It was now the 290th year of the sun of the first age, and the days in Doriath were as serene as ever. Arinyanénar's time in the enchanted realm had been filled with laughter, camaraderie, and beauty beyond measure. He had grown closer to its people, especially Lúthien, whose grace and spirit had captivated him from the moment they met. Over the years, their shared love of dance had deepened their bond, but for Arinyanénar, that bond had blossomed into something far greater—a love that burned brighter than the stars above Menegroth.
On a quiet evening, as the stars began to pierce the twilight sky, Arinyanénar found himself with Lúthien in the forest glade where they often practiced. Fireflies danced around them, their golden light flickering like tiny embers, while the soft hum of nature's music filled the air. Lúthien, her dark hair shimmering in the moonlight, moved with a grace that made Arinyanénar's heart ache. Tonight, however, his steps faltered, weighed down by the words he had carried unspoken for far too long.
They had just finished their dance, Lúthien laughing softly as she caught her breath. "You're getting better," she said, teasing him with a playful grin. "Soon, you might even be able to keep up with me."
Arinyanénar smiled faintly, his heart pounding. "Lúthien," he began, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. "There is something I must tell you."
She tilted her head, her expression curious but warm. "What is it?"
For a moment, he hesitated, searching for the right words. "You have brought more light into my life than I ever thought possible. Your laughter, your kindness, your spirit—they've been my compass, my inspiration. I… I love you, Lúthien."
His confession hung in the air, as fragile and beautiful as a spider's web glistening with dew. Lúthien's smile faded, replaced by a look of gentle sadness. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
"Arinyanénar," she said softly, her voice filled with genuine care. "You are one of the truest friends I have ever known. But I do not feel the same way.
Her words were like a blade to his heart. He felt the pain of her rejection like a wound, deep and unyielding. He bowed his head, struggling to keep his composure. "I see," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."
"Please, don't let this come between us," she said, her hand lingering on his arm. "You mean so much to me, Arinyanénar, but as a friend—a cherished friend."
He forced a smile, though it felt like a mask. "I could never stop being your friend, Lúthien. But… I think I need some time."
That night, as the moon climbed higher in the sky, Arinyanénar made a decision. The pain in his heart was too great to bear, and the familiar beauty of Doriath now seemed a prison, each sight and sound a reminder of what could never be. He resolved to leave, to return to the Avari realm and seek the guidance of his mother and father.
When he shared his decision with Thingol and Melian, the king regarded him with understanding, while the queen's star-lit eyes glimmered with a mix of sorrow and wisdom. "Your path leads you elsewhere, young one," Melian said, her voice melodic yet tinged with finality. "But before you go, take this."
She handed him a cloak, woven from the finest threads of blue that shimmered like the sea beneath the sunlight. Its surface seemed alive, catching the light in a way that was both enchanting and mysterious.
"This is Menelvalta, the Sky-Guard," Melian explained, her voice imbued with quiet power. "It is imbued with my protection, making it impervious to the weapons of ordinary foes. Wear it well, and let it shield you in the trials to come."
Arinyanénar accepted the gift with a deep bow. "Thank you, my lady," he said, his voice sincere. "I will carry your blessing with me always."
The next morning, clad in Menelvalta and armed with his unyielding sword, Amanarótar, Arinyanénar mounted Goldenstar—Lauriënénar. The majestic horse seemed to sense his sorrow, its golden-marked coat shimmering in the early light as it nuzzled him gently. Beleg and Daeron were there to see him off, both expressing their sadness at his departure.
"Farewell, my friend," Beleg said, clasping his arm tightly. "May the winds guide you swiftly, and may we meet again in brighter times."
Daeron gave him a solemn nod, though his eyes betrayed his sadness. "Take care, Arinyanénar. And if ever you return, know that Doriath's halls will always welcome you."
As he rode through the gates of Menegroth, Lúthien's face lingered in his mind, her words echoing painfully in his heart. But as he passed under the boughs of the Girdle of Melian and into the open lands beyond, he resolved to move forward. His path was still unfolding, and though it was marked by sorrow, it was also lit by purpose.
He would return to his family, seek their wisdom, and find a way to mend the ache within him. Beyond that, he would face whatever destiny had in store, carrying with him the lessons, the bonds, and the blessings he had gained in the enchanted realm of Doriath.