Súlimëo Quentar: March Stories by Elleth

Halo in the Mist

Mithrellas, as a mother, cannot bear mortality.

The stars form halos in the mist the night Gilmith is born. Mithrellas pushes, strains and screams, expelling life into the world – first touch confirming former guesses. The girl, too, is mortal, and Mithrellas is no Lúthien, nor Elwing, to offer her a choice.

The girl grows swiftly. She likes the nights when stars form halos in the mist, recalling birth and name. And all too soon, time, trusty, calls for tribute. Gilmith's hair was always silver, but frosty white is new. She takes her mother's hands, bidding her go. Her choice is peace.

It was a nightmare nonetheless; Mithrellas' heart pounds, waking. Gilmith lies sleeping in her cradle. Far, the stars form halos in the mist. She will grow, the nightmare may well have been truth. It is, or will be.

So Mithrellas sails, and grieving wonders. Will stars form halos in the mist across the sea? Give peace?

Chapter End Notes

Written for the following prompts:

N36: Snippets of Verse: Time, which takes in trust our youth; Women of the Silmarillion: Mortal Women

B13: Here We Come A-Caroling: "And they looked up and saw a star..."