The First Year of the Sun's Age dawned bright and golden, as Arien, the Maia of flame, guided Anar through the skies, her brilliance a new and unyielding light in Middle-earth. Yet beneath this radiance, the land stirred uneasily. News traveled quickly now, carried by messengers who raced across the lands under the watchful glare of the Sun.
In the grand throne room of Onymë Ennorë, High King Anórien listened intently as Sarelion, leader of the Windan scouts, delivered his latest report. The golden spear, Solarion, leaned against his throne, glimmering faintly in the light filtering through tall windows.
"They have returned," Sarelion said, his voice low but steady. "The Noldor are here. They have crossed the seas, bringing war with them."
The room fell silent. Lords of the six tribes sat around the hall, their faces shadowed with concern. Anórien's silver hair caught the sunlight as he leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "And what of them?" he asked. "What do they seek?"
"They come seeking vengeance," Sarelion continued. "Against Morgoth, who stole the Silmarils. But their coming has brought death already. Fëanor is slain, and his sons now lead their people."
A murmur spread through the room. The name of Fëanor was not unknown to the Avari, though it carried little love among them. The tale of his fiery spirit and tragic choices had reached even the depths of Taur-im-Duinath.
"Slain?" Anórien echoed. "How?"
"Balrogs," Sarelion said grimly. "Near the gates of Angband. His sons carry on his fight, but they are fractured, scattered across Beleriand."
Anórien sat back, his hand resting on the polished shaft of Solarion. His thoughts turned briefly to his mother, Arien, now far away, guiding the Sun. What would she make of this?
"They are not our concern," Nendril, lord of the Cuind, said firmly. "The Noldor brought this war with them. Let them fight it. Our people have suffered enough without entangling ourselves in their vengeance."
"But Morgoth does not distinguish between us and them," Erilwen, the healer and leader of the Penni, countered. "His wrath will sweep over all who live in Middle-earth. The Noldor may be our only allies against him."
Calerion, the minstrel lord of the Kinn-lai, tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. "The Noldor are proud and reckless. If we align with them, we may find ourselves drawn into their ruin. Yet, if we stand apart, Morgoth may see us as weak."
Anórien stood, his presence commanding as the room quieted. "We will not rush to their banners, nor will we hide in the shadows," he declared. "The Avari have survived because we have chosen our path wisely. We will strengthen our defenses, watch, and wait. If the Noldor's war comes to our borders, we will meet it with strength. But let them first show whether they are worthy allies or a greater danger."
The lords nodded, their unease tempered by Anórien's calm resolve.
After the council dispersed, Anórien climbed the winding stairs of the North Tower. He often came here to think, looking out over the endless expanse of trees that stretched beyond the horizon.
The Sun hung high, its warmth a constant reminder of his mother's presence. It was a strange comfort, knowing she watched over the world from above, even if she could no longer stand beside him.
"Mother," he murmured, his voice carried away by the wind. "The world changes so quickly. What would you have me do?"
There was no answer, but as he watched, a single golden ray pierced through the canopy, illuminating the forest below. He smiled faintly. Perhaps that was her answer: to hold firm, to let the light guide him.
As Anórien descended the tower, a messenger awaited him in the throne room, bearing news from the north. The Noldor had clashed with Morgoth's forces again, and rumors of alliances with the Sindar were beginning to spread.
The return of the Noldor marked a new chapter for Middle-earth, one that promised both hope and peril. Anórien knew his people would need strength, wisdom, and unity to weather the storm.
The Age of the Sun had begun, and with it, the fate of the Avari would intertwine with the destinies of the world.