...Silaria insisted on following him. Cruelty didn't seem to matter in this case. She remained convinced she belonged to him; even when Maedhros hunted with his eagle as fast as he could, she ran after him, trudging along until she was covered with yellow dust with bits of grass threaded into her light hair.
People laughed at her curled up with a blanket in the chilly night air, and soon they were laughing at him. They said that he had a white-haired slave. That she was a know-nothing. Useless.
"Go away," Maedhros cried. "Leave me be."
A King should not be laughable. Even a King-to-be.
But Silaria wouldn't stop acting as though she were his champion. The cruder Maedhros was, the kinder she became. Nothing could get rid of her, not insults, not the red ants Maedhros dropped in her blankets that made her itch at night. She continued to sing a beautiful song whose words Maedhros couldn't understand.
When Maedhros treated her badly, Silaria didn't seem to notice. Every night she slept beside his tent, shivering, when inside Maedhros had extra blankets he didn't care to share. Maedhros couldn't stand it anymore; the song she sang in a language he didn't understand got into his dreams. At night, his head was filled with that melody.
Maedhros went outside into the night. The whole world seemed black, except for Silaria's white hair. She turned her face to him, happy to see him.
"What do you want from me?" Maedhros said.
Silaria took off an amulet hung around her neck. It was a strand of leather decorated with seashells from far away, from the shores of Valinor. One shell was white, one was pink, one was the color of the blue ice in the deepest center of winter. Silaria had him hold the white shell to his ear, and although it was tiny Maedhros could hear water.
"That's where I come from," she told him.
"Why would you give yourself to me like this?"
"Since you saved my life, that means I'm your champion," Silaria said.
"I would never have a champion like you. Afraid of a shadow."
"The things I'm afraid of aren't shadows," Silaria said.
She sounded different then. When Maedhros looked at her he realized she knew more about some things than he did.
She ran her hands over her arms, where the flames had scarred her with burns. Then Silaria told him all about the burning of the ships. How she'd bit her tongue so hard she had bitten right through in one place; that place still hurt her every time she took a drink of water. It was though a fire-spirit had gotten hold of her and she had fought it off with the spirit inside of herself.
The more she spoke, the more Maedhros saw something in her that was strong, stronger than those scars; her will made her burns disappear. Maedhros didn't even notice them as she spoke. He saw the elleth she truly was as though Maedhros was looking right through her.
"Now I choose," she said. "And I choose to be your champion."
After that, Maedhros stopped being so mean. Maedhros got so used to her that whenever Silaria didn't follow him, the oddest thing happened: he felt alone, and Maedhros didn't like the feeling. It made no sense to him.
Every warrior is alone in this world.
Everyone must fight their own battle.
(after Alice Hoffman)
