Love. Storybook romances. Fierce and strong, and meant. Tierney in some ways had been correct in her statement. Loving mortals was a dangerous deed. A risk that from the beginning had been known.

Tierney had believed that mortals were nothing more then play things. Pawns to be toyed with and then discarded. Never would that be Roisin's nature. Fate and Love intertwined.

Blood soaked clothes had been discarded and replaced. A glance to the mirror found the vision of flesh ever touched with those thin threads of silvered energy before the glamour would covet the image away.

Roisin knew well the choices made were not the best yet she would follow Tierney. More so for the protection of many for the games that Tierney would play. Her heart was far more cold then Roisin's ever would be.

Roisin had no choice but to follow her sister to Rhy'din.

So many things could happen in dreams. Premonitions and preludes and past lives.

It made it easy to remember who she once had been. Who she really was.

The dream left Roisin walking into the depths of a cavern. A deep grooved, carved out abode that nestled warmth within. That intoxicating almost unbearable heat.

The burning light of flames against black caverns cast shadows and illusions that her fingertips would caress. A sound of wonder in her throat, drawn lines of passion at her fingertips.

She could feel those threads. Lines as slick and breathtaking as spider silk. Unchartered lines of destiny. Past, present, future. All so tangible and easy to manipulate. Save for her own.

Transfixed she watched on the shadow and light dance of the writhing glow of fire light against a smooth cavern wall that was as black and shiny as smoothed obsidian.

Her touch moved, caressed a pattern to that wall. Chased the light and shadows till the flame burn of fire danced with darkness. A step back as patterns became images.

Lovers intertwined. Writhing in pleasure and desire. Bound in the same flame and shadow.

Her fingers pulled away from the wall then. Shocked and unsettled as if she was burned.

All so familiar...

"My love..."

A whisper. A dream shattering... and the Heart of Faerie woke up with a name on her tongue that would never be spoken.

So warm in that hour, with a sound like metal ringing in her ears. Crying out like a memory.

"No one ever asks me to make something beautiful."

"Everything you make is beautiful, beloved. A work of art, coveted by any and all that lay eyes upon them."

He snorts, shaking his head. "They want weapons. Armor. Shields. Tools of war to defeat an enemy. That is all anyone asks me for."

"But they are still beautiful, my love. Even I find them to be so."

A soft chuckle from him. A smile, so rare from him, showing itself in that dim, red-lighted darkness. "You are biased, my love."

"You really think so?"

He sighs, chuckling. "You are my wife, beloved."

"Very well, then. Make me something."

For a moment, he's confused. "What shall I make for you?"

She laughs, a sound that he's always found as entrancing as everything else about her. "Use your imagination, my dear."

It is the same now as it was before. Ever those that find him, that have discovered him, want their weapons, their devices of war.

He is capable of so much more than that...

And now, he has found an inspiration. A lovely flower, a jewel, one who makes he heart and spirit soar as if they had wings.

And so, alone in his cavern, the flame of the forge his only light, he sets to work.

Small, delicate tools work at the metal he has before him. Raw platinum and gold are melted, shaped, reformed. Twisted and entwined, encircled, polished lovingly to a high, mirror shine.

Glittering diamonds are cut from raw material as well. The beautiful stones are set along the band of twisted precious metal all around to complete the design. Set aside, a ring as lovely as the person that inspired it.

http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2009/358/2/d/Roisin__s_Ring_by_forcesinmotion.jpg

The second piece. Again, the delicate work begins of shaping pure silver into slender, graceful shapes. Silver is ever so gently wrought into a fine chain, threaded through garnet and labradorite and still more silver. Set aside, he begins the work on the main part of the necklace.

Silver, stretched and pounded lightly and folded. Slender, graceful floral shapes begin to emerge, flowing lines that are sturdy and yet undoubtedly feminine. The final product comes together and is set with the ring.

http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs9/i/2006/039/5/f/Miriel_by_Ellygator.jpg

One more thing, a final piece that springs to his mind, an homage both to the woman and her name, so appropriate for one so lovely. More platinum, precious and raw, is smelted, delicately wrought. Twisted and turned to form the outline of petals, a shape that blossoms into being, unfolding under his hands. A single diamond set in the center, and attached at last to a very fine, platinum thread of a chain.

http://www.getbetterlife.com/images/l/200909/12527210410.jpg

Looking them over, he smiles. At last, something that he has created that is not meant to destroy.

His only hope is that she will find them to be lovely enough to be worthy of her.

((Second image is ?2006-2009 Ellygator on deviantART. Used without permission, not for commercial purposes.))