The Bride's Jewel by Scribe of Mirrormere

Poking her head from the topmost layer of tree branches, Míriel’s breath stilled at the glittering lines of stars arched high above her head. If she tilted her head just so, she could pretend she was falling into the dark sea of stars, catching bright, silver twinkles within her long dark hair, lost in sweet abandon of the pureness of a dark sea cast with light sparkles. Her mission now wholly forgotten, she continued to stare until she felt a branch poking at her behind and an annoyingly high-pitched voice down below calling out.

“What’s taking you so long! The fruit is right there!”

Grumbling, Míriel grabbed two of the nearby fruits and slid back down, pushing little Indis out of the way, who, unfazed by her friend’s actions, bounced on her feet excitedly upon seeing the two round treasures.

“I was about to not give you any for interrupting my moment with the stars,” Míriel said and took a bite of her own, tucking the other fruit away in her dress as the smile disappeared from Indis’s face. “But then I knew I wouldn't sleep at night from the sound of your whining.”

She tossed the fruit and smiled as Indis gave a tiny shriek of delight. They settled by the large tree as Indis took a big bite and hungrily sucked on the rich juices of the fruit.

“This tree has the very best fruit,” she said. “I am glad the others don’t know about it.”

“Yet,” Míriel said. “They can easily follow us here, you know.”

“They seem more interested in pointing and naming things.”

“From which we are able to convey our thoughts. I wonder what word they may come up for this.”

“I call it Ourfruit,” Indis said and laughed at the look Míriel gave her. A line of juice drooled from the side of her mouth; it was a wonder she was among the First Clan, normally known for their good manners, with such reckless disregard as this. Though then again, Míriel was perhaps a bad influence on the child.

“You’re going to get more plump on this than you already are,” Míriel teased.

“At least not as big as your bottom,” Indis said. “I couldn’t see any stars while looking up at that tree. All I saw was you. Your butt blocked the starlight.”

“Yet I am the one who always gets the fruit. Suppose I was no longer here, stolen by some wicked force that have taken some of our numbers already - what then? There might come a time you can no longer seek my help.”

For a moment a shadow passed over Indis, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Even if I do grow taller than you, I will always need your help. And you will feel guilty if you leave, so you will have to come back!” And Indis gave Míriel a big warm smile before returning to her fruit.

“It seems I will never be rid of you,” Míriel said, but it was in jest. In truth, it seemed the two souls were fated to be together. They had been born just minutes apart, and the overstressed midwife of the clans, Lethanêthê, had laid them side by side on a blanket for a small while as she tended to the two women who had just given birth. It was enough time for Indis to bop Míriel on the nose with a tiny closed fist, evoking a piercing, annoyed cry. The second time, which Míriel herself remembered without being told by her mother, was waking up one night and finding one of the Vanyarin children had rolled towards her, and was gently kicking her as she slept.

“Hey,” Míriel had hissed, shaking the young elf awake. “You’re kicking me!”

Indis awoke, blinked at the odd unfamiliar shapes of the elves sleeping beside her, and rolled back right into her mother’s arms.

“What a fool,” Míriel had thought to herself and went back to sleep.

The following day, the little elf had scuttled down to the shores where Míriel’s parents worked. Her father Raitano was a fisherman and his wife Mírië too, both seemingly always knee-deep in the water. Míriel helped them prepare the day’s catch for the other families who came to trade for fish, but most of the time she sat by the bank and played with any unused nets, twirling the threads between her fingers and imagining she was creating pictures by twisting them this way and that.

“Hey!” the voice drew her attention. Indis stood, grinning up at her.

“You again,” Míriel said, snorting. “What do you want?”

“I’m getting fish for my family, and it must be a really big one!”

Míriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re getting the fish?”

“Uh-huh!” Indis studied the fish in crates around her, clearly uncomfortable with being so near to them. “Our great, great grand ones Imin and Iminyë have returned from their travels!”

“All right then.” Míriel grabbed for the nearest and biggest fish and plopped it down near Indis. “Take this one. Mother will let you have it, no trade.”

“But it’s still moving…”

“Well, it has to be fresh! Otherwise your great, great grand ones will be having another adventure behind the bushes!”

“Ew!” Indis turned visibly green, but her eyes didn’t leave the wildly flopping fish. She tried picking up its tail, shrieked when it wobbled even more viciously than before, searing for breath, and then wrestled with it while crying. Míriel sat and laughed, wiping away tears of mirth, until her mother ran over, scolding Míriel for her cruelty, pulling at her ear. She then took Indis away by the hand, the struggling fish in her other, and helped Indis prepare the fish. Míriel sat alone and was the one weeping, wishing a big ugly fish would go and eat Indis. But instead it was a very happy Indis who skipped away from the dock, carrying a large plate of seasoned and cooked fish.

“You were right!” Indis said happily to Míriel. “Your mother let me have this and accepted no trade, and she even cooked it for us!” She gave Míriel a quick bop on the cheek with her nose and was off, singing merrily.

But the very next day she had returned yet again, this time showing Míriel the fish bones, washed and held together by string. There were three of them.

“Great ones Imin and Iminyë loved it!” Indis said. “I wanted to give this to say thank you! There were enough bones for all of you: one for your father for catching the fish, one for you for picking it out for me, and one for your mother for preparing it!”

Of Míriel's cruel prank, she mentioned nothing, and for the remainder of that day, Míriel was filled with guilt, half the time hating herself and half the time hating Indis for being such a fool.

But it seemed they were fated to remain together, and Indis became Míriel’s fool and friend. Since before they could remember, the elves had developed the habit of dressing in full clothing, having only worn loose cloths tied around their waists before. Míriel and Indis both wore simple dresses that did not constrain them from moving, and the two had grown a fondness for designing their attire. The art of clothing design was still young, but Míriel quickly grew a passion for it from watching her mother Mírië sew designs beside the other women, each picking colors and patterns to display her own family or kin.

For Indis, Míriel had offered to sew patterns of her favorite stars, but Indis kept changing her mind until Míriel became too irritated and sewed on a huge fish. Yet Indis loved it, and Míriel sewed little white stars around the fish and above it, outlining the collar of Indis’s dress. Just a year later, she added a purple-red design in the shape of their favorite fruit, as they had since discovered their favorite place by a precipice looking out to the easternmost skies.

The fish and fruit on Indis’s dress were now getting a good helping of juice dribbling onto them. Míriel smiled at the thought of Indis’s mother Idrettâ having to wash off the stains while chiding Indis for messing it again.

They ate in contented silence, but Míriel kept glancing at Indis. Even at a young age, Míriel thought the other lovely. Her cheeks were round, her chin pointy, and her mouth like a small pink petal. Long golden curls framed her face. Her parents had named her Indis for they thought she would make a most beautiful bride.

My bride, Míriel thought.

*

Besides her trade in fishing, Mírië was also known for digging up treasures. The waters held wondrous beauty, and it was from it that the first jewelry was made. As Míriel watched, her mother had shown her a large shell, then cracked it open to reveal shiny white globes within. Some of the other shells held treasures shaped into ovals, or tear-drops, or shapes that had no word yet. There was one in particular, so large that it filled her entire hand, its bright sheen pure and innocent.

“Give this to the one you marry,” her mother had told her, “for your love is pure and precious, just as yourself.”

Míriel nodded, and later on infixed the white jewel in the fish bone necklace Indis had given her.

She waited for the next time Indis had visited. Indis linked their arms together and pulled Míriel straight for their tree to see if any new fruit had grown, but Míriel was patient and waited until Indis was done devouring their latest find and had washed her sticky fingers in the nearby river.

Mírië noticed the necklace as Indis passed by, saying her goodbyes before heading back to her parents.

“You’ve made your decision already?” she asked Míriel. There was no anger in her voice but disbelief and a little tinge of amusement.

“Yes,” Míriel said simply.

“Do you not think it better to wait? Perhaps you will meet someone and -”

Míriel slipped past her, smiling. “There won’t be a someone else.”

*

Though Indis possessed the necklace, they made no official move to announce their engagement until both had reached their full heights, and a year later, the wedding took place by the sea shores. All of the Minyar filled the shores, their golden hair gleaming under the stars, yet indeed a great number of the various clans of the Tatyar and Nelyar were also present, as any chance for a celebration tended to draw in a crowd looking for a chance to drink and make merriment.

Míriel and Indis sat by the huts of Míriel’s family, making themselves a clear sight for all of the attendants, who were each given a chance to offer gifts and blessings to the newlyweds. Clothes they were given, and foods they couldn’t possibly hurry enough to eat before they went bad, and trinkets for their home, which Míriel’s parents had built for them at the shore, with Indis’s family having made another little home for them inland. Among the well-wishers were the caretakers of small elflings who were orphaned, their parents having been taken by the shadows. There were about four or five of them, studying the new brides with curiosity and in secret hope of having new parents. Míriel smiled and waved to one with shiny inky-black eyes, who then slipped back behind her caretaker in shyness.

“I would have us adopt all of them,” Indis said. “My home and yours should be good enough for them all.”

Míriel smiled, but she did indeed think of taking at least one of the children under their wings. As was the tradition, a collection of thick string were tied around Indis and Míriel's wrists, keeping them joined and settling a little awkwardly on their knees. When it was time, their parents came to relieve them of the strings, which they then tied to a small note. In Mírië’s hands she held a white dove, its white plumage so bright it shown as one of the stars. Míriel took the dove, and Indis tied the note to the bird’s foot. Both holding the dove so it would not fly away, they made their way to the sea, stopping once the water reached midway to their calves.

To the silver glittering stars they brought their gaze, ignoring the crowd that was watching them intently at the beach. For this part they had all the time to contemplate the stars, each sending a silent prayer for Oijâ Bálâ, the name of the One in the primitive tongue, and when each felt ready, their gazes returned to the dove, who perched in their cupped hands without a need to be held down.

Bringing their heads closer to the dove, they whispered together, “Oh, Oijâ Bálâ, accept our union and by Your Grace bless us.”

And in one motion, the dove was sent flying in the sky, its white wings shining bright silver and starlight as it flew far from their sight. They continued watching, smiling as the note was taken to their Maker, as the custom went. It was moments later when Míriel was aware of just how tightly they were holding one another’s hands. Somewhere far off, a star gleamed in the darkness, and Indis gave Míriel a shy smile.

The hand-holding turned into an embrace, each feeling the light of the stars high above, the blessing of the One wrapping them in an intimate moment.

“My bride,” Míriel said. “I cannot imagine what life would be without you, my most precious star-woman. How lucky I was to only suffer a few minutes of loneliness before you came into the world!”

“If it is true as the Kinn-lai say, then I was indeed a star before,” Indis said, “for I must have seen you fly past, and I could not think of remaining in the heavens without your presence near. And so I followed you here.”

“You would do that,” Míriel said, smiling, and she drew closer and captured Indis’s lips before the eyes of the Minyar and dozens of tribes of the Tatyar and the Nelyar, but if there were any applause or calls of congratulations, they heard none of it. And so it was, basking under the innocent light of the stars over Cuiviénen, that Míriel proclaimed Indis her bride.

*

For a while, Indis remained with Míriel at the seashore, and they settled at their hut, adding a small flap at the top so they may watch the stars.

The roundness of Indis’s cheeks and body had faded as she grew, replaced by curves which fascinated Míriel, who delighted in tracing the edges and curves, the valleys and mountains of her wife. All too soon, Indis returned to her parents, as the two had agreed the distance only sweetened each reunion. It offered them also a chance to return to their tree, from which they still ate their fruit, but here also provided a privacy not guaranteed in their little hut, though careful they were also to avoid any dangers from the shadow.

Under their tree they, ever the explorers, discovered a secret that brought each of them an ecstasy that drove them closer to the stars, and they would lie together, cackling at Indis’s latest silly song that would spill each time Míriel brought her over to the joyous secret wonder they shared.

Like this they remained for many years. Each kept to her crafts, but ventured to the other land to reunite with her wife. The small villages were bustling with exciting news of travelers who had returned with tales of sweeter lands farther south of west. From one village, a man had shown Míriel and Indis the soft grains of sand from the southwestern deserts, the the handfuls filled with an aroma that awoke a desire to travel far from her home. Also were there tales of more abductions, bodies of torn elves discovered but no sign of the culprit. The north they feared, as all evil appeared to stem from there.

And there was a child was recently taken up by the caretakers, a child with such fearful large eyes, who never sang and danced with the other children. And seeing her, Míriel vowed to head south with Indis, and take the child with them.

She hadn’t counted on meeting Finwë first.

*

Míriel and Indis had both grown into loving different crafts. Indis was a swift runner, having had much practice of being chased by Míriel in their youth, which she made use of in the villages to transport goods, or carry others during a medical emergency to the nearest healer. Míriel, though just as fast as Indis, grew slower in her steps, her attention turned towards her thoughts and what she could produce from her hands as well. Working with others, the crafting women devised instruments upon which they wove long elegant paintings of thread which others may display in their houses. The first time she set her fingers upon the loom, her mind and hands spun swiftly and with great fervor, her mind ablaze with what she may create. At this Míriel became most renowned, earning her the name or Therindë, the Broideress, among the elves, a nickname she wore with utmost pride.

She remained by her parents still, practicing her craft near the sea where she was nearby to help with the costumers. Indis too helped, bringing crates of fresh fish deeper inland for the villagers. One time, a few hours after Indis left with her delivery, a man approached the fish crates. Míriel had glimpsed him before, surrounded by other elven men of the Tatyar, and thought little of him. She knew his name was Finwë, and though tall, he appeared (and perhaps was) younger than Míriel by a few years, seeming younger still in spirit based on the goofy small smile that played on his lips. She knew him to be a leader of sorts among the Tatyar, perhaps one of the hunters, but as he regarded the fish like an elfling, with such wide-eyed innocence, Míriel couldn’t help but smirk and keep her eyes on him.

He eventually looked up, feeling her gaze upon him, and gave a start. Then straightening up, he inhaled deeply and spluttered as the stench of the fish assaulted his nostrils, but quickly recovering, he offered her a wide, jovial grin. “Well met, dear lady! I do believe I have just laid eyes on the best catch of the day!”

Míriel placed her hands on her hips. “Are you aware there is a fish trying to chew through your sleeve?”

Finwë glanced down, and giving another great start upon seeing the fish, for its face was more hideous than anything he had ever seen; he threw his arm in effort to rid of the pest only to upset the entire crate. A tiny fish plopped right under his foot, and he slipped in the process, and soon high-pitched screams filled the sky as the elf was buried in the mountain of slippery struggling fish, joined by Míriel’s laughter.

What a buffoon!, Míriel thought with a grin, and later on she, laughing and drunk on the wine Indis had brought from the village, retold the entire encounter to Indis and her family.

The experience wasn’t enough to deter Finwë from further visits. Each time he would come with intention of starting a conversation with Míriel, and each time she found some new means to send him off with a new story to laugh over at dinner. And yet, despite all of his moments of deep humiliation, Finwë still returned, bearing each new misadventure with that goofy smile.

Míriel was finding him charming, in a juvenile way. One morning when Indis had not stayed the night, she stepped out of her tent to find him already by the fish, if not a few feet away lest he was assailed by them once more.

“You again?” she called out, drawing his attention, who in turn brightened up at seeing her. “I’m running out of ways to laugh at you, fool! Has your party tired of deer enough to seek for another meat to delight their tastebuds?”

“It is not for my friends I have come here, but for myself!”

“And what do you have a taste for this time, Finwë?”

“Not just to taste, but also to behold! For all the fish in the sea cannot measure up to your face - oh, that sounded better in my head!”

Míriel had to pause, groaning heavily. “Do the entire race of elves a favor and never attempt poetry!” She had to take a few minutes to have her laughter settle. “I take it you were not at the wedding then?”

“What wedding, my lady?”

“Mine. And my wife’s.” They strolled by the seashore, his footprints considerably larger than Indis’s on the sand, but only slightly larger than Míriel’s, who had been teased before for her feet. The wind kicked up from the east, and gentle waves splashed against their ankles.

“I did not know you were wed already,” he said, though there was no sadness in his voice. “Ah, I wonder who the lovely and lucky woman is!”

“I will introduce you both,” Míriel said. “She’s been wondering what sort of elf I’ve been amusing myself with lately.”

“Have you considered taking another spouse?”

Míriel froze. “Another?”

It wasn’t uncommon among the elves, and Míriel knew of others who had married more than once. Some of the tribes, even, appeared to be nothing more than one giant family with a single father or mother.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Míriel said. “I have my wife. We knew each other since our youth. There was never anyone else.”

Finwë nodded in understanding, but something in his eyes gleamed, a fool’s hope alight within. “Do you think you could grow to love me?”

Míriel studied him intently. “I do not know,” she said truthfully. “I seem to do nothing but laugh at your blunders, but I suppose I did once revel in my wife’s misery before I became her friend. Have any of your friends done the same?”

“Not Ingwë, but Elmo, Elwë and Olwë's brother, has,” Finwë said.

Míriel snorted. “Elmo? His name is known even here! The guy has married a man and a woman from every tribe just to spread his legacy at every corner of the world! What, you are not related to him by any chance?”

Finwë chuckled. “I do not plan such a clan myself, but perhaps you, me, and your wife could build a little family together, here or in the western lands.”

“What western lands? You mean that odd strange man on the horse?”

“His name is Oromë, and my friends and I spoke with him,” Finwë said. “The lands are growing too dangerous, Míriel. Perhaps there, in this Valinor, we may find refuge from the shadows swallowing our kind.”

“How can this Oromë prove he is indeed a deity as he has claimed to be?”

“Vala, Míriel. He is but a servant to our Oijâ Bálâ.”

“Ah, but how can you be certain he is not trying to ensnare you all into a trap?”

“Because the shadows were never fair,” Finwë said. “I am willing to go travel with him. You should hear how he described it, Míriel. Starlight glows golden and silver a hundredfold to the light we see above, and there is plenty to eat and few worries. Our aches are healed under the light and the blessing of the One and the Valar. There in the land of Valinor no tear will ever be shed.”

Míriel opened her mouth to protest when she remembered again the orphaned children, physically unscathed yet still haunted by their parents' deaths, the fear of the dark forever etched into their cores.

“Then go, seek out this land with your friends and this Vala. Should you return and there is indeed a land as Valinor, then I will wed you, I promise.”

She watched as the words kindled another smile. “I shall go behold this land myself, my lady! And I will return, I promise!”

And Finwë left not long after as one of the three ambassadors Oromë took to the faraway land. Years passed with no news. At times, Míriel feared she had sent Finwë off to his death, but Indis assured her they were fine, for she had faith she would see Ingwë’s return. Míriel in turn approached the topic of Finwë’s marriage proposal.

“I suppose having another to help with any chores neither of us enjoy would be a good thing,” Indis said. “Although I wonder about…I mean, I’ve seen a bunch of them bathe before, and goodness! I almost screamed! Tiny shriveled earthworms, they were! I am so glad neither of us has that!”

“I am certain the elven men would love to know what you think of their bodies,” Míriel said, nodding slowly and trying to hide her smirk.

During the time of the ambassadors' absence, Míriel and Indis adopted one of the orphans, a young girl of the Windan tribe. Her true name they kept, though the other elves had given her the epessë of Mírindis. She followed either mother, depending on what each wanted of her that day, but to Míriel’s parents, and to the sea, she was closest.

Mírindis was still young, though no longer a child, when Finwë at last returned. Míriel was surprised to find him somehow changed, his eyes shining as though they had beheld a beauty indescribable.

“Míriel!”

He had sought her out first of all. In her hand he placed a small, light object.

“I returned, as I had promised! You will never believe how truly beautiful Valinor is until you come see it yourself! Look at this thread! I got it for you for your crafts; is it not beautiful?”

Míriel studied the thread, wires of pure light yet stronger than any material she had worked before. Her mind raced with thoughts of what she may create with the string, and despite herself she found she was falling deeply for the land she had not yet set eyes on.

*

A great council was soon held, as virtually every elf had gathered around to hear the ambassadors’ tales of their travels. The Minyar were the quickest to convince, their eyes filled with blissful tears at hearing of the Blessed Realm, and they sang a hymn that Ingwë had carried over from Valinor. Even from where she sat, Míriel could see that Indis too had fallen enchanted by the western lands just as much as she was enchanted by Finwë. No other man, as far as Míriel knew, ever had an effect on Indis, but there she sat, her eyes not straying from his direction.

“That is the one you promised marriage to?” she asked Míriel. “He would be nice to have around. Ah, and he’s so young and handsome!”

“You may have him if you fancy him so much,” Míriel said, “though he seems very taken with me.”

“And do you like him?” she asked.

“He is amusing,” Míriel said.

Indis turned back to study Finwë further, and feeling annoyed, Míriel brought her hand over Indis’s eyes. “Avert your gaze, love. I will introduce you properly to him, but stay out of his way for just a little a while longer.”

Indis agreed, and suddenly sensing Finwë turning toward them, she gave Míriel a quick kiss to her lips and disappeared into the shadows, reemerging next to her parents.

Míriel sighed. Unlike the Minyar, the Tatyar stood equally divided, while a little less than a third of the Nelyar still trusted the Valar. Míriel’s heart yearned for the looms and supplies waiting for her in Valinor, but she was content at Cuiviénen. Mírindis, she saw, seemed unconvinced, paying more heed to the starlight.

“What say you, dear friends?” Finwë was saying.

“We cannot come,” Morwë said, and Nurwë nodded his head behind him. “Dangers may await on every corner, but Cuiviénen is still our homeland. Let the Valar come join us here if they truly cared for our safety. Together we could battle the shadows.”

“But Valinor will help us progress as a people!”

“I am very sorry, but our tribes have already decided,” Nurwë said.

“May the stars bless your path and wherever you go, dear friends,” Morwë said.

“Your memory we will never forget,” Nurwë said. “Let not the distance turn us into strangers. Our friends you shall forever be.”

Finwë visibly wept as he was embraced by each of the leaders whose tribes refused the summons, as had the others, for many friends bid their farewells in that moment. Míriel turned to Mírindis.

“Would you like to go live in Valinor?” she asked.

Mírindis vigorously shook her head. “Here is my home. Mother and Father were born here, and their watchful eyes are still set on this land, I know it. I cannot leave their sight. I’m not afraid of the shadows.”

Míriel sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Come, this talk here must be boring you then.”

They stood up and made their way back to her home, yet the thought of the distant land haunted Míriel’s every step. The comforting, familiar sound of the waves only served to worsen the sinking feeling in her chest. Her mother and father were already back, obviously having already made their decision.

Shakily, Míriel approached her mother. “I do not know what to decide.”

Seeing her daughter’s face, Mírie rose from her work and cupped her daughter’s face with her hands. “Go. Indis has already decided, as has your friend Finwë. This land is your mother’s and father’s, as we have grown up here and lived here longer than you have, and for that reason, we will remain. But Valinor belongs to the younger generation. Go and find happiness in your new home, dear daughter.”

“But what of Mírindis? She refuses to go. Not one of the Minyar wish to remain behind, but Mírindis was most used to living among them.”

“Raitano and I will raise her. We had no other child after you, but we will be delighted to take her under our wings. She will be happy here, and we will protect her from any foe threatening this land.” She wiped a tear from her daughter’s face. “Please, do not think terribly of yourself for leaving her behind. You have not abandoned her. She has made her decision, and you must make yours.”

Míriel hugged her mother tightly for several long moments till the tears had dried. “Yes, I must make my decision, and I believe I have. For all I know, something wonderful may await me in Valinor.”

*

The day had come when three hosts were to make the journey west to new, safer lands. Indis waited for Míriel under their tree, as she had done countless times before, though something felt different this time.

Míriel landed roughly with a groan, having grown used to sitting in one place for long periods of time as she worked. Conversely, Indis had become strong in body and swift of foot, far more able to climb trees and endure running long distances compared to Míriel.

“I offered to get the fruit,” Indis said as Míriel rubbed her lower back, “but you said tradition was important.”

“It is indeed,” she said, but there was no biting mark in her words. She studied Indis sadly. “There was but one fruit left, as if this tree knows we are leaving.”

“Then we will make the most of it!”

They each ate a half of the fruit, then together buried the seed a little ways beyond the tree. Then, holding hands and looking out at the great stars, they remained as such, each wondering what light of Valinor that could possibly contend with the stars above. Before finally parting, they embraced and shared a long lingering kiss, needing no words in that moment.

When at last the wind turned too chilly, as if to hasten them, they turned to leave, their fingers still entwined, and looking back to see their tree one final time, bade their old friend a fond farewell.

The Minyar were the first to set out west, and following her family and kin, Indis was to be separated from Míriel and the others. The journey held perilous moments, times when they had witnessed the first inklings of a terrible battle which they were later told was a war against the foe who had been ailing their kind.

Indis didn’t realize just how much she was glad when they reached the western shore and boarded the isle set for Valinor, though she also had, when not terrified of the battle sounds, loved what new things she had encountered. She kept the farthest western regions, knowing that the Noldor settled at the other side. They both had agreed to travel with their own kin and meet again after reaching the western lands. Indis settled by the shore of the isle, looking out and feeling the wind upon her face. She watched a family near her, the two fathers lifting up their tiny daughter so she may see beyond the horizon. Máraharno and Vánevaryar, she recalled their names, and the child was Márawendë, whose parents had been lost in the east, taken by their foe.

Valinor loomed ahead, a vast land as they drew closer: towering mountains lining the long shores, and behind them a great light. Upon seeing the light for the first time, a sense of utmost serenity filled Indis’s heart, and she found herself wishing for the ships to sail faster.

It seemed to take an eternity before the isle at last reached the shores and her foot found its first step on the ground of Valinor. The scent of the sea here, she noted, was different somehow: less salty, kinder winds that blew through. Murmurs of awe and wonder filled the air about her, but Indis regarded her surroundings in silent bliss. There would be perhaps a day or two before the second host would reach the shores, but Indis was too caught up with her new home to think of much else.

I sense them, the deities, she thought excitedly. When do we meet them?

And as if answering her question, Ingwë’s voice rose out, “This way!” And the Vanyar followed him around the shores and turned westward towards the mountains. They slipped under an arch in the rocky walls, and when they stepped out, light of immense beauty greeted them. All gasped, having never encountered light of this intensity. The stars above disappeared amid the golden hue.

“Oh, what blessed light!” Indis said under her breath. “If only Míriel and Finwë were here now!”

A few paces away were tall beings, beautiful and their spirits pulsing with might. They regarded the Minyar with affection.

“Welcome, great Vanyar!” the leader of the Valar, Manwë, said, his voice heard by all. Indis almost wept with joy, glimpsing the deities who had, as Ingwë had described, co-created Arda. The Maiar dispersed to greet the Vanyar personally or to help them with any questions they had.

Indis just stood in silent wonder and bliss, her heart filled with the love of Oijâ Bálâ, or Eru Ilúvatar as she had heard one Maia utter, as well for the Ainur who had built this safe haven for them. And considering the excited cries of the children, such as Márawendë nearby, she wasn’t alone in her thoughts.

“I cannot wait for the others to reach the shore, so I may enjoy this with my wife!” Indis said happily to a Maia who had just passed her. The smile on the Maia’s face disappeared, replaced by confusion.

“I am sorry, but I do not understand. Did you say you have a wife?” Her words were gentle, curious and without a hint of scorn, and Indis went into detail about how she knew Míriel and of their life in the east. A crowd of other Ainur had gathered, all wearing the same concern on their faces, which soon drew a silence from her lips. One of the Valië, Nessa, approached.

“Ah, you must forgive us, then.” Nessa spoke with sincere kindness. “Some of your people’s practices in your former lands may not be accepted here. It is just that we go by what we have heard in the Music, and there was no Vala who wedded a Vala, or a Valië a Valië for we perceived none of it. I’m afraid your union cannot be recognized in these lands.”

Indis’s jaws dropped, but she tried to steady herself before all the eyes of the Vanyar. A single tear threatened to drip down her cheek, and it was a battle lost when Nessa spoke again.

“Do not weep, kind Vanya. But the laws of the Eldar were already put into place before your coming.”

Indis shook her head. “Let me go back!”

Among those who heard this were Máraharno and Vánevaryar who immediately came to Indis’s side.

“Oh, surely there is a misunderstanding,” Vánevaryar said. “A talk with the rest of the Ainur, I’m sure they’ll understand some of our situations.”

Nessa regarded him with forlorn. “We will see to that, and I will speak with Manwë and Varda as soon as I can. But you cannot live under the same roof as the man you married in the east. That union is not yet accepted by the Valar.”

Máraharno and Vánevaryar gave one another looks just as a sniffle was heard and all turned to Márawendë. Máraharno took hold of her hand.

“She is the daughter of my sister who was taken away by shadows,” he told Nessa. “She has a right to remain with me.” He nodded to Vánevaryar as if to assure him, then left with Márawendë to move closer to the light, leaving Vánevaryar to comfort Indis. He held her as she let the tears come.

“I don’t understand,” she said sadly. “Why can’t I remain married to Míriel? Our love was blessed by Eru! It is no less than other unions!”

“It is only for a short time,” Vánevaryar replied. “The Valar do not hate us, but they are still learning of our kind. Give it time. They will speak with their leaders and we will explain everything to them. Keep faith in Eru, and it will be well, my lady.”

Indis wiped away the last of her tears and nodded, taking his hand in friendship.

*

Finwë had not stopped talking throughout their journey, and though at times Míriel was close to strangling him for it, she soon found it endearing enough to pass on a kiss to his cheek or lips. He was like an excited child, eager to show everyone the amazing thing he had discovered, and he spun tales of the Blessed Realm so vividly that Míriel could picture it perfectly when she went to sleep, imagining herself walking beneath golden leaves beside Indis and Finwë. Finwë, she was learning, held a spot in her heart right beside Indis. It was impossible not to fall in love with him, and by the time they had reached the shores, Míriel found herself aching for a physical intimacy with him.

Indis and her people had long been settled at the city of Tirion by the time the Tatyar reached the shores, and so Míriel saw none of Indis as they were received in welcome by the Valar and proclaimed as the Noldor. And Indis remained absent even as Finwë announced they were to wed at the next turn of the Trees. It did not bother Míriel, for that was their plan. Both eager to wed, they would find Indis later and repeat the ceremony with her and Finwë.

Finwë then took her instantly to his great stone house, which lay bare and incomplete, entire apartments still unconstructed, though Finwë promised it would rival all the homes of Cuiviénen once completed.

“I began the building myself,” he said excitedly, to which Míriel mumbled, “Is that why it leans to one side?” But Finwë did not hear her.

“There is more work to be done, but I wanted to wait until I could hire more to help me - masons, if you will. Oh, and look at this! In my spare time I have also started learning the art of sculpting!”

He led her to another room, where a large stone sculpture greeted her. She gave it one look before dissolving into hysterical laughter.

“I see you were lonely here with only two other companions!” she laughed, then noticed Finwë’s confused face. “What? Do you not see what you built, Finwë? And in the blessed realms, no less!”

“I do not understand!” Finwë said earnestly and turned to his sculpture. “I was not thinking of any shape in particular. What had I shaped it as?”

“You will find out on your wedding night,” Míriel said, glancing at the sculpture again. “Please, do not attempt sculpture again! Tell the others you were attempting to make a flower. The kind that grows from the earth, not a woman’s own personal flower!”

Laughing again, she ran out of the room.

*

Indis was still nowhere in sight when Finwë and Míriel wrote their names in a large bound book made by the Valar, their hands shaky as they got used to holding a writing implement in hand, the first among the elves to do so. Míriel grinned at the fresh ink displaying her and Finwë’s names, or however close they could make it as directed by the Valar themselves, then rushed back to their house to consummate their marriage, for both had grown eager for physical intimacy while spending much time close at the isle.

The following day they spent working on the house until both tired and agreed to tour the land and see if they could find Míriel’s wife.

They were strolling below the hill of Túna, the silver light of Telperion a soft companion to the stars above, when someone far behind them called out Finwë’s name. Excusing himself, he left Míriel’s side, his excited greeting still heard from a distance. She watched his retreating back, and when she turned around, it was to find Indis right in front of her, who immediately reached for her hands.

“There’s an urgent council about to take place,” she said. “Come!”

“What for?”

“You will see soon enough -- please, it’s important! The people who have come to the lands here are restless. I believe that is where Finwë was also taken, to be at the hearing.”

“A strife in these blessed lands? Already?”

“Oh, no, not a strife. The Valar do not mean anything by it. They just do not know -- now, come!”

*

Míriel sat a little away from Indis, for she was sitting with her family again as they had before at Cuiviénen. The hearing went on long but it was peaceful. A Noldorin father had come and, bowing to the Valar in utmost respect, told them of how his daughter had vowed to wed the daughter of another family once they had reached the shores. Míriel’s heart warmed instantly to the two young women, dark-haired and shy in the company of the Valar, as the father made his case.

The light of the Two Trees, beautiful and calming during this time, provided them all with an optimistic outlook as they pushed for the reformation of the Valarin law. Hearing of the Valar’s own account on their perception of marriage had not, as Míriel expected, angered her but amused her.

They are gods and yet like children! she thought, but it gladdened her heart to the prospect of the elves winning. The Valar were attentive, and the Vanyar and Noldor kind and respectful in their words. There were couples composed of two women or two men, or those who could not conceive, or those who outwardly appeared as one sex but whose fëar was of another, and the gwegwin, or those whose anatomy could not easily be defined as male or female. And when the Valar expressed confusion as to whether unions could be made between tribes, they described unions between Vanyar and the Noldor, and those who had been separated from their spouse due to the tarrying Teleri.

They are truly like children! Míriel grinned to herself.

The words of those who spoke at the council were all very common knowledge to Míriel, who had seen the variety of elves before and the different marriages that took place before. But the Valar had only previously followed what they had gleaned from the Music, and listening in silent fascination, they learned much of what they had not previously understood.

At last Manwë stood and decreed, “The Eldar may love but one, but the identity of either partner need not matter in their union.” Though the laws of the Valar were as stated as before, the language was come to mean differently. Any could wed, for the reference of “wife” and “husband” were regarded as general terms instead of precise definition on physical sex. “To all whose marriages were considered invalid upon coming here, you may renew your ties.”

And yet Míriel no longer smiled, even as the couples who had come in worried were now embracing in celebration. There was one issue none had brought up, though Manwë had spoken of it, and realizing it, Míriel suddenly felt very cold and alone. All at the hearing had seemed to fall in love once. There was none who had brought two spouses or shown interest in marrying another.

But it is possible, Míriel thought, forlorn. Such unions took place! You can love once, twice, thrice…or give Elmo a run for his challenge even Elmo's considerable ambitions!

But leaning back, a coldness crept through her as she remembered having signed the wedding book with Finwë.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Indis said as she plopped down next to Míriel. “We were dismayed with the news upon our arrival, but we could do little else before your kin came and added to our voices. Imagine if the Teleri were here as well, the poor things stuck back overland.”

“Indis…we cannot renew our vows or whatever they spoke of,” Míriel said. At Indis’s confused expression, she added, “Did you not hear Manwë? The Eldar only love and marry once, and I had already given my vow to Finwë. Our marriage is dissolved, and there is no chance for them to recognize and bless us at this point.”

The color drained from Indis’s face, but Míriel could not bear to look at her. “I’m sure they will understand if we speak with them,” Indis said.

“No one has fought for it,” Míriel said. “They have spoken with the Valar about everything else. Look around you. Is there any here who had given their hearts more than once?”

“It just means we must be the ones to speak up!” Indis said in desperate hope, and hopping back on her feet, she pushed her way towards the gathering of Valar and Maiar. Míriel could not help stepping closer to listen in, hoping perhaps Indis could persuade them when they had been so attentive and accepting before.

“Marry a second spouse?” one of the Ainur said. “Dear one, that seems very unlike nature’s intention for the Eldar. No other couple has come here with such a request!”

Another laughed. “Where do you get such odd thoughts? Do you not think it may make families more confusing?”

“It’s not common practice, but some have married multiple times in Cuiviénen!”

“Then leave that a tradition for the East. Such behavior here isn’t accepted.”

Turning around, Míriel fled as far as she could, not wanting to hear or see anything more. She was halfway towards her new home when she heard Finwë call her.

“That was certainly intense and illuminating!” he said happily. “I feel we’ve grown closer to them. Doesn’t hurt to begin our relationship with the Ainur by getting used to the other. They had no idea of how we live. Oh, let us celebrate! Do you know where your wife is staying? We can find her and bring her to --”

Míriel spun around. “My wife and I are no more because of you!”

Finwë jumped back, his jaw hanging open.

“Did you not hear Manwë?” Míriel spat. “No Elda shall marry more than once! And as my marriage to her was considered dissolved the moment we stepped onto this land, we cannot marry again because I have already bonded with you!”

A hand flew to cover Finwë’s mouth. “Ai! I am so sorry, Míriel. Let me speak with them! This is not fair for any of us!”

He made to embrace her in comfort, but she shoved him away roughly.

“Save us the trouble! Just do not talk to me! You do not deserve to see my wife, and I shall see to it! So long as I walk this world you will never have my bride!”

And she ran blindly the rest of the way home.

*

Míriel refused to bed Finwë again, and her own rooms she made in the house. A large loom was among the first fixtures erected, before even her own bed, and hours she spent without interruption, creating tapestries. They were soon high in demand once the first was sold and displayed proudly, and Míriel took the chance to distance herself from Finwë.

From the serving-woman Thámien, she learned that Finwë had spent the first few days in tears, having never meant to hurt either her or Indis. And upset as she was by not being able to enjoy the same victory as countless other elves, of being denied marriage still to Indis, she could not remain angry at Finwë. But memories of Indis still pained her. Even as she wore the wedding band that joined her with Finwë, her heart ached for Indis. The band had been made by Finwë and another smith, who Míriel suspected did most of the work after sensing Finwë’s lack of talent. She knew her husband was busy with the masons, their shouts carrying over to her locked room as they continued building and shaping the great house of Finwë.

There was commotion for a few days, the house buzzing with excited shouts, that did not draw Míriel out of her room until there came a knock at her door. Thinking it to be Thámien, Míriel opened the door to find Finwë grinning warmly.

“Look at what we’ve found -- jewels! Just as there are jewels in the sea, so there also are in the earth! I picked this one for you!”

Míriel would have sent him back out with the large lump of earth, but something, perhaps the effect of the Two Trees, thawed her heart. Finwë held a large chuck of rock under which a rich violet gem gleamed in beautiful hues.

She accepted the gift with a warm thanks, and he nodded his head before leaving her be. At first, she displayed it in one corner of her room, then stood up to examine how it fit with everything else. Tapestries, ones she could not part with, lined the walls, and the violet hues stood well against the threads of gold, blues, and greens. There were tapestries of Cuiviénen, of a young Vanya and a young Noldo playing near a shore, and one Míriel would never part with: of the tree by a precipice, a single red fruit shining brightly high above the sea.

Light of the Two Trees poured into her room, bathing her in warmth and a light that seemed to switch on her imagination and fuel her fingers to work faster than she ever had before, but she occasionally shut out the light by pulling the tapestries over like curtains, and with the light shining through tiny spaces in the tapestries, it felt like she was back creating under the pure starlight of her homeland.

*

It was years later when Míriel and Finwë shared a bed again. Míriel was comforted to hear that Indis at least was coping well, having spent much time praying to Eru till she felt a sense of hope burning bright in her soul. Finwë too was happier, knowing Míriel was not angry at him, though they both also wished the situation had been easier for all involved. But his heart soon ached with another yearning: the absence of his Telerin friends, and Míriel was happy for him on the day when they arrived to Valinor.

Soon, Finwë desired also to become a father. He constantly looked to his friends and others, delighting in the very sight of a small child passing by or seeing one cradled in the arms of a loving parent.

But Míriel was hesitant. Beyond Mírindis, Míriel had no other plans for child-rearing. Her own interests lay in the work of her hands and all she could create. It was not until one morning at the shops near Taniquetil, while buying more thread for her creations and seeking merchants to buy her latest batch of tapestries, that she felt the first inkling of desire for motherhood.

“Elemmírë! What have I told you about wandering off?” cried out an annoyed mother. Míriel looked about herself to catch sight of a tiny elfling, not more than two years old. She jogged past Míriel while happily singing, “I’m coming, mother, do not fret! I only wished to sample this bread!”

Chuckling to herself, Míriel imagined what her own child would be like. The thought lingered with her all the way back home. Later on, under the silverly light of Telperion, the desire arose as such she could not ignore it further, and kissing Finwë while caressing her hands down his back and over his buttocks, listening as it elicited a gasp from his lips, she lured him into bed.

They laid together several times in the course of a week, and one morning at the turn of Laurelin’s light, Míriel awoke and felt a tiny fluttering in her womb, which brought a soft smile and a sense of achievement, knowing she had conceived.

*

Míriel never forgot about Indis, and the memory of her often assailed her at the least expected moment as she worked, and she would pause and dwell on the past.

She had Thámien seek out Indis’s new address, as the Vanyar had left Tirion for Taniquetil several years ago. Conversing with her wife by letter first was a good first step, Míriel thought, to ease them back into correspondence without a sudden assault of emotions and tears at their cruel twist of fate. She was sure to let Finwë know, and he was glad to know the two were beginning to heal. But to meet Indis was something Míriel was still against, feeling Indis was only hers and none of Finwë’s concern.

Months into her pregnancy Míriel headed out to finally meet Indis. Her heart hammered in her chest on the entire ride to Taniquetil, and she felt partly unsure if she was ready to see Indis again and partly impatient to finally be reunited.

Indis wasn’t at the house of Ingwë when Míriel arrived, but a servant told her that Indis was at the temple. By the time Míriel reached the temple, the praying ceremony had ended and Vanyar were spilling outside, chatting amongst each other.

Indis appeared towards the end. Míriel had forgotten how to breathe for a moment, as Laurelin’s rays bathed Indis with golden light, and with the manner in which she seemingly glided on the ground after prayer, it appeared she was not made of the earth but of pure spirit and love.

Her eyes, full of a light Míriel had never seen in there before, turned towards her. Grinning, Indis ran right into Míriel’s arms. An instant thought came to Míriel’s mind, to kiss Indis before all of the Vanyar and the Ainur of the temple, but she held herself back.

“Míriel!” she cried happily. “It’s been so long! Ah! Is that the little one? What a darling!”

“The child is but a bump -- you haven’t seen it yet!”

“With your and Finwë’s combined beauty I have no fear for this child,” Indis said.

She led Míriel back to her house, asking her constantly if she had wished to be carried.

“I can do it, you know,” Indis said. “I’ve carried entire crates of stone all the way up that mountain.”

“I am fine on my feet,” Míriel said. “And beside, my child seems to prefer me up and about. He always kicks me when I’ve been at the loom for too long.”

“The child will love using his feet -- maybe we will jog together!”

They reached the front porch, and Indis wasted no time fussing over Míriel, taking her to the comfiest sofa and calling for tea from the servants.

But the careful loving attention only saddened Míriel when she reminded herself again of what she and Finwë had done, for her own bond with Indis was left unrecognized by the Valar, and now her dear bride tended to her as though she were her maid.

“Indis, don’t. Please,” Míriel said softly. “You are my wife. Sit with me.” And getting up, she embraced Indis and brought her lips to hers. When the kiss at last ended, Indis studied Míriel, distraught.

“We can’t,” she said. “The Valar…”

“I have no care for what they say,” Míriel said. “You are my wife. I have loved you far before Oromë knew of our existence. You are written in my bones, Indis.”

Indis smiled, though Míriel noted it was also sad.

“I pray for us, every day,” she said. “The One will find a solution for us, and we could all be happy.”

Míriel sighed, not letting go of Indis. “Oh, how I wish for that day to come!”

*

The vast lands called out to Míriel. Straddling a horse, she traveled as far north and south as she was able to with the child growing inside, taking the memories of all she saw as inspiration for her new work.

There was a tree Míriel found while traveling far west of Valinor, and upon its boughs grew the plumpest red plum. Seeing it, she smiled as she recalled the tree back at Cuiviénen. None seemingly had ever come across this tree, for there was no indication of anyone having tread upon the path. But there was just one fruit, rich and inviting, and Míriel was growing hungry.

She settled herself by the tree, enjoying the golden light of Laurelin, faint as it was at this distance. She decided she would bring Indis here when she next had the chance, for the far western shore was just as pleasant as Cuiviénen’s eastern shore.

The lone plum she picked and gave a tentative bite, then finding the nectar within incredibly sweet and satisfying, she devoured the rest of the plum happily. But after she took the final bite, an odd sharp pain swept over her, a flicker of fire shooting through her abdomen. But the pain was gone as soon as it had come, and Míriel thought nothing more of it.

But she never did return to the tree, though if she had ever sought for it she would have found it gone, for the tree had long been planted by a future enemy of her kin, the tree dressed in a coat of beauty and innocence, hidden away in plain sight from the Valar but waiting for whoever would take a bite. And the curse within took hold of the unborn child in Míriel’s womb, forging a being the enemy would later seek to befriend and eventually to dominate.

But all thoughts of the incident by the far western shore escaped Míriel’s mind, and for the remainder of her pregnancy, she was content and unbothered.

*

Twelve months after the conception of her firstborn, Míriel now lay to give birth, but the midwives had seen no labour in all of history as violent as the one of Míriel. The labor pains had sprung up so violently that she needed to be carried to her bed despite her protests. The birthing chair had been abandoned and she was made to lie down.

“Míriel?”

Míriel hardly noticed Finwë holding her hand or the midwives or Thámien speaking to her. She had been perfectly alert and energetic moments before, but now her energy seeped out of her.

Finwë called her again, and Míriel wept, wishing Indis was here beside her, for her singing would bring comfort. And then she no longer remembered Indis’s face, and she cried out in fright, desperately willing the memory back to herself. She thought Finwë was squeezing her hand, and she returned it.

She sought for comfort, in memories of her childhood at the eastern shores, of the tree with the fruit Indis and she loved so much, and she gasped suddenly as her mind recalled the tree, not the one under starlight but the just out of reach from Laurelin’s rays. The memory of the odd flame that swept through her rekindled in her mind. Unknowing that she had brought a curse upon herself, she nonetheless thought it odd, even amidst her pain, that there should be so much pain and violence in a land so hallowed.

And in her mind’s eye she saw the western tree again, its branches and roots turning black, and the entire world became pitch dark as the stars themselves went out. And from the dark she saw sharp teeth and claws reaching out for her.

And Míriel’s very soul was punctured, and she could only watch helplessly as her own spirit left her and passed into the child she was struggling to push out.

Chapter End Notes

The sculpture Finwë shows Míriel was inspired by this episode from Everybody Loves Raymond (link is a little NSFW.)

“It’s a boy!”

Finwë delighted in the infant who cried mightily. After the midwives washed and wrapped him in a soft blanket, Finwë took him in his arms first and declared him as Curufinwë. But setting her eyes on her firstborn, Míriel could only think of Fëanáro, seeing the fire and her own soul trapped in the small child.

Míriel didn’t know how long she had slept, or how much time passed between each period of wakefulness. She had been well attended to, the afterbirth and the blood cleaned off and her body covered with warm blankets. The others may have been speaking to her, but she did not hear them. Every bone in her body seared with pain.

When Finwë placed the infant in her arms, she could scarcely move to welcome her son into the world. Instead she wished for sleep. She turned to him, noticing his great smile, and mumbled that this child would be her first and last.

*

Míriel could not find blame in the child for her own loss of energy. He was a sweet delight, beautiful and intelligent, though just as stubborn as herself even at such a young age. But with every embrace she could feel her own life’s force inside him, her soul which he had unknowingly taken away from her, and which no amount of rest could rekindle.

She did not think to go to the Valar. The thought of blaming a fruit seemed silly to her, and she was convinced it was just hallucinations she had experienced during childbirth.

But, soon, living became a burden, although she pushed herself to continue on, for her son if nothing else. But as the years passed and the infant grew into a small child, her heart ached more and more in grief and in anger whenever she could feel her own spirit trapped in him.

She recalled life in Cuiviénen and of the tales the elves brought over when they ventured far south or far north, of beings made of smokeless flames and monsters forged from shadows and fire. As the different tribes dispersed and their languages changed, so did the names of the terrible threats they’d come across: ifrit, d’inni, balaraukô. Míriel herself had not seen them, for she and Indis were careful and cunning with their every step to ensure neither befell the strange doom that took many of their kin. But after all their wit and their sense of victory in thinking they had escaped the dangers of Endor, the wicked evil had found another way of ensnaring her, and it took on the form of the smiling youth in her arms, his innocence mocking her.

None of the others, neither elf nor Ainu, gave any inkling that they sensed the great wicked fire burning in his core. They were impressed and delighted in the bright-minded child who was schooled among young elves older than he, having mastered basic knowledge well before his peers. Finwë was especially proud, and he showcased his child as though he were the greatest invention the Noldor had wrought with their hands.

From that, Míriel found it hard not to be a little resentful of her own child, though the love for him in her heart only complicated the matter further.

*

“He is adorable,” Indis said during Míriel’s last visit to her. Even traveling had become a burden. Fëanáro was only four years old then, and he ran around them, grabbing at rocks or whatever else he could find for a new project his young reeling mind was scheming.

“Good day, Lady Indis, Lady Míriel Serindë,” greeted one of the Noldo passing by.

“That would be Therindë,” Míriel corrected sternly. “Goodness, if my serving-woman ever changes her name to Sámien, I think I will strangle her!”

“Why would you want to change that delightful letter?” Indis laughed. “What is happening to the tongue of your people?” And they teased the Noldo further, who corrected himself in respect, and none were aware that Fëanáro had stopped what he was doing and was watching them closely. Indis was the first to notice, and she gave a laugh.

“Why, aren’t you a little darling with that pout! I just want to tickle you!” She got up to embrace him, but he dodged her, screaming as he dropped the rocks he had been collecting, and soon a chase ensued as Míriel watched with an amused smile.

Perhaps, she thought, she should have Finwë meet Indis at last.

*

But four years later and still she hadn’t introduced her husband to her wife, though the burden of living only grew. It slowed her down, as though she wore a cloak made of stone, and she would often dream of casting it aside and walking as free as she once had in her youth. Finwë grew worried, as had everyone in their house, seeing their strong queen too ill to work at the loom. Finwë visited with Manwë frequently to see if there might be anything that could help Míriel.

But Míriel felt herself only growing weaker. When she could no longer thread a line through her loom, she tore it apart, and then seeing the tapestry she had made seemingly eons ago, of the tree at the precipice, her mind suddenly morphed it into the evil western tree which had poisoned her, and that too she ripped down/apart with all the strength she could muster.

Then fallen upon her knees, she wept loudly. “Why, Indis, why?” she repeatedly pleaded, too weak to finish the words in her mind: Why is there so much suffering in this land?

She was unaware of her son watching her silently from behind the doorframe.

*

Finwë still hoped she would gain strength enough to carry another child, but for the time being, he was busy with Fëanáro, unaware that Míriel was writing a letter to Indis, the tears in her eyes blurring the Sarati letters on the parchment.

At Laurelin’s next turn, she made for Irmo’s lands. While Finwë held council with the Valar, Míriel had her own meetings with Irmo, and all had decided it would be best for her to rest a while in his lands.

But Míriel wished to go alone and unseen by any, having made her decision.

After reaching Lórien, she made a prayer under the trees, the gentle swaying of the long willow branches and the tall grass about her setting her body at ease, beckoning her to sleep. The feeling remained long after she finished her prayer, and she found that she needed help in getting to the long bed Estë and her maidens had set out for her below a beautiful willow tree. She thanked them and lay her head down, the sweet promise of rest still beckoning her. The prayer and the faraway chanting of Irmo and Estë, of the Maiar and the elves alike mingled about, soothing her aching bones.

It was no different than falling asleep after a long hard day of work, Míriel realized. She smiled, and closing her eyes she drew a long, deep sigh.

*

When she awoke she felt far more rejuvenated and merry, and acting out as though she were a child, she kicked her legs up and laughed, welcoming a new day. But moments later she realized the reason for feeling so free was that she had indeed shrugged off the heavy cloak: her body. She was no longer under the tree in the gardens of Lórien, though she assumed her body still was. High above her was an incredibly tall ceiling, dark and dotted with stars and cosmic clouds, so very much like Cuiviénen but also fairer.

She hopped out of the bed to explore around her. The halls were dark but beautiful in their own way. There was a sense of calm, a silence which nudged her to think on her own life, perhaps with the intent of helping her to heal. She would oblige to the silent command, but not until she had explored the halls where no other elf in Valinor had ventured.

She soon learned she was not alone as she passed through doorless rooms, each housing a soul she recognized as one of the elves who had not taken the road west. She made to call to them but could not find it in her to speak, and none of the elves seemed interested in much else beyond their own misery.

“I see you have woken in my halls, my Lady,” came a voice behind Míriel, and she turned and bowed to Mandos. “My brother has done well in praying your spirit here.”

“And I thank you for having me,” Míriel said politely before motioning to the other spirits. “They are from Endor, are they not?”

“They are, though I’m afraid how they came here was far more violent than your experience. I call out to any of the spirits I sense have departed from their bodies, but very few come. Many run off in fear. I do not place blame on them, for they do not understand that we mean them no harm. The ones who do follow my voice here do not speak, but that is very well. They are meant to heal in my Halls.”

A shadow passed over Mandos. “Though I would prefer to know the reason for their deaths, for I do fear for those who remained in Endor. I wonder if it may have anything to do with…never mind my talk. Do not worry yourself with the outer world, for you also need healing. Your spirit is greatly diminished. Even if you do feel more energized now than in life, you do not see yourself, how weak you truly are. But rest and gather your strength. Your spirit should return to normal, and one day you may rejoin your kin.”

But again a shadow passed over him, his dark eyes filled with concern and suspicion. “But how could one childbirth drain so much strength from a mother?” Míriel did not reply, for Mandos spoke under his breath. He continued down the halls, his long dark robes slipping into shadow.

Míriel made herself at home, claiming the room she had woken in as her own. There were other Valar and Maiar she had run across, often visiting before departing for their own halls. When they were not there for company, she divulged in memories of her life, of the people outside the Halls and beyond the sea. Closing her eyes, she’d often enter a dream-like trance and find her spirit soaring past the stars, leaving her more content than before by the time she awoke.

One time after such a session Vairë sought her. She had woken after a long reverie, thinking that she felt something press against her lips.

“Lady Míriel, you have a visitor.”

“I cannot face any visitors now, be it a friend or my husband or son,” Míriel said. “I am still healing, and to be honest, my soul does not yet miss life.”

“Do you wish me to ask your visitor to turn back, then? She has traveled all the way from Taniquetil to see you.”

Míriel gasped and jumped to her feet. “Lead me to her!”

With a nod and not another word, Vairë led her down numerous long halls, further than ever Míriel had explored, and she began to wonder if she was being led out of the Halls of Mandos.

“Where are you leading me, to your own Halls?”

“My Halls are closed to only spirits, just as my husband’s halls,” Vairë explained. “But there is a small chamber which connects both wings, and this is where those who still take corporeal form may mingle. But I do warn you: You cannot see your visitors and they cannot see you, for your form is still too weak and the sight may set a fear in them difficult to shake off.”

“Then how will I speak to Indis?”

They stepped onto the annex, and instantly Míriel felt the difference, as though the light, terribly dimmed, was setting a burden on her shoulders, and she became conscious of the true state of her soul, shriveled and tiny next to Vairë.

Vairë brought her to a long thick black veil which flowed down from the top of the high ceiling and expanded the entire length of the wall.

“Your visitor lies beyond it,” Vairë explained. “You may not pass through the veil, but both of you will be able to hear the other.”

Míriel thanked her with a bow and warm smile, though she was suddenly nervous of the meeting. She had no knowledge of how much time had passed, for in the Halls there was no sense of the change in time or passing of the seasons.

She got as close to the veil as she could and said softly, “Indis?”

“Míriel? You’re here!” Indis said breathlessly, her soft voice awaking memories and fondness in Míriel’s heart so intense that she forced it back. “I came to the gardens of Lórien as you had instructed me in your letter. You were sleeping on that bed, and Finwë was there with his son. I stood away because I did not wish to trouble them. After they left, I came to you.

“I could not believe your soul departed, for your body is still well preserved, not like the dead rabbit we once found by the lake.”

Míriel chuckled. “I am glad to hear that.”

Indis went on talking, her voice lighting a warm glow inside Míriel. Her heart melted with the thought of what she was missing, but she obeyed in not pulling back the veil.

“You did not respond to my calls, so I…I kissed your lips to see if your eyes would open.”

Míriel chuckled. “Did you think you could wake the dead with a true love’s kiss, dear Indis? I am well away from Lórien’s gardens, though I may have felt your lips on mine.” Smiling, she recalled the sensation from earlier.

“I figured I would try, as I have before. It always used to wake you.”

“And punching your shoulder for pulling me so rudely out of my slumber.”

Indis laughed, and the sound filled the cold dimness around Míriel with warmth and mirth such that she chuckled in return.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“The Valar believe I am still not ready for your eyes, love,” Míriel said.

“But you will heal, will you not?”

“Yes, though it may take time.”

“Then heal, but do not take too much time,” Indis said.

“And do not become a stranger,” Míriel said.

“I will visit, as often as I can,” Indis promised. She pushed against the veil, and from the other side, Míriel could see the round tips of her wife’s fingers. She brought her own fingers to match each against Indis’s own, and though the thick veil blocked the touch of skin and spirit, their contact was enough to sate both of their needs.

They bid one another farewell for the time being, but Míriel did not step away until she heard the faint steps grow ever fainter, as Indis returned to the living world.

Míriel turned around to see Vairë studying her with curiosity.

“You are glowing,” she commented. “Your spirit is nurturing life already. But how interesting, that you would have turned away your own husband but not Indis of Taniquetil.”

“Indis was my wife,” Míriel said unabashedly. She was already dead, and by her own will. She figured she would be as blunt and honest with the Valar who were so kind to take her under their watchful care.

As she suspected, Vairë’s eyes widened. “Then why did you…”

“Marry Finwë? Because a heart can love more than once, I suppose,” Míriel said. “But Indis I wedded long before Oromë discovered us, though under your first law our marriage was considered dissolved. Our customs were different. As a matter of fact, there was an elf -- and I believe he still resides in the far East -- who wedded a man and a woman from every tribe just so his line would live in every tribe.”

The surprise on Vairë’s face only grew, to Míriel’s amusement. “There is still much to learn of your kin, though I do hope the laws which govern Valinor do not seem restrictive?”

“The elves here seem to accept the laws, barring the need for a few amendments.”

Vairë nodded and spoke, though it seemed it was more to herself than for Míriel, for her eyes were cast down. “I would have enjoyed it, to be able to cast my sight as far east as I could to record the happenings there, if I could just reach it.” Looking up, she smiled at Míriel. “Come with me. I wish to show you something.”

Míriel was led down the long annex, passing by many Maiar who chatted amongst themselves excitedly with plans of how their recently acquired knowledge could better help them in serving and guiding the elves. But the Maiar, Míriel realized, could dwell while in a physical body, though spirits such as herself could also wander. There were dining tables set, and a library, and meeting rooms, and Míriel thought of bringing Indis here once she was well enough to be seen.

Vairë rounded a corner to the right, and with one step Míriel was inside the Halls of Vairë. Long tapestries, expertly crafted, hung starting from the entrance, but the deeper they went, the fewer they became.

“I have been trying to capture as much of your kin’s history as I could, from the moment they arrived here,” Vairë said. “I was told you too are a broideress.”

“As I am also known as Therindë, yes,” Míriel said, suddenly excited at the realization that she could continue her passion for her art.

Vairë smiled. “Good. I will lead you to my own loom.”

The tall vertical loom brought about a twitch in Míriel’s fingers, eager to get back to working, but Vairë seated her upon a cushioned seat before it and steadied Míriel’s hand when she reached out to touch it.

“No,” Vairë said with a smile. “Not until I show you something. This perhaps isn’t a loom you’ve used before.”

It was precisely the type of loom Míriel had worked on, but a few minutes later, she understood what Vairë meant. She wove her hands over the long threads and suddenly an image appeared, as if a window opened in the midst of the loom. There was Indis jogging down the grassy fields, humming a merry tune, though Míriel noticed a little tear by the corner of one eye.

A breeze kicked up, and Indis stopped to get her hair out of her face. Something white and gold gleamed upon her breast, and Míriel smiled.

“She’s wearing my wedding gift,” she said softly. “I don’t think she ever takes it off.”

Vairë did not stop Míriel from reaching out this time to trace the round cheek or the lips of Indis.

By the time Míriel was done with her first tapestry of the halls, it was of the image of Indis, standing in the field with the great golden light blessing down on her, her long hair rippling in the wind.

*

“Careful with what visions you give Míriel,” Mandos said, hidden in shadows.

“I cannot stop her if she wishes to check on her husband and child, if she is curious,” Vairë said with a frown. “Do you perceive something in the future?”

“I cannot put a name to it yet,” Mandos confessed, “but I feel, whatever it may be, that Míriel must not be troubled by it.”

“Then what do I say if she asks me to give her another vision?” Vairë said. “She deeply loves Indis, but her questions may turn to Finwë.”

“Is there nothing else you could distract her with? There is something in the Music which sets me with unease. I do not feel it is right if she knows more of the outer world.”

“I know what I can do,” Vairë said. “We had a fascinating talk about the customs of her kin before we brought them to our lands. Through Míriel’s work, we may learn much of the first elves.”

And so it was decided. The next time Míriel asked to look out into the world through Vairë’s loom, Vairë instead asked her to make a tapestry of her favorite location in Endor, and Míriel set to work right away, depicting a tree by a precipice and the remains of a fruit on the ground.

*

Finwë had come to visit her, though Míriel did not think she could face him. It filled her with guilt, for she readily came to speak with Indis. But the memories of being with him reminded her of all that had eventually led her to the Halls, and she could not bear seeing him. Though she loved her son greatly, Finwë was always better with children, and she was comforted to know Fëanáro was under such loving care. And so she turned down each of Finwë’s requests.

Then one day, news came of a most bitter request. Míriel was sitting beside Vairë as the two collaborated on a long tapestry depicting the relationship between the elves and the Ainur when Vairë drew still, her eyes unfocused. Míriel was used to the changes that overtook the Valar when they were communicating by thought with another, so she only paused to be polite, taking the time to study their work with a critical eye.

“I bear news from my husband,” Vairë said. “Finwë has grown weary and in want of a wife, and he asks if you would return to your body or if he may find another to wed.”

Míriel froze. On the one hand, she was furious to think that Finwë would try to force her back out into the world, for she was content here, free of any bodily hurts and able to work on her crafts for hours on end without need for a break or feeling tired afterwards.

“Can he not be happy that I am?” Míriel said. “There is no greater existence than in this form.”

“He has told Námo that he desires to have more children.”

It was hard not to keep the tremor out of her voice, her fists clenched. “Then he wishes me to leave a place of comfort and happiness to return just to have him take delight in my body, and for me to lose more of myself in a second child’s birth? What, return to being enslaved to satisfying my body’s needs and his needs? I am happy dead! Let him wed again. It was hardly uncommon in Cuiviénen.”

“But it is odd,” Vairë said, though her voice held no scorn. “To the Valar, each man of the elves had a woman made for him. Just one, or none in some cases. It was how we perceived the Music, and we ourselves have fashioned our own forms and our relations accordingly.”

“And, truly, I respect and revere your kin's work on this world, for you have created all that we adore. And yet, though the Valar have fashioned this earth, the Valar did not make us, but Eru, and it does not surprise me that everything about us was not revealed to the Valar in the Music. How would that even be possible for the Valar to take it all in and to comprehend every note? Not to appear rude or skeptical of the One, but I do find it hard to imagine He spent so much time revealing to the Valar every facet of my people when your job was building this world.”

Vairë fell silent for a moment. “That is true. There is so much we were never exposed to. But this is getting beyond my scope. I will speak with my husband, and we may need to call a meeting.”

“You need not have one,” Míriel said under her breath, more to herself than to her mentor. “Eru knew what He was doing. And I am content here.”

But a meeting was still held, and Míriel found herself the center of the Valar’s attention, being prodded to explain, at length, the manner of elven marriage. Towards this, the Valar seemed far less inclined to warm up to, for they could not comprehend that love could grow twice, or more, in an elf’s life. They were settled in neat pairs, for the most part, and none’s heart was confused by having loved a second among the Ainur. The previous hearings of expanding the definition of a marriage had gone differently, for it was easy to convince them of the diversity of the body and of the soul. There had been evidence. But this time it had taken all of her energy to convince them that a second marriage was no mockery of Eru’s design of the Quendi.

Manwë sat in silence for the longest time, reaching out to Eru through thought, and when he at last did speak, it was only to ask Mandos a question.

“The laws the elves have forged for themselves in other lands are not of concern in Valinor,” he warned Míriel. “Our main concern now is what shall transpire should you return to life. We could extend the laws to accept the marriage of two Eldarin women or men, but we cannot extend it to more than one partner. What would become of Finwë’s second marriage should you be reembodied? Will Finwë not wish to return to his first wife, and what then of his second?”

“Then I will reside in the Halls forever,” Míriel said. “I have no desire to return to life.”

Nienna’s eyes did not leave Míriel’s face, though they held none of the sorrow or grief that she was known for, but confusion.

“You do not long for your life?” she asked, and though her voice was soft, the others grew silent and considered her words.

The memory of Indis, of their homeland and the lake flooded Míriel’s mind, mingled with the happy years with Finwë and of the moments she shared with Fëanáro when her body did not ache as badly.

“I…cannot,” Míriel said. “This would not be the first marriage you’ve dissolved, and it may not be the last.” Vairë and Nienna kept their eyes trained on her, though she noticed Manwë and Mandos’s faces turn to confusion. “But if you feel the best course of action is to keep me a spirit in these Halls, then I will accept. Sever my second marriage so Finwë may marry again.”

The expressions on Mandos and Manwë’s faces were, to Míriel’s relief, of compassion, even pity upon hearing her confession. They fell into conversation in thought, and when they at last spoke, Míriel was informed her marriage would officially dissolve in ten years’ time.

*

Indis sat, her meal untouched before her. Never did she imagine she would be sitting across from Finwë, but there he was at the dinner table, having been invited by Ingwë. He was as beautiful up close as he was from a distance. She had not meant to draw attention to herself, but seeing him making his way up the mountain brought the song out of her.

And now he sat before her, his eyes unable to leave hers. Her heart fluttered excitedly, sensing this to be the beginning of a new era for herself.

I have to tell Míriel!

*

The moment when the ties to Finwë were officially severed passed without Míriel knowing. She thought little of it, having returned to submerging herself in her work alongside Vairë. If that moment passed, Vairë chose not to tell her, having learned already how futile it was trying to get through such a stubborn elf. She only ever left the spinning room when Indis came to visit.

And such a day had come, some ten years since the day Míriel faced the Valar, that Indis appeared again. Míriel hummed to herself as she made herself presentable, the fluttering in her chest so akin to having her heart pounding fast in anticipation. It would be a visit unlike the others past for one special reason.

“Are you ready?” Vairë asked.

Taking a deep breath, Míriel nodded, and the long thick veil was cast aside, and Míriel and Indis both beheld one another for the first time in ages.

Indis let out an astonished gasp, unable to take her eyes off Míriel. “Love, you shine like the stars above!”

Míriel laughed. “I’ve become strong for you, Indis.”

“You have healed so well, it’s almost as if you have been reembodied! I…I have never seen you in such strong good health!”

Indis took a step inside, hesitated until Vairë encouraged her to come in, and she dashed towards Míriel. Their lips met and their arms gripped the other tightly. Míriel sighed into their long-desired kiss, marveling at how much she missed the sweet scent of Indis, of sugar and apples, her body so warm against her own, the curves still fitting against her so well.

“Your heart is racing so much,” Míriel said softly, parting a strand of golden hair and noting a vein in her neck pulsing excitedly.

“Yes,” Indis sighed. “I have wonderful news to report! But I hope you will not be angry with me?”

“Why would I be?”

“I broke my promise of not being seen by Finwë. Ingwë had invited him for a visit, and I was so excited to see him coming up the steps that I began to sing. It drew his attention to me, and…he asked Ingwë for my hand that very evening!”

“He did?” Míriel’s heart went cold, though it was not out of jealousy or spite, and she continued to embrace Indis. “But…what is the meaning of this, for my husband to wish to marry my wife? I put this curse on myself! He has found you and wishes to take you from me! And how odd. Our fates seemed to be interwoven, but why with him?”

“Perhaps this is written by Eru,” Indis said. “I will look after your son, though he is near adulthood himself. I hope you are not angry?”

“Slain, more like,” Míriel said. “The wife and husband I both have had to give up are marrying one another.”

“Then do you wish to return to life? I will vouch for you, for us.”

“No. This form you see shall be my only body for all of time.”

Indis broke away, taking a few steps to take in Míriel completely. “I hope you are not mad? You do not seem thrilled.”

“I am thrilled, trust me,” Míriel lied, and the next words she spoke was perhaps more to convince herself than to Indis that she truly was not upset. “I up and abandoned you when I came to Valinor, married another while you withered away with no love or child. You deserve the chance I had. I should have fought for us when I had the opportunity.

“I just cannot believe, why the both of us? Why are our lives tied to his?

“But do not think me jealous. I will pray for the best for you. You will adore Fëanáro’s stories and delight in his intellect, and Finwë, ah, you must dissuade him from any new form of art he may be considering, or from telling a joke he believes will amuse others.”

She approached Indis, cupping her chin in her hands. “Go, Indis. Claim the life you deserve. I will remain here and wonder what tale old Bálâ is seeking to tell with us. I give you my blessing, and my love.”

“And do not think I am replacing you,” Indis said. “You are forever my star by the Cuiviénen. I will visit you often; that will never change.”

Their kiss lingered long before Indis parted.

*

On the day of the wedding between Finwë and Indis, Vairë found Míriel looking through her loom, her long fingers softly tracing the form of her lovers, the first remnants, vague sketch of a new tapestry outlined with simple thread.

There were tears in Míriel’s eyes, though Vairë did not think it was from misery in having been replaced in life.

“I am truly sorry.” Vairë said softly, yet her voice came as a sharp echo in the silence. “This need not remain as such. We may meet again with Manwë, find another method to make everyone content.”

“She is wearing my jewel,” Míriel said, sniffling. “The bride’s jewel, I called it. It was my wedding gift to her. She exchanged fish bones for gold. It’s more beautiful on her than before.”

The pearl shone beautifully upon Indis’s breast, accenting her long silvery dress.

“It’s like she’s putting me in the marriage,” Míriel said. “I wonder if she plans on wearing it forever.”

“Was there a wedding gift she had given you?”

“Indis was my gift,” Míriel said. “I needed nothing else. And now that buffoon and bastard has come and married my wife.”

She laughed, but Vairë still caught the sniffle.

Indis visited soon after the wedding, beaming up at Míriel as she ascended the steps.

“So now’s my husband has met my wife at last,” Míriel said, pointing to the bride’s jewel before Indis and she embraced as tightly as before. “What did you tell him? ‘Remember when Míriel said you would not see her bride so long as she walked this earth? Well, Míriel’s dead and here I am!’”

“Míriel, that’s awful!” But Indis could help laughing along with her.

“Tell me everything,” Míriel said. “How was he?”

“He is so charming, but you are right, he is a bit of a fool at times.”

“That is not what I meant. How was he?”

Realizing what she was inferring, Indis’s face turned a bright red. “Ah! Well…different than what I was used to, but it was enjoyable, yes. Very much so, actually.”

“Really?” Míriel’s eyes narrowed. “Are you implying that that buffoon is a better lover than me?”

Indis studied the ground, rubbing one area with the tip of her toe. “Not exactly, but…”

With an annoyed humph, Míriel turned around and stormed off, but Indis laughed and chased after her. Míriel spun around and suddenly stopped her.

“Don’t! Not here. This path leads to Vairë’s Halls, but let me show you what parts of this house you may dwell in.”

Indis took in every piece with such excited delight that Míriel couldn’t help but grin.

“And how is Fëanáro?” Míriel asked. “Though he is almost an adult, I’m sure he’s glad to have a mother figure again, if for a little while.”

Indis’s eyes sparkled. “Yes! He’s been planning on marrying.”

“From which house?”

“House of Mahtan,” Indis said, then turned back towards the entrance.

“Ah, a Penni-Noldor family,” Míriel said. “That should be interesting.”

They kissed again and promised to see one another once again, but Míriel did not see when all the mirth in Indis’s face fell the moment she turned her back.

*

Fëanáro despised Indis from the moment he saw her, though Indis figured he was trying to adjust to the sudden change in his house. There was nothing she had done to hurt or offend him that she could recall. She treated him with utmost politeness, seeing a bit of Míriel in him, but he only regarded her with the bitterest of hate.

“The Valar changed their laws for you?” he spat at her one time.

“You father wishes to marry,” Indis explained kindly. “And your mother and I used to visit one another, don’t you remember?” she asked brightly. “I used to chase you around the house. Your mother and I…we have known each other since the days beside Cuiviénen.”

“Of course you did. Do not lie, woman! It was by your hands that my mother died!”

Indis opened her mouth to respond, but Fëanáro had already stormed off.

*

“There is nothing wrong about our marriage!” Indis said to Fëanáro brightly another time. “It was common practice in Endor. Some married several times even while their first spouse was still alive! Have you heard the story of Elmo? He went marrying as many as he could of every tribe!”

Fëanáro made a disgusted face. “What savages you are!”

“Fëanáro, your mother came from these people!”

“She’s nothing like you, thief!”

“Fëanáro, is it really that wise to disparage your father’s wife in front of your own fiancée?” came a soft, gentle voice as a young woman appeared behind him. “It does not show you in your kindest light.”

Color rose in his cheeks, but Fëanáro said nothing to Nerdanel. He shot another cold glare at Indis before leaving, muttering something about how Elmo sounded like the name of some frivolous fool in fairy tales.

Indis glanced at Nerdanel. The young woman was a few years older than Fëanáro, and she walked clumsily in her elegant dress, having been used to the work clothes she donned on every day. Her hair was still a bit of a disheveled mess, which Indis decided to busy herself over after helping Nerdanel with a few details of her dress.

“Thank you,” Indis wanted to say for fear of breaking into tears, but she didn't wish to appear weak to an elf so much younger than herself. Nerdanel just nodded and gave a comforting pat on Indis’s arm.

For the rest of the evening, Indis felt numb. She tried to keep her focus on Mahtan, who drank heartily and had a plethora of funny stories about his job, which he shared along with his wife Umbathë, a woman far taller than even Mahtan and just as muscular. Finwë held on to Indis’s hand in sheer adoration, but nothing could warm the coldness radiating from Fëanáro’s glare.

Perhaps what pained her heart the most was to think that this child who despised her came from the woman she loved above all else in all of Eä.

*

Míriel sat among the Valar, though it was not for any hearing concerning her. One of the Avari from the eastern lands, a Hwenti woman whose face was still worn with the agony of her life, stood on the dais. They were in the Halls of Mandos, and one of the elves had healed enough to speak. Thinking of the speed at which she had healed, Míriel was grieved to see it had taken so long for one to reach a point where she could speak with the Valar.

“Child of Eru, what has happened in your life?” Mandos asked. “Why did you come here?”

The soul looked about herself timidly, perhaps unaware that she was going to have such a wide audience. Her eyes fell on Míriel, the sole elf among the attendants, and Míriel gave her a small nod in encouragement.

“I was slain when I did not submit,” she replied sadly.

“Submit to who or what, kind soul?”

“To do evil,” she said and quickly added, “But judge not harshly those who have submitted! We were tormented, some killed and risen back up from the dead, killed and risen again repeatedly until we became slaves! We were forced to breed new generations of monsters to wreak havoc in the lands of our kin!”

“And where did this take place?”

“I shudder to say it.”

“You are safe here. Tell us.”

“Angamandu.”

“The Iron Mountains,” Mandos said, sighing. “We had already cleared out what we could find. They should not trouble your people from here on.”

“He haunts my thoughts still.”

“Who?”

“The Dark Hunter we call him. I would not underestimate him. He finds a way to break everyone eventually, even when clad as a thing of beauty.”

Cold prickled against Míriel’s skin just as a hiss issued from Mandos. “Melkor, damn him! How could he manage to inflict more damage upon Arda while chained?”

The Valar continued to consult with the Hwenti woman, but Míriel soon lost focus, thinking back to the fair sweet plum that led to her death.

*

Indis visited again not long after, her face flushed with excitement and nervousness.

“What is it this time?” Míriel said, smirking. “Has he at last shown you the art project he has been working on?”

“I’m with child,” Indis said breathlessly. At the look of Míriel’s stunned face, she added, “I know, it’s such a shock! It happened so soon after our wedding! I am four months along already, Estë told me. I had not noticed until the last few weeks. But isn’t this wonderful, Míriel?”

Míriel nodded, but she could not keep the cold from filling her heart. The hearing with the Hwenti woman had occurred just a few days previous, yet the questions raised still haunted her. Though locked away in punishment, Melkor had somehow reached her, wrecked her even in the Blessed Realm of Valinor under the golden and silver lights of the Two Trees. The poison-tree was nowhere to be found, as she had searched using Vairë’s loom, and she sometimes had moments of doubt, wondering if she had gone mad with trying to make sense of her peculiar situation.

And watching Indis now brought a terrible fear upon her, as though the Dark Hunter was among them, his claws clutching Indis, threatening to crush her.

Grabbing Indis’s arm, Míriel pulled her close for a long sweet kiss; then, hiding the tremor of her own lips she gently guided her love to one of the smaller rooms of the house. Indis clung to her, whispering sweetly how very much Míriel seemed as she had in their homeland, and smiling, Míriel continued with her kisses down Indis’s neck and shoulder.

“Am I being rewarded?” Indis asked, giggling. Míriel’s response was a kiss behind her ear.

“I hope this is all right with you?” she said. “I am not interfering between you and Finwë?”

“Are we not also bond by love?” Indis said, bringing Míriel’s hand to cup her breast. “You need not compete with your own husband!”

“A husband he no longer is to me by the will of the Valar,” Míriel said sadly. “But our situation is a little more complicated.”

Chuckling, Míriel kissed her cheeks and chin before traveling lower. “How I wish I could hold just a little of your optimism.”

It was the same as their time in Cuiviénen, though Míriel soon learned that, though Indis’s body responded to her touches and tender love, Míriel’s own felt nothing below the waist. That ecstasy was replaced by a rapture bursting in her heart. The pleasure came differently when she felt their souls fusing as they had done countless times before. She was hoping for that moment, for unbeknownst to Indis, Míriel used this opportunity to put a little of her own life’s energy into Indis, just in case should the curse that befell her should also befall her beloved.

When their lovemaking drew to an end, Míriel leaned back to study her wife, noting that her own body felt the lack of energy within herself, making her feel weaker, as she had been months before. “I hope I was not hurtful in any way?”

Indis drew into a sitting position, panting, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering with a new burst of energy. “No, not at all! I did not realize one could still…while with child…oh, I feel silly confessing this, but I never felt so…rejuvenated!”

“Not silly in the least bit, beloved,” Míriel said, winking at her. “But of course you feel this way! Is it not me you just made love with?”

*

The fear in Míriel's heart still remained long after Indis left. She sought out Vairë and at last told her of the plum, shaking as she recounted the birth of Fëanáro. The Valar took her story to heart and combed the western lands, but there was no sign at all.

“But we will keep a watchful eye,” Vairë said, still angry at the thought of Melkor of possibly poisoning their land.

“Please do,” Míriel begged. “Watch over my son, and my husband, and Indis and her family especially.”

*

The first of the children of Finwë and Indis born was Findis, whose sharp cries irritated Fëanáro enough to storm out of the room. Nerdanel stayed with them, desperate to learn as much as she could of childbirth and the first few months of childrearing.

“Bless her voice!” they laughed, as Indis tried not to let Fëanáro ruin her moment. “She’s so cranky already!”

“I had a rude awakening too, little one,” Indis cooed. “I awoke just to have you!”

Findis was sharp-minded and even sharper tongued, and even as a small elfling, she marched down halls as though she were a mighty elvenqueen of her own realm. A true child of the Noldor, her mind was obsessed with all she could create with her hands. She was given clay blocks to build with, and she mastered use of them while still learning how to walk.

Fëanáro’s disgust with Indis soon turned to Findis, though unlike her mother, Findis had refused to attempt any peace with him. They were caught arguing one day, with Findis gripping onto a satchel of worker’s tools and Fëanáro looming over her like a shadow. Finwë and Indis tried to gently pry the case from her arms, but she wouldn’t let go.

“Sister, return my supplies at this moment!” Fëanáro’s cried out, exasperated.

“Nuh-uh, they are not yours and never were!”

“Can you not read! It is my name etched on the straps!”

“They are in my house, so of course they are mine!”

He made to grab for them, but Findis was quicker and bit his hand.

“Damned child!” Fëanáro screamed, stomping his foot. “You are the stuff of nightmares!”

“Your face is the stuff of nightmares!” Findis retorted in a shrill voice, still not letting go of her brother’s satchel.

Nerdanel quietly went from Fëanáro to Findis and then chuckled to herself. Fëanáro shot her a look, but she did not quiver at his glare. “Really, fighting with a toddler? Or did I marry a child myself? Shall I prepare a bottle for you?”

Color rose to his cheeks, and Fëanáro’s eyes dropped to the ground, as he visibly deflated before Finwë and Indis.

“Why, she’s just as spirited as you are!” Finwë laughed, though Indis was torn between being horrified and amused, wondering how Míriel would react to the sight. She related the story to Míriel on her next visit, though she was careful not to say anything too harsh about her stepson. As she had expected, Míriel laughed till she wept at the story.

“She reminds me of myself!” she said happily, “I was like Fëanáro in many ways!” Suddenly her face darkened and she leaned forward, studying Indis carefully. “But you are well, I hope?”

“Oh, I have no problem running after her, if that’s what you mean,” Indis said. “She fights with her brother a lot, but she’s no wild beast in the palace. Once she’s settled on her project, she falls utterly silent and works until I shake her away from her work. That cannot be normal?”

“I see no problem in that,” Míriel said. “She is wise in that she knows what she wishes to do already, and does it now rather than tarrying away in silly childhood activities.”

Indis gasped. “But what is life without a proper childhood?”

“Indis, dear silly Vanya, you have not yet grown used to the Noldorin love for crafting with their hands?”

*

Findis’s attention eventually boiled down to architecture, starting with demolishing a section of the palace and building it anew by herself before turning thirty. Finwë himself was concerned for the state of the palace until he saw the final result, a design so elegant yet making better use of space, widening the wing in a way that wasn’t possible before. She was soon contracted to upgrade the entire palace, joined by a group of other elves and even some Maiar who were drawn to her design and ideas. It was not long before she was commissioned even to Taniquetil.

Of this both Indis and Finwë were very proud, but Fëanáro, though envious, said nothing.

Indis shared the news of Findis with Míriel, who then surprised her with a tapestry she had woven capturing all of Findis’s style.

“It seems fitting, as she is single-handedly changing the look of Valinor,” Míriel said. "I needed to capture this.”

“Ah, I love it!” Indis said happily, studying the tapestry with deep admiration. “And to think she’s still so young, though she is almost an adult. The years seemed to have passed so quickly. And yet, though I am so proud, I also miss when she was small enough to fit in my arms. If I could catch her, that is. Finwë and I have been thinking of trying for another child.”

Míriel nodded as she silently set the tapestry aside. She leaned forward and captured Indis’s lips in a kiss. And again when Indis left, her heart and soul shined with a newfound energy. Míriel watched her depart, the last fifty years of regained strength having depleted again. But, she told herself, it was for the better.

*

Ñolofinwë, their second child, was not born with lungs full and ready to shout out, making his first breaths known to all of Valinor, but his cries were crisp and clear and brief. He was a content infant, an easy sleeper, and always loved the company of his family. He was also not alone in his crib, for after hearing of their plans of a second child, Fëanáro had urged Nerdanel to consider embarking on motherhood. She had kept postponing it for fear of it getting in the way of her work, which Indis thought was not an unfounded worry, considering how Findis had gone.

But at last she agreed, and Nelyafinwë, who later used his mother-name Maitimo, was born just three days prior to his uncle. The meaning of his father-name was not lost on Indis, whose heart only ached painfully at the thought of how much her wife’s son meant to compete with her. It was, though she loathed to admit this, a reason for her giving her son the mother-name of Aracáno, or the high chieftain, as he was rightly to be as the son of Finwë.

Ñolofinwë loved his father deeply and enjoyed sitting on his lap to hear all his stories, but Fëanáro forced himself between the two, distracting his father with the first grandson of the House of Finwë. Maitimo was equally as quiet and polite as his uncle, but unlike his father he hated none of Indis’s children nor Indis herself. During their visits, Indis caught little Maitimo seeking out Ñolofinwë to play, only to be dragged away by his father.

The situation was worse whenever Findis was in the picture. Her voice would drown Fëanáro’s own in their screaming match until both Ñolofinwë and Maitimo were reduced to tears. Finwë alone could break up such a fight, but it saddened Indis to see him turn more to Fëanáro than his daughter.

“He just feels Fëanáro needs to calm the fire within him,” Nerdanel comforted Indis, holding her hand. “He does not mean to favor him above all his children.”

But the more attention Finwë gave him, the more Fëanáro reveled in his victories. As for Maitimo, it seemed that he was ordered to remain silent during visits unless his father gave him permission to speak to anyone who was not his grandfather. It sickened Indis to see how much of a puppet Maitimo became in the hands of his own father, and more so when she realized Fëanáro only showed this side of himself when Finwë was no around. Nerdanel often went against him, allowing Maitimo all the time to play with Ñolofinwë that he wished, but the moment she or Finwë had their backs turned, Maitimo was pried away.

Nerdanel must have noticed Indis’s discomfort, for she privately comforted her in several instances.

“My husband feels threatened by his half-brother - an infant!” Nerdanel sighed. “I will see that Ñolofinwë and Maitimo get some time to play together next week. How does that sound?”

But Indis could not find it in her to confess that she worried for Míriel’s reaction the most, should she ever know, for Indis only bothered her with the sweetest and kindest news.

But it was difficult to keep the misery from her tone forever, which Míriel did notice in time. She took it upon herself to shower Indis with love, perhaps as a means to make her happy again, and indeed the love that seeped into her very core left her feeling strong enough to contend with life and Fëanáro. Hungry for more of Míriel’s love, Indis sought her several times, each time feeling more rejuvenated than before.

Fifty calendar years of the Eldar, or five years of the Valar, since the day of Ñolofinwë’s birth, Indis conceived again.

The third child of Indis and Finwë arrived as quietly as had her brother, but her most striking features were her fair skin and small curls of hair as white as freshly fallen snow. She curled about her mother for her first feeding, tiny mouth curled contently, happy to be alive though silent about it, and Indis could not tear away her eyes in amazement at how much lighter her daughter’s skin was against her own.

“A child of simple purity!” Finwë said happily. “We shall call her Fániel, a daughter of the gentle clouds above.”

The midwives smiled at his suggestion. “We’ve never seen a child like this in Valinor. She is indeed a beauty.”

“White hair,” Indis mused to herself, thinking of Míriel, whose own hair did not match her either her mother or father’s. Little Fániel opened her eyes then, which flickered pale blue for a moment until the light of Laurelin passed over her face, and the blue turned to a rare and elegant shade of violet. But directly within the light, Indis saw with a gasp, the eyes were almost red. After the initial surprise, Indis quickly recovered and found this trait endearing.

“Make up your mind,” Indis cooed to her daughter. “Are you like the waves of the ocean or the warm hearth, or are you as precious a jewel as the amethyst?”

Visiting later, Findis and Ñolofinwë were both delighted to meet their sister. Laughing heartily, Ñolofinwë lifted her from Finwë’s arms and carried her above his head. “And now you are indeed a cloud drifting above us!”

And laughing too, Findis leaned towards her mother and added, “Thank you for your contribution and hard work, mother. I will take Fániel now and make her my apprentice!”

Ñolofinwë gave a loud snort. “And what would you have her do? Fingerprint all over your blueprints, sister?”

Nerdanel had also come to visit, along with her husband and son, and she could not wait till Ñolofinwë handed over the little bundle of love. Laughing, Fániel’s tiny hand flailed, reaching for Nerdanel’s reddish hair. Indis smiled at the warm image, until Nerdanel turned to Fëanáro and showed him his youngest sister. His face blanched, and he took a step back.

“Is she not a little darling thing?” Finwë said upon seeing Fëanáro’s face.

“She’s sickly,” he said, taking in Fániel’s paleness. “I neither wish to touch nor look at her again.” And he grabbed Maitimo’s hand and pulled him away from the child, though the young elf kept looking back, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his young aunt.

Fëanáro’s disgust with Fániel soon turned in his favor. The child always had a tendency to bury her face in her mother or father’s robes for reasons unknown, but as soon as she began to walk and was taken outside, her misery would begin. Relentlessly she would weep, squeezing her eyes shut as though the light of Laurelin seared them. And for no more than an hour could she stand out in the light before her skin burned.

To Fëanáro, this was a chance for him to feel vindicated of his initial assessment that the child was sickly. But he kept his glee hidden from Finwë, who wept when he saw how much pain his daughter was enduring. They took to dressing her in heavier clothing: long sleeves that covered past her hands and collars that reached up to her neck and a long veil to shut out the powerful light from burning her face.

“What a terrible thing, to reject the light of the Two Trees,” Fëanáro said when Indis was alone with the child.

“It is only Laurelin that harms her,” Indis said, the color rising to her cheeks. “She is fine with Telperion.”

“But is Laurelin not a Tree made by the Valar?” Fëanáro said, sneering. “Is she not rejecting the Valar themselves then? They may think to throw her back to the dark valleys where the savage Avari breed like maggots.”

“You know nothing of the Moriquendi,” Indis said. "Your mother and I both--”

But Fëanáro ignored her and left, having better things to tend to. He had taken to calling her Faniel, dropping the stressed sound so that her name now meant the veiled daughter, for her face was seldom seen during the hours of Laurelin’s bloom, and it was a name that ended up being taken by the rest of the family. Indis fought to use the proper name that Finwë had originally used for her, but soon she too fell in the habit of calling her daughter Faniel.

But Indis was not without support from her other children. Findis and Ñolofinwë reserved all outside activities for the hours when Telperion’s light filled the skies, though Finwë did lament that he missed sitting out and feeling the warm light of Laurelin. Nerdanel too kept them company, for she wished to have a daughter of her own, and regularly took Faniel with her to her workshop to show her all the statues she had been busy making on commission from the local cities.

But word spread fast of the odd veiled child, and eyes full of pity and mourning followed Faniel wherever she went. But perhaps the most damning moment was what occurred at her very home one evening. Nerdanel and her family were over for a visit. Indis, finding her daughter missing from her rooms, went searching and found her walking by herself in a corridor, humming happily to herself. The only other elf there was Maitimo, who stopped and gazed long at his aunt.

“Oh…hello,” he said kindly. Faniel stopped and gazed up at him, grinning from ear to ear and eyeing his own hair. “Do you want to go to the dining room? I’m heading there right now. I’ll accompany you.”

“Yes!” Faniel squeaked.

Maitimo smiled. He bent over at the waist, hand outstretched to ruffle her hair when suddenly Fëanáro appeared and gripped his wrist painfully tight, almost crushing the bone.

“Don’t touch something so ill and disgusting,” he hissed at Maitimo. “You do not want to contract whatever she has.”

And he dragged Maitimo away, Faniel’s watering eyes locked on them.

Indis spun around and hid herself behind a door, weeping.

“Eru, for what reason have you given me this child?” she whimpered. “I cannot handle more of the humiliation and the jeers from Fëanáro! What must I do?”

*

The gardens were as tranquil and green as Indis remembered them from the first time she came here. Songs of healing enchantment met her ears, as did the lullabies to lull the weary to a restful sleep. She led Faniel by the hand away from Irmo and to the lake where Estë sat still, her mind attuned to the sacred silence of the slumbers.

Indis motioned for Faniel to sit on the grass, and she approached Estë with a low bow.

“Esteemed Valië, I thank you for accepting my coming here,” she said.

Estë drew out of her reverie and regarded Indis warmly. “It is my pleasure, kind Vanya. For what reason do you come to me today?”

Indis told her of everything about Faniel, and when she was done, Estë requested to see the child. Indis held Faniel close to her, whispering tearfully to her that she would not be hurt, and settled the child on Estë’s lap. The Valië placed her hand on the child’s brow and uttered a prayer, but it was cut short, and she remained silent for several long moments, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

When she opened her eyes at last, she gave Indis an odd look. “I cannot cure her, for there is nothing to cure. She’s the healthiest child I have ever seen!”

“That is impossible! Do you not see her?” Indis said, breaking down into tears.

Estë brought one arm around Indis, kissing the top of her head with an affection and comfort that spread throughout her body, lifting the burden that crushed her heart.

“If she is well, then what can I do?” Indis said. “Laurelin’s light burns her skin, and she complains she cannot see.”

That was when her eyes fell on the bed a little ways off, half-obscured by the long branches of the willow tree. Indis had long stopped coming here, knowing a better way to reach her love. She approached Míriel’s bed again, studying her face with a sad smile. “With everything happening, I have not had a chance to visit her in the last few years. But I must.” She turned to Estë, who had followed with Faniel in her arms. “I know what I must do, though I will need to ask for more pardon from the Valar. And Finwë too I must speak with before I do this.”

She turned back to Míriel, her face still as radiant and healthy as when she had been alive, and Indis bent over and kissed her lips, knowing that Míriel would feel it in the Halls of Vairë.

*

“Ah, you bring me a third beauty!” Míriel said, grinning as she approached the doorway. “And don’t say you didn’t visit my body in the gardens -- I felt your kiss of co-- oh!” She froze upon seeing the long veil over the child’s head and gave Indis a silent but startled look.

Indis’s smile held a twitch. “I was hoping to ask you a favor…I was given pardon by the Valar to do this, but I wanted to…make certain I wouldn’t be…burdening you.”

Míriel embraced her tightly as Indis wept. The child, who held Indis’s hand, also began to weep.

“What is the matter?” Míriel asked when Indis had steadied herself.

“I do not know,” she said. “Estë says the child is full of health, but she cannot bear to see Laurelin’s light, and her skin burns if she is outdoors for too long. That is why we cover her, but what kind of existence is this?”

“Let me hold her.”

Nodding, Indis picked the child up and placed her in Míriel’s arms. She pulled back the veil and smiled at the child whose eyes were wide and still sparkling from the tears. At being unveiled, she looked about herself, noting the darkness about her and smiled, her shoulders relaxing.

“What is your name, dear?” Míriel asked.

“Faniel,” the child replied before Indis could speak.

“You thought this child ill?” Míriel said, glancing at Indis. “Why, she but inherited your paleness and my hair! Clearly a child of our union rather than you and Finwë! Silly Vanya!”

She playfully swatted at Indis with one hand, and Indis broke into a laugh.

“I will take Faniel with me and raise her here,” Míriel said. “If it’s Laurelin she’s bothered by, then so be it. She can have a fruitful life here, for it is not only departed souls who reside here. Please, Indis! Do not weep! Your child is not dead nor will ever be considered among them! You know you can come and visit whenever you wish! You need not feel like you are abandoning her, for she’s with her mother.”

“Mother,” Faniel repeated, turning her head and body until she could look at Indis. “Mama?”

“Yes, she is Mother,” Indis said. “I am your Mama.”

“Mama,” Faniel said, smiling and cuddled closer to Míriel.

Indis gave Míriel a kiss. “Thank you. You’ve saved me and her. Thank you.”

Míriel nodded. “Now, go on! Get back out there, and let me catch up with our daughter!”

Laughing, Indis kissed her again, and this time also kissed Faniel before leaving.

*

“So, you have done it then?” Finwë said sadly. “Did the Valar agree? And Míriel too?”

“Yes,” Indis said. She and Finwë sat at the table with Findis and Ñolofinwë, the silence around them deafening. She could see her children’s faces crushed, but she repeated to them what Míriel had told her. Though it would not be counted as a death, Faniel was all but considered no longer part of the Eldar and would not be regularly counted in the family tree. The thought of it filled her with grief enough that she could not think getting pregnant again.

Excusing herself, she left the table and head for her rooms, but Findis and Ñolofinwë were not far behind her.

“Who was it that took her in again?” Ñolofinwë asked. “Can we trust her?”

“You can,” Indis said. She turned around and wondered how her children would react to knowing what she had gotten up to back in Cuiviénen. “She is the mother of your brother.”

“You have got to be jesting with us!”

Indis laughed. “I am a…very close friend to her.”

“Does Fëanáro know?”

“It seems he’d rather think we’re more likely to hate one another, Míriel and me.”

“Can we visit?” Ñolofinwë asked suddenly. “Faniel, and meet Míriel. You can visit them, can’t you? Can’t we come next time?”

“You…you want to visit with me?”

“Of course!” Findis said. “That’s our sister you threw in that Valarin house! Do not think we will forget her as easily as others will! And you’ve got to compensate me for losing my apprentice!”

*

Faniel looked tiny sitting at the table with the large bowl before her. She fed herself, though Míriel had offered to help her. After her initial reaction to being held by Míriel, her smile had faded under the shadow of the windowless house between the Halls.

At long last, Faniel looked up at Míriel. “Did…did my mama bring me here because…because she doesn’t love me anymore?”

She struggled to speak, and her lower lip trembled until she could no longer hold back the tears. The spoon slipped from her small fingers as she wept openly, her entire body shaking. Míriel watched with jaws open and her heart torn into pieces. The pain from the child spilled out like a mist which she could sense, its ill effects like sharp nails pressed against her soul. For a moment, Faniel flickered out of sight from her eyes, and she realized the pain was something she must have been bottling in for a very long time, and now threatened to fade her.

Remembering what she was instructed to do long ago, her heart shrieked out a plea for Nienna’s aid, and in moments the Valië appeared before her.

“This child,” Míriel wept. “There is so much pain in her…”

Nienna knelt beside Faniel, her large eyes misty as she took in the child’s appearance.

“It’s okay, little one,” she said, her words a comfort that lifted a little of the burden choking Míriel and Faniel both. She brought her hand under Faniel’s chin. “Do not hold it in any longer. Keep crying, and I will collect your tears and from them a tree will grow. Your burdens will be buried, and you can breathe easier.”

Faniel was still shaking, though perhaps it was fear of the sudden appearance of the Valië before her, but Nienna continued to speak softly, and in the end, Faniel breathed a sigh of relief, looking stronger and better than before, if a little tired.

“Thank you,” Míriel said, bowing low to Nienna. “I did not know there was so much pain inside her.”

Nienna’s smile was slight but full of wisdom. “Indeed, we can never fully guess the storm that rages inside someone when the body has decided to keep the pain locked deep within.”

Míriel thanked her again and turned to Faniel, wrapping her arms protectively around the small child. Just then Vairë stepped in, having sensed Nienna at work nearby and wanting to check on Míriel.

“I want to take her to the Halls of Vairë, for I want to show her something,” Míriel said.

“I’m afraid no one can enter my Halls in bodily form,” she said, and Míriel’s heart fell.

“Then she will weep every night,” she said sadly. “I cannot leave my work, but I cannot also leave her.”

Vairë motioned for her to follow into one of the rooms, a guest room with a bed and small table. The Maiar who came were permitted to settle in one of these rooms if they felt weary or wished a brief rest before a meeting. Míriel looked questioningly at Vairë. Although she would gladly help Indis with anything, she was beginning to wonder how wise of a decision it was bringing a young child into the Halls.

“Have her drink from the cup beside the bed and then lay her down,” Vairë instructed. “She can enter my Halls with you then.” At the look of panic across Míriel’s face, Vairë chuckled. “She will not die, and her body will not decay. She will be alive but asleep, and her spirit can travel to whatever part of the Halls she wishes, and she will return instantly back to her body when she awakens.”

Míriel looked down at Faniel. “Would you like to do that? Travel with me in spirit to my work place?”

Faniel nodded shyly.

Míriel settled her on the bed and gave her the cup, the clear liquid, as Faniel reported, tasting sweet and refreshing. She tucked Faniel into bed, placing the blankets on her as though she were merely tucking her own child to sleep, and kissed Faniel’s brow. When she sat back, Faniel’s body had already fallen asleep, but Faniel herself was sitting up on the bed, smiling at Míriel. In spirit form, Míriel could see the patches of her soul still healing from her hurts.

Such a shame for one so young to suffer so much, she thought as she took Faniel’s hand and, led by Vairë, out of the room and towards the Valië’s Halls.

Faniel’s eyes lit up when they entered, her tiny body jumping on the balls of her feet excitedly. Long lines of colorful tapestries lined the walls, the history of her people and all of Eä there before her.

“This is the best place ever!” she said happily. “And I can see everything!”

Vairë parted with them then, heading to her own private quarters, but Míriel ushered Faniel towards the large loom.

“I can see the entire world from here,” she told Faniel. “I sometimes watch your mother, or the busy streets, but I’m more interested in what’s happening in the place where I was born.”

“You were not born in Valinor?” Faniel asked, scooting closer to her.

“No, the land I was born in had no sharp light. The dark skies were full of stars,” Míriel said. “And even now, the light of the Trees does not reach them.”

“Can we go live there?” Faniel asked.

Míriel smiled sadly. “I cannot leave these Halls, but I would take you if I could, though there’s a mighty sea separating us. Are you willing to face the waves? You could fall off the ship and get the biggest bath of your life!”

Faniel shrunk back, shaking her head while grinning. “No. I hate baths.”

Míriel couldn’t help grinning in return. “In recent weeks I’ve noticed something, well, interesting. Let me show you.”

She commanded the window to appear, and gingerly she maneuvered it to the same mountain she had been studying for the last month. A grin spread over her face when she saw them.

“Here, see them?” she pointed to the small beings who were slipping in and out of the mountain. Their appearance were nothing like the elves, not even the Nandor who were smaller in size than the other tribes. Their bodies were short and stout, and though Míriel and Faniel could not hear them, they appeared to be arguing amongst themselves while pointing at the nearby river.

“See these silly little men with hair on their chin like a goat’s beard?” Míriel said. “I never came across them while I lived in the east. They’ve been arguing about that river for weeks. I’ve been watching them. The river offends them for some odd reason.”

“They don’t like baths either,” Faniel concluded, and Míriel laughed.

“I believe you are correct! Though everything outside of their mountain sets them off. They must be still a young race. Perhaps Eru made them to fill the gaps left by our leaving.”

Faniel leaned against her, her eyes steady on the silly goat-men. Míriel wrapped her arms around her, a warmth spreading through her at the contact, realizing how much she enjoyed motherhood when it did not pain her. As Faniel continued watching, Míriel set about her work, creating for her and Indis’s child a tapestry to capture the innocent and amusing first tales of the goat-men and the river.

*

Indis visited as soon as she could, and her eyes widened when a very vibrant and happy Faniel ran into her arms. The child talked excitedly about her adventures with Míriel in the Halls of Vairë, of all the things she saw in Míriel’s loom, and of the odd creatures they were keeping an eye on.

“And one time some elves tried to kill them, but then one stepped up and stopped them!” she said excitedly. “They declared him their hero! Each time he passes by, they run out to hug him! But, Mama, these elves, their skins are darker than yours or Mother’s!”

“Yes, they are of the tribes who remained in our lands while the rest left,” she said. “Goodness, talk more and I’ll be hit with a deep nostalgia of the good old days!”

“Oh! And I’ve been making a tapestry too! Mother helps me! Let me get it from my room!”

After she scuttled off, Indis flung her arms around Míriel and pushed her against the counter, spreading hungry kisses around Míriel’s neck and lips.

“One kiss is enough to show your gratitude to me,” Míriel said, grinning. “Or are you trying to butter me up for something else?”

“I…Findis and Ñolofinwë wish to visit,” she said breathlessly. “They refuse to be parted from their sister.”

“You’re really pushing the Valar’s pardon,” Míriel said. “But let them come! What of Fëanáro or Finwë?”

“Fëanáro is busy and lives far from us,” Indis said. “He’s always traveling with his family. And Finwë I haven’t yet talked with about visiting. Would you be all right with him coming?”

“As long as he does not kiss you in my presence, I will tolerate him,” Míriel said with a smirk, and their attention was drawn back to Faniel, who had returned with the small tapestry, eager to tell Indis about it.

*

Faniel did not always accompany Míriel to the Halls of Vairë. Her mother was seemingly always there until Indis visited, and Faniel didn’t like the idea of sleeping all the time in order to visit the Halls. But as she grew more comfortable in her new home, she ventured around, eyeing the Maiar or the Valar who passed by.

There were other rooms like hers, and larger rooms for meetings. It was in one of these rooms that one day she stepped inside to find Nienna. The Valië was accompanied by a dozen other Maiar, who all settled in a circle. Their voices were heavy with grief, and Faniel nearly stepped out before Nienna called back.

“Would you like to join us, Lady Faniel?”

Faniel paused. She was never addressed as a lady, but she nodded, then decided to bow politely and thank her. One of the Maiar smiled and motioned for her to settle beside him. He was as tall as her father, and his beard was similar to the goat-men, though his was longer and silvery grey.

“I am Faniel,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Nice to meet you, Faniel,” the Maia said, smiling warmly. “They call me Olórin.”

The meeting with Nienna turned out to be a lecture, and though she did not understand everything, Faniel left with a feeling of greater wisdom and understanding. She thought of her older brother Fëanáro and how much he had hurt her, and she resolved she would find a way to forgive him. The tree Laurelin, too, she resolved to make peace with.

*

“Where is she?” Fëanáro asked during one visit. “Have the Valar finally disinfected this household of disease? That is great news!”

Indis checked to make certain Finwë was away before speaking. “She’s still alive, but she resides with Míriel your mother. I asked her myself if she would take in the child, and she gladly accepted! Calls Faniel her own daughter!”

At Indis’s grin, the color drained from Fëanáro’s face. “You lie! You have no business with her!”

“Then ask your mother yourself,” she said. “And she is my business, as she was my wife before she was Finwë’s.”

Fëanáro gave a sharp gasp.

Indis pointed to the jewel she wore around her neck. “What do you suppose this is? A pearl from the eastern shores of Cuiviénen. Your mother gave this to me to claim me as her bride. Did she never tell you this?”

Fëanáro glared at Indis for several long moments, before turning his back and leaving her alone in the corridor without saying another word.

Perhaps she had gone too far, and she would come to regret it later, Indis thought. But Faniel was happy, as was Míriel, and Indis was not going to let that knowledge go unknown to Fëanáro.

In the end, Finwë did not visit with them, as Fëanáro had made certain to call him to his house on the very same day as when Indis and her children were set to visit the Halls. Indis tried not to let this bother her, and sensing her sadness, Findis and Ñolofinwë both doubled their efforts to make the visit enjoyable for her. They celebrated Faniel’s begetting day at the kind light of Telperion, and in turn Faniel made them both pleased with tales of her adventures in the Halls and showing them her own tapestries.

To Indis’s greatest relief, her children did not hate Míriel but took an immediate liking to her. Findis wanted to see the Halls of Vairë herself after learning of Míriel’s work, while Ñolofinwë asked Míriel about life in the eastern lands.

“She is everything I hoped Fëanáro could be as a brother!” Ñolofinwë whispered to Indis excitedly. “Can we not do an exchange?”

“And leave poor Faniel with him?”

As Indis’s children made up a game and chased one another around the lawn before the Halls, Indis sat next to Míriel on the steps and spun tales of how great Fëanáro had become in the eyes of the Noldor, so great and well-known he needed his father to help him with his work. It was partly true, as Fëanáro had his following, but it still stung Indis to look at her wife in the eye and lie.

*

Indis never thought she would be with child again, as Fëanáro seemed intent on pulling Finwë away from her as often as he could. But perhaps it was the comfort of knowing how much Findis and Ñolofinwë would stick by their siblings no matter their situation, that just thirty-four Valian years after Faniel’s birth, she found herself pregnant, and under one Valian year later became pregnant again.

Írimë and Arafinwë were her last two children. Írimë was as spirited as any Noldor, but unlike her fiery sister Findis, Írimë was far more like her father, a goofy child yet with a sunny disposition. She loved also all which concerned the spirit, and regularly attended the temples with her mother, locked in a trance by the prayers around her. She grew closest to Ñolofinwë, both enjoying their own inside jokes apart from the rest of the family, and her greatest love became dance.

Arafinwë, the only child of Indis to inherit her golden hair, too followed Indis and Írimë to the temples, and he was soft-spoken and wise even at a young age. Unlike Findis and Ñolofinwë he stayed far from the disputes with Fëanáro, for which he explained, “If someone already has decided they do not love you, can you ever really change their mind?” Írimë too stayed far, though when her half-brother was not looking she enjoyed to imitate his actions for the amusement of her other siblings.

When both children had learned of an older sister, they immediately wanted to meet her. Even without Finwë in the picture, Indis felt no lack at the love she had in her life, from Míriel all the way to her youngest child. At times she came back to live in her uncle’s house when it seemed Finwë had all but forgotten her, Fëanáro having so well lured him away from his other children. But ever was there love and support.

At times Nerdanel also came with them, which Indis suspected was to get away from her husband for a while.

“He wants more children,” Nerdanel had explained. “After Maitimo I do not think I will have any more.”

There was still love between Nerdanel and Fëanáro, but Indis sensed the man’s inner fire was becoming too much for both his wife and child. Maitimo, who Indis knew was being taught smith work by his father, was always at least a little polite whenever his father’s back was turned; but a day came when he refused to even look at Indis. She hated to imagine Fëanáro being too hard on his only son.

*

The children of Indis, Nerdanel concluded, were far beyond unhinged, all of them. Their carriage, controlled by Findis, bulleted through the streets at such speed she was shocked they had not run over any elf. Indis was staying by her uncle for the time being while Fëanáro visited his father, and they were to retrieve Indis before heading for the Halls of Vairë.

With a grinding screech the carriage halted right outside the door of the golden and white palace.

“Mother! We are here!” Findis’s voice shook the otherwise silence of the calm city. “Come on!”

Indis poked her head through an open window three stories above. “A moment, please!”

“No moments!” Findis cried.

“I’ll get her!” Írimë sang, and hopping out of the carriage, she ran inside and not one minute passed before she reappeared, carrying her mother over her shoulders. The others laughed, cheered, and clapped their hands as Írimë skipped down the steps and tossed Indis in the back seat next to Nerdanel.

Nerdanel remained silent as Indis adjusted herself, grinned at Nerdanel, and said, “Welcome to my family!” before Findis jerked the carriage back to life.

*

The visit to Míriel and Faniel was just as spirited. Nerdanel was rendered awestruck by the annex alone, and she could only imagine what the Halls of Mandos and Vairë were like. It was a pleasure seeing Faniel again, who had grown into a beautiful woman yet still childlike in her innocence. And yet there was also a wisdom which drew Nerdanel to her, as Faniel spoke lovingly of having followed Nienna around and attended her lectures.

“You have forgiven Fëanáro?” Nerdanel asked in surprise when they had settled around the dining table.

“Him and Laurelin,” Faniel said with a small smile. “Had either never hurt me, I would have never come here and learned so much. I’m a stronger person now.”

“Wise woman,” Nerdanel mused.

“Guess what?” Írimë’s voice interrupted them from across the room. “I have found a bride for Ñolo! And one for myself!”

“Who?” Míriel and Indis asked at the same time.

“This is the first I hear of this!” Indis said at Míriel’s look.

“Her name is Anairë!” Írimë explained excitedly. “She was attending the same dance school as me, and I thought she would be perfect for Ñolo. I was right! For that, he must now name his first daughter after me!”

“And who did you choose, Írimë?”

“The minstrel herself!”

“We’re going to have a double wedding,” Ñolofinwë added, “in a month’s time. Sorry, mother, but we did plan to tell you sooner had you been at home. You are all invited.”

“I cannot leave the halls,” Míriel said, “but I may have a means to watch. Faniel, you can go at the light of Telperion.”

Faniel shuddered. “I don’t know if I can face the world outside again. Sitting out on the steps is fine. But with others around? But congratulations, to both of you!” Írimë and Ñolofinwë nodded in thanks.

“I always thought Findis would marry first,” Faniel said. “You’re very pretty.”

“I thought of marrying Alcarcalimo,” Findis said nonchalantly.

“He is a modest elf!” Indis said. “I remember him helping you with your first project at Taniquetil!”

“He works the hardest,” Findis agreed. “The others have tried to pursue me, but I send them off. But Alcarcalimo would do anything I say, so I thought him fitting for a husband.”

Ñolofinwë groaned. “You do not marry someone just to make them your slave!”

“You need to marry your equal, not someone you push around!” Nerdanel added, shocked at what she was hearing.

Findis shrugged. “Then I love none of my servants. What about you, Arafinwë? You’ve been blushing this whole time.”

“I…have a girlfriend at Alqualondë,” he muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for them all to hear, and the chaotic chatter ensued once more as they bombarded him with questions.

“A triple wedding! Let it be a triple wedding!” Írimë shrieked excitedly.

Arafinwë shook his head, his eyes wide in shock. “No, no, no! We want to take this slowly! We have forever!”

“If you wish for three so much, then I’ll ask Alcarcalimo,” Findis said with a smirk.

“If you approach that poor elf…” Ñolofinwë began.

“What is the big deal?

Írimë sighed heavily. “Love, Findis! They must make your heart sing for joy and your spirits rise to the very stars themselves!”

“Loyalty, Írimë! If it is in the marriage you need not much else!”

“Do you think anyone would marry an elf living in the Halls?” Faniel’s soft voice broke their conversation. The two sisters glanced towards her, their expressions changed to compassion, and immediately jumped on the case.

“Of course!” Írimë said. “We will look around for someone for you! I found Ñolo a bride! I’ll find you someone!”

“There are many who work with me who are dependable and noble-hearted,” Findis added. “Shall we look for a man or woman?”

Faniel hesitated. “I don’t know, really. There was a Maia who once came to the Halls of Vairë to receive a new cloak Mother and I worked on. She was really pretty.”

“Who?”

Faniel’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Ilmarë. Her feet send out sparks of starlight whenever she walks. I like that.”

The others burst into laughter. “Doesn’t ask for much!”

Indis shook her head in amusement. “Are any of my children going to marry a man?”

Faniel considered the question seriously. “I also like Eönwë. He has wings on his back.” And the group gave another loud bout of laughter. Amidst the chaos, Nerdanel noticed Míriel, who had been quiet all this time, studying them; feeling Nerdanel’s gaze on her, Míriel turned towards her and grinned.

“Every moment of this,” Míriel said, “I’m going to capture in my next work. If only Finwë and Fëanáro weren’t so busy! Think of how much grander this scene would be!”

*

Faniel ended up watching the double weddings with Míriel at her loom, and one of their grandest tapestry yet depicted that of the happy event of Ñolofinwë marrying Anairë and Írimë marrying Elemmírë, of whom Míriel told Faniel tales of the minstrel in her youth. Years later they did the same for Arafinwë’s wedding to Eärwen, and then quite unexpectedly of Findis and Alcarcalimo. Perhaps it was the conversation Faniel had with her sisters, but something seemed to have softened the proud and loud Findis.

“Now I will have more children than Fëanáro will ever dream of!” she said smugly.

But in each visit she spoke more warmly of Alcarcalimo, the humility in her voice apparent after her previous visit, but her wedding came last among the children of Indis who did not live in the Halls. Faniel remained alone, but she did not feel lonesome. Her life was full of learning and creating. From Nienna she had learned much compassion that she even made tapestries for her half-brother’s children, the second son of Fëanáro having been born at some point after Arafinwë’s wedding. The children came quickly after, as Nerdanel’s own heart had grown to desire more. But more than once Faniel wondered if Fëanáro felt threatened with four of his half-siblings now married and having children, and he competed with them in that regard, especially with Findis who seemed to have a new daughter born every five Valian years. Soon it seemed all Faniel ever did was make a tapestry depicting the children of her sisters and brothers.

Though she felt no bitterness towards Fëanáro, she still had a moment of vengeance. It happened early on, just a few years after Arafinwë’s marriage to Eärwen. Faniel seldom left the Halls for anything beyond a visit from her siblings and Indis, save for when she came to tend to the flowers. In front of the Halls grew the sweetest-scented lilies in many colors. A vase of them in the annex of the Halls of Vairë always added a pleasant accent to the surroundings. She took some also to the Halls of Mandos, while she was in spirit form, and placed them before the tiny rooms where the suffering souls of departed elves resided. They would look behind them as she passed by to find fair companions, never wilting, and their presence a slow comfort filling their tormented souls.

One day she stepped out, fully veiled in black, from Laurelin’s light as she tended to the lilies. She was middle into her work when she noticed that another was playing in the lily bed. A tiny elfling, not more than a year old, with dark hair and a little pout on his face, paused while yanking on a lily and looked up. Taking in her full height and her veiled face, he stepped back and let out a tiny long sound, melodic and sweet despite his terror.

“Keep singing,” she teased. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Makalaurë! Come back here! You better not be eating any more flowers!” a voice shouted from somewhere off in the distance. Tiny Makalaurë took a few more steps back, the terrified sound still issuing from his mouth; making certain the woman would not follow, he took another step back, then spun around and dashed towards his father’s voice, crying loudly.

“What amuses you so much, Faniel?” Míriel asked when Faniel returned.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, waving her hand. “I just gave a child a little startle, that’s all.”

*

There was a running tournament held every year during the warmest days of the summer. Indis had competed in this event before and had set her mind to do again. Now that she was done bearing and raising children, she set her mind back to her activities, one of which was running. She was still fast, and her body quickly recovered from motherhood, as she was not one to sit idle for long.

She was not looking to compete as much as have a reason to run at lightening speed, feeling the wind ripple through her hair, though a few of her children who experienced her speed in running after them attested that no one could ever match her.

Until Fëanáro stepped beside her.

“You come to run with me?” Indis asked kindly. “It was a dream of mine before. You seems like you would be a great runner.”

“I come only to bring you shame,” Fëanáro said. “I will try to be gentle. You did have five children, after all.” And he spoke no more to her. Indis glanced at the audience; they were filled with the Eldar and the Valar alike, including Indis’s children and grandchild, and Fëanáro’s family and also - to Indis’s dismay - Fëanáro’s followers who regarded Indis with scorn. Finwë too watched, oblivious to everything as he always were; he offered them both blessings.

Indis would have let him win, for he was Míriel’s son, but his comment set off an anger long boiling but kept tight shut for so long. Indis wasn’t one to get angry; that was left to Míriel. She never thought she would be capable of raising her voice the same way her wife did, but when the runners had all gotten into position, Indis’s heart pounded with a scream just wanting to burst out. Instead, the moment “Go!” was announced, Indis shot out with a speed unlike any she had ever exerted before, leaving Fëanáro in the dust.

The shouts and applause barely met her ears, as she ran with such speed her heart was all she could hear, only slowing down when she crossed the finish line. Many of the other contestants were still running, and they made straight for her, embracing and congratulating her on her win.

“We’ve never seen you run this fast! Look! There are still some catching up!”

Even Finwë showed up, parting the crowd until he reached her, giving her an embrace and loving kiss.

Indis laughed and thanked them all, laughing louder when she could not even remember what had pushed her to run like this in the first place. It wasn’t until the event had settled and Indis walked alone back to the changing rooms when she heard feet stomping behind her. Turning around, she caught sight of Fëanáro just as he passed her by, grabbed her necklace, and yanked off the bride’s jewel from around her neck. Stunned, she watched as he continued walking past, the tiny white jewel crushed in his strong fist.

*

Nerdanel was first to come across what came of the jewel. She thought she had seen her husband grab something from Indis, though it had happened so fast she thought she might have just imagined it. But there was no mistaking the necklace Indis wore. It lay on the ground, the long grass nearly hiding it completely from view. The gold had been bent, and a thin line ran the surface of the pearl.

She pocketed the jewel and said no more on her journey back to their house, and she remained silent all throughout their dinner and rest, careful when she would approach her husband. She settled for when he was alone in his smithy, working silently but in a better mood than the previous day.

As not to startle him, she knocked and allowed herself in when Fëanáro glanced over his shoulder. His eyes scanned her questioningly, and without saying a word, she showed him the broken jewel.

“I found it yesterday behind the stadium,” she said. “Tell me why you took this from Indis. I saw you two together.”

Fëanáro’s eyes went from the jewel to Nerdanel’s eyes, then glanced away, pretending he did not recognize it.

“I have no idea what you’re speaking of,” he said.

“You and I both have seen Indis wear this necklace,” Nerdanel said. “Ever since we first met her. Why did you destroy it? Why do you hate her so much?”

Fëanáro kept his back to her and said nothing, but she pressed the matter till at last he drew a heavy sigh. “You do not know her, Nerdanel. She was the reason for my mother’s death!”

“How so?”

Fëanáro turned to face her. “It was weeks before my mother went to the lands of Lórien. I saw her crawling on all fours like an infant, tearing her room to shreds and calling out ‘Why, Indis?’ I’m certain that harlot poisoned my mother so she would take my father and make herself the Queen of the Noldor!”

Nerdanel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Do not tell me that woman is innocent!” Fëanáro snapped. “She hides behind a mask of purity and fairness, but in truth she is deceiving - a liar and a thief!”

“Hardly the Indis I know,” Nerdanel said calmly, thinking back to how much the two women cuddled and nuzzled each other during the visits, unashamed of displaying their affections before Nerdanel and all of Indis’s children.

At her words, Fëanáro glared at her, fire alight in his eyes. Nerdanel had seen the flames cross them from time to time, and at times wondered about his soul being made of a fire unlike the other elven souls; she had seen the same fire announce itself in her children in numerous ways. And yet though Fëanáro had some of his mother’s qualities, Míriel’s spirit was nothing like his.

“Do you doubt your husband’s words?” Fëanáro demanded coldly.

Nerdanel smiled at him. “Not at all. But I do believe that there’s always another side to the story.” And I have seen it, she added in her mind.

*

After her talk with Fëanáro, Nerdanel next head for her parents’ house. Mahtan welcomed her with wide, open arms, embracing her and picking her off her feet as though she were still a small child. Her mother Umbathë was sitting at the table, as both were just about to have lunch. They welcomed her, pushing plates upon plates towards her to eat, and asked her about her work and family.

She had not planned to sit with them all day, but after her talk with Fëanáro, the warmth of her parents was too comforting to decline. She dropped the matter of the necklace until they were all well fed and updated on all the gossip of their kin.

“What brings you in today?” Mahtan asked.

“This.” And Nerdanel relayed to them everything.

“Fëanáro is being ridiculous, but my greater concern is fixing that necklace,” Nerdanel said. “Is there anything you can do?”

Mahtan and Umbathë studied the necklace together, then smiling, they said, “We know what to do.”

Míriel noticed the day when Indis stopped wearing her pearl, instead wearing a necklace full of dazzling jewels that Finwë had made for her. Míriel said nothing, though the thought of Indis tiring of that jewel still hurt. But Indis’s kisses were still tender, perhaps even more so in the following years.

Years had passed since the last of the children of Indis had been born. The tapestries Míriel and Faniel worked on also displayed the grandchildren of Míriel and Indis, and in some cases, even their great grandchildren.

“Soon this entire wall will be nothing but one giant portrait of this family,” Míriel laughed to Faniel, who grinned. “Think we should ask them to ease it with the begetting? I think my fingers may actually fall off!”

*

It happened unexpectedly one day - the moment Míriel would never forget. She didn’t know how it happened. For one moment they were deep at work, Míriel at her loom while Faniel pushed around a cart of freshly picked lilies, replacing any wilting lilies throughout the Halls and the annex. She was replacing a vase right behind Míriel when suddenly a wave of utter despair and terror shattered through them both. With a shriek, the vase slipped from Faniel’s hands and crashed, and the air filled with her horrified shrieking. At the same moment, panic rose in Míriel’s throat as great as a thick darkness that fell over them.

She jumped out of her seat and grabbed onto Faniel who continued to tremble and shriek. She had thought someone or something must have attack Faniel’s body, except Míriel’s own soul rattled with an intense unexplainable fear. And though the Halls of Vairë were neither brightly lit nor pitch black, it seemed it was suddenly one massive void, the darkness suffocating and crushing them.

And then she heard them. Far away, their voices traveling to the Halls of Vairë, the agonized screams and prayers of the souls in the Halls of Mandos, so loud that the Halls of Vairë shook. Straining her ears she could make out the cries for deliverance from evil.

“The shadows walk! It has begun again!”

“The Dark Hunter has come for us!”

“Melkor!,” Míriel gasped and shuddered as though invoking the name had summoned him behind them. Her protective gripped on Faniel tightened though she too trembled, the space where her heart was pounding, the panic choking her throat.

She did not know how long they remained as such. Their terror immobilized them, and they remained in this position until Míriel felt him enter his Halls.

“SILENCE!”

And everything in the Halls of Mandos and Vairë drew still, the voice of Mandos still echoing in the dark.

Míriel turned to Faniel. “Go back to your body and remain in your room, all right?”

Faniel nodded and faded out of Míriel’s arms. Míriel herself was still shaking when she got to her feet; she examined the broken vase for a moment, clearing her thoughts and stilling the pounding in her chest, then stepped out of Vairë’s Halls. She made certain Faniel was still in her room, hearing the soft weeping from the other side of the door, indicating that she was there but otherwise in no danger, then made her way into the Halls of Mandos.

She realized she had not been in Mandos’s Halls since Vairë had taken her into her service. The familiarity invoked a sadness she had not felt before, remembering how happy she was being dead while the elves in the tiny rooms lingered in their pain. There were many more now here, many she was disheartened to see, being very young. She recognized them as all being of the king who had remained in the eastern lands.

Of course. Valinor is safe from all danger, she thought, and her heart ached at the thought of what danger lie there.

One, a mere child elf with a wound that manifested as a large hole through her heart, sent Míriel running the other way in shock and horror.

Noticing the small vases of lilies, she frowned. Faniel’s comes here? How can she stand it? And where is Mandos?

Then turning a corner she ran into someone. Another spirit, one who was out of his rooms, crouched in the middle of the hall. She made to apologize but the words died in her throat when he looked up to meet her eyes.

“Finwë?”

He smiled sadly, his lips a little crooked as though he were still in pain. A ghastly deep wound ran from his throat down to his navel.

Míriel took a step back. “What happened?”

“Slain, the first in Valinor,” Finwë said. “I seem to have a record of breaking rules or being the first in this land. First to marry again, first to be slain!” His laugh, Míriel decided, was far more hollow than she ever remembered it. She got to his level and took his hand.

“Tell me everything.”

“Melkor,” he said simply, and as though she were scorched, Míriel yanked her hand away from him. She took a deep breath, then nodded for him to continue. He told her everything which led to this moment, of Fëanáro’s hatred towards Indis and her children, of his ever-growing inner fire and the feud with Ñolofinwë, Fëanáro’s friendship with Melkor and the banishment to Formenos, of the destruction of the Two Trees and the Darkening of Valinor, and to the final moments of Finwë’s life.

After he was finished, they remained in silence for the longest time. Míriel’s mind whirled, unable to comprehend everything. Indis and her children’s stories over the years did not match completely with Finwë’s account. They spoke highly of Fëanáro’s achievements and of how often Finwë was called away to help his son, but the more Míriel thought about it, the more it seemed likely the accounts were twisted as not to reveal the truth.

“They did not want to hurt me,” she said softly, and at Finwë’s confusion she elaborated. “Fëanáro never ventured with Indis to meet me. I was always told he was busy with his craft, and much loved by all. No one told me part of the reason Faniel was taken to me was because of him; not even Faniel herself told me. And I was too happy being near Indis and her family that I did not feel the lack of my son’s presence.

“But had I known, I would have come back to life, to see if I may get him to see reason. Or had requested he come see me; did he even know that was possible?”

“They were trying to remain peaceful. I thought keeping the peace meant taking his side at all times, but I fear instead of taming his fire, it only made it worse.”

“And what of Indis? Is she all right?”

“She is fine,” Finwë said. “She returned to her uncle’s house in Taniquetil when I went to live with our son in Formenos, and I believe she was safe during the time of my death.” He winced, one hand wrapped around his waist. “I did not think it would hurt so much even as a spirit. But I suppose it’s my wound to carry into this afterlife.”

“You were slain by Melkor. Whatever weapon he uses will stay with you for a while,” Míriel said then sighed. She shook her head, thinking how very much Finwë, the goofy yet kind man she fell in love with, did not deserve this. “And all for what? This Silmaril or whatever you call it.”

Finwë chuckled lightly. “That is the first I heard anyone speak of the Silmarils in light manner.” He grew quiet, as if hearing something that Míriel could not pick up on. “I must apologize for what’s about to happen to you, dear wife. But I fear I have been unkind to Indis. I was just asked by Mandos if I wished to return to my people, but I have declined. Raising Fëanáro has drained me of all my energy.

“But that is not my only reason.” He smiled at Míriel. “Remember the Stature? I am severing my marriage to Indis, not because I do not love her but because I love both you and her. Go, return to life and take her hand in marriage once more. Go to Mandos, and he will return your spirit to your body.”

“What? This is all sudden! What of Faniel?” Míriel said.

“Faniel,” Finwë repeated. “Oh, that’s right! She is here! It’s been so long since I have seen my daughter. I wonder if I can visit her. But we will figure that out later. For now, Mandos calls you.”

“No!”

To be suddenly sprung up with such an order! Míriel would have slapped Finwë, but he smiled apologetically. “Do not fret, dear wife. We cannot be in the same place. And besides, you deserve your own happiness again. Indis waits beyond the Halls.”

The full extent of Finwë’s words hit her after she finally heard Mandos’s calls, and shaking she got up and followed the voice. Past many corridors of spirits she went, her footsteps so loud she feared it would rouse the other dead. Although she had never spoken with Mandos personally at his throne, it seemed her feet were leading right to him, down halls she never remembered passing by before.

At long last the vast double doors of the throne room loomed before her. She stood before the door, her heart racing again.

Come, Mandos commanded, the words ringing in her head. There is nothing to fear.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped inside.

*

Míriel awoke with a start and a groan. “Faniel, what is that damn racket?” she snapped before realizing where she was. She wasn’t resting in the Halls of Vairë or the annex, but on a bed oddly familiar, the scent of flowers nearby, and branches of willow trees swaying above her. The noise that had woken her was the sound of the river nearby, the tiny waves somehow magnified in her sleep.

She drew a heavy breath and slowly willed her body back to function, figuring out how to curl her fingers and toes, bend her knees, rise up from bed and get back on her feet. After a few wobbly first efforts, the ease of walking returned, and grabbing the long thin blanket, she wrapped it about herself as a cloak, dropping a hood over her face.

The air was chilly. Gone were the golden and silver lights of Laurelin and Telperion, though high above there was a round silvery orb, though nothing like the stars as Míriel remembered. She kept one eye on it wearily as though it might drop at any moment.

Neither Estë nor any of her servants were around, so Míriel left the gardens unseen and sought out the main roads. But having found them, knowing where to go next was difficult. Even watching the world through her loom, she was unaccustomed to the changes that had taken place on Valinor, either over time or as a result of the Melkor’s destruction of the Two Trees and the theft of the Silmarils.

She made for Finwë’s old house, but stopped herself when she remembered that he had lived in Formenos. Indis’s house would be farther west, but Míriel’s body was already tiring. She located a bench by a set of stairs and settled down to think. Her mind traveled back to Faniel just as the blanket slipped off her head.

“Míriel?”

She looked up at an elf who studied her in confusion.

“Hello,” Míriel said slowly. “Do I know you?”

The elf smiled. “It’s me, Sámien!”

“Sámien?” Míriel’s eyes widened and she shot up. “Thámien! I said I would strangle you if you ever adopted that atrocious speech of the Noldor!”

Sámien laughed as Míriel pretended to throttle her. “It is so good to see you again! So much sadness has befallen our lands.”

“I was so told,” Míriel said. “Have you seen Indis?”

“Not recently,” Sámien said. “I last saw her leaving Taniquetil, but where to I do not know.”

“Do you know how long ago that was?”

Sámien shook her head. Míriel thanked her and offered a hug before leaving. Her feet soon turned southward until she was looking up at large doors and thinking to herself, home.

She knocked and cried out for Vairë until at last the Valië took pity on her. The door opened, and Faniel stepped out, freezing when she caught sight of Míriel.

“Mother! You have a body again!” she said, then looked upwards at the beam of silvery light from above. “Oh! This is pleasant!”

Míriel pushed herself inside without another word.

“Mother, please, tell me what’s happened! Vairë told me some things, but I’ve been waiting for you to return. It’s true, then, what happened to my father?”

Míriel threw herself down at the dining table. She felt ill. Her body was in perfect health, but her heart was shattering more by the minute. Faniel sat across from her and took her hand, and Míriel dissolved into tears. She told Faniel of all that had she had learned from Finwë.

“Fëanáro had a demon’s blood in him?” Faniel asked when Míriel was done.

“We could not stop it,” Míriel said. “Half the time I doubted myself. The Valar I told could not find the tree, but they watched for any danger. And yet my son still managed to befriend the man who killed me, and he was twisted by him, and in the end lost his father as well.” She lowered her head, suddenly feeling much younger than Faniel. “A part of me wishes never having left Cuiviénen.”

“What was done was done,” Faniel said. “Perhaps this is all Eru’s greater plan? Perhaps we had to first brave a storm before we can have spring.”

Míriel considered Faniel’s words for a moment, trying to find something in it to lighten her heart, but she shook her head and heaved a heavy sigh.

“But if only Indis did not have to suffer so much for it.”

Getting to her feet, Míriel retired to the room Faniel always stayed, then took the potion and laid herself down, her spirit retreating back to the Halls of Vairë.

*

She would not come out, even after gentle coaxing from Vairë. Míriel instead convinced Vairë to keep her, as she had already settled as Vairë’s assistant in weaving tapestries of the Noldor. Her attention lay now mostly in following her son and his sons, watching with an obsession not even Vairë could pry away from her. The children and grandchildren of Indis too were the subject of her watchful eye, her heart aching as she saw more and more of how her own son’s House hurt Indis’s own, the damage spilling to Alqualondë and to the eastern lands, poisoning the very same people Míriel and Indis and Finwë had called their friends.

At some point, while she was working vigorously, there came a knock on the door.

“Míriel? Please, I need to see you.”

At the sound of Indis’s voice Míriel paused, her hands hovering over her loom before settling on her lap. She drew a deep breath and waited until Indis knocked again.

“You never told me my son hurt you so much,” Míriel said sadly as she opened the door.

“I could not bother you with it,” Indis said. “You needed to heal.”

“And what of you? You suffered all this time in silence!”

Indis shrugged. Míriel could scream.

“He was a demon child!” she said. “There was a plum, a tree so much like ours but nothing like it!” And she told of everything, unaware that Indis had taken her into her arms, the tears on both streaking their cheeks.

When Míriel was done, she broke from the embrace, looking into Indis’s eyes. “You do not hate me?”

“What was done is done,” Indis said. “Perhaps this was all for the better. Had you not come here, I would never have married Finwë and had five beautiful children and many more grandchildren. Despite some bumps and some tears here and there, I am so grateful to have experienced this.”

Míriel grinned through the tears. “You are truly Faniel’s mother.”

Indis chuckled. “I have been spending plenty of time with her and Nienna after Finwë’s death. Which has happened so long ago that…Míriel, let us marry again. Do not think of it as starting over, but continuing our journey. We will take the good with the bad and grow together from our experiences, as we’ve always done.”

“And leave Vairë? And what of Faniel?”

“You can work something out with Vairë,” Indis said. “You know where to find her. As for Faniel, the Sun’s more merciful on her than Laurelin ever was. She was able to travel and visit Taniquetil with little problem. Please, Míriel.”

Suddenly Míriel faded from Indis’s sight. Indis gasped and stepped forward, but was soon wrapped in a warm embrace.

“Let us renew our vows,” Míriel said in her ear.

*

Their wedding took place before the doors of the annex under the moonlight. While Faniel loved the Sun, Míriel and Indis preferred the scenery to be exactly as it was before on their first wedding. They had married under starlight, Míriel to Finwë under Telperion’s light, and Indis to Finwë under Laurelin’s light.

A number of the Valar and Maiar were present, particularly those who had worked with Míriel, Indis, or Faniel, and many more elves, especially those with connections to either bride. Míriel was disheartened to see what children of Indis had remained in Valinor.

“I thought you would be the one to go running off to the eastern lands,” she said teasingly to Findis, who grinned.

“My loyalties are foremost with the Valar,” she said proudly as Alcarcalimo nodded his head vigorously behind her. “And same for my husband and children and their children!”

“Save for Laurefindil,” Faniel pointed out.

Findis’s face flushed a deep red. “We will not talk about that one! Clearly the child of my son-in-law. Anyhow, now that Fëanáro’s out of the picture, this entire land is under my complete control! It will be built grander than it ever was!”

“I can help you, if you want,” Faniel said. “I’ve been making tapestries in the Halls of Vairë.”

Findis gave an excited gasp. “My apprentice! She returns!”

Míriel and Indis laughed, though their hearts ached at the absence of Írimë and Ñolofinwë. The wives of those who left were also present at the wedding. Anairë seemed a little unsure of herself among many strangers and kept close to the Valar, though Arafinwë and Eärwen also kept her company. Elemmírë, who too sat a little away from the rest, gave a gift to the brides.

“I remember you when you were just a tiny elfling getting into trouble at the Taniquetil markets,” Míriel said, smiling.

Elemmírë blushed. “I hope you did not recount that tale to Írimë.”

“Of course I did!”

Elemmírë covered her face, but Míriel and Indis sensed it was for an entirely different reason, and each of them gave her a hug and promised Írimë will return.

After Elemmírë left their side, Nerdanel approached them.

“Years back, I saw my husband take something precious away from Indis.” Seeing Indis’s hand shoot up to her neck, Nerdanel smiled. “The pearl was cracked in half. I couldn’t do much to seal it back together, but my parents and I worked on turning it into this.”

And she presented to them two necklaces perfectly forged, exact replicas of one another, and studded in the center of each was one half of the pearl. Indis’s eyes instantly filled with tears as the two accepted their gifts.

“I thought I lost this forever,” Indis said, turning the necklace in her hands and inspecting it from every angle. “It’s such a precious gift for me. Not just a wedding present, but also Míriel’s first token of friendship. I…” she wiped away a tear. “Thank you, Nerdanel!”

“Funny how things have a way of returning,” Míriel said, smiling. She and Indis took turns dressing the other with their necklace, and when they were done they shared a kiss as the attendants applauded.

The wedding celebration continued throughout the night. Faniel, who still brought lilies to the departed souls of the Halls, had good tidings concerning her father.

“He’s healing quick,” she said. “But I do not think he will be leaving the Halls. He loves it there!”

“With all those suffering elves?” Indis asked, raising an eyebrow.

Faniel smiled. “He’s spreading a lot of love everywhere! He had a lot of friends in the eastern lands, so they’ve been catching up! It’s helping him and the others!”

Míriel laughed. “Only Finwë would make a support group inside the halls of the dead! Perhaps I will stop by for a visit myself, just to see what he’s up to.”

“He’s asked Mandos if he could draw on canvas while in the Halls.”

“Oh, dear me…”

As had been their agreement before, Míriel and Indis would not remain living together, but would frequently visit one another. Indis was to remain in her uncle’s house, and Míriel to work with Vairë in her halls. Faniel was to take their tapestries and bring them to the outer world. Both were happy with the thought of living as such.

They watched the celebration while sitting on the steps outside the annex. The moon was full, and stars twinkled all the greater this night. Indis tucked closer towards Míriel, studying the stars above with a calm expression on her face.

Míriel leaned closer. “The sight above, it takes you back to Cuiviénen, doesn’t it?”

Indis nodded. “I wonder what became of our tree, and of all the people we knew there.”

“Perhaps one day one of our children or their children will come across it.”