[ Nothing like the ropey crisscrossing burn scars on Maglor's own hands, the old marks right now red and angry, sensing their maker near.

He nods jerkily, hands down and fisted, and it is probably the first time anyone has seen him unarmed

(He didn't dare, he knows what he might do) ]

Yes. Please.

[ Take it! Celegorm howls but Maglor ignores him. Killua is his, he's going to give it to him. That's all that matters. ]

It's... one of father's great jewels, the Silmarils, the last of the light that was before Moon and Sun, the light which birthed them.

[ The story should fall easily from his lips, he's told this tale so often. But never with the Oath screaming in his ears and the words are stilted ]