Starlit Whispers

The Sixth Year of the Sun

The forest of Doriath was alive with the gentle hum of twilight. The soft glow of Telperion's silver radiance, preserved in the light of the moon, filtered through the canopy, bathing the woods in an ethereal glow. The air was fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth, a melody of crickets weaving into the silence.

Anórien wandered the paths alone, seeking solace in the stillness. His red hair, like a flame against the shadowed trees, glimmered faintly in the moonlight. The events of the past days weighed on him—his meetings with Thingol, Melian, and the House of Finarfin had stirred memories and emotions he wasn't ready to confront. He needed to think, to let his thoughts settle amid the calm beauty of the forest.

Yet, no matter how far his feet carried him, a single image remained burned into his mind: Galadriel.

He shook his head as if to banish the thought, frustrated by his lack of control. She was a descendant of Finwë, a scion of the High Noldor, and no doubt destined for greatness. And yet, from the moment he had seen her, a strange yearning had taken root in his heart, one he struggled to understand.

Lost in thought, he nearly didn't notice the faint rustling of leaves ahead. His hand instinctively moved toward Solarian, the spear resting at his back, but the moment he stepped into the clearing, he froze.

There she was.

Galadriel stood amidst the silvered trees, her hair catching the light in strands of gold and starlight. She wore a simple gown of deep green, yet it did nothing to diminish her regal presence. Instead, it made her seem even more connected to the world around her, as though she were a part of the forest itself.

She turned at his approach, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, time seemed to still.

"Anórien," she said softly, her voice like a gentle breeze. "You walk alone under the stars."

He bowed slightly, trying to steady the sudden rush of his heart. "As do you, Lady Galadriel. I did not expect to find company here."

She smiled faintly, a glimmer of amusement in her gaze. "Nor did I. Yet it seems the forest has brought us together."

They stood in silence for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Finally, Galadriel gestured to a fallen log beneath a great oak. "Will you sit with me, Anórien? The night feels less lonely with conversation."

He hesitated, then nodded, stepping forward to take the offered seat beside her.

For a time, they spoke of simple things—the beauty of Doriath, the stars above, the music of the forest. Yet, beneath their words, there was a tension, a quiet electricity that neither could ignore.

At last, Galadriel turned to him, her gaze searching. "Your heart is troubled, Anórien. I see it in your eyes."

He hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You are perceptive, my lady. I have carried much on my shoulders, not only as a king but as a son, a leader, and… a wanderer."

Galadriel tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "And what does the High King of the Avari seek in these woods tonight? Solitude or answers?"

"Perhaps both," he admitted. "Though it seems the forest has granted me neither. Instead, it has granted me… you."

The words escaped before he could think better of them, and he immediately regretted their boldness. But Galadriel did not seem offended. Instead, she studied him, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"You speak plainly," she said at last, her tone neither teasing nor reproachful. "It is a rare quality."

He met her gaze, his voice quieter now. "Rare, perhaps, but not always wise. Forgive me if I have spoken out of turn."

"There is nothing to forgive," she replied, her smile softening. "Truth is a gift, even when it is unexpected."

They fell into silence again, the sounds of the forest filling the space between them. Anórien glanced at her, his heart warring with his mind. She was unlike anyone he had ever met—strong, wise, and achingly beautiful. Yet she was Galadriel, a Noldo of the House of Finarfin, and he was Anórien, an Avari king who had never seen the light of Valinor.

He looked away, his voice low. "You are… remarkable, Lady Galadriel. I can see why so many hold you in awe."

"And what of you, Anórien?" she asked, her voice soft but steady. "Do you hold me in awe?"

The question caught him off guard, and he turned to her, his red hair catching the light as he moved. Their eyes met, and for a moment, he felt as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of them beneath the stars.

"Yes," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "But not only for what you are. For who you are."

Galadriel's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her gaze. Then she smiled, a warm, genuine smile that reached her eyes.

"You are honest, Anórien. And I think, perhaps, you understand more than most."

They sat together under the great oak, the night stretching on around them. Neither spoke of the future or the burdens they carried. In that moment, it was enough to simply be—to share the quiet, starlit whispers of a bond that neither fully understood but both could feel growing stronger with each passing moment.