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baddybaddyadardaddy · 2 years

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Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall’n - An Adar Origin Story

Summary: “Nothing is evil in the beginning.”The one who would be called "Adar" in afterdays awakens at Cuiviénen, and his dark destiny unfolds. (Rating: M)

Chapter 1: Awakening

From out of nothing, a voice speaks, and one word echoes:

Awake . . .

In the innermost of places, the fëa is kindled, summoned into being by the words of the One, the all-powerful voice that speaks from the deeps of time.

Awake . . .

Breath begins, soft and shallow. Peacefully, it winds through every cavern, into every corner of the hröa, carrying the essence of life.

“Awake . . .”

The call is at last perceived by the one whom it awakens as the fëa touches the mind, creating consciousness. It is a whispered suggestion—beckoning, coaxing:

“Now is the time. Awake. . .”

...

For the first time, his eyes are opened.

The first thing he sees is the blue-black sky, pulled over top of him like a cloak of velvet, comforting and vast. Glimmering in the deeps of this heavenly fabric, he perceives points of light that shine, radiant and sharp, like sparkling eyes that watch and wink. He is mesmerized as they dance before him, twinkling beacons of celestial fire.

Their light touches something inside him—he becomes aware of a deep, sudden ache, and he connects it with their beauty.

From around him, he begins to hear voices, calling out: “Elen! Elen!” He makes another connection: the word—elen—with the lights in the skies. Stars.

The voices and the light inspire movement—he is curious now, desiring to draw closer, to see more. He perceives his body: the hands that help him rise, pushing against soft grass and solid earth, and the feet that allow him to stand, bringing him ever so slightly nearer to the stars above.

There are others like him, standing further up the gently sloping hillside, their eyes also transfixed by the sky. He studies them closely. They stand in pairs—tall ones, with bodies like his, and next to them, slightly shorter ones with longer hair that seem somehow softer than their partners.

His eyes fall to the place beside him, and he finds it empty. A new feeling rises—cloudy and uncomfortable, a sense of incorrectness. Confusion.

Was not there a companion for him?

While the others hold their places, so taken as they are with the stars, he begins to move, to search.

His feet carry him down the hill toward a vast lake, glassy and calm. On the bank are trees with long, wispy branches that wave in the night wind, and diverse blossoms of purple and blue and white. He winds through the branches and vines, running his fingers over silken petals. Something invisible guides his step—a feeling, an instinct, that draws him through the trees. He comes to an inlet where the water breaks its gentle curve along the shoreline and juts sharply into the land.

He sees her there, and he knows, somehow, that she is meant for him.

She is standing in the glassy water, bending down to touch it, to capture it briefly in her cupped hand before letting it trickle out again. There is starlight in her long, dark hair, and as he watches her manipulate the water, he feels the ache again—similar to the one he’d felt when he’d first beheld the stars—and he understands that it must come from beholding a sight of surpassing beauty.

From across the water, her eyes find his as she pulls her body slowly upright. She tosses her hair back over her white shoulders, and he is enraptured by her loveliness, her aliveness. Catching his stare, a playful smile teases about her lips, and she tilts her head coyly, as though beckoning him to draw nearer. He chances a step toward her, and her smile broadens as she turns away and bounds gracefully off into the trees.

He follows—far less gracefully—splashing through the cool, shallow waters to the opposite shore and clambering up the muddy bank and into the wood.

Soft moss carpets the forest floor. Gaining speed, he begins to thrill at the feel of wind blowing through his hair and earth beneath his feet. He draws closer, but she is quick, darting in and out of the trees, her movements swift and agile. The air rings with her laughter and it spurs him on, his pulse quickening with each burst of that melodious sound.

On and on they run, until she comes to a stop in a clearing just ahead. He slows, gasping with effort to return breath to body.

She turns to him as he steps into the glade, her eyes shimmering, and he is drawn to her beauty as though she were a fallen star given earthly form. With cautious step, he approaches, fearful that she’ll run again.

But this time, she lingers, and allows him draw near enough to notice the rise and fall of her chest, to hear the breath of life as it flows in and out past her lips. Her eyes are two endless pools of deep green, intense and aflame with curiosity as he nears, studying every inch of him.

He is not running any longer, yet his heart still races as though he is.

She lifts her hand slowly, bringing it close to his face but not allowing it to touch. Green eyes beckon, and he senses that she is waiting for him. Understanding, he mirrors her movement with his opposite hand, and it trembles in anticipation, suspended. . . waiting.

Her hand begins to caress the skin of his temple, gliding along the edge of his face, tracing down his cheek and back again, and he does the same: delighting in this first experience of touch, this first moment of connection. Her fingers glide through his hair, skimming over the sharp peak of his ear and a tremor runs through his body at this new sensation; it floods him with warmth as his eyes close in bliss.

Finally, he feels her hand come to rest gently on his chest, right above his heart, where dwells the secret fire of his being, and she smiles contentedly when he touches her in the same place.

As they stand still together, there by the Waters of Awakening, in the place known in afterdays as Cuiviénen, he can almost hear the song that his fëa sings out in joy for having found her.

He knows then—in the same way he knew the word by which to call the stars—that they have names, given to them by a great creator: that he is Eren, and she, Erenyë.

And in the bliss of those awakening days, he can think of nothing that would ever part them.

.....

The elves that awoke upon that hill become followers of Tata, the Second Father, who had awoken after Imin, the First Father, and before Enel. The three fathers had chosen their kindreds, and of the Tatyar, Tata’s people, there were fifty-six.

By the waters of Cuiviénen they settle, and their days are filled with wandering the shores and bathing in the waters and singing to the stars. In time, they come to the fullness of speech, and they learn to gather berries and mushrooms and other sundry roots and plants to eat.

But Erenyë is not content to remain by the great lake—for her spirit calls her ever into the wild. From the first day, she has loved the trees, and she delights most in naming the different kinds, and in discovering new glens and yet unwalked paths. She comes to know the forests and the fens that surround Cuiviénen better than any among the Tatyar, or the Minyar, Imin’s people.

Only the children of the Nelyar, the kindred of Enel, wander in the wood as often as Erenyë does, but they always return before the evensong, at the rising of the bright western star.

Yet Erenyë is frequently absent at the singing, and it is not uncommon for her to miss many evensongs in a row.

And wheresoever Erenyë walks, Eren follows after.