The light of stars filtered through the canopy of Doriath, dappling the forest floor with pale silver. The Sindar had retired to their quiet homes among the trees, and my own retinue rested nearby. It was in this stillness that I was summoned to a private meeting with Thingol and Melian.
The glade they chose for this meeting was modest yet serene, its center graced by a pool that mirrored the sky above. Melian stood beside it, her presence calming yet otherworldly, while Thingol awaited me under a great beech tree. I had not spent much time alone with my old friend since my arrival, and as I approached, I noticed something that struck me deeply: his hair, once as black as a starless night, now gleamed silver under the starlight.
"Elwë," I began, breaking the silence as I stepped closer. "Your hair…"
He smiled faintly, running a hand through the silver strands. "A mark of the years and of the time I have spent in these woods," he said. "Melian calls it a gift of the stars, though I often wonder if it is merely the weight of Middle-earth that has marked me so."
"Whatever the reason, it suits you," I said earnestly, though I could not help but feel a pang of sorrow. It was as if the changes in his hair mirrored the changes in our world—worn by time, yet enduring.
As we seated ourselves, Thingol gestured to Melian, who joined us with a quiet grace. She carried with her a presence that seemed to fill the space around her, though she spoke little at first. I wondered how it was that my cousin, once a restless wanderer, had come to know such a being and call her his wife.
"Elwë," I asked after some pleasantries, "how did you and Melian meet? Such a union must have a tale behind it."
Thingol smiled at the question, though there was a wistfulness in his gaze as he turned toward Melian.
"It was long ago, during the journey west, I wandered far from the company of our people," he began. "I strayed into the forests of Nan Elmoth, where the trees were dark and the air heavy with the scent of night. There, I heard a song unlike any I had ever known. It was not a song of the Eldar but something deeper, older, as if the very soul of the world was given voice."
Melian's lips curved into a gentle smile as he spoke. "It was my song," she said softly, her voice carrying the same unearthly beauty that Thingol described. "In those days, I walked Middle-earth alone, tending to its growing life. But when Elwë entered the glade where I sang, he seemed to carry a light within him, as if the stars themselves had taken shape in an elven form."
"I was transfixed," Thingol continued, his voice filled with reverence. "I forgot the world and all its cares. For an age, I stood there, listening to her song, until it seemed that time itself had ceased to flow."
Melian reached out and took his hand. "It was not time that stopped," she said, her eyes filled with a timeless love. "It was the beginning of something eternal."
I sat in silence, absorbing their words. I had always known Elwë to be a remarkable elf, but to have captured the heart of a Maia? It was beyond anything I could have imagined.
After a moment, Thingol leaned forward, his expression shifting to something more serious. "But this is not why we have called you here, Emlithor. We wished to speak of the growing dangers in this land and to propose a defensive alliance between our people."
My curiosity was piqued. "What dangers do you speak of?"
Thingol's face darkened. "The world has changed, cousin. Shadows stir in the north, and strange creatures have been seen in the wilds—creatures of malice and hunger. The peace of Beleriand will not last forever, and we must be prepared."
Melian added, her voice calm but firm, "Though I am a Maia, my power is not limitless. The world weaves its own fate, and even I cannot predict all that will come. An alliance between the Avari and the Sindar would strengthen us both."
I nodded, the weight of their words settling heavily upon me. "I agree," I said. "The Avari have already faced threats in Taur-im-Duinath—giant spiders that nearly drove us from our home. If such creatures can emerge from the shadows, who knows what else lies hidden in this vast land?"
Our conversation turned to practical matters: the sharing of scouts, the exchange of messengers, and the possibility of trade. It was during this discussion that Thingol revealed something that surprised me.
"There is another people in Beleriand," he said. "Dwarves, they call themselves. They came from the east, crossing the mountains long before we ventured west. Most dwell in the Blue Mountains, in great halls they have carved beneath the earth. There are two kingdoms: Nogrod and Belegost."
I frowned, the name unfamiliar. "Dwarves? I have never heard of such beings. What are they like?"
"They are shorter than us, with long beards and great skill in crafting and mining," Thingol explained. "Their speech is strange to our ears, but their hands are clever. They have made weapons and tools unlike anything I have seen before, and their halls are said to rival even the beauty of Valinor."
At the mention of Valinor, I stiffened, though I said nothing. I knew little of that distant land, having only heard whispers from those who had departed.
Thingol noticed my reaction but did not press. Instead, he continued, "They are not like us in spirit, and I would not trust them completely. But there is much we can learn from them, and alliances may yet be possible."
The night deepened as we spoke, and the stars above seemed to watch over our deliberations. By the time our meeting ended, a tentative agreement had been reached. The Avari and the Sindar would stand together in the face of whatever shadows threatened to consume our world.
As I rose to leave, Thingol clasped my shoulder, his grip firm yet warm. "It is good to see you again, cousin," he said. "Though the years have changed us, I hope we may stand together as we once did."
"Always," I replied, though my heart was heavy with the knowledge that even alliances could not shield us from all the sorrows to come.
For now, there was hope. And that, I decided, would have to be enough.