The year was now the 20th of the Sun, and the great feast, the Mereth Aderthad, was drawing near. Anórien had received the invitation from High King Fingolfin, and though his heart still carried a part of Doriath with him, he was determined to attend, confident in his own strength and in the loyalty of his people.
The Avari had long been isolated, their lands untouched by the more recent wars that had consumed much of Beleriand. Yet, after years of leadership and the strength of his people, Anórien felt the time had come to unite the Elves in their common cause. He knew this gathering would be a pivotal moment—one that might determine the fate of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. The time had come for alliances to be forged.
Though Galadriel remained a distant memory, her influence still lingered on his heart, Anórien had grown into a leader in his own right. His red hair, like flame in the daylight, shimmered as he rode out from Onymë Ennorë, the capital of his realm, the capital of the Avari. The day was clear, and his thoughts were as firm as his resolve. He had long left the memory of his heart's desire behind, and while the ache never fully subsided, his commitment to his people, to his father's legacy, and to the future of Beleriand filled him with purpose.
The journey to the Pools of Ivrin took several days, but Anórien was not one to delay. His mind raced with the possibilities of what awaited him at the feast. His keen eyes watched the world as he passed by, his guards close behind, their faces determined and focused. They had traveled the great distance, through the heart of the land, and now Beleriand stretched out before them, a vast landscape of possibility.
As they arrived at the feast, the sight before him was breathtaking. Elves of every lineage and realm gathered in unity, their colorful tents and pavilions lining the green hills near the Pools of Ivrin. The air buzzed with voices, music, and laughter, a stark contrast to the somber days of war that had preceded it. Anórien rode forward, his heart still as fierce as ever, but with a quiet calmness that only came with years of leadership.
The greeting he received was warm, as expected. His status as the High King of the Avari had long been recognized, and even the Noldor, for all their pride, could not deny the weight of his leadership. He exchanged pleasantries with Círdan, Maedhros, and Maglor—each of them as proud and formidable as ever, but with an understanding between them that their strength was not solely found in the wars they had fought but in the alliances they had built.
"Anórien, High King of the Avari," Maedhros said, his voice deep and commanding, but not without respect. "It is an honor to have you here."
Anórien nodded, his red hair shimmering under the sun's light. "The honor is mine, Maedhros. The Avari stand ready to unite with all who oppose Morgoth's shadow."
He then moved through the gathering, eyes searching for familiar faces. There, standing near a group of Noldorin Elves, was Finrod, his old friend and one of the few who had long ago understood the Avari's position. His golden hair and thoughtful expression seemed to light up the field. At his side were Aegnor and Angrod, his brothers, and Galadriel, whose presence seemed to draw the attention of every Elf in the vicinity. But for a moment, Anórien stood still, taking her in from a distance. The image of her had never faded from his mind, and even now, the depth of his feelings for her stirred once again.
But he shook the thought from his mind. He had come for a purpose, and now was not the time for personal sentiment. He approached Finrod, who smiled upon seeing him.
"Anórien," Finrod greeted him with open arms. "It has been too long, my friend. I am glad you could join us for this feast."
Anórien grinned, clasping Finrod's hand in greeting. "I would not miss it, Finrod. This gathering is as important as the wars we have fought. The future of Beleriand depends on it."
"I agree," Finrod replied, his voice serious. "Though, we must remain vigilant. Morgoth's power is not so easily vanquished."
Anórien nodded. "We all know this. But in numbers, in unity, we are strong. I trust that this feast will forge the bonds we need to defeat him."
As the evening wore on, Anórien found himself surrounded by many who had once fought in the battles against Morgoth's forces, and others who had been touched by the darkness in different ways. He moved from one group to another, exchanging words of encouragement and promises of future support. The air was thick with anticipation for what was to come, but also with hope. Anórien felt that hope surge within him. He could see a future where Beleriand stood united, strong against the threat of Morgoth.
But as the night drew on, his thoughts wandered again, back to the familiar, unshakeable presence of Galadriel. Her golden hair glimmered in the torchlight, and for a moment, he could not stop himself from looking at her again. Their eyes met across the crowd, and though she said nothing, he saw something in her gaze that made his heart race.
The feast continued into the night, filled with laughter, music, and the kind of peace that could only exist in the fleeting moments before war. Anórien remained strong, his thoughts rooted in the future, even as his heart quietly yearned for what might have been. But he knew the path he had chosen, and he would not let anything sway him from it.