Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The forest of Taur-im-Duinath was alive with its usual symphony of sounds—birds calling from the canopy, leaves rustling in the wind, and the distant rush of the river that circled our city. Decades had passed in relative peace, though the weight of leadership never lifted from my shoulders. The memory of our journey, the battles against the spiders, and the founding of Onymë Ennorë remained vivid.

But the world beyond our borders was ever-changing, and whispers had reached us of new movements in Beleriand. Scouts brought tidings of a great host of elves entering the land from the east. These were the Nandor, they said, led by a lord named Denethor, son of Lenwë.

The name stirred memories. I remembered Lenwë well—his calm voice and gentle spirit when we met near the Great River so many years ago. He had chosen not to journey west, much like us, but instead led his people to dwell along the Anduin. Though our paths diverged after that meeting, I always wondered if our kinship remained in their hearts.

Now, it seemed, Lenwë's son had brought the Nandor across the Blue Mountains into Beleriand.

The arrival of a herald confirmed the scouts' reports.

"I bring greetings from Denethor, son of Lenwë," the messenger announced, bowing low before me. "He sends word to Emlithor, High King of the Avari, and requests an audience to speak of kinship and unity. My lord would be honored to walk within your great halls."

The request was unexpected, but I welcomed it. Denethor's arrival would not only be a reunion of kindred spirits but also an opportunity to strengthen ties that had lain dormant for centuries.

The day of Denethor's arrival was one of quiet anticipation. As the Nandor approached Onymë Ennorë, I stood on the steps of Menelondë, the royal palace that towered over the city. Its white stones gleamed in the filtered light of the Trees, a symbol of the strength and unity of my people.

When Denethor appeared, his presence struck me. He had his father's grace, but his bearing was that of a leader tested by hardship. His eyes, deep and green as the forest, spoke of wisdom and resilience. His people followed him with a quiet reverence, their steps in harmony with the land around them.

"Denethor, son of Lenwë," I greeted him warmly, stepping forward to clasp his arm. "Welcome to Taur-im-Duinath. It has been long since I met your father, but I see much of him in you."

Denethor smiled faintly. "And you, Emlithor, have built a realm that rivals even the tales of Valinor. My father spoke often of the Avari, and I am honored to stand in the presence of their High King."

The meeting began formally in the great hall, with words exchanged about the histories of our peoples. Denethor recounted how the shadows near the Anduin had driven the Nandor to seek refuge elsewhere.

"My father chose peace over peril, but peace proved elusive," Denethor said. "The east grew dark, and we could no longer remain. So, we crossed the mountains and found Ossiriand, a land of beauty and bounty."

Hearing this, my thoughts turned to the Avari who had stayed near the Anduin. "You speak of the Anduin," I said cautiously. "Tell me, Denethor, did you encounter any of my kin who remained in those lands?"

His expression softened. "Yes, we did. Many of the Avari welcomed us, though their numbers had diminished over the years. Some chose to journey with us, and others spoke of the glory of Taur-im-Duinath, a city they dreamed of seeing one day."

At that moment, I noticed a group standing near the edges of the hall—elves whose features bore the unmistakable mark of the Avari. They were kin who had once stayed behind but now returned with the Nandor.

The reunion was heartfelt, filled with embraces and tears. Old bonds were renewed, and for a time, the hall was alive with the sounds of laughter and shared memories. It was a reminder that, despite the distances and years, the ties between our people endured.

Later, as the festivities calmed, Denethor and I walked alone in the moonlit gardens of Menelondë. He spoke of his vision for Ossiriand, a land where his people could live in harmony with the rivers and forests.

"You have chosen well," I told him, "for the land itself will nurture your people. The rivers of Ossiriand sing with a voice that few other places can match."

"And yet, I find myself wondering about the future," Denethor admitted. "The world is vast and full of perils. I seek peace for my people, but I know it must be defended."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are not alone in this. If ever you or the Nandor need aid, know that the Avari will stand by you."

In the days that followed, the Nandor and the Avari mingled, sharing tales, songs, and crafts. Bonds were forged between our peoples, and I saw hope take root. When Denethor departed, it was not as a stranger but as a friend.

As I watched him and his host disappear into the forest, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. Our paths might diverge, but the kinship between the Avari and the Nandor would remain—a beacon of unity in an uncertain world.

 It is now the 1350th year of the Trees in the First Age of Arda.