Echoes of the Hidden Light in the Great Song

(An: So I have this problem: I cannot make this story work in my mind if I first use the years of the trees and later switch to the years of the sun as Tolkin did in his works, so I will use the years of the sun in this story from the beginning even though the two trees still exist. I use this conversion rate from years of trees to years of sun 1: 9.5786324786. I found it somwhere on reddit and hope its correct.)

In the halls of Valinor, during the timeless days before the shaping of the world was marred by shadow and strife, there lived Finwë, the High King of the Noldor, and his beloved wife, Míriel Therindë. They dwelt in Tirion upon Túna, the shining city of white stone, high upon the green hill where it overlooked the vast plains of Aman. It was a time of peace and radiant splendor, for the light of the Two Trees, Telperion and Laurelin, mingled in harmonious brilliance, casting their ethereal glow upon the Blessed Realm.

Míriel Therindë was renowned among the Elves for her great beauty and skill. Her hands wrought wonders beyond the reach of many, weaving and crafting with a finesse that seemed to catch the very essence of the starlight. She was quiet and thoughtful, her eyes deep with the wisdom of the ages, and her spirit filled with the quiet strength of the Eldar. Her marriage to Finwë was one of profound love and unity, and together they awaited the joy of their first children.

In the twilight hours, when the silver dew of Telperion mixed with the golden light of Laurelin, Míriel felt the first stirrings of life within her. With each passing day, the bond between mother and child grew stronger, and it became clear to her that she was not bearing one child, but two. It was an unexpected blessing, for twins were rare even among the Eldar. Míriel, with her deep foresight, sensed the distinct natures of her unborn sons. One burned with a fierce and unyielding flame, while the other was gentle and serene, a light like the shimmering stars.

The day of their birth was one of great anticipation and solemnity. The Valar themselves turned their gaze upon the house of Finwë, for they too perceived that these children would be unlike any born before. As the hour approached, Míriel was surrounded by the wise and the skilled of her kin. In the soft light of the mingling Trees, she labored, and at last, with a cry that echoed like a song of creation, her firstborn son came into the world.

The child was beautiful beyond words, with dark hair that shone with a deep luster and eyes that seemed to catch the light of the stars themselves. He gazed upon his mother and father with a fierce, unyielding spirit, even in his first moments. Finwë, gazing upon his son, felt a surge of pride and love unlike any he had known. He held the child aloft, and Míriel, exhausted but joyful, whispered the name they had chosen together: Fëanor, which in the tongue of the Noldor meant "Spirit of Fire."

The name was fitting, for even as an infant, Fëanor seemed to burn with an inner flame. His cries were strong, his movements decisive. It was as if he held within him the passion and brilliance of the Noldor, destined for greatness but also for a path fraught with peril.

Yet Míriel's labor was not done. As she lay back, her breath coming in deep, steadying gasps, she felt the presence of her second son, still waiting to be born. This birth was longer, more arduous, as if the child was reluctant to leave the safety of his mother's womb and enter the world. But finally, with a gentle cry, the second son came forth.

He was different from his brother in almost every way. Where Fëanor's presence was like a blazing fire, this child was cool and calm, his hair light and silvery, his eyes the soft grey of twilight skies. There was a peace about him, a sense of deep reflection and tranquility. Míriel looked upon him with a smile of deep contentment and whispered the name she had long held in her heart for this son: Alcaron, which meant "Light of the Star" in the ancient tongue.

Alcaron, unlike his twin, did not cry out with the fervor of life. Instead, he gazed at his mother with serene eyes, his tiny hand reaching for her as if to offer comfort, even as he took his first breaths. It was as though he understood, even then, the trials that awaited him, and wished to reassure his mother with his presence.

The contrast between the twins was striking and profound. Fëanor, the elder by mere moments, was a blaze of passion and will, destined to carve his name in the annals of history with the force of his spirit. Alcaron, his younger twin, was a quiet and gentle light, his presence soothing and his heart filled with wisdom beyond his years. Together, they completed each other, like fire and starlight, two facets of the same jewel.

The naming of the twins was an event of great significance among the Noldor. Finwë, deeply moved by the birth of his sons, called forth the most esteemed loremasters and wise of the Noldor to witness the ceremony. In the great hall of their house, lit by the mingled light of the Trees, Finwë held his sons before their people and spoke their names with pride.

"Behold my sons, they will be the fairest and wisest of the Noldor! This is Curufinwë Fëanor, Spirit of Fire, whose light shall blaze forth and bring glory to our people. And this is Calafinwë Alcaron, Light of the Star, whose wisdom and calm shall be a beacon to us all."

The names were met with reverence and joy, for it was clear to all that these children were destined for greatness. The meanings of their names spread quickly among the Noldor. Fëanor, the Spirit of Fire, was seen as the embodiment of the Noldor's creativity, their drive, and their unyielding will. His very presence seemed to promise deeds of great renown and the forging of wonders yet unimagined.

Alcaron, Light of the Star, was a name that spoke of hope and guidance. It was said that his coming was foretold in the stars themselves, a light to shine in the darkest of times. His birth was seen as a blessing, a reminder that even in the midst of the brightest fires, there would always be a calm and gentle light to guide the way.

Yet, as joyous as this occasion was, it was also marked by an undercurrent of sorrow. Míriel, though she rejoiced in her sons, felt her strength waning. The birth of Fëanor had drained much of her life force, and though she loved her children dearly, she knew that her time in the world was drawing to an end. She whispered this truth to Finwë, who was stricken with grief, but he did not dispute her wisdom. She had given all that she could in the bringing forth of these remarkable sons, and now she longed for rest.

Before she departed, Míriel took Fëanor and Alcaron into her arms one last time. She looked into the eyes of each child, her gaze lingering on their faces as if to etch them into her soul. To Fëanor, she whispered words of love and encouragement, urging him to use his gifts wisely and to remember always the love of his mother.

To Alcaron, she spoke softly, her voice filled with the tenderness of a mother's heart. "My son, you have a great destiny before you. Remember the light within you, for it will guide you through many trials. Be a beacon of hope and wisdom, for that is your gift to the world."

With these words, Míriel laid back, her strength finally spent. Her spirit, weary yet at peace, departed to the Halls of Mandos, leaving her body behind, a shell of beauty and grace that would not fade. Finwë, heartbroken, took his sons into his arms, vowing to raise them with all the love and care he could muster.

The high palace of Finwë was adorned in preparations, and even the air seemed to hum with expectation, as if the very fabric of the world held its breath, awaiting the arrival of the twin sons of the High King.

When the word spread that Míriel Therindë had given birth to two sons, not one, the news was received with astonishment and celebration. It was rare indeed for twins to be born among the Eldar, and the significance of their birth was not lost on any who heard. Yet there was more to this event than met the eye. There was a sense, an undercurrent of something profound and unnameable that accompanied the announcement of the birth, like the whisper of a great wind stirring the leaves of a vast and ancient forest.

It was at this time that the Valar, the great Powers of the world, gathered in council. For as the cries of the newborn babes echoed through the halls of Finwë, a surge of energy swept across Aman, an emanation of power that had not been felt since the very first moments of the Music of the Ainur. It was a power that drew the attention of those mighty beings who had shaped the world, and it was the younger of the twins, Alcaron, who was the source of this mysterious force.

Manwë Súlimo, Lord of the Breath of Arda, felt the stirrings of the air and the sky, as if the very winds were singing a new and unfamiliar song. He turned his gaze towards Tirion, his eyes piercing the distance, seeking the source of this disturbance. Beside him, Varda Elentári, the Queen of the Stars, felt a strange resonance within her being, as if a new star had been born, its light mingling with the ancient constellations she had set in the heavens. The other Valar, too, sensed it in their own ways—Yavanna felt a stirring in the roots of the Trees, a whispering as if they recognized the presence of a kindred spirit; Ulmo, Lord of Waters, heard the deep currents of the sea echo with a new, vibrant rhythm.

In the great halls of Valmar, the Valar spoke in hushed tones, their expressions grave yet tinged with a strange, uncertain hope. "What is this that we have felt?" asked Aulë, his voice deep and resonant, as if the earth itself were speaking. "This power... it is like unto the Flame Imperishable, yet it is not of our making."

Manwë nodded slowly, his blue eyes distant, seeing beyond the present moment into the great tapestry of fate. "It is as you say, Aulë. I have felt it too. A power born in the world, but not shaped by our hands. It is a gift, yet a mystery, and its purpose is hidden even from me."

Varda's gaze was thoughtful, her starry eyes bright with contemplation. "It comes from the younger child, Alcaron," she said softly. "His spirit is... different. He carries a light that is not of this world, as if a piece of Eä's very essence has been woven into his being."

"Yet what does this mean for the Eldar?" asked Yavanna, her brow furrowed with concern. "Twins are rare enough among them, and such power... it could bring great change, or great sorrow."

Oromë, the Hunter, who knew the hearts of the Eldar well, spoke then, his voice steady and sure. "The Noldor are strong, but they are also willful and proud. Fëanor already burns with a flame that may consume him, and those around him. Alcaron's presence may temper that fire, or he may be caught in its blaze. We must watch carefully, for the fate of these twins will shape the destiny of more than just their people."

The Valar deliberated long into the silver and golden hours, seeking to understand the nature of this new power and its implications. There was a sense of both awe and trepidation among them, for they were the guardians of the world, yet here was something beyond their foresight, a gift from Eru Ilúvatar himself, the One who had created them all.

In the end, it was Manwë who spoke the final word. "We shall not interfere, but neither shall we turn our eyes away. This child, Alcaron, is a mystery and a blessing. Let him grow and choose his path, for even we cannot know the mind of Ilúvatar. Whatever power he bears, it will be his to wield, and his to understand."

And so the Valar resolved to watch and wait, their hearts filled with a strange mixture of hope and uncertainty. For they knew that the world was changing, and the birth of these twins marked a new chapter in the long history of Arda.

Meanwhile, in the city of Tirion, the Noldor celebrated the birth of their new princes with great joy and festivity. Songs were sung, and the white towers of the city echoed with the music of harps and flutes. Yet among the Eldar, too, there was a sense of something more, something unspoken that passed from heart to heart in whispers and glances.

Many among the wise and the learned came to see the newborn twins, their eyes bright with curiosity and wonder. Fëanor, the firstborn, captivated them with his fierce gaze and strong, restless movements. Even as an infant, he exuded a presence that seemed to fill the room, his spirit like a flame that promised to burn brighter and hotter than any before.

But when they looked upon Alcaron, a hush fell over them. There was a gentleness in his eyes, a light that seemed to reach out and touch the hearts of all who beheld him. It was a light that did not blaze like fire, but shone softly, steadily, like the first star appearing in the evening sky. The wisest among the Noldor felt a stirring within their souls, a sense of peace and hope that they could not fully comprehend.

"What is it about this child?" whispered Elemmírë, a loremaster known for her deep wisdom and insight. She stood with others in the hall where the twins were displayed, her gaze fixed upon the sleeping form of Alcaron. "He is like unto the Valar, yet different. There is a light in him that I have not seen before."

Others murmured their agreement. "He is a gift," said one of the elders. "A gift from Eru himself, perhaps. I feel... I cannot say what I feel, only that there is something in him that calls to me, something that makes me wish to weep and to laugh in the same breath."

Even as they spoke, Finwë, the proud father, stood near, his face a mask of joy and pride. But in his heart, too, there was a shadow of uncertainty. For while he rejoiced in his sons, he could not shake the feeling that they were destined for something far beyond his understanding. He saw the way the wise among his people looked at Alcaron, with reverence and something almost like fear, and he wondered what future lay in store for his beloved children.

The celebration continued for many days, and throughout it all, the people of Tirion spoke of the twin princes, of their beauty and their promise. Yet in the quiet moments, when the music faded and the stars wheeled slowly overhead, many found their thoughts returning to the same question: What power had been born in Alcaron that day, and what would it mean for the Noldor?