The Bride's Jewel by Scribe of Mirrormere

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Chapter 1 - Cuiviénen

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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.