Silver Fire and Starlight

Maranaë let free a wistful sigh as her slender body languidly stretched within the meadow, luxurant grass and fragrant flowers caressing her pale flesh. Her face, considered one of the fairest amongst her people, was shadowed with worry and sorrow. She was attuned to the land as were all her kindred, and she could feel the earth itself trembling in fear of what was to come.

There was talk of dark things stirring in the depths of the night. Every elf could feel within their very soul that a great tragedy was about to befall the children of Eldanar, and yet all they could do was stand by helplessly as the wheel of time continued to turn without them, uncaring and unmoved by their plight.

The young elven maiden let free a wistful sigh, her eyes hued the shade of midnight sparkling with the reflection of the glittering heavens far above. Her hair was as dark as the purest of onyx, its thick waves fanned out about her head, shining with its own luminescence. Her mother had once lovingly commented that she was the light of the stars, and though it always brought a warm smile to her face to remember back upon those sweet memories, there was naught that could be done about the shadow that had befallen her heart.

She feared for her people, and for the future. The world had become restless, and a terrible dread had slowly welled within her bosom that all that she held dear would soon perish.

* * * * *

He was the silver flame. He was the air upon which he soared, and the stars beneath which he dwelled. His domain stretched as far as the eye could see. He was majestic and terrible at once. He was both generous and greedy, giving and taking at whim. He was one of the most ancient of beings to dwell upon Eldanar. He was a god cast out from paradise, and yet his heart knew no shame nor regret.

What his heart did know, however, was loneliness.

Ilsarúva stretched forth his massive wings, his silver scales glittering beneath the glow of the moonlight. He appeared as though a massive jewel amidst the tapestry of the sky, a flame of silver that rocketed across the heavens effortlessly. He had existed since the beginning of time, and within the depths of his eyes swam the wisdom of ages past.

His was a great power to direct. Though he no longer held claim to full godhood and much of his glory had been stripped, there were yet many wonderous feats of which he was capable of. Yet, for all its worth, he felt an emptiness from within that slowly gnawed away at him. There was no true joy within his life. He simply existed, doomed to dwell in solace with no company. Those who had suffered the same fate as he had been condemned to a deep sleep. They were cursed to never again interact with each other. When at last his time had passed and he felt the great slumber upon him, another would awaken as his own eyes slid closed.

It was perhaps the most cruel part of their punishment. An eternal life was theirs, but what good did that serve him when all he had was himself for company?

It was in the middle of these bitter ridden thoughts that something caught his eye from afar, and as his wings made slight adjusments to veer him in that direction, he realized it was an elven maiden alone within the middle of a meadow. She seemed adrift in a sea of pale lavendar, the flowers about her in full bloom only at night. His eyesight was even more keen than that of the elves, and he could see in agonizing detail the extent of her beauty.

Ilsarúva felt a stirring within the lonely caverns of his heart, a deep and ever hungry greed springing to life. She was more fair than any piece of treasure he had ever accumulated, and immediately he felt an intense pang of jealousy. No other deserved to ever lay eyes upon her. She would be his most prized jewel. A living, breathing creature that would outshine all other possessions. She was beautiful, and she would be his.

* * * * *

Maranaë had been lost within her own musings, and so when at last a shadow fell across her features and she tilted her head to glance over, she was embarassed to see a tall, elven noble all but standing over her. A heated blush immediately crept into her cheeks as he extended forth his hand, and as she delicately accepted his help to stand to her feet, she could not help but somehow feel inexplicably drawn towards his gaze.

His eyes were the most startlingly shade of silver she had ever seen. They seemed as though quicksilver, their glimmering depths seeming to shift as she fell further and further within those twin glaciers. She forgot time and her surroundings as she stood there, slowly lulled beneath his enchantment. Maranaë could see the wisdom of years beyond his countenance in those eyes, and beneath it all, she saw something else lurking.

She saw sorrow, and immediately her heart was moved to compassion.

Ilsarúva had no need of words to lure Maranaë beneath his spell. He was tall and muscular, shoulder length hair the same hue as his eyes and armor framing his stoic features. It was a guise, but it was necessary. His true form was massive, and while he knew himself to be the very embodiment of perfection and glory, the mere sight of his true form had the tendency to strike terror into the hearts of the lesser races.

So, with his gaze alone did he weave a spell of charming over the lovely maiden, and with the gentlest of caresses upon her cheek did he seal her love for him.