The journey from Onymë Ennorë to Himring was a long one, but Arinyanénar welcomed the solitude of the road. The forests of Taur-im-Duinath gradually gave way to rolling hills and open plains, a world he had seldom explored. By the third day of his travels, he entered the lands of Estolad, and he saw the settlement of Men guided there by his uncle, Finrod Felagund.
As he approached the outskirts of the settlement, he was struck by its simplicity. Men lived in sturdy wooden homes, their fields dotted with crops, and children's laughter rang in the air as they played. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the earthy aroma of tilled soil. Arinyanénar smiled. It was a life different from the elegance of elven cities, but there was beauty in its humility.
A group of men noticed his approach and quickly drew their weapons, standing at the ready. Arinyanénar slowed his horse, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.
"I come in friendship," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "I am Arinyanénar of the Avari, nephew of Finrod Felagund, who guided you to these lands."
The men exchanged glances, lowering their weapons cautiously. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, stepped forward. "If you are kin to Felagund, then you are welcome here. I am Baran, son of Bëor, leader of the House of Bëor."
Arinyanénar dismounted, bowing slightly in respect. "It is an honor to meet you, Baran, son of Bëor. I have heard much of your people and wished to see the Secondborn for myself."
Baran studied him for a moment before breaking into a warm smile. "Then you shall be our guest. Come, let us offer you our hospitality."
The week that followed was a revelation for Arinyanénar. The Men of the House of Bëor were unlike any people he had met before. They lived shorter lives than elves, and yet their days were filled with a vitality and determination that impressed him. They were resourceful, crafting tools and weapons with skill, and their songs spoke of both joy and sorrow, carrying a depth of emotion that resonated deeply with him.
Baran was a gracious host, eager to learn about the Avari elves as much as Arinyanénar was eager to learn about Men. The two often spoke late into the night by the fire, sharing stories of their people and their histories.
One evening, as they sat together in Baran's hall, Arinyanénar presented him with a gift. From his saddlebag, he drew a finely crafted dagger, its hilt inlaid with silver and its blade etched with flowing Sindarin script.
"This is Gwaethan," Arinyanénar said, holding the blade out to Baran. "It means 'Shadow Slayer.' May it serve you and your house well, as a symbol of friendship between our peoples."
Baran accepted the dagger with reverence, his hand running over the intricate craftsmanship. "You honor us, Arinyanénar. This blade will be cherished, not only as a weapon but as a reminder of the bond between The House of Bëor and the Avari elves.
Arinyanénar inclined his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "May it protect you and your kin in the days to come."
During his stay, Arinyanénar immersed himself in the life of the settlement. He watched as Men worked the fields, listened to their stories around the fire, and marveled at their resilience. There was a rawness to their existence, a constant struggle against the elements and the dangers of the world, yet they faced it with unyielding courage.
When the week came to an end, Arinyanénar prepared to leave. Baran and many others gathered to bid him farewell, their faces filled with gratitude and respect.
"Farewell, Arinyanénar," Baran said, clasping his forearm. "You will always have a place among us."
"And you will always have my friendship," Arinyanénar replied.
With a final wave, he mounted his horse and rode out of Estolad, the sound of Men's voices fading into the distance. Ahead lay Himring, and with it, the promise of another reunion—but his heart carried the warmth of the bonds he had forged with the Secondborn.