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(Here is a short story I wrote up a short while ago. Tell me what you think of it. Thank you)
In the old days, when the lands were still young and green, there lived a great smith, Enarien. His forges were hot as the sun, though he could handle the heated metal with his bare hands. This was no feat of magic, no; this was out of mutual respect. He respected the earth that he took the metal from, and in return, it respected him. He was out one day, gathering fuel for the fire, when he happened upon a maiden, beautiful as the skies themselves, and, indeed, seemed to be made from them. Her skin was as white and soft as the clouds, her hair smooth as the spring rains, and eyes calm and sapphire, as the morning heavens. Yet she cried, as she sat alone on the small stump of wood embedded in the earth. Enarien fell in love with her, just by the sight of the heavens on earth, and was compelled to heal whatever hurt she bore. “What troubles you, my lady?” He said, kneeling in the grass before her. “My father has been tricked by the evil sorceries of Unfen the Dark. I will die by his hands on the morrow.” At this, Enarien’s anger grew as hot as his forge, and he took her soft hands in his rough ones, strong as a bear, yet gentle as a lamb, and said, “I will stop this evil, for one such as you should never have to come to darkness.” He then strode back to his forge, and gathered his weapons of war. The shield of thunder and sword of lightning he took up, and searched out the vile sorcerer Unfen. Upon the very stairs of his fortress, he challenged the sorcerer. The gates opened, and a vile mist crept out, swirling around Enarien’s ankles, seeming to be made of darkness itself. The sorcerer, clad in robes of night, stepped out from the shadows of the massive gates. There was a wicked grin on his face, and a staff, stained with blood, in his hands. This staff had slain many a warrior, though Enarien was as wise in the art of smiting as he was in the art of smithy. He gripped his sword and shield tightly, and waited for Unfen, silent ward against the maiden’s fate. The air grew cold, as Unfen struck, staff ringing against shield; for Unfen despised all warmth, all things that pulsed with life. The battle raged on and on, neither side giving way, though the smile on Unfen’s face was growing wider the longer they fought. Finally, he backed away, and raised a hand. “Fool! While we battled, I sent the dark mist to kill Sillieth, the maiden you fought vainly to save. This is where I grudgingly concede defeat, however; you have bested me, and I have no strength left to complete the spell. The cold death that has crept over her can be warmed, for a time at least. Twelve hours you have with her, until the cold takes her. This shall repeat each day, for all eternity. That is her fate, and yours; for with choosing to protect her, only with the heat from your forge can she stay alive for those twelve hours.” Unfen the Dark stumbled back into the castle, and closed the doors behind him. Enarien let out a great cry, as he ran back to the forge, where he had left Sillieth. The sky overhead grew dark, and went completely black as he reached it. There she lay, her skin cold as in death. Enarien wept, as he stoked his forge, tears hissing on the hot coals. He did not stop, not even after his forge grew swelteringly hot. He laid a black shroud over her, to keep her warm, and to cover her. He took metal, and melted it down to a liquid, brilliant white with heat. He poured the small drops around Sillieth, and set a spell on them that caused them to shine brilliantly, and stay molten with the heat of his fury at Sillieth’s fate. He set his shield at her feet, as he was unable to protect her with it. For twelve hours he continued to stoke the flames, until a pale light crept over the sky, as Sillieth’s eyes fluttered open, her skin warm as the spell’s effect was burned away. Enarien shouted with joy, as he held her close. This continued each day, and the night sky reflected the shroud that Enarien placed on Sillieth’s body each night, as she died before his eyes. For half the year, the king of the heavens, the Sun itself, helped his efforts, and she was able to live for longer on those days. Yet his forge could not run forever without fuel, and cold crept over the land, and the times he could spend with her grew shorter as he gathered fuel for his great forge. Yet his love for her was stronger than the armor he forged, and he would continue this for all eternity, to spend yet another day with Sillieth, his love.
_________________ "True Evil cannot be reckoned with. Only Defeated." - Sen L I Starfire
(Banner thanks to Imlosiel the Lost!  )
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