Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

Chapter 12: The Flame in the Forest



The Flame in the Forest

The forest of Taur-im-Duinath was alive with its usual symphony—birds calling, leaves whispering in the breeze, the occasional crack of a twig underfoot. I'd come out to hunt alone, as I often did when my thoughts grew too heavy. It wasn't that I disliked the company of others, but solitude let me think more clearly. Today, I needed that clarity.

I carried Raumo across my back, its weight a familiar comfort. Oromë's blessing still lingered in the bowstring, and when I ran my fingers along it, I could feel its hum. It was a reminder of who I was, of what I'd chosen when I stayed behind in Middle-earth all those years ago. Yet sometimes, even now, I wondered if I'd made the right choice.

I caught sight of movement through the trees—a stag grazing in a clearing. Its antlers were massive, like the branches of the forest itself. It was a beautiful creature, and for a moment, I hesitated. But my people needed the food, and I knew I couldn't afford sentiment.

I knelt and drew Raumo. The bowstring sang softly, a sound like distant thunder, as I took aim. The world seemed to still, and I loosed the arrow.

The arrow flew true, striking the stag in its hind leg. It let out a sharp cry, stumbled, and then bolted into the trees. My heart sank. I'd aimed to kill it cleanly, to spare it pain, but the shot had gone awry.

I slung my bow back over my shoulder and began tracking the trail of blood it left behind. Hunting had never been just about sport or skill for me. Every life I took weighed on me, and this was no different. I whispered a silent apology to the stag as I followed its path deeper into the forest.

The trail wound through dense underbrush, the signs of the stag's struggle etched into the dirt and leaves. The hours dragged on as I tracked it, the sun shifting in the sky. Guilt gnawed at me with every step.

Eventually, I heard the faint rustle of movement ahead. I quickened my pace, pushing through a thick tangle of branches, and emerged into a small glade. There, lying on its side, was the stag. It was breathing heavily, its dark eyes wide with pain.

I approached slowly, my hand tightening on the knife at my belt. Ending its suffering was the only mercy I could offer now.

Then, a light erupted in the clearing, so bright and sudden that I staggered back, shielding my eyes with my arm. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen—intense, radiant, and alive. It wasn't the silvery light of Telperion or the soft gold of Laurelin; this was something altogether different, something untamed.

A voice, clear and melodic, echoed through the air. "Stay your hand, child of the Avari."

The command froze me in place. Slowly, I lowered my arm, squinting against the brilliance.

The light began to shift and merge, taking on a form. At first, it was impossible to discern, but as it dimmed slightly, I saw her. She stood in the center of the glade, wreathed in a glow that seemed to emanate from her very being.

Her hair was the colour of fire, cascading down her back in waves that flickered and danced as though alive. Her eyes, orange and piercing, held the warmth and intensity of a roaring flame. She wore simple robes, but there was nothing simple about her presence.

She raised a hand, and I watched in stunned silence as the stag's wounds closed before my eyes. It rose shakily to its feet, hesitated, then bounded off into the trees.

When she turned her gaze to me, I felt as though I'd been laid bare.

"I am Arien," she said, her voice like the crackle of a hearth on a cold night. "A Maia of fire.

My breath caught in my throat. I had heard tales of the Maiar, spirits of great power and wisdom, but I had only seen one before Thingol's wife Melian.

"Why have you revealed yourself to me?" I managed to ask, my voice hoarse.

She tilted her head slightly, studying me. "Fate draws me here, as it draws you. Your spirit burns brightly, Emlithor. It called to me."

Her words stirred something deep within me, a feeling I couldn't quite name. I wanted to look away from her piercing gaze, but I couldn't.

"I meant only to provide for my people," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Yet I brought pain instead."

"Your heart is burdened by what you see as failure," she said, stepping closer. "But mercy and regret are signs of a soul that does not take life lightly. There is no shame in that."

Her presence was overwhelming, yet comforting. I had faced creatures of darkness, spiders whose malice seemed to seep into the very air, but this was different. She was light, warmth, and life, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

When she stepped closer, the space between us seemed to hum with an unspoken energy. "The stag lives," she said softly, "and so does your compassion. Both are gifts."

I nodded, unable to form a reply. Her words resonated with something deep inside me, as though she had touched a part of my soul I hadn't known existed.

Then, before my eyes, her form began to shift. The blazing light around her dimmed, and she took on the guise of an elf. Her flame-like hair remained, but her features softened, becoming more familiar. She was, in my eyes, the most beautiful being I had ever seen.

I felt my chest tighten. It wasn't just her beauty, though that alone was breathtaking—it was her presence, the way she seemed to radiate both power and peace.

"Will you remain here?" I asked, surprising myself with the boldness of the question.

"For a time," she said, a small, enigmatic smile on her lips. "There is much to learn in this world and much I wish to see. Perhaps our paths will cross again."

And then she turned and walked away, her fiery hair catching the light one last time before she disappeared into the trees.


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