Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The golden hues of the early morning sun painted the towering trees of the Avari realm in shades of amber and gold. The air was cool, carrying a quiet stillness, as if the forest itself mourned the farewell about to take place. At the gates of the royal city, Aurion stood tall and resolute, clad in finely crafted armor of silver and green, the crest of the Avari emblazoned on his chest. Beside him were one hundred of the Avari's finest soldiers, each handpicked for their loyalty and skill, their presence a testament to his family's love and care.

Aistalë was the first to step forward. Her expression was a bittersweet mix of pride and sorrow, her grey eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She reached up, cupping her son's face with both hands, her touch gentle but firm. "Aurion," she said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it, "you are my heart, my brightest star. Remember all that we have taught you. Stay true to yourself, and honor will follow wherever you go."

Aurion leaned down, allowing her to place a tender kiss on his forehead. "I will make you proud, Mother," he said quietly, though his voice carried the conviction of a promise.

Next came Arinyanénar, his silver hair catching the light like a crown as he embraced his son tightly. "You are a son of the Avari, of the line of Kings," he said, his voice deep and steady. "But above all, you are my son, and I am proud of the elf you are becoming. Do not let the shadows of this world dim the light within you."

Aurion nodded, his throat tightening as he returned his father's embrace.

Anórien stepped forward next, his fiery hair glowing like a living flame in the sunlight. He placed both hands on Aurion's shoulders, pulling him into a warm hug. "You carry not just the strength of our people, but also their hope," he said, his words laced with affection. "Be courageous, be wise, and never forget that you are loved. Always."

Aurion felt his grandfather's deep and steady presence as a balm against his own nerves. "I will not forget, Grandfather. I promise."

Finally, Galadriel approached, her expression distant yet softer than usual. Her gaze lingered on her grandson as though memorizing every detail. Without a word, she placed a cool hand on his brow and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "May the light of the stars guide your path, Aurion," she said, her voice quiet but filled with something close to warmth. "And may you never stray from it."

Aurion was surprised by the gentleness of her touch and the faint trace of emotion in her voice. He bowed his head. "Thank you, Grandmother. I will honor your words."

With the farewells said, Aurion mounted his steed—a proud white horse gifted to him by his grandfather. The soldiers behind him, their armor glinting faintly in the sunlight, saluted in unison. The gates of the city creaked open, revealing the forest road that would lead him north toward Hithlum.

Aurion turned to look at his family one last time, their faces a mix of pride, love, and sorrow. He raised a hand in farewell before urging his horse forward. The soldiers followed, their march steady and disciplined, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance.

The journey ahead would be long and fraught with challenges, but as the young prince rode through the trees, his mind was clear. He carried with him the strength of his family, the legacy of his people, and a heart filled with hope for the path that lay before him.

The forest swallowed him and his escort, the golden light of the morning slipping away as they ventured into the unknown.