The Weaver and the Broideress by Lingwiloke

Chapter 1

This ficlet goes with the version (well, versions, really) of the story of Finwë and Míriel as found in HoME 10, in which she eventually enters the service of Vairë.

The Undying Lands, they call these shores.

And yet, I remember well the first time Death found its way into the Blessed Realm. I remember, as I must remember, for it is my task to bear witness to all that there is through the weave of my work. And thus I transform memory into history, what-is into what-was.

There is a certain beauty to the image: You, as if sleeping, on a bed of white flowers, your hair fanning out around your head and surrounding your fair face like a silver halo. And as you slept, your fëa stole away, soundlessly and painlessly, to the Halls of Mandos.

Why did you go?

A challenge you could not withstand, they say.

Why did you stay, when you were offered rebirth?

Cowardice, some call it. A taint of the Shadow, of Arda Marred, a weakness of the fëa, a little of it all-

To me, it matters not.

I hear your soft song weave through the halls; see your fingers dance in rhythm as you work and threads form into history on the cloth. I see the smile that lights up your face as I enter. I feel the warm light of your fëa close to my being as I guide you in a new technique; hear the pride in your voice when you present your latest work to me.

And I am glad.

(But still, I must wonder – are you truly glad, too?)