Many Journeys by Elleth

Kindled

Vairë kindles Míriel into flame and colour.

There were no windows in Vairë’s hall. They were lit from within by a ceaseless pale light that seemed to emanate from the very walls - light enough to see, light enough to work by. But while the intricacies of her tapestries stood out in bright, almost painful, colour and detail, the light served only to wash Míriel out.

When Míriel sat and wove, white-clad, white-skinned, silver-haired, she seemed diminished even from her spirit form, for then at least her inner fire had been plain to the eye, beautiful in its obstinacy when she refused re-embodiment time and again, and now, when such colour and life flowed from her fingers, it seemed unfit that she herself should look a wraith.

More, Vairë thought it a shame.

“I love thee well,” she said to Míriel one time when they stood together and contemplated a pattern of flames soon to go into the design. “And I am grieved by thy pallor.”

Míriel turned dark eyes upon Vairë. “I have been thine to command, lady, and gladly so, ever since I came to thy halls. But there would not be red thread enough in thy abode to depict me - not if I were... kindled.”

Vairë, with gentle fingers, brushed the gown from Míriel’s shoulder and lowered her lips to her skin to coax forth a first red mark, a first breathy sigh. “Then thou shalt be. Never fear, dear one. This shall not be committed to weaving, but be ours alone.”

Chapter End Notes

Written for a prompt by Zopyrus.