silverstar, the silmarillion

xii. a noble heart

"Star?" Elmarë questioned in bewilderment, following Maglor's gaze of line to the burning star. The Fëanorion glanced down at her, and his eyes shown uneasiness, as he knew, as to what extent Elmarë understands the Oath.

"Yes," answered he unsurely. "'Tis the light of the Silmaril," Maglor continued. Her warm eyes turned cold, a change that doesn't go unnoticed by the son of Fëanor, and she asked monotonously, "Elwing's Silmaril?"

She felt a raging fire inside her when she heard the word. Silmaril.

The Silmaril has taken away so many. It has taken her mother, or who she was before, her mother's brothers, Elúrin and Elúred, and much more elves, even Fëanor and his sons themselves. She loathes that shining jewel, and the evil, the war, and massacres it caused. But at most, she loathes that the Silmaril had taken away her mother.

Elwing had jumped to protect the Silmaril.

Fire and screams were heard everywhere, the banner of the Star of Feanor ambushing the camp of Sirion, and Elmarë ran past them, past the elves with fire in their eyes, desperate to see her brothers and Gilithdol.

But she paused abruptly, when she saw a mighty elf with long midnight dark hair, the eight-pointed star emblemed on his very armor, lowering his sword to the ground, and his hands up in the air, with Elwing, her dark hair swept by the wind, a terrified glint in her eyes, while she clutched Lúthien's Silmaril tight to her chest.

"Elwing, hand me the Silmaril," the elf said carefully, each of his words polished and are weighted, "and we promise the safety of you, your children, and your kin." He walked cautiously towards her mother, every time he took a step forward, Elwing took a step behind.

"Liar," she hissed, her dark eyes blazing. "Your brothers killed my father and mother and took my brothers to the woods, and starved them to death!" each word was whispered with venom and hatred.

The tall elf flinched beneath his thick armor, reminded of such a harsh memory, and spoke earnestly, "All we want is to fulfill the Oath, Dioriel."

Elwing kept stepping back until her back bumped against the railings that were to prevent from falling to the Great Sea below the building. Her eyes kept darting between the elf and the sea, of which he became aware.

"Don't, please, we can finish this peacefully," he begged.

"Curse that Oath, Curse thee, and thy brothers!" She shouted finally and jumped from the building, her Silmaril held between her palms. The elf ran to the edge, peering down, terrified, that he had killed Elwing.

Elmarë froze and took a sharp intake of breath. She took a step back. After all these years, she still loves Elwing, even though very little love is shared between them. She still held that false hope that one day, Elwing will snap out of the magic of the Silmaril, and love her and her brothers.

A white bird arose from the sea, its wings flapping rapidly, as she left to follow her husband.

The elf had heard her and sharply turned to face the petrified elf. Elmarë turned away and ran, a pearly tear sliding down her cheek, ran away before the elf could take a glance at her.

"Aye," said he cautiously. He smiled down uneasily at Elrond and Elros, who looked impatient, wanting to see the new star. Elmarë's eyes widened then, and she stood away from Maglor. It took a moment for her to know that the elf she had seen with Elwing was Maglor.

"You!" She shouted. "You were the cause that Elwing jumped," Elmarë whispered. Maglor froze, dread and guilt filling him at very the sentence. She knew she was being vain, that Elwing jumped on her own accord, but she just felt betrayed.

She had put her trust at Maglor Fëanorion, but never had he mentioned Elwing, that it was him who was with her to cliff's edge.

...

Elmarë hummed as she made a white flower crown. She felt the guilt eating her, as she knew, that it was not Maglor, who was to be blamed for Elwing's plunge into the sea. But why hadn't he told her, that it was him, who cornered her?

She felt a presence, next to her, only for her hand to be enveloped by small ones. She stared at her hands and rose her eyes to Elrond's grey saddened ones. Elmarë held it tighter, and wondered, "Why does it hurt? That Maglor hid the truth?"

Because you trust him

"Don't blame Maglor, Muinthel," Elrond said softly. "Nana chose to leave, not to stay. And Maglor stays, and cares for us." Elmarë smiled weakly, as his words echoed in her head, Nana chose to leave, not to stay. And Maglor stays and cares for us.

Will he stay?

All her life she felt left, abandoned, the only one who cared for her was Gilithdol, and now she was gone, perished in her embrace. She felt the longing and emptiness for love, then they came. Taking them as hostages but not treated as such; who sings for their hostages, comforts them, and cares for them?

"I am sorry," Elmarë mumbled. Light footsteps approached them, and Maedhros' voice rumbled, "Apologize to my brother, not him. You've made him quite upset, Elmarë."

Elmarë stood, her hand still engulfing Elrond's, and with shame, she lowered her eyes to the ground and nodded, and when she rose her eyes to meet his dark blue, she could see the weariness in it.

...

"Maglor?"

Elmarë entered the room, Maedhros and Elrond behind her. Maglor paused, and Elros, who was playing with Maglor, glanced at his sister then to the son of Fëanor, before he stood and ran to join his twin and Maedhros outside.

She sat gently on the cold stone floor, her hands held tightly together. "Forgive me, it was wrong of me. I should not have blamed you, Maglor. I know Elwing jumped on her own accord. I was—"

"'Tis fine, little star, I should have told you even so," Maglor interrupted her, gently patting his hand over her's. Elmarë rose her eyes to his and smiled genuinely at him, albeit a small smile. She shook her head, "Still, it was wrong of me to blame you."

"I should have told you and your brothers too, of how Elwing left, but I didn't."

She shook her head, frowning, and sat quietly until she muttered, "I knew. I knew, how Maedhros wrote to Elwing, demanding the Silmaril to be returned to him; as is 'his birthright' the letter said. But she tore the letter and threw it to the fire."

Elmarë continued, "I didn't know why mother couldn't have just given it to you, and we can live in peace. Why, Maglor?" She did not notice she uttered the word, 'mother', and when she did, she felt a slight tug in her heart. It has been a long time since she called Elwing, 'mother'.

His gaze was far away, a glint of pain in his deep blue eyes, as he withdrew his hands from her's and folded them neatly on his lap, "Her father to grandfather was slain to protect the jewel, Elmarë. She would never willingly give the Silmaril her father had died to protect. Tell me, Elmarë, will you?"

"I will. If only to create peace and not the cold massacre of my people, I will."

The son of Fëanor's lips tugged upwards at her statement, "You have a noble heart, Elmarë, if it be more people were that way."