Echoes of the Hidden Light in the Great Song

Starlight of My Heart

The first light of Telperion had begun to fade, giving way to the golden glow of Laurelin, as Alcaron stirred in his chambers. The soft warmth of the mingled light filled the room, illuminating the pale silver strands of his hair and casting a shimmer on the smooth, polished stone floors of his quarters in the royal palace of Tirion. His grey eyes opened slowly, still clouded by the remnants of his dreams, dreams that never ceased to haunt him no matter how many centuries passed.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to shake off the lingering sensation of the world his mind had just wandered through. The strange visions of places and beings he had never seen, the spells and incantations that echoed in his thoughts—all felt so distant, and yet, each time they returned, they felt real.

With a deep breath, Alcaron rose from his bed and began to prepare for the day. He dressed in his finest robes—deep silver and blue, the colors that often complemented his silver hair and the stormy grey of his eyes. He took a moment to study himself in the mirror, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. Today was a day of importance—he was to meet Nimloth, his betrothed, and escort her to the palace. It had been some time since he had seen her, and his heart quickened at the thought.

Once ready, he left his chambers, the familiar halls of the palace greeting him with their grand tapestries and high arched ceilings. He passed through the corridors with ease, making his way to the dining hall where his family would be gathering for breakfast.

As he entered, the sight of his father, Finwë, and his stepmother, Indis, greeted him warmly. Finwë, the ever-proud king of the Noldor, sat at the head of the table, his dark hair streaked with the wisdom of his years, and Indis, the Vanya queen, her golden locks shining in the morning light. Across the table sat Fëanor, Alcaron's twin, his piercing gaze as sharp as ever, though there was a rare calm in his expression today, no doubt because of the presence of his wife, Nerdanel, who sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on her growing belly. Their first child was soon to be born, and Fëanor had become somewhat more at peace with the world, if only for the time being.

Findis, the eldest daughter of Finwë and Indis, sat next to their younger brother Fingolfin, who was speaking in quiet tones with Irimë, their sister. Finarfin, the youngest of them all, sat at the other end of the table, his soft smile always present, as if he carried no cares in the world.

Alcaron took his seat beside Finarfin, greeting each of them with a nod and a smile.

"Alcaron," Finwë said warmly, his eyes twinkling. "Good morning, my son. We were just speaking of the preparations for the feast this evening. How does the day greet you?"

"It greets me well, Atar," Alcaron replied, his voice smooth and calm as always. "The light of Laurelin is always a welcome sight."

Fëanor leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed but a faint smile on his lips. "Aye, though I imagine your thoughts are not on the light of Laurelin today. You are to meet Nimloth soon, are you not?"

Alcaron chuckled softly. "Indeed, I am. She arrives this morning with her escort, and I shall meet her at the gates."

Nerdanel, always gentle in her demeanor, smiled warmly at him. "Give her our regards, Alcaron. It has been too long since we last saw her."

"I will, Nerdanel. And congratulations once again on your child. You and Fëanor must be eagerly awaiting the day."

Fëanor's expression softened, his hand moving instinctively to rest on Nerdanel's. "We are," he said quietly. "It is a blessing, truly."

As the morning conversation continued, the family spoke of various matters—plans for the future, the growth of Tirion, and the continued prosperity of the Noldor. But Alcaron's thoughts drifted toward the gates, toward Nimloth, and the life they would soon share.

After breakfast, Alcaron left the palace, walking through the grand streets of Tirion as the city slowly came to life. Tirion, the great city of the Noldor, was a marvel of craftsmanship. White towers rose high above the shining streets, their tops adorned with silver and gold, reflecting the mingled light of the Trees. The city was bustling with artisans and scholars, nobles and craftsmen, all of them proud to be part of the growing strength and beauty of the Noldor.

Alcaron made his way toward the gates of the city, passing through the bustling markets where merchants displayed their wares—finely crafted jewelry, fabrics from Alqualondë, and intricate works of art that drew the eye of every passerby. The air was filled with the scent of fresh bread and sweet fruits, the laughter of children, and the soft hum of the Elvish tongue being spoken all around.

As he reached the gates, he saw a small procession approaching. At the head of it was Nimloth, her silver hair glimmering in the light, her fair face radiant as ever. She was dressed in a gown of sea-blue, her deep grey eyes meeting his the moment she saw him.

Alcaron's heart leapt at the sight of her, and he stepped forward to greet her. "Nimloth," he said, his voice filled with warmth as he took her hands in his. "You are a sight more beautiful than even Laurelin's light."

Nimloth laughed softly, her voice like the gentle lapping of waves upon the shore. "And you flatter me too much, Alcaron. But it is good to see you. I have missed your presence."

"As have I missed yours," Alcaron replied, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Shall we walk? There is much to see in Tirion today, and I would show you the markets before we return to the palace."

She nodded, and they set off together, arm in arm, through the city streets. The merchants greeted them with bows and smiles, recognizing Alcaron as one of Finwë's sons, but also showing respect for Nimloth, who came from the noble house of a minor lord in Alqualondë. Her lineage may not have been as illustrious as that of the royal family, but she was beloved for her kindness and grace.

As they walked, they spoke of many things, their voices soft and filled with affection.

"Nai varyuvalyë," (May you be protected) Nimloth said softly, glancing at him as they passed a stall filled with beautifully woven tapestries. "You seem troubled, Alcaron. Is it your dreams again?"

Alcaron sighed, his expression growing more serious. "Yes. They have returned, as they always do. I cannot shake them, Nimloth. Every few nights, they come to me—visions of a world beyond ours, a world of men, of strange devices and magic unlike our own."

Nimloth looked at him with concern, her grey eyes searching his. "Have you spoken with the Valar? What did they tell you?"

"I have," he said, nodding. "Aulë took me to Manwë's halls some time ago, and the Valar passed judgment on the matter. They do not fully understand the nature of my dreams, but they believe the power I wield in them is not of Arda. I have been forbidden to use the magic without their permission, but they have also instructed me to write down everything I remember. They said that when I reach a thousand years of the Sun, they will teach me the wisdom of the Valar, and then, I may be ready to understand these dreams."

Nimloth was silent for a moment, her steps slowing as they passed a fountain in the middle of the market square. The water shimmered in the light, cascading down in a delicate, musical stream. "It must be difficult, carrying such a burden," she said softly. "To have such knowledge and yet be forbidden from using it."

"It is," Alcaron admitted, his gaze fixed on the fountain. "But I trust the Valar. They have guided me well thus far, and I believe they will continue to do so. Still, the dreams trouble me. They feel so real, as if I am not merely dreaming but living another life in a world that should not exist."

Nimloth reached out and took his hand, her touch gentle and comforting. "You are strong, Alcaron. You always have been. Whatever these dreams mean, I believe that you will find the truth in time. And I will be by your side, no matter what."

He smiled at her, grateful for her unwavering support. "Thank you, Nimloth. Your presence alone brings me peace. I do not know what the future holds, but I am glad to face it with you."

They continued their walk through the city, speaking of lighter matters—the upcoming feast, the plans for their future together, and the joy that would come with the birth of Fëanor and Nerdanel's child. Alcaron found solace in these moments with Nimloth, her laughter and warmth a balm to the lingering unease in his heart.

As they neared the palace gates, Alcaron glanced at Nimloth, his eyes filled with quiet determination. "One day, I will unlock the secrets of these dreams," he said, his voice low but resolute. "And when I do, we will understand what they mean for us, for our people, and for the future."

Nimloth smiled, her faith in him shining in her eyes. "I have no doubt, Alcaron. You are destined for great things, even if the path is not yet clear."

With those words, they passed through the gates and entered the palace, ready to face whatever lay ahead together.