Moonrise by StarSpray

Chapter 1

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A delicate mist lay over Valmar. The horrid Unlight of Ungoliant had long been dispersed by more natural winds and rain, and the stars blazed overhead, obscured only by the occasional scuttling cloud. Naryinde gazed up at them as she climbed a hill outside of the city, picking out familiar constellations. They were mostly ones the Teleri had named, for they were the ones still living in starlight on the other side of the Calacirya.

It had been an indescribable relief to look up after the Trees had died to see the stars still there. Melkor could not touch them, could not hide them but for a little while. Beneath the stars' light the darkness had lost its terror, and the Eldar had begun to breathe more easily again. Or at least, the Vanyar had. The Noldor had gone their own way, and pulled the Teleri unwilling into their grief.

At the top of the hill Naryinde found her daughter already playing her harp and singing. Elemmírë's voice was clear and bright as the stars, and her fingers were long and nimble on the harp strings, harmonizing with the breeze in the grass as well as the other instruments being played among the company—there were drums and flutes and lutes and other harps too. The party sat or lay on blankets spread out on the dewy grass. Some of them were dancing to the music, their hair shimmering pale in the starlight, and their movements graceful and easy.

Naryinde sat beside Elemmírë. The song soon ended, and wine was brought out and shared around, before someone called for a story, for they would be sitting atop the hill for many hours yet. "Naryinde, tell us a tale!" someone said. "Tell us of the coming of Oromë to Cuiviénen!" This started a clamoring for many different tales. Elemmírë laughed and strummed her harp as Naryinde waited in silence for the demands to die down.

She sat up and crossed her legs as the party finally quieted, and began to speak. She did not tell the story of Oromë's discovery of the Eldar, or of the Great Journey, or of anything to do with the Elves at all. Instead she told the tale of the Lamps, of the great beacons the Valar had first erected to give light until the world, until they were destroyed by Melkor. The tale from there wove itself seamlessly to the creation of Aman and the planting of the Trees. Naryinde stopped the tale there. They all knew what came next—like the Lamps, the Trees had fallen. From this hill the dark silhouettes could be seen in the distance, gnarled and stooping. But a new chapter was about to begin, new Lights for the world—the whole world, not only Aman. It was for the first sighting of Telperion's last silver flower that they had come to this hill.

And at last a cry went up. People leapt to their feet, pointing to the western horizon. Elemmírë and Naryinde rose, standing shoulder to shoulder as the great round silver shape of Telperion's flower rose, up and up, dimming the stars about it but casting a bright pale light over the plains and the forests, illuminating the city of Valmar bellow them, where silver bells began to ring in celebration, and voices erupted in songs of delight and of praise. The mists about the bases of the hills shimmered.

"Oh," Elemmírë breathed.

Naryinde laughed. "At a loss for words, daughter?"

"No!" Elemmírë laughed too. "But I must find the right song for them!"

As Elemmírë bent to pick up her harp, Naryinde looked back up at the new light. From Lamp to Tree to whatever name this would come to bear, the story had wound. She hoped this light would last longer than either of his predecessors. And more than that, she was grateful that he did not obscure the stars.