The King and Queen of Eärondë
The bells of Eärondë rang out across the valley, their clear tones carrying over the waters and into the high cliffs that cradled the city. After over seven centuries of waiting, the time had finally come—Alcaron and Nimloth would be wed. Though the betrothal of Elves traditionally lasted only a year, Alcaron's long years of training among the Valar had delayed their union. Now, with Eärondë thriving for now already 30 years and their people at peace, the moment they had both long awaited had arrived.
The city stirred with excitement as preparations for the grand event unfolded. The palace of Eärondë, perched upon a rise where river and sea met, was adorned with banners of silver and deep blue, the colors of both the Noldor and the Falmari. Skilled artisans carved intricate patterns of waves and starlight into the halls, blending the craftsmanship of the Noldor with the flowing elegance of Falmari design.
Garlands of sea-flowers and woven strands of pearls were strung along the arches, while fine silk draperies fluttered in the gentle breeze. The grand hall, where the wedding feast would take place, was set with long tables carved from white stone, their surfaces polished until they gleamed in the candlelight. The windows opened toward the harbor, allowing the scent of salt and pine to drift in, mingling with the aroma of fresh-baked bread and roasted meats as the city's finest cooks prepared the feast.
From the high road that wound through the valley, a procession arrived—Finwë, High King of the Noldor, had come with his household. At his side walked Indis, his second wife, golden-haired and graceful, and his sons, Fëanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin, who had journeyed to witness their half-brother's long-awaited union.
The people of Eärondë gathered in the streets to welcome them, marveling at the regal presence of the High King and his kin. Though Eärondë was not bound to Tirion, there was still a deep respect for the line of Finwë, and Alcaron, though he had chosen his own path, was still his father's son.
Upon entering the palace, Finwë embraced Alcaron, a rare moment of warmth between father and son. "Long have you walked your own road," Finwë said, "and now I see the fruits of your journey. This city is unlike any other in Aman—your people are one, not divided. It is a worthy home for a worthy lord."
Alcaron inclined his head, but there was no need for words. Finwë's approval, though long unsought, was deeply felt.
Meregoth, Nimloth's father, now called Eärondë his home, having followed his daughter and his people to this new land. When he greeted Alcaron, it was not as a lord greeting a prince but as a father welcoming a son.
"You have built more than a city, Alcaron," Meregoth said. "You have built a future for my daughter and for all of us. I have no doubt that this union will strengthen what we have created here."
His words carried weight, for once, there had been doubt—doubt that the Noldor and Falmari could truly live as one. But here, in this city of stone and sea, unity had been forged.
The last guest to arrive was Olwë, King of the Falmari and uncle of Nimloth. He came not only as her kin but as the officiant of the ceremony. His arrival was marked by the ringing of silver bells upon the masts of the Falmari ships that had carried him across the sea.
Standing before Alcaron, Olwë smiled. "You have come far, young one," he said. "Ulmo watches over you, and the sea has accepted you as one of its own. Tomorrow, you and Nimloth will be bound, and in your union, Eärondë itself shall be blessed."
With these words, the city fell into a quiet anticipation. The night was filled with the sound of distant waves and the flicker of lanterns along the harbor, as all awaited the dawn of the wedding day.
With the first light of dawn, the city came alive with the sound of harps and flutes. The wedding was to be held at the shores of Eärondë, where the river met the sea, a place sacred to both Noldor and Falmari alike.
Nimloth stood adorned in a gown woven from the silver-threaded fabrics of the Falmari, its flowing design mimicking the waves. Upon her brow, her father set a delicate circlet of pearl and mithril, a gift from Olwë himself. In her hair, strands of silver and white shells caught the light, and her eyes shone with quiet joy.
Alcaron, dressed in robes of deep blue and silver, bore upon his hand the ring he had forged under Aulë's guidance, the sapphire gleaming with runes of blessing. His mantle was clasped with a brooch shaped like a ship sailing under the stars, a token of both his past and his future.
The ceremony was held beneath an archway of woven sea-wood, its branches entwined with flowering vines. The gathered crowd fell silent as Olwë raised his hands.
"In the name of Ulmo, who shaped the waters, and Varda, who kindled the stars, we gather here to witness the binding of two hearts."
Olwë turned first to Nimloth. "Nimloth, daughter of Meregoth, do you take Alcaron to be your husband, to walk beside him as the river flows to the sea, unending and steadfast?"
"I do," she said, her voice clear and strong.
Then Olwë turned to Alcaron. "Alcaron, son of Finwë, do you take Nimloth to be your wife, to stand beside her as the stone holds the shore, enduring and true?"
"I do," Alcaron replied.
With that, they took each other's hands, and Olwë spoke the final words. "By the will of Eru and the blessing of the Valar, let none undo what has been woven together. May your love be as the stars—unchanging and everlasting."
As they kissed, a breeze from the sea stirred the banners of Eärondë, and the waves lapped gently against the shore as if in approval.
With the ceremony complete, the city erupted in celebration. Tables were set with golden goblets and plates of fine seafood and fruit. Noldorin poets recited verses of love and longing, while Falmari singers wove harmonies that seemed to echo the rolling of the tide.
Lanterns were released onto the water, their soft glow reflecting the stars above, as couples danced in the open square before the Great Hall. The dances blended both cultures—graceful and fluid movements of the Falmari, paired with the intricate, measured steps of the Noldor.
As the night deepened, Alcaron and Nimloth stood upon the highest balcony of the palace, looking out over their city. Below, the people sang and feasted, their voices rising in joy. Above, the stars shone brighter than ever, and Alcaron knew that this was only the beginning of the life they would build together.
The dawn after the wedding was golden, the first light of Laurelin casting long rays over the city of Eärondë. Though the stars still lingered in the sky, heralding the last whispers of the night, the streets were already stirring with life. Banners of deep blue and silver hung from every archway and tower, woven with designs of flowing water and soaring stars, symbols of both the Noldor and the Falmari. The harbor was alight with the glow of golden torches, their flames mirrored in the sea's surface, as if Eärondë itself was ablaze with celebration.
It was no ordinary morning. The city was alive with a joyous energy, for this was no simple union—it was a moment of history, the first royal wedding in the land of Eärondë. And the people would not let such an occasion pass quickly.
The celebration would last for thirteen days, each day dedicated to honoring one of the Valar, for without their guidance, Eärondë itself would not exist.
Each day, the people of Eärondë honored a different Vala, offering tributes and songs, feasts and dances, invoking blessings upon the city and its rulers.
The first day was dedicated to the High King of Arda, with white banners raised above the city and wind-chimes singing from every balcony. Falmari singers performed hymns that carried like echoes upon the wind, and Alcaron and Nimloth released white doves over the sea.
On the second day, the people gathered by the harbor, tossing pearls and silver tokens into the waves, gifts to the Lord of the Waters. Nimloth, standing at the water's edge, poured a goblet of purest spring water into the sea, whispering a blessing.
The third day was marked by the ringing of forges, as the craftsmen of Eärondë worked tirelessly, crafting intricate gifts to be placed in the Great Hall. Alcaron visited the master-smiths, honoring his own time spent learning under Aulë.
On the fourth night, the lights of Eärondë rivaled the stars, as thousands of lanterns were set upon the river, floating toward the sea. The people gathered beneath the open sky, singing songs to Elentári, she who had kindled the stars.
The fith day was a day of planting and renewal, in which fruit and flowers were offered to the sacred groves around the city. Nimloth, with a gentle hand, planted a silver-leafed sapling in the courtyard of the palace, a symbol of new life.
On the sixth day a great hunt was held, though not for sport but in honor of the untamed wilds beyond Eärondë. Noldor and Falmari rode together, tracking stags through the forests and honoring Oromë's bond with the beasts of Arda.
The next day was a day of remembrance. The people gathered in the great hall, speaking of those they had lost in the great journey. Alcaron and Nimloth sat among them, listening, honoring the past.
The eight day was spent in quiet reverence, the people walked the pathways of the city, remembering the weight of fate and the echoes of what had been foretold.
On the ninth day was spent in joy and reverie, as soft music filled the air, and the scent of blooming flowers drifted on the breeze. Dreams and visions were shared among the people, artists and poets weaving their inspirations into beauty.
The tenth day was a day of contests, of races through the streets, of laughter and good-natured trials of strength.
The eleventh day was dedicated to the weavers and tailors of Eärondë worked tirelessly, crafting banners and garments that told the story of the city's founding.
The second to last day was a day of dancing, as every square and courtyard filled with movement, feet tracing patterns that mimicked the waves and the wind.
The final day was one of peace, of rest. The last night of celebration was quiet and beautiful, filled with soft music and the scent of the sea.
As the stars rose over the final night of celebration, Alcaron led Nimloth to a quiet terrace that overlooked the city. The lanterns still flickered along the riverbanks, and the sea murmured softly in the distance, as if listening.
In his hands, Alcaron held a small, intricately carved box of polished wood, inlaid with silver filigree.
He turned the small wooden box over in his hands, its polished surface smooth beneath his fingers. Silver filigree traced delicate patterns across the lid, catching the soft light. When he opened it, the ring inside gleamed like a sliver of the night sky, as if it had been plucked from the stars themselves.
It was more than just a ring—it was a masterpiece. The band, woven from mithril and pearl, was etched with delicate ripples, like waves lapping at the shore. Slivers of opalescent moonstone shimmered along its surface, catching the light in hues of blue and silver, as if kissed by the last glow of Telperion. At its center rested a single white diamond, clear as starlight, reflecting not just the heavens above, but the love he carried in his heart.
Taking Nimloth's hand gently in his own, Alcaron met her gaze. His voice was steady, but his heart pounded.
"I forged this ring at the end of my training, under Aulë's guidance," he said. "It was made for you—long before this night, long before this city stood. I give it to you now, not just as a token of my love, but as a part of myself. No power, no will, no time will ever sever what it represents."
As he slipped the ring onto her finger, the air around them stirred, as if the world itself acknowledged the moment. Nimloth gasped softly as the subtle power within it awakened.
The ring was no ordinary jewel—it carried the essence of the elements:
Air, granting Nimloth grace in her movements and a voice that carried, calm and commanding.
Water, flowing through its depths, soothing anger and bringing clarity to clouded thoughts.
Earth, a quiet resilience, an unshakable strength that would never falter or break.
Fire, not to burn, but to inspire—to kindle courage and drive away despair.
And yet, for all its power, the ring's strength was bound to Alcaron's love. It would only ever answer to Nimloth. If his spirit were ever lost, if his heart ever turned away from hers, its light would fade.
Nimloth's fingers trembled as she touched the ring, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "More than I could have ever dreamed."
Then, with the waves murmuring below and the city hushed in reverence, they kissed.
As the celebrations drew to an end, the city council gathered one final time. The people assembled in the great square before the palace, murmuring with curiosity.
Meregoth stepped forward. "For a few years, this council has guided the city," he said, his voice steady. "But no longer. The union of our people is complete. The Noldor and the Falmari are no longer separate—they are one. And so, Eärondë needs no council to rule it."
A silence fell over the crowd.
"It is the will of the people," he continued, "that Alcaron and Nimloth, who are both Noldor and Falmari, become the first rulers of this land."
The people erupted into cheers. Alcaron, though hesitant, felt the weight of destiny settle upon him. He turned to Nimloth, finding only certainty in her gaze.
Standing before their people, Alcaron spoke. "I will not rule as a master, but as a guardian of your dreams. This city is not mine—it is ours."
And so, beneath the watching stars, Alcaron and Nimloth were crowned King and Queen of Eärondë, the city of stone and sea, of dream and destiny.