Fragments by SkyEventide

The first morning of Arda

Written for the prompt: hope, glass, special, fascinating. Featuring Finarfin.

The architects of the Ñoldor and the Vanyar, when the word for architect first came to be, had devised the throne room of Tirion’s palace so that its far end would look towards the Ezellohar. Great emptiness had been carved out of the wall behind the thrones: large arched windows, a mighty framework for a wonder of glass and light.

Arafinwë recalled the thronging hall, and the colours of the stained windows bursting to life in a haze of gold, the luminous story of Cuiviénen and the records of their folks’ awakening. But it had come to pass that Arafinwë should only sit on his father’s chair, a painful honour unsought and unexpected, with a heavy heart, and look upon emptied rooms and a long darkness that the stars could only partly pierce.

Yet, as all things, even the darkness came to an end.

Thus Arafinwë walked into the halls of his rulership even as the Sun raced through the sky in the first morning of Arda and halted far from the throne, for the great wall shone anew, its colours painted on the floors with unparalleled clarity.

So he sat on the marble, as if child again, and marvelled at it with an aching smile.