Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

Two years had passed since Arien and I stood before our people and vowed to walk life's path together. In those years, the Avari thrived. The city of Onymë Ennorë gleamed brighter than ever, its towers standing tall like silent sentinels of hope and unity. The tribes grew stronger, and though challenges arose, we faced them together, guided by the light we had kindled in our hearts.

But nothing in all my long years could have prepared me for the news that came one quiet evening.

I had just returned from a council meeting with the tribal lords. We had been discussing preparations for the coming harvest, ensuring our granaries would hold enough to sustain us through the seasons. My mind was still on logistics as I entered the royal palace—Aldalómë, as it had come to be called, the "Tree of Twilight."

Arien was waiting for me in our chamber, her expression radiant. Her fiery hair, always wild and untamed, seemed to shimmer with a warmth that reached beyond the golden light of Laurelin. Her hands rested on her abdomen, and for a moment, I was too caught up in the beauty of her presence to notice the subtle change.

"Emlithor," she said softly, her voice carrying an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"Yes, my love?" I replied, stepping closer.

She took my hands in hers and placed them gently over her stomach. The realization struck me like a wave crashing against the shore. My heart soared, and for a moment, I could hardly breathe.

"You mean—?"

"Yes," she said, her smile widening. "We're going to have a child."

The months that followed were a mix of joy and anxious preparation. The news spread quickly through the realm, and the Avari celebrated with a fervor that seemed to touch every corner of Taur-im-Duinath. Gifts poured in from all the tribes—woven blankets from the Kinn-Lai, finely carved cradles from the Hwenti, herbal remedies from the Penni.

As Arien's belly grew, so did my anticipation. I spent hours carving toys from the finest wood, imagining the tiny hands that would one day hold them. Arien often teased me, her laughter filling our home as she caught me sanding down a wooden deer or painting delicate details onto a small bird.

"You'll spoil them before they even arrive," she said one evening, her voice warm with amusement.

"That's my right as a father," I replied with a grin, though inwardly, the thought of becoming a father filled me with equal parts excitement and trepidation.

Arien, as always, was a force of nature. Even as her pregnancy advanced, she remained a beacon of strength and grace. She would walk through the city streets, speaking with our people, her presence a comfort to all who saw her.

The day finally came during the twilight hours, when the mingling light of the Two Trees bathed the land in hues of gold and silver. Arien's labor was long, and though she was calm and composed, I could feel the weight of her effort. I stayed by her side, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement, though my heart raced with a mixture of fear and awe.

When the child was born, the midwives gasped. I leaned forward, my breath catching as I saw him for the first time.

He was perfect.

His hair shimmered with a faint golden-red hue, as though Laurelin and Arien herself had blessed him. His skin seemed to radiate a soft glow, not blinding but warm, like the light of a hearth on a cold night. When his eyes opened, they were a bright amber, like twin embers glowing in the darkness.

"He shines," one of the midwives whispered, her voice filled with wonder.

"He is our light," I said, the words escaping me before I could think. I looked at Arien, her face radiant despite her exhaustion, and I knew the name that would define him.

"Anórien," she said softly, meeting my gaze.

I nodded, my heart swelling with pride and love. "Anórien of the House Emlithor. Our son."

The days that followed were filled with celebration. The Avari welcomed Anórien as though he were a gift from the Valar themselves. Each tribe sent emissaries to offer blessings and tokens of goodwill—pendants of polished stone, robes woven from the finest silks, tiny instruments crafted for his future hands.

Arien and I spent countless hours simply marveling at him. She would hold him close, her fiery hair cascading around him like a halo, and I often found myself unable to look away. There was something undeniably magical about their bond, as though the very essence of light had found its home in our family.

One evening, as I rocked Anórien to sleep beneath the starlit sky, I found myself reflecting on all that had brought us to this moment. From the shores of Cuiviénen to the heart of Taur-im-Duinath, through battles, loss, and triumph, we had endured. And now, with my son cradled in my arms, I felt a peace I had never known.

"You have changed me," I whispered to him, though his tiny eyes were closed in slumber. "You and your mother both. You are the light of my life, little one, and I will protect you with all that I am."

As the stars shimmered above, I felt Arien's presence beside me. She leaned against my shoulder, her fiery gaze softened with love. Together, we watched over our son, the light of the Two Trees casting its gentle glow over the land we called home.