as he rifled through the pages. Most were mundane—notes on metallurgy, sketches of weapons—but then he found it: Eöl's journal.

Flipping through its pages, Aurion's eyes scanned the cramped, precise handwriting. One entry confirmed his worst fears: the forge where Galvorn was made wasn't in any of the castle's wings. It was located beneath the castle itself, hidden and heavily guarded. A hundred of Eöl's most loyal guards protected it, making it nearly impossible to access.

Aurion clenched his fist, frustration boiling within him. How could he reach the forge now? Lost in thought, his elbow brushed against a goblet on the desk, sending it clattering to the floor.

The sound echoed in the quiet room.

Aurion froze, panic setting in as hurried footsteps approached the door. A guard entered, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the room.

"Who's there?" the guard called out, stepping further in.

Aurion acted quickly, diving under the bed as the guard moved toward the fallen goblet. The guard bent down to pick it up—and that's when he saw Aurion.

Without hesitation, Aurion thrust his dagger into the guard's ankle. The elf cried out in pain, collapsing to the ground. Aurion scrambled out from under the bed, raised the hammer of Fëanor, and brought it down on the guard's head with a sickening crunch.

Another voice called out from the hallway. "Everything all right in there?"

Aurion's mind raced. He grabbed the fallen guard's mask and uniform, pulling them on as quickly as possible. Concealing his hammer and dagger beneath the armor, he mimicked the guard's voice.

"Just a goblet," he said, trying to sound casual. "Dropped it. All's well."

There was a pause, then a gruff acknowledgment. The second guard moved on.

Aurion exhaled, his heart pounding in his chest. His arm throbbed painfully, and the edges of his vision blurred—the poison was taking its toll. He stumbled out of the south wing, barely convincing a few suspicious guards along the way. By the time he reached the north wing and Lossiriel's chambers, he was on the verge of collapse.

Pushing the door open, Aurion staggered inside. He grabbed a jug of water from the table, drinking greedily before stumbling toward the bed. The room spun around him as he fell onto the soft mattress, unable to stay upright any longer.

As darkness claimed him, his last thought was of Lossiriel, her parting kiss still lingering on his cheek.