It was the 110th Year of the Sun, in the First Age of Middle-earth. The world had settled into the rhythm of its new light, and in the Avari realm, a new chapter was about to begin.
The city of Onymë Ennorë was alive with anticipation. The news had spread: Galadriel, the High Queen of the Avari, was nearing the end of her labor. Anórien paced the grand hall of the palace, his steps heavy with both anxiety and excitement. The lords and ladies of the six tribes waited outside, their prayers and songs filling the air with a sense of unity and hope.
As the sun reached its zenith, a single cry pierced the stillness. The child had arrived.
Anórien rushed to Galadriel's side, his heart racing. She lay on the bed, her golden hair damp with effort but her face aglow with joy. In her arms was a tiny bundle, swaddled in silken cloth embroidered with the symbols of both their lineages.
"Anórien," Galadriel whispered, her voice soft yet triumphant. "Meet our son."
Anórien knelt beside her, his breath catching as he beheld the child. The baby had hair as white as freshly fallen snow, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the open windows. His eyes, silver and gold intertwined, shone with a light that seemed to rival both the sun and the moon.
"Arinyanénar," Anórien murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a song. "Morningstar."
Galadriel nodded, her own eyes glistening with tears. "He is our hope, our light. A symbol of the bond between the Avari and the Eldar."
Anórien gently took the child in his arms, his fierce warrior's heart overwhelmed with tenderness. "You are the future of our people," he said softly, "a beacon in the dark, just as your name foretells."
The doors to the chamber opened, and the lords of the Avari entered quietly, their faces alight with reverence. Arvaran, the eldest and wisest among them, stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"High King Anórien, High Queen Galadriel," he said, his voice rich with emotion. "May we look upon the child who will one day lead us?"
Anórien turned, holding his son high for all to see. The gathered lords and ladies gasped at the sight of the child's radiant beauty, his hair glowing like his grandfather's and his eyes capturing the light of both day and night.
"Behold Arinyanénar," Anórien declared, his voice strong and proud, "the Morningstar of the Avari."
The room filled with a chorus of voices, singing songs of blessing and joy. The Kinn-Lai played their harps, weaving melodies that spoke of hope and renewal. The Hwenti prepared gifts of finely carved stone, while the Penni brought rare herbs and ointments to ensure the child's health.
In the days that followed, the city celebrated. From every corner of the forest, Avari came to see the child and offer their blessings. Galadriel, now recovered, stood beside Anórien as they presented their son to the people, their united presence a symbol of strength and love.
In the quiet of their chambers one evening, as the stars sparkled in the sky, Anórien and Galadriel watched their son sleeping peacefully.
"Do you think he will carry the weight of this realm well?" Galadriel asked, her voice thoughtful.
"He has your wisdom and my determination," Anórien replied, brushing a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. "But more than that, he has the love of his people. He will be great, Galadriel, just as you are."
"And just as you are," she said, leaning into his embrace.
They stayed there for a long while, watching over their son, the Morningstar, who would one day shine as brightly as the love that had brought him into the world.