A/N:  Inspired by:  "and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow." (Chapter 24, Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Presentation

(exactly 100 words)

"B-But," Eärendil stammered, confused, looking from Yavanna to Aulë and then back to the elegant mithril circlet the Worldsmith held, "I gave the Silmaril to Lord Manwë."

Yavanna smiled.  "And that is why we now return it to you.  You have proved your worthiness to bear its light."

"But the Trees--I thought the light would fix the Trees."

She shook her head; wheat golden tresses rippling over her shoulders like a wind touched grassy plain.  "It is far too late for that."

Aulë placed the Silmaril on Eärendil's brow.  "Now it is time for hope to grow," he said.