Don't Explain by Gwidhiel

Abandoning Proprieties

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(Ingwë’s Palace at Taniquetil)

Indis moved gracefully down the palace steps, smiling as her youngest son hastily dismounted his sweating horse. Arafinwë tossed the reins to one of his uncle’s waiting servants, and strode up the last few steps to catch his mother in a warm embrace.

The embrace ended quickly as Arafinwë stepped back and exclaimed, “Artanis has returned, Mother! I met her ship at the quay in Alqualondë three days ago. She is at home now with her mother and brother. Eärwen’s parents came with us to Tirion from Alqualondë. And Celebrian, of course! Her husband, Idril’s grandson, sailed with Artanis, as did Olorín, and a most unusual…”

Indis stepped back, laughing, “Arafinwë! You’re speaking so quickly that I can scarcely take in what you’re saying! Artanis has returned, and her daughter’s husband with her? This is Elrond? Idril’s grandson?”

“Yes, Elrond. Son of Êarendil and Elwing. The grandson of your grandson’s daughter.”

“I should like very much to meet him. And Artanis has returned! And her husband, did you say? He is close kin with Elwë and Olwë, is he not?”

Arafinwë’s brow furrowed a bit. “Yes, I believe that he is their kin, but no, Mother, he did not journey with Artanis. He lingers in the East a while longer.”

“Ah?” Indis replied, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“But never mind that, now! I would have you join us, Mother, so that we may all rejoice in her homecoming,” Arafinwë continued.

Indis moved forward to embrace her son again. “My dearest, this is glad news indeed! I will ready myself to depart immediately. She turned and they started up the palace steps, arms linked. “If we set out at first light tomorrow, we should arrive in good time, I think. Will that be soon enough?”

Arafinwë followed closely behind his mother. “That suits me very well, and I can hardly come to Taniquetil without greeting my uncle and other kin. Is my sister well? Is she nearby, or is she on one of her long wanders?”

“Your uncle will be pleased to see you, and to hear your news. Findis is well, as she ever is, and I think we will find her easily enough. You traveled light, and alone!” Indis remarked in surprise.

“And swiftly, Mother. This news was too good to not deliver in person to you, but I confess that I am very eager to return to Tirion.”

“Nevertheless, to travel alone all the way from Tirion! Your father would never have done such a thing – he would have had a few servants with him, at the very least!”

A sheepish smile spread over Arafinwë’s face. “And needless to say, Uncle never travels alone, nor in such haste, when he ventures from Taniquetil. I am afraid that even after all this time as King of the Noldor, I fall short in certain regards.”

“My dear, I meant no such thing!” Indis quickly replied with a smile. “In truth my heart is warmed to see that, despite the heavy burdens of kingship, my son is so gladdened by his beloved daughter’s return that he ignores ceremony and the trappings of station to bring the good news to me himself! In fact I shall insist that we ride to Tirion tomorrow, just as quickly as you came.”

“You have ever been swift, Mother, whether on foot or on horse, so if you bring with you ladies who are also fast riders, I have no doubt that the journey back to Tirion will be short.”

“You misunderstand, my dear. I shall bring no ladies with me. We’ll ride to Tirion together, with no attendants.”

“Mother, why ever would you do such a thing? No doubt your people are already shaking their heads because I have failed to adhere to the expected kingly protocol. What will they say if they think that I am encouraging you to be careless as well?”

Indis smiled slyly with an arched eyebrow. “You do know that I once roamed far and wide over the hills of Aman by myself, much as your sister does now? And though that was long ago, I would be happy to go without my attendants for a time. I’d like to be careless for a change. And what better excuse than Artanis’s return at long last, after so many ages!”

Arafinwë laughed. “Very well then, Mother, as you wish! But let’s confer first with Uncle, and if he approves then we can rest assured that our ride might appear careless to some, but at least not reckless!”

“No, never that!” Indis smiled warmly again, as she walked arm-in-arm with her son into the main hall of her brother’s palace. But to herself, Indis wondered why it should matter what others thought. It was none of their business!

Just Like Old Times

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Later that evening Arafinwë lifted his head from a book of Vanyar poems, at the sound of a light knock on the bedchamber door. “Enter,” he called. The delicately latticed door slid open a bit, and Findis peeped in at her brother. As Arafinwë’s face lit into a smile, she pushed the door fully open, entered, and closed it behind her.

“This reminds me of your visits to Taniquetil when you were a child! Do you remember, Arafin, how I would read to you before you went to bed?” Findis glided softly across the room to perch on the edge of Arafinwë’s bed. She extinguished her candle before setting it down next to the glowing lamp situated on a shelf within arm’s reach of the bed.

“Of course I remember – that was one of the best parts of our visits to Uncle Ingwë’s house. You have dwelled so long here, Findis, and I have always wished to have you nearer to me,” Arafinwë replied.

Findis returned his smile. “Yes, I also wished I could be nearer to you, little brother.”

“But I know well your reasons for living here with Uncle. And of course, now, Mother lives here too. I used to consider joining you here! And when I am here I feel less … scrutinized. Mother’s folk are more contented, it seems to me, and so they are less prone to quarrels, jealousies, and disagreements than are the Noldor.”

Findis returned, “the Noldor are my people also, little brother. Just because I have chosen to reside with our mother’s kin doesn’t mean that I no longer deem myself to be part of the Noldor too.”

“Yet it has been so long since you last came to Tirion, Findis. To most it appears you have forsaken the Noldor, although there are few who would find fault with you for doing so.”

Findis gave a sidelong glance at her brother, and then turned her eyes towards the glow of the lamp, “Is that what they say?” she asked softly.

Arafinwë frowned and put a gentle hand on his sister’s arm, “No, my dear, I did not mean to imply that your absence is a subject of gossip or speculation in Tirion. Although several years ago, when my granddaughter and I were discussing the family history, Celebrian wondered why you never came among the Noldor, despite the love that is between us.”

“And what did you tell her?”

Arafinwë hesitated, and then carefully explained, “… I told her that the division between our father’s sons was especially difficult for you to bear, and so you retreated from strife which you were powerless to resolve.”

“Yes, that is so,” Findis agreed softly.

“But now there is some healing, my dearest sister! Artanis has returned, and although she’s weary from her toils in the East, she glows with a quiet strength that she did not possess before she left these shores. And that is nothing to be surprised at, for she accomplished much. She has grown in wisdom and will. You should come, Findis, come and see your niece! Come and meet our kin, Elrond, whose wisdom and goodness is also immediately apparent, and who brings such joy to Celebrian.”

Findis’s smile appeared again, but she said nothing.

Arafinwë persisted, “Come to Tirion, and meet the remarkable creature who accompanied Artanis and Elrond on their journey – a mortal being of seemingly small strength, who nevertheless defeated Morgoth’s greatest servant! He too is wearied, and he has come to Aman to be healed. But there is nonetheless a strength in him that is wonderful to see. All of them bring me hope, Findis! And Findaráto feels it as well.”

Findis’s smile broadened at the mention of her favorite nephew. “I can only imagine Findaráto’s delight at seeing his sister again! … Yes, I would like to see that for myself. And to see Artanis again, and meet Celebrian’s husband. What of Artanis’s husband?”

Arafinwë shook his head, “Celeborn has not yet departed Middle Earth. I do not know how long he intends to remain there.”

“Is there trouble between Artanis and her husband?” Findis asked, frowning a bit.

“None that I know of, and Artanis did not appear to be anxious when she explained that he was lingering. Elrond also gave no indication that there is any cause for concern about that. The Sindar Elves were never keen to join us here, and although Artanis says that he will indeed come, eventually, I cannot guess when that will be.”

Findis nodded, accepting her brother’s explanation without comment.

“So you will come to Tirion?” Arafinwë pleaded.

Findis grinned, “Yes, Arafin. In fact I’ve already discussed it with Mother. We leave at dawn. I’ve packed a bag and I’ve asked Lossëlaurë to see to the care of my garden, which she always does when I am away.”

“Ah, your mind was already made up? Why didn’t you say so?” Arafinwë exclaimed with raised brows.

Findis laughed, and nudged her brother’s bent knee with her elbow. “Because I enjoyed hearing your enthusiasm! You are a persuasive speaker, Arafin!”

“And here is another reason why you should come to Tirion! I think you are the first and only person who has ever complimented my speech! You do my pride good, sister!” Arafinwë declared.

“Nonsense! You’ve been the King of the Noldor for three ages, and your people listen well to you. To whom do you compare yourself and find yourself wanting?” Findis exclaimed.

“Well, first and foremost, Father! You know how gifted he was with our people, he could convince them of anything! If Father had declared that the sky was red rather than blue, I daresay at least half of the Noldor would have agreed that it was so!” Arafinwë asserted with a rueful chuckle.

Findis smiled, again gazing into the light of the bedside lamp, “Yes, Father had great charm and appeal. When he finished speaking I always wished he would continue, and say more. He was so delightful, so … attractive. I think that Findaráto has quite a bit of Father’s charm. And Nolofin had even more of it, but never as much as Father himself.”

Arafinwë smiled wryly, “Yes, of Father’s sons, I have the least of his charm and persuasiveness.”

Findis shot a sharp, reproving glance at her brother. “I wouldn’t say that, Arafin. You should not compare yourself to Nolofin, for you and he had different strengths, but were overall each other’s equals. Father’s charm was so often warm and wonderful, but at times it could be a bit … selfish, blind to others’ wishes. And such was Fëanáro’s charm, always. Nolofin had a bit of that blindness too at times. But not you, Arafin. You do have Father’s charm and appeal, but yours is tempered with Mother’s empathy. You hear others, you see them as they truly are, not just as you would like them to be.”

There was a silence between the siblings as Arafinwë considered his sister’s assertions. Then he slowly nodded, and said, “Findis, you are right about Father. And I think I knew that even when he was with us, but until you spoke just now I had never allowed myself to articulate that knowledge. I don’t know why that is so. It’s hard to conceive of Father as being anything less than … well, perfect! I don’t mean that he never made mistakes, but somehow his mistakes always seemed to be born of circumstance, things beyond his control.”

“Like Fëanáro.” Findis responded.

“Do you mean that Fëanáro was beyond Father’s control, causing him to make mistakes? Or do you mean that, like Fëanáro, Father was so utterly convinced that he was in the right, that any problem was inevitably the fault of another?”

“Ha!” The short, sarcastic laugh caught Arafinwë by surprise, so he looked intently at Findis as she spoke. “That you can ask this question shows how well you truly saw Father, even if you haven’t allowed yourself to know it. I would say that both were true, although unlike Fëanáro, Father didn’t attribute disagreement to malice on the part of another. I think that he simply thought that those who disagreed with him did not yet fully understand him. Father believed that once he conveyed himself sufficiently well to be understood, agreement would be inevitable.”

Arafinwë returned, “And he was right! He usually could persuade everyone to his view of a matter. That’s how great his charm was!”

Findis smiled flatly, with a hint of disdain that startled Arafinwë. “Yes, he could usually persuade everyone to his view, but was his view always right? That is debatable, Arafin. Father, Nolofin, and Fëanáro were much alike, in that each was always certain that he was right.”

Arafinwë nodded slowly. “Father believed in the goodwill of others, and so, as you say, he thought it was just a matter of convincing them of the rightness of his view when there was disagreement. Fëanáro didn’t believe in the goodwill of others, and so he met their disagreement with scorn.”

“Indeed. And I would say that Nolofin was somewhere in between the two. He was just as strong-willed, just as convinced about the rightness of his view as Father and Fëanáro were about theirs. Nolofin wanted to believe in the good intentions of others, but sometimes, particularly where Fëanáro was concerned, he could be just as suspicious and contemptuous as Fëanáro himself,” Findis observed.

Arafinwë nodded again, his eyes distant and sorrowful.

Findis took Arafinwë’s right hand in hers, leaning closer toward her brother as she continued, “But you, Arafin, you inherited Father’s firm belief in the goodwill of others. You don’t always set out to convince others about your opinions, because unlike Father or our brothers, you’re not always certain that you’re right. You’re willing to listen to another view, to hear it and consider it. That makes you wiser than all of them.”

When Findis had finished, Arafinwë squeezed her hand in gratitude. “Do you know, Eärwen has said much the same thing to me many times. But somehow it’s different coming from you, Findis. You’re the eldest of Mother’s children, and you and Mother have always been so close. You were also the only one of us who had a good relationship with Fëanáro, and I think that somehow made your relationship with Father less …”

“…complicated,” Findis supplied. “Yes, that’s true to some extent, but it raised other barriers between Father and me, and for a while between Mother and me too. Especially upon Nolofin’s birth.”

“You were only ten when Nolofin was born, Findis – do you mean to say that even at that young age you were aware of the problems between Father, Mother, and Fëanáro?”

“Can you remember a time when you weren’t aware of the tension and trouble in our house?” Findis returned.

“No. No you’re right about that. I didn’t realize it was the same for you. I hate to think of you taking on Fëanáro alone, without the rest of us to back you up. I’d always thought that in your earliest years, before Nolofinwë was born, you and Mother and Father lived quite happily with Fëanáro. He always seemed to like you, Findis.”

“Sometimes he did. Sometimes I think he used me as a pawn, a way to provoke Mother. But he never threatened me, never used harsh words with me. I was never afraid of Fëanáro, and there was never a need for me to confront him. Sometimes he ignored me, but when he did choose to interact with me he was always gentle. There were eight years between us, so we weren’t really playmates, but there was always … an ease, between us. And even some affection. For my part, at least.”

“So why were there problems, Findis? Did Mother worry about Fëanáro’s intentions regarding you? She used to worry so about what he might do to me or Nolofin.”

“No. Not with me. It was just that Fëanáro’s pain at the loss of his own mother, and his resentment of our mother were so strong, at times overwhelming. I think that by the time you were born, Fëanáro had turned much of his active animosity toward Nolofin … by then he had learned to treat Mother with indifference. But in those early years he openly loathed her, child though he was. And it hurt her. It was not easy for me to understand, once I was old enough to see it.”

“No, no it can’t have been easy. Poor Mother.”

Findis nodded absently. “But I was eventually able to talk with Mother about the problems I experienced, being both her daughter and Fëanáro’s sister. Mother understood, and it became easier for me to reconcile my love and loyalty to her with the love I felt for my half-brother. I could never talk about such things with Father.”

Arafinwë asked quietly, “What would you have said to Father?”

Findis looked at her brother for a long moment, and then said, “Nothing that would have made a difference, I think. “And it’s late,” she declared, gesturing toward the open window, “the moon has crossed the sky already! I shall retire now so as to be ready for our journey. We’ll need to leave in just a few hours.” She hopped down from the bed, picked up her candle, and relit it from the lamp, using one of the tapers that were kept on the bedside shelf.

Arafinwë started to protest his sister’s avoidance of his question, then changed his mind. It was enough that Findis was coming to Tirion.

“Good night, Arafin,” said Findis, smiling softly as she bent to kiss her brother’s cheek.”

“Good night, Sister,” Arafinwë returned both the kiss and the smile. “This does feel just like old times.”

As Findis slid the door shut behind her, Arafinwë extinguished the bedside lamp, and lay back on the pillows. The thought of his daughter, home at last, filled his heart again with hope. Some old hurts might never fully heal in his family, but the arrival of Artanis and Elrond in Valinor was a good turn of events.

A Husband's Betrayals

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(Arafinwë’s Palace in Tirion)

On an evening two months after her arrival in Tirion, Indis sat with her two living children, and two of her four living grandchildren. Upon his restoration to life, Turgon had joined Elenwë, who dwelled with her kin in Valmar. Idril and Tuor also spent much of their time in Valmar with her parents, but all four had come to Tirion to greet Artanis and Elrond. Indis savored the delicious joy of the reunions and first meetings that occurred in the royal palace in Tirion. Save the joy she had felt at the births of each of her children, Indis could not recall ever feeling so happy in that house.

After Elrond had been in Tirion for six weeks, in the delighted bosom of his extended family, he had retreated with Celebrian to a seaside cottage for some time alone after their long separation. Celebrian’s happiness at having her husband at her side once more had been tainted by sadness, upon learning that she would never again see her beloved daughter. Soon after Elrond and Celebrian departed, Turgon and Elenwë returned to Valmar, with Idril and Tuor.

So Indis sat that evening in the company of Arafin and Eärwen, Artanis – Galadriel, Indis reminded herself – Findaráto and Amarië, and Findis. Eärwen perched on a window-seat, behind Galadriel’s cushioned stool, as she lovingly combed and braided her daughter’s beautiful tresses. Findaráto, whom Indis often called by his mother-name, Ingoldo, somewhat absently strummed a small harp, with Amarïe sitting close to him on the same bench. Findis sat in the far corner of the room, gazing out a window to look over the city at twilight. Arafinwë was seated at a small table, reading a letter.

Her family. At least, what remained of it. Would she ever see Nolofinwë again? What of her beautiful daughter, Lalwen, or Lalwen’s brave, noble son? What of bold Fingon, or willful Aredhel, who had inherited her grandmother’s penchant for wandering alone? What of Angrod and Aegnor?

What of her husband? Would she ever see Finwë again? … Did she want to?

Indis shook her head. Findaráto had been restored to life, as had Turgon (and Elenwë, too), but two of her children, and four of her grandchildren remained in Mandos’s hall. Another grandson remained in the East, perhaps never to return to Aman.

Anairë had been waiting for three ages for Nolofinwë to return to her. Indis’s son had not turned to evil when alive, yet for some reason Námo did not deem him ready to return to life. Was that because nothing had been resolved in his absence, so that he would be returning to the same problems that had plagued him in his earlier life?

Fëanáro was gone too, but never forgotten. Finwë, who had never taken up a weapon against any of the Eldar, and had been murdered by one of the Valar’s own, still remained in Námo’s hall. Because, even in death, he would not be separated from his best-loved son? Indis could only guess.

But if so, could that unhappy knowledge doom poor Nolofin to remain unhoused as well, if he could never be reconciled to his father’s preference for his half-brother? Indis did not know that, either, but it was a troubling possibility.

Indis stared out the window at the evening sky, lost in thought. Findis had long ago guessed that the break between her parents involved more than Finwë’s reactive support of Fëanáro, but mother and daughter had never spoken of it. Though they were very close and shared many of their thoughts with each other, Finwë’s desertion of his wife, his death, and his prolonged stay in Mandos had never been discussed between them.

Indis suspected that this issue lay behind Findis’s own choice to never wed, despite the interest that many elves, both Vanyar and Noldor, had shown over the years. This too Indis had never discussed with her daughter. No uncomfortable questions … just resignation and hurts tended in silence.

Indis closed her eyes, and let her most painful memory emerge into full consciousness. She had stormed after Finwë into their bedroom, as he was preparing to follow Fëanáro into exile. She was outraged, seething, “you would rather let Fëanáro tear apart your family and your people, and incur the wrath of the Valar themselves, than to tell your son what any sane person would know already – that his mother was too selfish and too careless of her responsibilities to stay with him, and with you? Nolofin is not to blame for Fëanáro’s woes, nor am I, yet you have allowed his hatred for me and for our children to fester to the point where he has threatened our son’s life! And you worry that Manwë has unkinged you? I cannot fathom such cowardice in you! I cannot believe you are taking the side of that arrogant, hateful brat over your other children, who have never been anything but loyal and kind to you and to our people!”

Finwë had regarded her sadly, and hesitated before responding. “I have never tried to correct Fëanáro’s beliefs about his mother, because I could never lie to my son. But I also cannot bear to tell him the truth."

"What are you saying ..." Indis had replied hotly, but Finwë interrupted her quietly.

“I must ask your forgiveness, my love, for so many things. I have not made this easy for you, or for our children. But when you ask me to tell Fëanáro the truth about why Míriel refused to return to life, why she agreed to remain in Mandos, you do not know what truth you are asking me to tell. For in fact, it was not Míriel’s wish to stay forever within those halls. In time she would have returned to life.”

Indis started a bit, momentarily pulled out of the current of her memory, and again shook her head. Even after so many years, the pain of that conversation still stabbed at her heart, as if it were happening in that moment. She usually did not allow herself to dwell on it, but this time she closed her eyes and returned to the past.

Finwë had continued, “it did not seem that she would return to life when I visited her in Loríen, when I wept for her and called out to her. She seemed to be truly lost to me. I knew that her stubborn nature would keep her away the more I beseeched her. Yet … I could not help myself, I was so bereft without her at my side. I continued to beg her to return. … I was too consumed by my own turmoil and my worry for our son to think clearly, to see that I was actually pushing Míriel farther away by hounding her to return.

“Indis, it seemed impossible, for without her I was awash in grief and unable to contemplate carrying on with my own life, yet as long as I waited impatiently for her return, she would not come. …”

Indis had interrupted Finwë at that point. “Forgive me, my lord husband, but I am well aware of these facts, and this hardly seems like the right time to recount how pained you were when Míriel abandoned her life.”

“Yes, I know that you know all of this, and I beg for a bit of patience so that I can tell you in full what I should have told you long ago,” Finwë replied. With a short nod from Indis, he continued. “You also know that I wanted a family with many children so badly. I wanted to be a father, to teach my children and delight in them. I wanted a wife to share in my satisfaction. I wanted Fëanáro to have siblings. And I could not understand why Míriel was denying me this. She knew me so well, better than any other. She knew the inner workings of my heart and my desires. And she had shared them – or so I thought. I could not understand why she would leave me and our son.

“Fëanáro was growing quickly, and he was so bright and strong. He asked about his mother constantly and more than once he left the house determined to find her. I was convinced that Míriel must return immediately. But she did not.

“And then I met you, my dear, and somehow you reached through the fog of panic and pain that separated me from my brethren, and I felt hope for the first time since Míriel’s departure. I could have more children. Fëanáro could have a mother and brothers and sisters! You were so unlike Míriel, I knew that I need not fear that you would abandon your husband and child. I came quickly to love you, Indis, and you know that I do to this day. My grief eased a bit and my head cleared so that I saw a sure path before me, one that had been unthinkable before – to go forward without Míriel, to find happiness with another. With you, my love.”

This painful but familiar narrative was at the core of Indis and Finwë’s relationship, and it never failed to bring tears to both of their eyes. But this time Indis had remained dry-eyed, while Finwë, uncharacteristically, openly wept as he continued. “Do you remember when Manwë asked Míriel if she was willing to remain unhoused forever, so that you and I might wed?’”

“Yes,” Indis had answered, an increasing sense of unease rising within her. She resisted the urge to go to her husband’s side and offer comfort. “I could never forget that moment; I was filled with a dreadful anticipation, for it had seemed to me that any answer Míriel might give would bring some sadness to me.”

Finwë dropped his head into his hands, tears still freely flowing. “I had been able to sense when she entered the hall, and I sensed her weariness, but also the love and warmth that she still felt for me.

“‘Can you not be patient?’ she asked, to me alone.” Finwë faltered for a moment, before continuing. “And then Míriel discerned what was in my mind, my love for you, my plan to separate from her and join myself to you instead. In that instant I felt the warmth of her presence evaporate, and she cloaked her thoughts from me. She shut me out again, this time forever.”

Indis’s eyes were wide in dawning horror. “How could you? How could you go forward with your petition to the Valar knowing this?” she choked in a hoarse whisper.

Finwë was unable to meet Indis’s eyes as he continued. “At that moment I came very close to speaking up to rescind my petition, for I knew that in her hurt and her stubbornness Míriel would agree to something she did not want."

“And what of her love for you?” Indis’s voice was nearly inaudible.

At this Finwë raised his head, and mustered the courage to meet his wife's eyes. “Yes. You are correct, although I am so ashamed to admit this to you. Míriel abandoned her life forever, not just out of hurt and stubbornness, but also out of her love for me.”

Having revealed the worst, Finwë continued in a low voice, heavy with sadness. “But I did not speak up when I might have,” he said. “I had already argued so passionately for permission to wed you. Moreover, if I backed out there was no assurance that Míriel would ever return to life, and the Valar would not entertain a similar petition from me in the future.

“So I remained silent. And Míriel Serindë, my first love and my first wife, the mother of my first child, agreed to surrender her life so that I might continue mine with you. Until now I have never confessed this to anyone, not even you, my love. How could I ever admit this to Fëanáro?”

After she had stood frozen in shock for an endless moment, Indis found her voice again. “You cannot bear to lie to Fëanáro, but you did not hesitate to be dishonest with me! You have brought ruin and endless sorrow to your family, because you could not admit your weakness and betrayal of Míriel Serindë. It is well that you leave with Fëanáro, for I do not wish to see you again.”

With those bitter words, Indis had turned and left the room, before Finwë could reply. Two hours later he had departed Tirion, never to return.

The House of Finwë

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Indis sighed audibly, drawing the attention of those in the room. She looked up and announced in a low voice, “Arafinwë, Findis, I shall leave Tirion tomorrow, but not to return to Taniquetil. I intend to seek out Nienna in her halls in the Far West. It is past time that I resolve the terrible knot that was always at the core of my relationship with your father.”

Indis looked at the concerned, surprised faces of her children and grandchildren. Arafinwë and Findaráto wore nearly identical expressions of worry, while Findis and Galadriel were more inscrutable, but watched her keenly. Eärwen observed her quite calmly, as if she already knew Indis’s plan, and approved. Amarië’s eyes traveled between Indis and Findaráto – of those gathered, she knew the least about the strife that had long hovered over the House of Finwë.

Galadriel’s return, and being once more in the palace at Tirion, seemed to open the floodgates for pain long held in check. Indis had kept silent for three ages, and what had it yielded? Nothing but silent sorrow and doubt. Enough! She drew a deep breath. “My lord Finwë and I loved each other, in truth. Know that first and foremost, and never doubt that our children were all the products of love and joy.”

Now all of the faces in the room showed wary apprehension about what she would say next. Indis closed her eyes briefly, and then continued.

“The early years of our family life were mostly happy ones for me, and also I believe for Finwë. Save for the discontent of his first-born.” Indis opened her eyes, her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “But, as you know, Fëanáro’s jealousy over his father’s love and his position within the family worsened over the years, despite all that Finwë and I did to reassure him. Ever he shunned me, and he would sometimes shut out Finwë too. I could never comprehend why Fëanáro had such hatred for me in his heart, why he blamed me for the fact that Míriel would not return to life, when it had been her choice, much contested by Finwë himself and even some of the Valar, to remain within Námo’s halls.

“You all know all of this well, though I have never spoken openly with any of you, save Findis, about the strife that churned between Fëanáro and me. In time I came to view him with suspicion and even animosity, especially when I saw how he hated my own, innocent sons. Before the terrible events that led to Fëanáro’s banishment, I spoke with my lord husband on three separate occasions about his eldest son’s irrational anger and resentment. If any deserved Fëanáro’s wrath, it was Míriel herself, not me or Nolofin!” Indis shook her head, her mouth a hard line of anger and disappointment.

Galadriel spoke in a low voice, “Grandmother, I am not surprised that you appreciated how dangerous Fëanáro had become. I could never understand why the family tolerated his temper, his selfishness and jealousy. He claimed the biggest portion of Grandfather’s love, and the premier position within his family and among his people, but even then Fëanáro was not satisfied. He did not care that others existed, in fact he actively sought to disregard my father and Uncle Nolofin.”

Indis bowed her head for a moment. Before she could answer, Findis spoke from the corner, “Galadriel, I can see why it would appear that way to you. But it was never that simple.”

Indis nodded and continued, “So much of what happened can be laid at Melkor’s feet, but not all of it. By the time you were born, my dear, it was perhaps too late, even if Melkor had not exploited the weaknesses in our family. But it would be a mistake to lay all of the blame on Fëanáro.”

Galadriel arched an eyebrow questioningly at her grandmother, and waited for Indis to elaborate.

Indis sighed, “I’d believed that if Finwë had talked to his son about Míriel’s choice to stay away, Fëanáro might not have harbored such malice in his heart, and he would not have been so ripe for Melkor’s lies. But Finwë always defended his eldest from the least criticism, and it hurt me to see that in his heart Fëanáro would ever come first….”

Arafinwë interjected, “Mother, we were all dismayed and outraged by Father’s decision to follow Fëanáro into exile. … It felt like he was repudiating all of us.”

Indis nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes it did. After Fëanáro had threatened Nolofin, I accused Finwë of being a weak parent, unable to provide the necessary guidance for his hot-headed son – I had never spoken to him in such a way, and never spoken so strongly against Fëanáro! I thought it was long past time to stop coddling Finwë’s motherless son. But I then discovered that I didn’t know the truth of the matter.”

“What truth?” Findaráto burst out, while Amarië clutched his knee in apprehension. Eärwen put down her comb and looped her arms gently around her daughter’s neck. Galadriel’s face was unreadable. Arafinwë crossed the room to sit next to Findis, and brother and sister both watched their mother with anxious eyes.

Indis paused, gathering her thoughts, and then sighed. She spoke slowly, as if each word weighed heavily on her tongue. “The truth? Until that day, the truth I had known was that Míriel’s choice defied all logic and explanation.

Indis sighed again. “I’d known Míriel only a little when she was alive. She and I were very different and although we had no dislike for each other, we had little in common. … Except that I’d long loved her husband from afar. I’d always kept that to myself, and had never begrudged Míriel her happiness with Finwë, for indeed to look at them one could not doubt that they were deeply in love, and complemented each other’s strengths. Míriel was much quieter than Finwë, more difficult to gauge, less eager to be seen. And yet when they walked into a room together he seemed to draw some of his wonderful energy and confidence from her. His eyes always sought hers out. No one would ever have questioned their bond; I certainly did not.

“When Míriel passed out of life, I was shocked, and dismayed for Finwë. And, try as I did –and I truly did try – I could not understand her. I could not imagine abandoning life, let alone a husband such as Finwë, and a child such as Fëanáro. As difficult as this might be to for some of you to believe, Fëanáro was a very charming, delightful child. As willful then as he was as an adult, but his enthusiasm, intelligence, and grace were almost breathtaking, and the darkness that seemed always to taint his view of the world had not yet arrived. Yet, she just walked away from them both!”

Findis’s shoulders were slumped, her head bowed. Arafin drew his arm around his sister and pressed her head against his shoulder. Eärwen watched her husband and his sister sadly; her children were startled by their aunt’s obvious grief.

Indis continued at a solemn pace, her eyes on her children, her voice low and steady. “Finwë and I rarely spoke of Míriel, and after we wed I spoke her name to him only one time. Yet her presence was everywhere in this palace. In the first years of our marriage, when Fëanáro still dwelled with us, I tried to keep Finwë’s home – our home – as Míriel had left it. Her handiwork was everywhere, and as I knew I could not hope to match it, I felt it best to leave her tapestries and other household items in place. I thought it would comfort Fëanáro.

“After you were born, Findis, I thought for a brief time that Fëanáro was more reconciled to my marriage to his father, for he truly seemed to like you. I know that you never had the difficult relationship with Fëanáro that your brothers had, and Lalwen also, for that matter. Although I believe that she elected to have strife with Fëanáro out of love and loyalty to Nolofin. I cannot blame her for it, for Fëanáro was never kind to my oldest son,” Indis sighed, her eyes shadowed with old grief.

Eärwen spoke, “the bond between Nolofinwë and Lalwendë was very strong. Anairë has said that she sometimes felt like an intruder when her husband was with his sister.”

Arafinwë agreed, “yes, the two of them were quite a pair, and were a united front against Fëanáro.”

Findaráto commented, “but surely Uncle Nolofin and Aunt Lalwen wouldn’t have had to unite against Uncle Fëanáro if he had not been hostile to them in the first place!”

“There were only three years between your uncle and aunt, and I think they would have been close even if Fëanáro had not been hostile to Nolofin,” Arafinwë responded.

“And while Fëanáro was sixteen years older than Nolofinwë, and was certainly the originator of the hostility between the two of them, certain events made it almost inevitable that he would despise Nolofin and begrudge him a place in the family,” Findis added softly, her eyes on Indis. “Why don’t we let Mother continue, as I believe she will answer many of our questions?”

Indis nodded, and, after a brief pause, resumed her account, “Fëanáro left to work with Mahtan soon after Nolofinwë was born, and he never lived with us again. Findis is right, there were mistakes that I made, and that Finwë made, which hardened Fëanáro’s heart all the more against me.”

Indis smiled ruefully, “For example, I thought that, since Fëanáro no longer lived in our home, I might put Míriel’s things away, and would thereby, I’d hoped, diminish my sense that she had never left the house. My efforts were in vain in that regard, and in fact the only result was that Fëanáro’s animosity was fanned higher upon his next visit, when he noticed that I had replaced his mother’s tapestries with others. He went out of his way to focus conversations on the peerless quality of Míriel’s work whenever I was in the room.

“But even when Fëanáro was not there, even when Finwë and I were alone in our bedchamber, which was not the same room he had shared with Míriel, I felt she was there – in the corner of his mind, in the corners of his heart. At times she might as well have been in the corner of the room,” Indis shook her head, her eyes distant. Amarië’s eyes darted around the room, as if expecting to find Míriel Serindë peering at her from a dark corner.

Indis shrugged, “in the early years of our marriage, Finwë and I knew great happiness. The births of each of our children brought us joy, and we were pleased to be partners in guiding and teaching our sons and daughters. If I never could rid myself of sensing Míriel on the periphery of my marriage and home, it would not be correct to say that she dampened my happiness. I just could not forget her.

“As my children grew, so did Fëanáro’s hostility. And I asked Finwë, in vain, to correct his eldest son’s misunderstanding about who was responsible for Míriel’s unfathomable, deplorable choice. Although I disliked Fëanáro by the time my children were grown, I still pitied him for the loss of his mother, and I thought it was a shame that he should continue to mourn her so strongly when her absence was entirely her decision. But not only did he continue to mourn Míriel, he was determined to make his half-brothers and sisters suffer too. Not to mention his father. And, of course, me.”

“How old was Fëanáro when Míriel passed into the Halls of Mandos?” Amarië asked.

“Three,” Arafinwë, Findis and Indis responded together. The tension in the room abated slightly, as everyone smiled a bit at the coincidence, and Findis lifted her head from her brother’s shoulder.

“The particulars of my uncle’s tragic childhood are well ingrained in all of us,” Findaráto wryly explained to his wife.

Indis’s smile faded, “Indeed. Finwë was always quick to excuse his eldest’s behavior by reciting how young Fëanáro had been when Míriel left.” She sighed again, before continuing, “But it was a thin excuse once Fëanáro had actually threatened Nolofinwë's life. I confronted Finwë about it as he was departing for exile with Fëanáro.”

Indis looked at her children and grandchildren. “What Finwë then revealed only increased my anger and despair. He explained to me that when Míriel’s fea had been summoned before the Valar to address his petition to wed me, he had communed with her briefly, and found that it was likely that she would have eventually returned to life. I never learned the reason for her departure, but Finwë made it clear that her decision to remain in Námo’s hall was the result of her discernment of his wish to wed me.”

Indis closed her eyes as she continued. “He swore to me that he’d been sure of himself and of the rightness of his decision, until Manwë summoned Míriel’s spirit.” Indis’s voice broke, much as Finwë’s had in the original telling.

“Mother!” Findis gasped, and leapt up from the bench. She rushed across the room to embrace Indis. Arafinwë rose also and crossed the room more slowly, to stand protectively behind his mother and sister. His wife and children looked on with shock and sorrow.

After a long moment enveloped in her daughter’s arms, Indis lifted her head and wiped more tears from her face. She cupped Findis’s face in her right hand, and wiped tears from her daughter’s cheeks with the other. “I must finish this, my dear. I’ve kept it to myself for too long. I hope that you can bear to listen.”

Findis nodded mutely, and sat at her mother’s feet, resting her head in Indis’s lap. Arafinwë placed a steadying hand on his mother’s shoulder. Indis stroked her daughter’s hair as she drew breath to continue.

“Finwë explained to me that he had already pled his case to Manwë before Míriel was summoned. After their brief, secret exchange, the Valar addressed questions to Míriel. Manwë himself could not fathom her stubbornness, and though he questioned her patiently, his frustration was palpable to all gathered. I remember it well. None of the elves present could hear the answers she gave him, but from what Manwë said to her, it was clear that Míriel was steadfast that she would not return to life.”

Stunned silence filled the room. The informal narrative that had taken hold in Arafinwë’s family to account for Fëanáro’s irrational hostility and terrible behavior was rendered woefully inadequate. Galadriel and Eärwen both stared blindly at Indis, stunned. Amarië rose to draw Findárato to her in a comforting embrace. Arafinwë and Findis remained beside their mother. Tears streamed silently down Indis’s face.

Arafinwë moved to kneel next to his sister, and took one of his mother’s hands. She wiped the tears from her face with the other, and then pulled her son to her and kissed the top of his head. Findis’s head remained in her mother’s lap.

Arafinwë moved back a few inches to search his mother’s face as he gently wiped the remnants of her tears with the sleeve of his tunic. “Mother, are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. Though this is painful to share I am relieved to be doing so at last. I am grateful to have you all here to listen to me.” Indis closed her eyes, wiping away a few unshed tears. Arafinwë rose and resumed his former position behind his mother, with a warm hand on each of her shoulders. Indis gathered her wits and continued, in a much steadier voice.

“… When he finished explaining himself, Finwë lowered his head, as if awaiting my judgment. And well he should have, for as I took in his words I felt a chill sweep over me, one that to this day has not fully left me.

“So much was explained. Finwë had made me complicit in forcing Míriel to remain unhoused – for she might eventually have returned to life, had we not sought to wed! In essence Fëanáro had been right, although he didn’t know all of the facts of the matter. I have long wondered what Míriel might have said to him before she departed to Lorien.

“In that moment I saw that so much of what I had believed about my husband and my marriage had been false. The marriage was based on a lie. And my husband had allowed my false beliefs to flourish. He had betrayed me as much as he had betrayed Míriel and Fëanáro.

“I still couldn’t understand what possible reasons Míriel might have had for leaving in the first place, but had I known that she would have returned to life eventually, I would never have wed Finwë, no matter how much I loved him. I do not regret marrying him, not for a moment, because I love our children with all of my heart. But his guilt compromised his love for me, and the secret he kept from me prevented us from knowing each other as fully as we might have.”

Findis lifted her head from her mother’s lap, and gave her mother a searching look. Mother and daughter stared at each other for a long moment, and then Findis rose to kiss her mother’s cheek, before kneeling at her side and taking one of Indis’s hands in her own.

Indis shook her head slowly as she continued, “Looking back, it seemed preposterous that I hadn’t realized that a child as clever and precocious as Fëanáro, young though he was when his mother departed, knew Míriel well enough to know that she would not have chosen to stay away forever. He might not have known the details of how Míriel came to remain in Mandos, but he knew it would not have been her wish to do so. Fëanáro was correct in deducing that my marriage to his father was the key to Míriel’s strange fate.

Findis nodded grimly. Arafinwë’s head was bowed. Galadriel and her brother exchanged looks of amazement. Fëanáro had been right? Their grandfather had been the architect of the family’s troubles, rather than its beleaguered hero? Was this possible?

Galadriel protested, “But Grandmother, Fëanáro was not right to blame you for his mother’s death. His hatred of my father and my uncle – and you – are what caused the problems in our family. Grandfather might not have been as forthcoming as he should have been, but it was Fëanáro who chose to let malice into his heart.”

Indis shook her head, “I do not excuse Fëanáro’s antipathy toward his brothers or me, nor how he let it guide his later actions. But in his weakness Finwë forced us all to live a lie, and I suspect that it was that which was so intolerable to Fëanáro. Ah, who can say for sure? I certainly never had insight into Fëanáro’s heart or mind. … I wonder what Nerdanel could tell us about it… “

Findaráto offered softly, “yes we should not forget that we are not the only ones who have suffered loss because of Uncle Fëanáro’s anger and bitterness. Aunt Nerdanel has lost all of her family.”

“Indeed, Ingoldo. Many have suffered because of Fëanaró’s suspicions and jealousies, and his disregard for others. He alone was responsible for his actions. Nevertheless, the fact is that my husband, Finwë, King of the Noldor, had pursued a path that brought unhappiness and ruin on nearly every member of his family. Perhaps himself most of all. And I was his unwitting accomplice. I told Finwë all of that before he left with Fëanáro. And … I told him that I did not wish to see him again. It was true at the time, although I have since come to regret saying that, especially given what happened later.”

Arafinwë spoke, “Mother, you had no way of knowing about Míriel. You must not blame yourself for that. Father deceived you, just as he kept that truth from Fëanáro and the rest of us.”

“Do you really believe that, Arafinwë? I’m not so sure, and I’ve been dwelling with this thought for a very, very long time. It is to answer that question that I wish to speak with Nienna.”

The room was silent for a long moment after Indis finished speaking. Then Findis rose to her feet, and bent down to kiss her mother’s cheek once more. “I am glad you did not let Father go unchastened for his deception, Mother,” she said in a low voice that shook with emotion. “He lied to us all and if anyone is to blame for Fëanáro’s acts besides Fëanáro himself, I think that it must be Father.”

“Don’t forget Morgoth, Aunt,” Findaráto interjected.

“No. No we cannot forget him, can we?” replied Findis, turning to face her nephew. “But if Father had not created such intolerable circumstances for Fëanáro – and for us, too – Morgoth would have had nothing to exploit in our family. The weakness was already there for him to prey upon.”

“You may be right, Findis,” Arafinwë sighed. “Yet I cannot help but feel that the circumstances Father found himself in when Míriel passed were so extraordinary that none of us can really know what it must have been like for him. To lose his wife, to face raising a small child by himself – and comforting that child, who missed his mother. No one in Aman had ever dealt with such grief and loss before. And on top of that, he was a king, with a duty to his people. His time was not fully his own, he couldn’t afford to attend exclusively to himself or his son.”

“’Tis no small thing to rule over others,” Galadriel said softly. “Until I had done it myself I did not appreciate how taxing it is at times.”

Findis frowned but made no reply, and turned back to Indis. “Are you all right, Mother? Shall I fetch you some wine? Some water, perhaps?”

Indis shook her head. “I think I’ll walk a bit in the gardens. They’re lovely, Eärwen, I have meant to tell you that for some time now. You have a way with plants, the gardens are much better laid than they were when I lived here.”

Eärwen murmured her thanks.

Findaráto stood, “Shall I come with you, Grandmother?”

Indis smiled and held out her hand, “Yes, please do come, Ingoldo. I would like that very much. Amarië, will you join us?”

Amarië shook her head, “No, I think I’ll retire now. Good night, Lady Indis.” Amarië brushed a warm kiss on her husband’s cheek and clasped Indis’s hands between her own before she left the room.

“Good night, my dear. Findis? Will you walk with us?”

“No, Mother, go on with Findaráto – he has a way of lightening even the heaviest heart. But when you leave tomorrow to journey to Nienna’s halls, I would like to go with you.”

“As would I,” said Galadriel, standing. “If you wouldn’t mind the company, Grandmother.”

Indis smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “On the contrary, I would be very glad to have you both along. Thank you, Findis. Thank you, Galadriel. Whatever sorrows I’ve had to bear I am fortunate beyond reckoning to have the children and grandchildren that remain to me.”

A Child, Again

Read A Child, Again

At different times Indis, Findis, and Galadriel had each visited Irmo’s gardens in Lórien, but it had been many years since Findis had last traveled that way, and several ages since either her mother or her niece had been so far west. They happily rediscovered the wonderful beauty of inner Aman.

However, by unspoken agreement they avoided magnificent Valmar. Although they were not rushing to arrive at their destination, Findis and Galadriel both understood the urgency Indis felt. The diversion offered by the many friends and kin who dwelled in Valmar would have meant a substantial delay. And I don’t wish to explain myself to anyone other than my family right now, Indis mused.

For two weeks Indis, Galadriel, and Findis followed the winding path to Lorien; it was their habit to make frequent stops as they rode westward.

One day, after dismounting to sit under the gorgeously flowering branches of a copse of cherry trees, Indis asked her granddaughter something that had been in the back of her mind since the day that Arafinwë told her of Galadriel’s return. “My dear, will you tell us about your husband? What sort of person is he?”

Galadriel smiled. “Grandmother, do you mean to ask why he did not make the journey to Aman with me?”

Indis smiled in turn, arching a brow, “I did not ask you that.” Her smile widened to a grin, “but now that you mention it, I admit that I am curious as to why you chose to come alone.”

Findis interrupted, “but if that is something you would rather not discuss, we would be happy enough to know anything you care to tell us about him.”

Galadriel chuckled, “I am more than willing to tell you anything you wish to know about Celeborn, including his reasons for remaining in the East for the time being. It is no secret, and nothing that pains me, although of course I do miss him. But surely Celebrian has described him to you before now?”

“She has,” Indis replied, “but a daughter’s description of her father does not always correspond to a wife’s description of her husband, even though they have the same person in mind.”

“Yes,” Findis continued, “and I must confess that I always wondered what sort of elf could capture your heart, Galadriel. You were always so strong-willed and …”

“Stubborn?” Galadriel offered with a rueful smile. “And I think to that you must also add ‘self-righteous,’ for I certainly was so before I left Aman.”

“No more so than any young elf,” said Indis.

“And self-righteousness was a common trait in our family,” Findis assured her niece. “In fact, I can think of several people who outdid you by far on that count.”

“Yes…” Galadriel admitted, the left corner of her mouth turned up in a wry grimace. “But I am still chiding myself about the way I behaved toward Fëanáro. We delighted in mocking him behind his back, Angrod, Aegnor and I. As was typical, Findaráto was less severe in his judgment than we were. I was so certain that I saw my uncle for what he truly was – hateful, dangerous, selfish. I thought we were justified in our loathing, for Father’s sake, and Uncle Nolofin’s, and yours, Grandmother. Yet, had I been more discerning I would have seen that neither Father nor Uncle Nolofin despised their brother the way I did, even though they had far more reason to hate him. I was too entrenched in my own perspective to recognize that my attitude was borne of blind self-righteousness, the very thing I condemned in Fëanáro.”

“Ah, Galadriel,” said Findis, “you were not alone in your condemnation of Fëanáro. Your Aunt Lalwen was the first to stand in implacable opposition to him, despite the fact that, for most of her childhood at least, Fëanáro barely even noticed her existence. As she got older, Lalwendë’s fierce loyalty to Nolofinwë led her to instigate hostilities with Fëanáro, much to my dismay. She did not hesitate to insult him to his face. It comes as little surprise to me that you children had a tainted view of Fëanáro, for there was little love lost between him and my other siblings.”

“And,” Indis interjected, “our family never openly discussed Fëanáro’s resentment. Until the very end Finwë and I continued to hope that Fëanáro would eventually become reconciled with the rest of the family. We failed to consider how it appeared to you children.”

Galadriel’s round laughter rang clearly through the trees. “For more than an age I ruled over the Elves of Lothlòrien as their Queen, and before that I led smaller groups, waged war, and consulted with the rulers of Elves, Dwarves, and Men. But here I am considered one of “the children!”

“Galadriel, we meant no offense!” Findis protested.

“And none is taken, dearest Aunt!” Galadriel replied. “You cannot know what a delightful change it is to find myself learning new things about something I’d long ago thought that I understood completely! It is humbling, and I will continue to examine the faults within me that made me prone to such error.”

“Do not take too much upon yourself, Galadriel,” Indis warned. “You could not have easily discerned the truth behind Fëanáro’s ill will and bad deeds, since, during the time that he was with us, none but your grandfather knew the whole story. You were not alone in wondering why Finwë consistently took Fëanáro’s side whenever a dispute arose, and showed him such blatant favor. I’m afraid that Nolofinwë and Arafinwë took their father’s preference for Fëanáro as evidence of their own shortcomings.

"But to those who loved them – Lalwendë, both of you, and of course me – Finwë’s favoring of Fëanáro over Nolofin and Arafin was evidence of Fëanáro’s unreasonable selfishness about his father’s love. We thought that Fëanáro demanded all of Finwë’s attention and regard. I have since come to believe that Finwë acted out of guilt, trying to compensate for his terrible betrayal of Míriel and their son. Since none but Finwë knew of that betrayal, I think that even Fëanáro himself was at times confused by his father’s unconditional support for everything that he did. Everyone has always assumed that Míriel’s abandonment doomed Fëanáro to grow into the jealous, selfish person that he was, but I think that Finwë’s failure to provide any corrective guidance to Fëanáro also had an unhealthy effect.”

“Yes,” Findis agreed. “You never hesitated to correct our misbehavior, or to show us how we could be kinder, or more generous, or more thoughtful of other people. And Father, too, would reprimand me, or Nolofin, Lalwen, or Arafin on occasion. He was always gentle with his criticism, and he always showed us how we could do better the next time. But I never saw him criticize Fëanáro.”

“And I didn’t dare,” Indis admitted. “So you see, Galadriel, you couldn’t possibly have known the antecedents of Fëanáro’s behavior towards his brothers. And for all that I’m willing to admit that his circumstances were not easy, I do not excuse his behavior.”

“I see that you are right,” Galadriel replied slowly. “Yet I still think there are lessons for me in this.”

“There are lessons for all of us in this,” said Indis. “And that is why I am making this journey. I must tell you both, again, how grateful I have been to have your company. ... And now, Galadriel, perhaps you can tell us about this husband of yours?”

Butterflies

Read Butterflies

Re-mounted and moving westward again, Galadriel tried to satisfy her grandmother and aunt’s curiosity about Celeborn. “My husband, as you know, is a close kin of Thingol of Doriath, and it is there that I first met him. He is … he … it’s strange that I cannot think where to begin in describing him, because I know him better than any other, and no one else knows me as well as he.

“Is he especially beautiful?” asked Findis.

“He is, but not in the way of the Noldor or Vanyar, nor even the Teleri, Aunt. He is strong and handsome, and proud too, but he does not seek others’ notice. Which is not to say that he doesn’t care about others’ opinions, but just that he is uninterested in impressing others merely for the sake of it. In that he is typically Sindarian. As is also characteristic of his people, Celeborn is an excellent hunter and woodsman, a very skilled archer, and a fearless fighter – superb with a sword. He eschews displays of wealth, and typically wears only the jeweled ring that I gave him long ago -- in fact, I think he only wears that because I gave it to him. Indeed, when Findaráto dwelled in Nargothrond I went frequently between his home and Doriath, and Celeborn sometimes accompanied me – the difference between Findaráto’s splendor and Celeborn’s simplicity was striking.

“I shall never forget that, when it was clear that we had formed an attachment, Findaráto once commented off-handedly to Celeborn that he might do well to befriend the dwarves of Nogrod if he intended to court a lady of the Noldor. My brother’s jest was not intended unkindly, but I found myself embarrassed all the same, until Celeborn replied, “Your sister is more than able to procure for herself as many jewels as any Noldor might wish to have. If she seeks a husband who would provide her with a steady stream of shiny baubles, perhaps she should look to Nogrod herself!”

Findis and Indis burst into laughter. “He could hold his own with you and with Findaráto, with wit and humor!” Findis cried. “Clearly he is a wise and worthy elf.”

“I must agree with you, Aunt,” Galadriel replied with a smile, “although of course Celeborn and I did not always agree between ourselves. We each know our own minds, and did not hesitate to speak when our views diverged. Celeborn is usually even-tempered and circumspect, but I’m afraid that at times I have managed to provoke him into anger. We have even shouted at each other a few times. Not many, but a few.”

“Really?” asked Indis, surprised. “And does it not trouble you that there is sometimes such strife between you and your husband?”

“… Why, no, Grandmother,” Galadriel replied with a puzzled expression. “It would not be well if we fought frequently, or if we were unable to resolve our disputes, but I don’t think there exists an elf who would agree with me all of the time, unless he had completely abdicated his own thought and will to me and mine. And that would never do! Sometimes I convince Celeborn that I am in the right, and other times he convinces me that his is the right view.

“As for jewels, over time I found myself preferring more and more my husband’s simplicity. One ring I always wore throughout the last age, but often nothing more than that. Compared to most elves here in Aman, I am now very plain indeed.”

“It suits you, my dear,” Indis observed. “You don’t need jewels to draw attention to yourself. I think that change was for the better! And I think that you misunderstood me just now: of course a husband and wife will not always see things eye to eye, but your description of shouting with your husband alarmed me a bit. Until the day he left Tirion, I had never shouted at Finwë – and never once did he shout at me.”

“Ah, Grandmother, that is because you are a much kinder, gentler person than I am,” Galadriel replied easily. “Who would wish to shout at you? What possible reason would anyone have for doing so? But I am not always so easy to get along with. Aunt, you are not the only one who wondered what sort of elf could be up to the challenge of marrying me! As it turns out, there was at least one person who could match my will and spirit – and that is why I married him!”

Indis smiled at Galadriel. The three horses had been riding abreast, but now they formed a single line as the path dipped into a narrow gully. They were drawing near to Lorien, and once they had emerged on the other side of the gully, they could see the lush border of Irmo’s domain on the horizon. Findis lifted her arm and pointed, “Look, we’re nearly there!”

Galadriel drew up beside Findis, and looked back over her shoulder at Indis. “Now, if I may, I have a question of my own. Aunt, you mentioned that ‘certain events’ made it inevitable that Fëanáro would hate Uncle Nolofin. And, Grandmother, you mentioned that you had made mistakes that hardened Fëanáro’s heart against you. It cannot have just been replacing Míriel’s tapestries in the palace. Will you tell me what happened?”

“Ah.” Indis had drawn up on the other side of Findis, and the two of them exchanged a meaningful look. “I believe I know what your aunt had been referring to, and indeed it was a very unfortunate mistake on my part. I think that Findis can tell it better than I, for she witnessed it all.”

Findis sighed briefly, and then looked up at her niece with a small, sad smile. “My earliest memories of our family are of a loving mother and father, and an intriguing, sometimes confusing older brother, who occasionally made the most wonderful toys for me.

 "When I was ten, Mother entered her confinement for the birth of our new brother or sister, and the house was ripe with anticipation. When her labor had begun, I was shooed out of her chambers, and Fëanáro joined me on a bench in the outer passageway. Father was within with Mother. I don’t recall how long we sat there, Fëanáro and I, but during that time he made several paper butterflies for me, as he would do every once in a while. I wish I’d been able to learn how he did it, for they were simply wonderful, and counted as my favorite gifts from Fëanáro. He tried to teach me once how to do it, but I couldn’t get the knack of it – he would take four squares of paper, differently colored, and make tears in some, and folds in others, and from them create butterflies with patterned wings. Each butterfly was different, and the best part was, their wings could move, and if thrown correctly they could fly around for a short distance!

“Eventually, the outer door to Mother’s chambers opened, and one of her ladies emerged with a basin, to fetch some more water. Nolofinwë had just come into the world, and Fëanáro and I crept through the open door, and the antechamber, to peek inside the inner room where Mother held the baby in her arms, while Father beamed down at both of them.

Findis shot an apologetic look at her mother, and then explained to Galadriel, “They didn’t know we were there. And we heard Mother say to Father, ‘Now we have a daughter and a son, my lord.’

“I don’t know how Father replied, and I don’t think Fëanáro heard either, for he’d turned and run out of the chambers. I ran after him, as close as I could. He’d already shut the door to his bedchamber when I caught up to him, and I pounded on the door, begging him to let me in. I told him that I didn’t care about the new baby, that I already had a brother. I was crying, and eventually Fëanáro opened the door to let me in, locking it behind him.

“We didn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say to him, and I don’t think he knew what to say to me, either. I was miserable. We stared out the window, and he slowly ripped two of my butterflies into tiny, shredded, bits. Within several minutes, one of Mother’s ladies came looking for us, and knocked on the door. She didn’t address Fëanáro, for I think that by then Mother and her ladies had learned that it was best for them to not speak to Fëanáro directly. But she persisted in knocking and calling to me. ‘Findis, come out! You have a brother!’ she called.

“I didn’t know what to do. In my anger and confusion I’d started to cry again. I shouted at her, ‘I already have a brother! I don’t care about a stupid baby!’

“She left then, and a few minutes later Father was at the door, asking to be let in. At the sound of Father’s voice, Fëanáro looked at me, and motioned for me to remain silent. He then hopped onto the windowsill and climbed out, dropping onto the roof of the veranda below. He leapt to the ground and ran off in the direction of the stables.

“Once Fëanáro had disappeared from view, my mind returned to the sound of Father’s voice. I opened the door, still crying. I told Father what had happened, what we had overheard. He told me that we’d misunderstood, that Mother hadn’t intended to suggest that Fëanáro was not part of the family. I wanted to believe him, and I knew that Mother had not meant to hurt Fëanáro. But I also knew that Fëanáro would never believe that.

“Father dried my tears and I went with him to see Mother and my new baby brother. Father asked me not to mention anything to Mother, until he’d had a chance to speak with Fëanáro.

“Fëanáro didn’t return for three days. When he came back he announced his intention to apprentice to Mahtan. Father was very unhappy that Fëanáro was leaving our house, but he didn’t say no.”

Diverging Paths

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Indis, Findis, and Galadriel were silent as they neared the beech-lined border of Lórien, each dwelling in her own thoughts. They dismounted several yards before the first stand of trees, removed their horses’ reins, and allowed the animals graze at will. The gardens’ perimeter was marked by a natural fence of dense shrubbery, which ran between the tall, graceful beeches. From the north, east, and south, river stone-paved paths led into the gardens; the three entered from the east.

In addition to the peaceful solace of the gardens, they sought advice, for none of them knew how to reach Nienna’s halls, further to the west. Few elves ever made the journey to the Vala’s sorrowful house; those that did rarely discussed the particulars of their visits.

As they passed from the bright daylight of the surrounding plain to the filtered, dappled light under the trees’ canopy, the three encountered the fragrant air of Lórien. Countless songbirds had their nests in the thick outer hedges, and their chirpings sang of life and renewal. As they walked deeper into the garden realm the birdsong grew more distant, and they heard instead the tender hush of green, living things.

Jewel-toned butterflies, even more beautiful than the beloved paper toys of Findis’s youth, flitted from leaf to flower. Before her chosen exile in the East, Galadriel had dwelled for a time in Lórien, under the tutelage of Irmo and Estë, and the Maiar who worked with them. Findis had visited the gardens several times in the course of her solitary explorations of Aman, as had Indis, before her marriage to Finwë. The gardens were eternal and, from a distance, seemed to endure unaltered by time. But all three elves discovered that the gardens had changed considerably. Where a lily-strewn pool had been situated before the destruction of the Two Trees, Indis and Galadriel were surprised to find a glade filled with lilacs. Findis noted that the path they followed, which she had taken on her last visit, perhaps a thousand years earlier, no longer skirted a small rise that was crowned with a grove of peach trees, but instead climbed the hillock so that travelers passed among the fragrantly blooming trees. Countless changes had been wrought, so that Lórien was at once both familiar and new.

After the path descended from the peach grove it split, with one branch wending southward, while the other continued to the west. Galadriel turned to Findis, “Aunt, I believe you were here most recently. Which way will lead us to the heart of Lórien, where we are most likely to find its Lord and his servants?”

Findis hesitated, and instead a low rich voice answered from behind them. “I see that, as ever, Altáriel seeks the straightest path to her goal. In all of the time you spent here, and with me in Doriath, have you never learned that an indirect way can yield much good?”

“Melian!” cried Galadriel, turning swiftly with a joyful face. She rushed forward to embrace her old teacher. Findis and Indis watched the reunion with obvious pleasure.

Melian stepped back a bit and pressed a kiss to Galadriel’s forehead. “Dearest child, my heart is greatly gladdened to see you. Although I think I cannot call you “child” anymore, can I? From my visits with Vairë I have learned of your feats in Middle Earth, and I must tell you how pleased and proud I was to see you rise to meet each new challenge. You have done well, Altáriel, and you deserve the rest and peace you will find here in Lórien. For myself, and on behalf of the Lord of Lórien, I bid you welcome.

“And you are also welcome, Indis, Queen of the Noldor, and Findis of the Noldor and Vanyar,” Melian continued warmly. “As Altáriel has deemed it best to take the swiftest path to the heart of Lórien, may I suggest following the southward path, to the left?”

“It is well that you've met us now, Lady,” replied Findis with a smile. “For my instinct was to take the path to the right!”

“That too would have brought you to your destination,” Melian assured her. “But the southern branch quickly turns westward, while the western branch wanders for a stretch between many small pools.”

“Lórien is much changed since I was last here,” Indis observed.

“That is the way of growing things,” Melian replied.

They walked in silence for some moments, and then Galadriel turned to Melian, “It is true that change is inevitable where there is life,” she agreed, “and yet, in Doriath I observed that you kept time and the changes of the outer world at bay, such that your realm was protected from disruption and discord. With Doriath in mind, I did all that I could to shield my realm and people from the changes wrought by time.”

“Ah, Altáriel,” sighed Melian. “You perhaps did not remain long enough in Doriath to notice the changes that inevitably occurred. I admit that I sought to slow the effects of time, to control where and how change occurred, but I never sought to prevent it from happening at all.

She continued, “I think that the changes brought by the passage of time are especially difficult for the Eldar, who endure despite time but are inextricably tied to a single, physical manifestation. It is not just living things that change with time – rocks and waters change as well. A mountain might be slowly worn away so that its once-mighty, impenetrable rock is eventually transformed into the grains of sand on a beach. My husband found the changes brought by time, some slow and subtle, others swift and unmistakable, to be especially hard to bear. Unless one can surrender oneself to inevitable change, tolerating it in one’s surroundings can be difficult.

“A place can become tied to memories which, good or bad, constitute our sense of self, the past which gives us meaning in the present,” Findis observed. “It is hard to see physical changes brought to the markers of our memories.”

“Yes, that is the challenge that life in the unsheltered natural world presents,” Melian agreed. “Although I understood why the Valar decided to bring the Eldar to Aman, my understanding of the purpose of Arda and its needs led me to seek to make it easier for some of the Eldar to remain in Middle Earth, to live with natural change and transformation without falling prey to Melkor, or to quiet alienation from their surroundings. I’m not sure how well I succeeded, for even my own husband, wise and beloved though he was, could not abide some of the changes that the world thrust upon him.”

“Do you refer to Lúthien’s marriage to a Man?” asked Indis.

“Yes. The loss of our daughter to the mortality of Men remains beyond Thingol’s comprehension or acceptance. Especially since at least one Man has been allowed to reside in Aman, and to partake of the long life of the Eldar. I fear that Thingol may never be reconciled to Lúthien’s choice.”

“I cannot claim to have known Lúthien well,” Galadriel allowed, “but it seems to me that she was never at odds with change, even before she met her husband.”

“No, indeed she was not,” Melian agreed. “I wonder if perhaps she learned too well the lesson I sought to teach her father and our folk. Lúthien knew our history well, and loved her kin and their ways, but she was always alert for something new, for change and movement. Thingol could not understand why she chafed at his attempts to keep her safe and out of harm’s way. I would not say that our daughter was reckless, but she did not hold security and familiarity in the same high regard that her father did.”

“Perhaps it was inevitable, then, that she would fall in love with a Man,” Galadriel mused. “My own husband knew Lúthien much better than I did, and he did not see her marriage to Beren as a perverse act of defiance against her father, although that view was commonly held among the folk of Doriath.”

“And your own granddaughter, also my kin, has made the same choice, has she not?” Melian observed.

“Indeed, and Celeborn perceives that Arwen’s reasons for choosing the mortal path were similar to Lúthien’s. An attraction to the freedom Men have from the constraints of time, their choices unfettered by long memory and the fear of having to live with regret. The possibility of wondrous change, even if that possibility is realized imperfectly, if at all.”

“Yes. And where is Celeborn now?” Melian asked.

“He remains in Middle Earth. To see what new changes take place now that Sauron’s shadow has been banished forever. To help with the transition to a new era of rule by Men. To say goodbye to the remaining places that mark his own memories. His farewell to the lands of the East will be more painful than mine were, as they were his true home.”

“I mourn for his loss, and for the sadness that necessarily accompanies your separation, temporary though it is,” said Melian. “But I confess that it pleases me to see that Celeborn has such care for the land of his birth and those who dwell within it, Elven or not. That is what I had hoped for long ago when I wed with Thingol.”

“Yes, Lady, your people learned your lessons well, I think” said Galadriel. “Many of them will not ever come to partake of the solace of the Undying Lands, but will remain in Middle Earth, one way or another, until the end of time.”

“It is good, though, that you have come to be healed,” Melian answered. “A time for rejoicing, surely, and your kin have come with you.”

“Actually, my aunt and I accompany my grandmother on her journey,” Galadriel replied. “Although even if she were not seeking Nienna’s halls, I would have come here soon enough by myself, I think.”

“You seek Nienna, Indis?” Melian asked, turning to look at Indis, who walked with Findis a few feet behind Melian and Galadriel.

“Yes, Lady,” Indis replied. “I find that my own heart, and more importantly my family, are in need of healing from events long past.”

“Indeed,” Melian nodded. “In truth I am surprised that you have not journeyed to Lórien before this.”

Indis looked uneasy. “This place is quite possibly the most beautiful in all of Aman, yet I confess that for the last three ages I have avoided any thought of it.”

Melian’s brows raised in surprise. “Why ever would you feel the need to avoid these gardens?” she asked.

“Lady, I believe that you are acquainted with the circumstances through which I came to wed Finwë who, before he married me, had a wife who was called Míriel Serindë.”

“I am familiar with the tale,” Melian acknowledged.

“Not long before my lord Finwë was slain by Melkor, I discovered that, in fact, our marriage had doomed Míriel to remain in Námo’s halls,” Indis explained.

“That contradicts my understanding of the matter,” Melian frowned. “For I was told that Míriel herself chose to remain unhoused.”

“That is so, but before he left Tirion, Finwë confessed to me that her reason for doing so was her discernment of his wish to wed me.”

Melian stopped in the path, a grave expression on her face. “That is ill news indeed, Indis. And you were ignorant of this when you wed Finwë?”

“Yes, and throughout all of the time that we dwelled together as husband and wife.”

“I see.” Melian’s gaze grew distant for a moment, before her eyes lifted to meet Indis’s, “it is unfortunate that your husband kept this knowledge from you.”

“Yes, although once we were married, I’m not sure what difference it really would have made,” Indis sighed. “I have many unanswered questions, about myself and my husband, and it is for that reason that I seek Nienna’s advice.

“That is wise,” Melian agreed. She looped her arm through Indis’s, and the two of them proceeded on the path, followed by Findis and Galadriel. “But tell me, Indis, why should you have avoided Lórien until now?”

Indis pursed her lips. “It is cowardly, I admit, but I did not wish to be near the place where Míriel’s body rests. I feel a shadow of guilt lies over me, too.”

“I can well imagine that you would feel guilt towards Míriel, even if you did not know that your marriage to Finwë sealed her fate. But since she was reunited with her body shortly after the Sun first rose in the sky, I do not understand why you never sought healing for your woes here in Lórien.”

“What?!?” Indis gasped, stopping short. Findis and Galadriel wore similar expressions of shock.

Melian drew back in dismayed surprise. “Excuse me, Indis, but can it be that you do not know that Míriel Serindë came to regret her choice to remain in Mandos? And although he could not undo his ties to each of you, ties that could not be allowed if all three of you lived, Finwë had it in his power to allow his first wife to return to life, by remaining unhoused himself within Námo's halls. Were you never informed of his decision?”

Indis could not speak, but the grief and shock on her face were unmistakable, as were the tears that streamed down her face.

“Forgive me, Indis, for raising this without more care. I would never have imagined that you did not know!” Melian took Indis’s hands in her own and gazed into her tear-filled eyes.

After several moments, Indis slowly shook her head. “I did not know. Who would have told me? I did not seek for news of my husband from Mandos. I believed that I knew all too well why he had not returned to life.”

“Nevertheless, I should think that someone could have informed you that your husband had permanently exiled himself from the living!” Melian exclaimed.

More silence passed, and then Melian suggested that they continue towards the heart of the garden realm. With her arm looped again through Indis’s arm, Melian led them along the path.

After a few minutes, Galadriel asked quietly, “Where, then, is Míriel Serindë now?”

Lady of Sorrow

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Galadriel’s question hung in the air. Now it was Melian who hesitated. “I think that I am not the one to tell you about Míriel, for I have exchanged but a few words with her and do not pretend to understand her choices. Of all the Eldar I have encountered, she is, I think, the most unknowable. Of course, I never met her son…”

Melian trailed off uncertainly. Indis was silent; her inner turmoil was clear to the others. Findis had moved to her mother’s side so that Indis was flanked by Melian on her left, and Findis on her right. Galadriel followed behind them, her brow furrowed in thought.

As the day was drawing to a close, the dappled light in the gardens had dimmed to a red-hued gold. The four did not quicken their steps as they moved along the path, even though the shadows grew as twilight descended. The path converged with one that led from the north; after they were a few paces beyond the junction a soothingly melodious voice called out from behind them, “Good evening, Melian!”

Melian, Indis, Findis and Galadriel all turned at the sound, as a tall, slim figure glided toward them on the path. Sometimes it seemed that Estë’s feet did not always touch the ground when she walked, and her grey robes seemed to be made of the very shadows from which she emerged.

“My lady!” Melian replied, as she joined the three elves in bowing to the Vala.

“Welcome to Lórien, Indis. Welcome, Findis. And my former student who has borne many names and is now called, most fittingly, Galadriel – you are very welcome here.”

“Thank you, Lady,” Findis and Galadriel replied in unison. Indis remained silent, still too overcome to trust her voice.

Without preamble, Estë turned to Indis, “Sadness weighs heavily upon you, Indis of the Vanyar and Noldor. Tell me what troubles you.” Findis and Melian stepped back as Estë laid her hand on Indis’s shoulder.

Indis melted into tears, crying harder than she ever had. Not even the news of Finwë’s death had unleashed such anguish as poured out of her now. Estë kept one hand on Indis’s shoulder, and drew her other arm around Indis’s waist, supporting her as she wept. No one spoke for several minutes.

Estë spoke in lulling tones to Indis, “I know now of your grief, dearest Indis, and I share it. I see your purpose and I approve. You do not need to travel all the way to Nienna’s distant halls to consult with her, for she is often to be found close by, communing with the fëar within the halls of Mandos.”

“That is so,” Melian said quietly, “and I shall go now to seek her there, and ask her if she will join us here in Lórien.”

“That would be most helpful, Melian,” Estë said gratefully. “You will find us at the Fountain.”

“Of course, my lady.” Melian bowed again, and moved back to the juncture of the two paths, this time taking the northerly branch.

“Come, my dear, can you walk a bit further?” Estë asked Indis gently.

“Yes, yes of course, Lady,” Indis responded hastily, wiping tears from her face. “I am quite well, and I apologize for my weakness.”

“No, you are not well, Indis, and there is no need to apologize. You are not here out of weakness, but even if you were, this is a place of healing, where none need be ashamed of their vulnerabilities. On the contrary, it would not be well to come here unwilling to expose your pain and grief, for that makes the task of healing much more difficult.”

Estë looked back over her shoulder and motioned to Findis and Galadriel. “Come, my dears. We are nearly at the Fountain of Lórien, where we will find its lord.”

Estë’s strong, graceful arm remained around Indis’s waist, as the Vala supported the elf for several paces, Findis and Galadriel following closely behind. The path curved to the left, and the group emerged stepped from its end onto open ground, thickly covered with springy moss. At the center of the space a beautiful fountain bubbled into a crystal-clear pool of water, which now reflected the light of the stars and moon above.

Movement from behind the fountain drew Findis and Galadriel’s eyes to the Lord of Lórien, cloaked in the same grey as his wife, but with bright white robes beneath the grey. “Good evening, my lady. I see that you have brought visitors with you this evening.”

“Yes, Husband,” Estë replied in tones that reminded Indis of the lullabies she used to croon softly to her children when they were infants. “I am accompanied by Indis of the Vanyar and Noldor, her daughter Findis, and her granddaughter, our pupil of old who is now called Galadriel.”

“Welcome.” Bathed in cool moonlight, Irmo’s face nevertheless glowed with a warmth more characteristic of the sun. “I am glad to see you all once more in my gardens. It is far too long since we have seen any of you here.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Galadriel replied, bowing.

Estë helped Indis to sit down on the mossy ground. Findis sat down next to her and pulled her mother’s head onto her own shoulder. Estë moved toward the fountain, and when she turned back to the elves, she held in her hand a simple silver chalice filled with water drawn from the fountain. She held it out to Findis, who took it and held it for Indis to drink from.

No one spoke for several minutes, and Indis found her composure returning. She kissed her daughter’s cheek, and looked up at the two Vala, who regarded her with solemn expressions.

“Thank you, Lord and Lady, for your kind welcome and your pity. I do not yet know how much of my grief is the result of my own actions, but it seems very likely to me that I am not blameless in the unhappiness that has befallen me, my husband, and his first wife, not to mention our children. And it grieves me greatly.”

Irmo spoke, “you refer to the sundering of the tie between Míriel Serdindë and Finwë of the Noldor, which allowed him to marry you.”

“But that tie could not be truly severed, Lord,” Indis answered. “And so the marriage could not have proceeded, had Míriel Serindë not agreed to remain within Námo’s halls for all time.”

“This was indeed a tragic choice,” Irmo agreed. “But why does it weigh so heavily on you now? It was made long ago.”

“Before his death Finwë informed me that the only reason Míriel had agreed to remain within Mandos for all time was because she knew that he wished to take me to wife,” Indis explained miserably. “That knowledge alienated me from my husband, for our marriage had imposed a high cost on Míriel, which I would not have accepted had I known at the time.”

Irmo said nothing in reply.

“And today I have learned that Míriel came to regret her decision, and that Finwë acknowledged his debt to her by surrendering his own life so that she could be allowed to return to hers. The grief I feel about these choices seems like more than I can bear. It is impossible! I cannot even say that, were it possible to undo the past I would do so – because my love for my children and their children is far too great. I am well and truly trapped in this unhappy state, such that I almost envy my husband’s unhoused state. Until this moment I was never able to see how Míriel could have ever wished to leave life, but I think I begin to know how she might have felt.”

A new voice spoke from the edge of the fountain clearing. “Your healing has truly begun, Indis, when you are able to feel what another feels.” Nienna, tall and grave, walked toward the fountain. Melian was not with her.

“Lady Nienna.” Indis and Findis rose swiftly to their feet, as did Galadriel, who had been perched on the edge of the fountain pool. The three elves bowed low.

“My greetings to you, Indis. And to your daughter. And to you, Artanis. I see that you have grown in wisdom as well as in will, and that you used your gifts well in the East.”

“Thank you, Lady,” Galadriel replied, bowing again.

“Indis,” Nienna continued, “I have come at Melian’s request, and it is good that she summoned me to you. I listened as you revealed your woes to the Lord and Lady of Lórien, and I perceive within you a determination to set right what has been wrong for far, far too long.”

“That is so, Lady,” Indis replied. “But I fear that I am at a loss. My mind cannot seem to sort through the conflicting thoughts and irreconcilable feelings that struggle within me. I do not know how to proceed.”

“Will you walk with me, Indis?” Nienna asked in a voice that did not seem to pose a question.

“Gladly, Lady,” Indis stepped forward. When Findis moved to join them, Nienna held up her hand, “stay, if you will, Findis. I think that your mother and I should talk alone.”

“Yes, Lady,” Findis replied with a bow. Indis turned back to brush a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, and then walked to the edge of the clearing, where the hooded Vala awaited her.

They walked back along the path that Indis had followed to reach the fountain. Nienna was to Indis’s right, between her and the full, bright moon whose light peeped through the tree canopy. Nienna rarely came among the Eldar, and when she did her face was usually obscured by her hood, as it was that evening. In her entire life, Indis had encountered the mysterious Vala no more than four or five times, and would not have been able to give a detailed description of her appearance. “Sad,” “noble,” “enduring” came to mind … and, also, “hopeful.” As was the case whenever she found herself in the presence of one of the Valar, Indis was filled with a reverent awe as she walked beside Nienna. The enormous sadness that had washed over her with Melian’s words had not abated, but as she walked beside Nienna Indis gradually felt her inner turmoil subsiding. The pain remained as strong as ever, but it began to seem manageable.

Unreckoned Hope

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They approached a small clearing that was bathed in moonlight, and ringed with more lilacs. Nienna veered off the path, moving between the flowering bushes, and seated herself upon the thick grass in the clearing. Indis followed suit, sitting a few feet away from the tall Vala.

Nienna lifted her hood, and Indis beheld a face of quiet beauty, with large dark grey eyes framed by thick, arched brows, set in an oval face. After Indis had gazed at her for several moments, Nienna’s eyebrows rose slightly, a small smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.

“Forgive me, Lady,” Indis said, lowering her eyes. “I have never seen your face before this.”

“Fear not, Indis,” Nienna replied. “I take no offense at your curiosity. Indeed, I usually seek to shield myself from the eyes of those I do not know well. It allows me to keep within my thoughts and purpose without distraction. But if I will converse with another I prefer to be as visible to them as they are to me. A true exchange requires such openness.”

“Thank you, Lady. Thank you for coming here for my sake. Thank you for speaking with me. … Already I feel more at peace, but I am still lost.”

“It is not to be wondered at, Indis,” Nienna replied. “I suggest that you begin at the heart of the matter, which seems to me to be the extent to which you can, and perhaps should, claim responsibility for what happened. That will be the most difficult thing, I think, but when you have done so I think that you will find that the rest falls more easily into place.”

“So you agree that I bear some of the guilt for what happened to Míriel Serindë?” Indis asked, uncertainly.

“I cannot judge this until you have told me your thoughts on the matter, my dear,” replied Nienna. “But since you have been carrying a feeling of guilt with you for so long, it would be well if you identified what, exactly, you did that could have led to this unhappiness.”

“Lady, I have thought about this for a very long time. If I had known what my marriage to Finwë would cost Míriel, I would not have wed him. But I …”

Nienna gently interrupted her. “What cost did Míriel pay?”

“She had to abandon her life, and her child, forever,” Indis replied, slightly puzzled by the question.

“She had already abandoned her life and her child. She had been away for some time before Finwë petitioned to wed you. And when summoned before Manwë, Míriel steadfastly insisted that she did not wish to return to life. Your husband told you that her final choice was the result of her discovery that he wished to join himself to you. But where is your part in this?”

“Had I not loved him, had I not wished to marry Finwë and share a life with him, in time perhaps Míriel would have healed and returned to life,” Indis persisted.

“Was it wrong to love Finwë?” asked Nienna.

“I … I don’t think so,” Indis replied. “In fact, I could not help myself. I’d always loved him, from the first time I laid eyes upon him. He was so vibrant, so active and interesting. So different from my people. I was drawn to him, wishing to know him and to be known by him. But I never sought his company, not while Míriel lived, nor even after she first retreated to Lórien…”

Nienna said nothing, watching Indis intently.

“And yet … I was very aware of him, and where he was. I was filled with sorrow for him, and for their son. I wanted to do what I could to help. Not that I thought I could restore Míriel to health … but I … I thought I could offer Finwë my friendship, to help him bear the loneliness that Míriel’s absence brought to him.”

Still Nienna said nothing.

Indis faltered. “Would I have done so had I not secretly loved him from afar for so long? I don’t know. … I suppose not.”

Nienna said quietly, “tell me, Indis, before you wed Finwë, you must have had other suitors, among your own people?”

Indis nodded absently. “Yes, I did. But none of them captured my heart.”

Nienna asked, “and why was that?”

Indis looked at her sadly and sighed. “Because my heart was already fixed on Finwë. I wouldn’t let myself openly dream of what it would be like if I were his wife, instead of Míriel, but I suppose that hope was always unspoken in my heart.

“I could not forget him, even though I did my best to avoid him while Míriel was alive. When my brother thought to move to Taniquetil, I happily accompanied his family. Well, perhaps not happily, for there was a part of me that ached to be near Finwë – to see him and hear him, at least. But I knew it would be better for me to be at a distance. …” Indis paused before continuing.

“When I’d heard that Míriel was unwell, I mourned for them. I am quite sure that I did not wish her ill, and indeed what ended up happening to her was so unexpected, I could never have imagined it, let alone wished for it, even if I had been willing to admit that I wanted to have Finwë for myself.”

Nienna nodded. Indis continued, “When I learned that Míriel had passed into Mandos, I was shocked. … And … filled with anticipation. Truly, at that time I did not think that their separation would be permanent. But I saw that there was an opportunity for me to be near Finwë. And I saw that he had need of a supportive friend, for Mandos was far from Tirion, and he journeyed there alone to plead for Míriel to return. I frequently wandered alone. It was easy to cross Finwë’s path. In fact, at the time I wasn’t even fully aware of what I was doing. I remember that I knew I might encounter Finwë. And the thought excited me.

“But truly my motives were innocent. I could not have imagined that he would eventually turn to me to take Míriel’s place. I never dreamt that her absence would be permanent. I just sought to salve my own heart a bit, which had yearned so strongly for Finwë, by claiming a bit of his friendship.”

“Do you truly believe that?” asked Nienna.

“Yes. … Yes! What other possibility was there for us at that time?”

“It was unclear. Míriel’s abandonment of life was unprecedented, and presented a very difficult dilemma,” Nienna observed.

Indis considered this for some moments, and then closed her eyes. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I could not let myself acknowledge that some wild part of me dared to hope that more might come of it, that my fondest wish could come to pass. If that is so, I can at least say that I was not knowingly putting myself in Finwë’s path in order to win him for myself…” Indis trailed off miserably.

“I agree. Your heart is pure, Indis, and you would not deliberately act to harm another. But perhaps you had been struggling for so long with your unspoken love for Finwë that, when the opportunity presented itself, your long-suppressed desire superceded your good judgment, which had hitherto kept you away from Finwë even if you could not manage to forget him and love another?” Nienna offered.

“Yes … yes… I think that might be so,” Indis allowed.

“You say that you put yourself in Finwë’s path, to offer him friendship in his time of need. But in an unacknowledged corner of your heart you wished for more than just a friendship, although you never actively sought his love.”

“Yes.” Indis nodded slowly.

“Very well. What do you think would have happened had you not put yourself in Finwë’s path?” Nienna asked.

Indis’s gaze grew distant as she considered the question. “… I think that his grief at losing his wife would have continued to be very difficult for him to bear. I’m not sure what he would have done if, over time, Míriel continued her refusal and Finwë was left alone and bereft.”

“Do you think that he might have found another replacement for Míriel?” asked Nienna.

Indis looked at the Vala, appalled and a bit offended. “Lady, my husband’s love for me was true! It was not a casual transference of affection. Love among the Eldar is a rare thing – that Finwë was able to find it again after losing Míriel was a wondrous thing in and of itself! Indeed, his love for Míriel endured even after he wed me. He did not seek to replace Míriel in his heart.”

“And did you ever wonder why Míriel Serdindë could not remain in her life and in her marriage to Finwë?” Nienna pressed gently.

Indis nodded. “Countless times before I wed Finwë, and an infinite number of times after I was wed to him, I wondered why she left. I asked Finwë, and he did not seem to know her reasons. I think he would have told me if he knew, for when we first began to meet and converse he was desperate to find a way to get Míriel to return.”

“And so your conclusion was that Míriel Serindë abandoned her life, her husband, and her child for no good reason?” Nienna asked.

“Yes. And as far as I can tell, that much was true, except that later she came to regret her rash decision.” Indis replied.

Nienna frowned, “Rash? If you don’t know her reasons, how could you know that she behaved rashly?”

“If her choice was not rash, why did she come to regret it?” Indis retorted.

“Have you never made a choice that seemed to be right at the time, perhaps even inevitable, but which you later came to regret?” Nienna rebuked her gently.

Indis pursed her lips. “Yes. Yes I have. On more than one occasion,” she admitted, abashed.

Nienna’s smile was laced with sadness. “As have I. I wonder, Indis, if in order to realize your deep-seated wish to be with Finwë you not only blinded yourself to your true motive in seeking his friendship, but also blinded yourself to the possibility that Míriel had departed with a purpose, one that you would have held if you had been in her place?” she asked gravely.

Indis stared ahead unseeing, as shame washed over her. “Did I dismiss Míriel in order to suit myself? Did I see only what I wished to see?”

Nienna did not respond.

After a long moment Indis spoke, slowly, “And therein lies my fault, does it not? I had no way of knowing what had passed between Finwë and Míriel’s fëa when he petitioned to wed me, but if I hadn’t passed judgment on Míriel for leaving her life, her husband, and her child for no discernible reason, perhaps I wouldn’t have so readily accepted the possibility that she could, that she would, willingly consign herself to stay forever in Mandos.”

Nienna nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Do you know her reasons for leaving, Lady?” Indis asked, turning to face the Vala.

Nienna frowned slightly. “That is not something I will discuss with you, Indis. Both because I deem that the information is not necessary at the moment, and because I will not speak for Míriel.”

“Where is she now?” Indis asked.

“She dwells still in Námo’s halls, in the wing where Vairë does her weaving. During her life among the Noldor, Míriel Serindë was the finest seamstress and weaver of all the Eldar. She now devotes her time and her skill to recording the deeds of the Noldor in a tapestry woven in Vairë’s workshop.”

“She is alive, yet remains within the halls of Mandos?” Indis asked in confusion.

“She may no longer go into the halls which house the fëa,” Nienna explained. “She is confined to Vairë’s wing, and she works beside my brother’s wife and her assistants. But come, Míriel’s whereabouts are not relevant to our purpose at the moment. You are trying to face your part in the painful history of the House of Finwë.”

Indis’s face wore an expression of grim determination. “Yes, yes. If I am to make amends, to bring about change, I must be willing to look at what I am responsible for. Very well: I selfishly helped to create the circumstances in which Finwë came to love me, because I had long loved him. Had I not done so, perhaps he would have found a way to endure until such time as Míriel was ready to return to life.”

Indis sighed sadly. “I passed judgment on Míriel, by failing to consider that she must have left for a good reason. And I self-righteously disregarded Míriel a second time, by assuming that her unnatural fate was perhaps deserved, since she had taken such a drastic, unthinkable path. Had I been able to set aside my own obvious interests in the matter, perhaps I would have recognized that such a terrible bargain could not be a good foundation for a marriage.”

Nienna smiled at Indis with her peculiar mix of warmth and sadness. “It is not easy to admit such things. They are in the past, and cannot be undone. But if you truly recognize the part that you played, I think the way forward will soon become clear to you.”

Troublesome Truths

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Lost in thought, Indis sat on the grassy earth, her arms wrapped loosely around her knees, which were drawn up to her chin. Eventually she noticed that the sky was lightening – apparently she and Nienna had been talking throughout the night.

Despite Nienna’s assurance that the way forward would be clear, it was not yet so. Indis still felt the weight of heavy sadness upon her. But as the sky grew brighter, she discovered that, although still sad, ashamed, and uncertain, she no longer felt helpless.

For as long as she could remember, the course of Indis’s life had largely been determined by the choices and actions of others: Ingwë, her older brother, had decided that their people should dwell with the Valar in Aman. She had remained alone for a long time, because her heart was drawn to someone who loved another. Only after Míriel had abandoned him did Finwë turn to Indis.

Fëanáro’s hostile rejection of Indis was a misdirected consequence of his parents’ combined failings. Finwë had deceived her, and his secret brought irreparable damage to the entire family.

And then Melkor had made her a widow, alone again.

All of this was true. Indis had come to accept that Finwë was not entirely as she had once believed him to be, when she’d loved him from afar, and then throughout most of their marriage. Indis had reconciled herself to some hard truths, but she now saw that those truths had been incomplete, and that some of the missing pieces lay within herself rather than in the inscrutable hearts of others.

Obedience, faithfulness, and reflective appreciation for the beauty and tranquility of Aman were enduring traits of her people. Convinced of the wisdom and goodness of the Valar, the Vanyar did not feel a need to seek “deeper” truths, content instead to aid the Valar in their endeavors, and to return their blessings with praise and devotion. While she had always been intrigued by the restless curiosity and creativity of the Noldor, Indis had also seen that their quests for knowledge and power sometimes led them into selfish, futile conflict with those around them and, somewhat perversely, blinded them at times to the larger truths that were embodied by the Valar. But now it occurred to Indis that an unquestioning acceptance of her life and its circumstances had carried a cost as well. For, somehow, she had failed to see that her life was not merely a reflection of others’ choices, but was the product of her own agency. Her life was shaped as much by her own desires as it was by those of others.

It was almost too painful to admit that she herself had had a hand in creating the sorrow that fell upon those she loved the most. “Perhaps Finwë kept his secret for a similar reason,” she mused, for the first time feeling an inkling of sympathy for the decision her husband had made.

Finwë kept his guilty secret to himself for as long as he could, and much grief had come about because of that. However hard it would have been to admit his betrayal of Míriel, the consequences of keeping that secret were surely worse. Indis thought back to the exchange between Findis and Ingoldo in Tirion – while Melkor was unquestionably the dark catalyst for the horrors that had unfolded, it was not by chance that he’d selected the House of Finwë in which to stir unrest.

"What would have happened had Finwë told me the truth?" Indis wondered. Since Finwë’s revelation, Indis had held fast to the belief that, had she known about Míriel’s choice, she would not have married Finwë. "But if he had told me soon after we wed, what would I have done then?" Perhaps it was impossible to know now what she would have done so long ago.

"If nothing else, I know from Finwë’s example that hiding my guilt from others may cause more harm than whatever might come from admitting what happened," Indis realized. "The truth must be acknowledged, if our family is to ever have any healing." She raised her head, turning a bit to face Nienna, only to discover that the Vala was no longer where she had been sitting. Indis rose and looked around the glade, but Nienna was nowhere to be seen.

Indis paused. She could return to the fountain, where Findis and Galadriel were waiting, although she did not relish the thought of revealing her shame to her daughter and granddaughter. But both had come with her expressly to lend their support for … what? What had she sought, if not this? It seemed so obvious, now. But it would not be pleasant.

Indis set out on the path that would lead her back to the fountain. Her steps were slow, as her mind was turned inward, considering how best to explain her discoveries to Findis and Galadriel.

She was not aware of how long she’d been walking, when she found herself rounding a corner and emerging on the edge of the fountain’s clearing. Galadriel and Findis were bent over a small, still pool which was fed from the larger pool of Lórien’s fountain. Irmo stood on the other side of the pool, also watching what Galadriel seemed to be showing them in the water.

As Indis approached, Irmo’s head lifted and he smiled in kindly greeting. Galadriel also raised her head, and her eyes met Indis’s eyes. “Grandmother, the night has changed you, I think.”

Findis moved forward to greet Indis with an embrace. Stepping back again, her eyes scanned her mother’s face. “Yes, Galadriel, I believe you are right. Mother, are you well?”

Indis smiled for the first time since entering Lórien. “…Yes, I am well, dearest. The Lady helped me to find the truth I had been seeking, and now that I know it, I am amazed that I did not see it before. I will tell you about it by and by. But first, will you tell me what you are watching in the water?”

Irmo answered, “Your granddaughter was once my finest pupil, and I am pleased to see that she learned the sightful arts well. She has been showing us what lay in the East during her long exile. Some terrible things, but also some things of wonder and hope.”

Findis spoke up, “I had never seen the face of Melian’s daughter, who was accounted as the most beautiful of all the Elves, and now that I have beheld her visage in the water, I must agree that Luthien was the fairest of all our kin! And Galadriel’s own granddaughter, whom we will never know because she, too, has embraced mortality, looks much like her. I feel a sadness that I will never know either of them, but I am glad to have at least caught glimpses of them, for their beauty makes their choices seem all the more noble.” Findis let out a small, wistful sigh.

She brightened quickly, as a mischievous smile lit her face, “And, Mother, we have seen Galadriel’s husband in the water, as well! He appears much as she described him to us; I long to know him, too, and look forward to his coming to Aman. Galadriel, you must show Mother!”

Galadriel returned her aunt’s smile, but looked carefully at Indis. “Grandmother, would you not rather tell us of what you have learned this past night?”

Indis shook her head. “Not yet, my dear. Let us leave it for the time being, as it is still settling in my mind and I am not yet ready to speak of it. Right now I would much rather see what you would show us in Lord Irmo’s pool.”

Irmo himself did not linger at the pool, as he set out in the strong morning light to work with his assistants in various parts of the garden. Estë had already departed for her island retreat in Lórellin, where it was her habit to spend the day dreaming of things past and future, and those that might have been.

Indis and Findis therefore spent several hours alone gazing at the reflections that Galadriel conjured in the still water – they beheld the magnificence of Thingol’s palace in Doriath, and Findárato’s at Nargothrond. They witnessed the strange realm of Aulë’s folk, Khazad-dûm, through which Galadriel had passed with Celebrian when journeying to the garden realm she eventually came to rule.

They beheld for the first time the treeherders beloved by Yavanna, and the faces of Moriquendi elves, who would never journey to Aman. They saw the lively faces of Men and their shy, small Halfing cousins. As was true of all the Eldar who never journeyed out of Aman, Indis and Findis had only met one Man – Idril’s husband, Tuor. They had recently laid eyes on two of the improbably small Hobbits, Frodo and Bilbo, whose hearts and courage far outstripped their size. Now catching sight of the weird, lively world that lay to the East, and the myriad creatures who dwelled within it, Indis and Findis both found themselves curious for the first time about what lay beyond Aman’s protected borders.

Findis smiled at Galadriel. “I confess that I could never comprehend why you sought to leave Aman, to journey to the unknown world of mortal beings, dark with danger. I could not imagine wanting to do so myself! And yet, the things you have shown me make me wonder what life would be like in a place of constant uncertainty. The danger is there, and the inevitable sadness of death and change … but somehow what you have shown us seemed also to carry an … energy, a sense of purpose and promise and … what? Am I imagining these things? For the first time, I find myself wondering if the life of the Eldar here in the Undying Lands could be different than it has always been.”

Galadriel’s eyes grew distant. “When I left these shores, I burned with a strong desire to undertake action as I deemed best, rather than to merely follow the guidance of the rulers of the Eldar, and that of the Valar. I confess that I dared to think that I could do better than they had! I was aware that Grandfather’s rule of the Noldor was imperfect – he did not curb their irreverence toward the Valar as he might have. And, as we have discussed at length, he did a very poor job guiding his eldest son. I sought to find a place where I could exercise my will and judgment in a way that would bring great happiness and peace to those around me.”

Galadriel smiled ruefully. “Of course, I’d failed to appreciate that my own discontent was yet another manifestation of the Noldor’s boundless curiosity and inability to be content with the wisdom bestowed upon them by the Valar. On the one hand, I saw my Vanyar and Teleri kin, each at peace with their existences in Aman, as superior to the Noldor’s endless questing. And yet, I also sought to show the Valar that peace could come from Aman to those beyond, that Morgoth’s darkness did not have to prevail beyond this protected realm. Is it not strange that I did not see a hypocritical contradiction in my views of the Noldor and myself?

“Once I was in Middle Earth, I soon came to see that reconciling the competing needs and interests of people is difficult under the best circumstances. And Middle Earth rarely offered easy solutions! The shadow of Morgoth, and then of his servant, Sauron, made the wild chaos of unconstrained life and death all the more perilous for those who sought to bring the truth and peace of Aman to the East. I did find it challenging, and I often thrilled to the challenge, for I felt that I could do good, by applying what I had learned from Irmo and Estë, from Yavanna, from Father and Mother, and from my grandparents. But it was never easy, and when I departed Middle Earth to return home, my weariness was so heavy that I didn’t feel I could endure there much longer. That is why I left before Celeborn was ready to leave himself.

“The lives of Men and other mortals are necessarily different from the lives of the Elves, and of the Eldar in particular. Men’s short lives and their lack of contact with the Valar – indeed their lack of certainty that the Valar even exist, or if they are beneficent – largely limits their thoughts to immediate concerns. This can often lead to rashness that any but the most foolish of Elves would avoid, but it also can also yield breath-taking bravery and inventiveness. And while their lives are immeasurably shorter than that of the Elves, Men are nevertheless tied to the particulars of their existence in Arda, in ways that Elves never truly are. For many years my exile in Middle Earth was irreversible, for the Ban lay upon me and I could not return, bodily, to Aman even if I had wished to. But had I met with death, I could have left unhappy or seemingly impossible circumstances in Middle Earth for Námo’s halls, without surrendering my actual existence in Arda. Men cannot do so, thus while their lives are in many ways more temporary and ephemeral than that of the Elves, they are also required to endure and to find ways to survive, even when hope is faintest. They have a tenacity that I found admirable, even though I often found their ways to be frustratingly unwise.

“And so, Aunt, I can report that life beyond the shores of the Undying Lands is unimaginably difficult, but also very rewarding. I find my strength is gradually returning now that I am home again, and I hope that I have learned much in the course of my journeys in the East. Middle Earth has changed me, forever. Yet it is no longer possible for the Eldar to go there themselves, and those Elves who choose to remain will find themselves dwindling into a marginal twilight as Men assume what is perhaps their rightful place as rulers in Middle Earth. The time of the Elves, of constancy amidst change, is at an end there. As Melian has observed, it was never easy for the Elves to abide even in earlier ages; I deem it will be much more difficult from now on.”

Findis was silent as she digested Galadriel’s explanation. Then, nodding, she remarked, “Yes, but perhaps we may all learn from the lessons that you and others who have dwelled in Middle Earth have gained from your experiences in the unsheltered world.”

“Perhaps,” Galadriel acknowledged. “That remains to be seen, although I would be happy if it came to pass. But I am for now content that I have been able to accomplish some good in Middle Earth, and have returned home with greater knowledge of myself, and the humility that must accompany such self-knowledge. And, apparently, learning the truth about oneself is an unending task!”

All Apologies

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Indis rested under the shade of a broad-leafed tree as the afternoon sunlight started to wane. Galadriel and Findis had set out to wander in some of the adjacent areas of the garden, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

As the sun’s descent tinted the sky with hues of gold and pink, her daughter and granddaughter returned to the fountain clearing. Indis rose to meet them.

“I have been turning over in my mind all day how best to convey what I have learned about myself, for I can take no joy in what I have discovered. Yet, I recognize the truth in it, and know that it should not remain hidden. Galadriel, I took heart in hearing your account of what led you to seek your destiny in the East, and how you have learned to recognize past mistakes and weaknesses as an inevitable part of gaining wisdom. The Eldar might not be as subject to the changes brought by time as are the mortal races, but that does not mean that we should strive to remain unchanging … including in our knowledge of ourselves.”

Indis drew a deep breath, “And that brings me to what I have finally come to see, with the Lady Nienna’s help. … I am not as blameless in the circumstances that led to my marriage to Finwë as I had long led myself, and others, to believe.”

Findis and Galadriel observed her solemnly, without comment. Indis wandered over to the fountain’s pool, and they followed her.

Indis continued, “it was not fate which led to my encounter with Finwë when he was mourning Míriel, it was me. My heart led my feet to wander where he was likely to pass. At the time, I had no thought other than to be with Finwë, but if I had been honest with myself about why I wished to interact with him – because I had long loved him and wished to have his love in return – my good sense might have prevailed, and I would have not pursued him.”

Indis sighed, her eyes trained on the water below. “I cannot in truth say that I would undo what I did, because I love my family too much to regret marrying Finwë and bearing his children. But I must acknowledge that the joy I have taken in my family came at a cost to others – including, ultimately, my own children. My actions were heedless and selfish, and if I was not directly aware of what I was doing when I put myself in Finwë’s path, that was only because I did not wish to admit it to myself.”

The three elves stared down into the water, which reflected their faces, the glowing sky above, and the branches of the trees surrounding the clearing. After some moments Galadriel met her grandmother’s eyes in their reflections on the water’s surface. She asked quietly, “Did you hope to wed him even then, Grandmother? Did you foresee what would happen?”

Indis held Galadriel’s gaze in the water. “No, no I did not. At least not in any way that I was aware of. For one thing, what happened was, at the time, unthinkable. But also, I had been suppressing my love for Finwë for a long time, I had learned to live with the dull ache of it, although I thrilled at every encounter I had with him over the years. The Lady has asked me if I had other suitors before I wed Finwë, and I did – but I rejected them all, without ever allowing myself to consider why I rejected them. If I had been able to acknowledge why I kept myself from love for so long, perhaps I would have better recognized what I was doing when I set out to cross Finwë’s path. But as it was, I told myself that I merely sought his friendship, and to provide support for him in his time of need.

“He came to see my love for him, for I found it impossible to conceal. When Míriel still lived, Finwë hadn’t paid me much attention. I was Ingwë’s younger sister, nothing more, although my brother had observed my feelings for Finwë. But when we met after Míriel’s departure to Lórien, Finwë saw that I loved him, and the seed was planted in his mind to cease pursuing Míriel, and instead join with me.

Indis looked up from the pool’s surface and focused her eyes on a distant tree. “The first mistake I made was to insert myself into a situation where, according to the laws and customs of our people, I had no place. Had I not done so, perhaps eventually Finwë would have found a way to endure until Míriel deemed it time to return.”

Galadriel’s brow furrowed. “But surely, Grandmother, you are not suggesting that you are entirely responsible for the fact that Grandfather came to love you?”

“No, of course not. I could never compel Finwë to do something that he did not wish to do – and I would not have wanted to command his love even if I could! Love that isn’t given freely is surely not love. But our meeting was not by chance, I made it happen.” Indis paused for a moment as a new thought occurred to her. “… In fact, I suppose that in that regard I deceived Finwë even before he deceived me, for he believed our meeting to be fated, a second chance for him, perhaps offered by Eru himself.”

Findis asked, “Father never knew that you had deliberately set out to meet him?”

Indis lowered her eyes to the ground directly at her feet. “No, he never knew. I barely allowed myself to know it at the time, and as our love grew we both came to see it as our destiny. I suppose I preferred Finwë’s understanding of our meeting, because by the time he made his petition for us to wed, I too firmly believed that our union was fated to be.”

Indis lifted her head and stepped back a few paces from the pool, before turning again to face her daughter and granddaughter. “And that led to the second mistake I made. When Finwë first looked at me with love in his eyes, I was overcome with joy. I could not believe it was truly happening. The only time I felt such intense joy was when you, Findis, our first child, came into the world. I had never allowed myself to even imagine that he would ever return my love, for it was all but unthinkable … and yet, it had become real!

“I was too caught up in happiness to even consider the possible need for caution. The obstacles to our love were all external: the likelihood that the Valar would not allow it to continue, and the problem posed by Míriel herself. Those two things seemed insurmountable, and all of my energy, and all of Finwë’s, was focused on what slim chance we might have of overcoming them.

“As you know, I had long envied Míriel, and I found her decision to leave to be inexplicable and deplorable. Finwë did not seem to know why she left, and that merely reinforced my belief that Míriel’s heart was perverse, causing her to not value that which she should have treasured above all else. This was a very convenient view for me to hold, as it did not require me to consider that Míriel Serindë must have had a very compelling reason to leave her husband and child. Instead I assumed that she did not.”

Indis sighed, and shook her head sadly. “This was unwise, for two reasons. Obviously, I failed to anticipate that she had not intended to remain away from life forever, and for a long time I have borne the guilt of knowing that I had a hand in condemning her to remain unhoused. But … I also failed to consider that, whatever her reason for leaving was, it could have been an issue that would arise in my own marriage to Finwë.”

Galadriel interrupted, “Grandmother, did Nienna tell you why Míriel left?”

Indis shook her head again. “No, she would not, although I believe that she knows. But she did tell me where Míriel now dwells. She works with Vairë in her workshop in Námo’s halls. Míriel weaves a tapestry that records the deeds of the Noldor.”

Galadriel’s face showed her confusion. “She lives in Námo’s halls?”

Findis responded, in a low voice. “The halls are large, bigger even than Manwë’s palace, and there are many sections, not all of which house the fëar. At inquiring looks from Galadriel and Indis, she explained, simply, “I have visited the halls, looking for news of Nolofin, and Father.”

Indis frowned. “I did not know that you journeyed to Mandos. Why did you never tell me?”

Findis replied, “Because I learned very little in going, Mother, and I did not wish to trouble you with thoughts of it, since I could tell you nothing more than you already knew – that the fëar of Nolofin, Lalwen, and Father, along with many of our kin, now reside within the halls.”

Findis continued, “As you both surely know, no living being may enter Mandos, and I certainly did not gain entrance. There are many doors to the hall, all of which are usually closed, but occasionally a door will open, and one of Námo's assistants will emerge for some errand or other purpose. Elves who seek news of loved ones whose fëar they believe are within the halls must wait until one of the Maiar, or even sometimes Vairë or Námo themselves, come out. I met neither the Lord nor his Lady, but was told by their servants that the circumstances and duration of a fëa’s time within the halls cannot be divulged to any other party – it is between that fëa and Námo himself. I was advised that the spouses of unhoused fëar may seek news of their beloved, but what that news could be I cannot say. I have the impression that on rare occasions the Maiar who work with Námo may carry some messages from those who wait without to those who wait within.”

Findis hesitated for a moment, and then revealed, “I do know that Anairë has sought news of Nolofin. But she has never shared anything that she learned with me, and I did not wish to pry, if she would not tell me herself. It may well be that she learned very little. The Maiar and Valar who work with unhoused fëar are not inclined to be forthcoming. Indeed, it was unusual that they even confirmed to me that the fëar of my brothers, sister, and father were in fact within the halls. Of course, we already knew that Father, Nolofin, and Fëanáro were dead … and eventually we learned that Lalwen, too, had perished in the East.

“But there are some who do not know the fate of their loved ones. Nerdanel, for example, does not know what became of her second-born. The deaths of five of her sons were confirmed by Noldor who returned after the lifting of the Ban, and I know that she has learned that Maitimo is also now within Mandos … but none have told her what has become of Makalaurë.” Findis turned to her niece. “Did you ever hear news of Makalaurë when you were in Middle Earth?”

“Nothing reliable after the War of Wrath,” Galadriel replied gravely. “Once, during the time that Celeborn and I dwelled in Lindon, I was sure that I heard his voice over the sound of the waves coming into shore. But I did not see him. Over the years others have claimed to hear his singing, always by the sea, but I have never spoken to any who have actually seen him. I know that Elrond has searched for him, fruitlessly. If he remains still in Middle Earth, I deem that he does not wish to be found.”

Findis shook her head sadly, and moved to the far side of the pool. “Fëanáro’s sons met particularly tragic ends, and the sorrow brought to Nerdanel is beyond measure. Yet Námo does not seem to be moved to pity her, innocent though she was in her husband’s terrible deeds, and she is left without even the comfort of knowing what has become of Makalaurë, or if she will ever see any of her children again. The severity of Námo’s judgment is felt even by those upon whom it does not fall directly.”

Indis nodded slowly. “It is an unavoidable consequence, for Námo is not cruel.”

“Of course he is not, Mother, but I wonder if he realizes how much sorrow exists outside his halls, for those awaiting the return of those within.” Findis responded rather sharply.

“I feel certain that he is aware of that sorrow, yet that is the way of love and the bonds we share with each other,” Galadriel offered. “How could it be otherwise?”

“I suppose you are right,” Findis allowed. “At any rate, Námo’s halls are hush with secrecy, and those without know little of what lies within. If Míriel Serindë dwells within, I am not surprised that none of the Eldar have known of it until now.”

“Yes, and Nienna did tell me that Míriel does not enter the chambers that house the fëar,” Indis explained. “It would seem that not only is she apart from the Eldar that live, she is separated from the dead, too.”

“So even in death, Fëanáro was not reunited with his mother,” Findis observed softly.

“No … it would seem not,” Indis agreed.

Twilight had descended, and Galadriel tilted her head back to gaze at the stars winking in the evening sky. Findis moved several paces beyond the fountain’s pool, her back to her mother and niece.

Indis gathered her thoughts and continued her confession. “My fault in this was the result of selfishness and self-righteousness. I did not recognize my motives in seeking out Finwë, nor did I ever admit them to him, and I did not give sufficient thought to Míriel’s purpose or intentions.

“Therefore I bear some responsibility for the unhappiness of our family. Findis, I must apologize first to you, not simply because you are present now to hear it, but because you have had to bear a large portion of the sorrow wrought by my choices. I know that you were pulled between your love for me and for your siblings, and your love for your half-brother. I know of your anguish at the strife that erupted in our family, and that the losses of your siblings, including Fëanáro, have brought you much sadness. … Also, I fear that you have avoided marriage for yourself because of the unhappiness you witnessed in my imperfect marriage to your father. You have never wavered in your kindness and goodness, and the fact that you removed yourself from Tirion well before Fëanáro and Nolofin came to blows stands as a reprimand to the circumstances of our household, which I helped to create.”

Findis had not turned to face her mother as Indis spoke, and she remained silent when Indis had finished.

After an awkward moment, Indis looked at her granddaughter. “Galadriel, Aratanis, my dear, brave child, I also owe you an apology, the same apology that I owe to Ingoldo, and which he shall have from me when I return to Tirion. Although the strife in our family did not fall so directly upon you as it did on your aunt and your father, you and your brothers were also affected by the mistakes that I made. It is no wonder that you sought to bring justice to others, since there was little enough of it in your father’s family.

“While you say that you wished to go abroad even before Melkor’s darkness was revealed in Aman, had he not been able to manipulate Fëanáro and Nolofinwë as he did, perhaps the exile of the Noldor would not have come to pass, and Angrod and Aegnor would be with us now, instead of within Mandos. I know that you have been chastising yourself of late for failing to comprehend the full truth about Fëanáro, but I must repeat what I said earlier – you could not have known that truth. The half-truths that constituted the foundation of my marriage to Finwë were not solely of his creation. I too had not been as forthcoming as I should have been.”

Galadriel smiled gravely at Indis, and moved forward to embrace her. “Grandmother, I can see how much this pains you. I am sorry to learn of these things, and while this knowledge helps to lessen the anger and resentment I have been feeling about Grandfather’s choices, it does not at all affect the love I have always felt for you. For my part, I accept your apology, and I thank you for having the courage, concern, and honesty to look upon what is long past and recognize the part that you played.”

Tears welled in Indis’s eyes as she returned Galadriel’s embrace. “Thank you. Thank you my dear.”

There was another silent pause, and then Findis turned slowly to face her mother, without moving any closer to Indis and Galadriel. “I too am grateful, Mother, that you have found the courage to admit these things, to yourself, and to us. I can accept your apology, and I do accept it. But it seems to me that I am not the first person to whom you should apologize. There is another, whose suffering has been greater than mine.”

“Yes, I intend to speak to Nerdanel too, for I realize that her losses are to some extent an indirect result of my actions,” Indis acknowledged.

“I am not referring to Nerdanel, Mother, although I agree that you should speak with her,” said Findis. “After what you have just told us, it seems to me that the person to whom you should apologize before all others is Míriel Serindë.”

At Vairë's Door

Read At Vairë's Door

Indis and Galadriel looked in surprise at Findis, whose last words had been uttered with uncharacteristic vehemence. Indis recovered first, to ask, “I’m not sure that I understand you, Findis. How can I speak with Míriel, when she resides where I cannot go?”

Findis nodded shortly. “Yes, it may well be that you will not be able to speak with her, Mother. But I think that you must try. You have been seeking to heal the old wounds that our family has carried for many ages. And you have come to see that Father was not solely responsible for the wrongs that were done – wrongs that were done first to Míriel and to Fëanáro before they affected anyone else. You cannot speak with Fëanáro. But there is a small chance, a chance at least, that you might speak with Míriel.”

As Indis considered this, Galadriel spoke. “I believe that Aunt is right, Grandmother. And if you are able to speak with Míriel, you might even learn why she left Grandfather.”

“Yes, Mother. You have mentioned Míriel every time you have touched upon what happened, about your marriage to Father, or Fëanáro’s hatred, or any of the sorrows visited upon our family.”

Indis spoke slowly, “perhaps you are right. … I confess that I dread the very thought of facing her, but perhaps it is necessary, perhaps healing will be impossible until I do.”

Findis nodded again, this time mute as she struggled to hold back tears that were welling in her eyes. She closed the gap between herself and her mother, and embraced Indis with a deep sigh. “I think it is necessary, Mother. I will go with you. You won’t have to face her alone.”

A light sound from the edge of the clearing alerted them to a new presence. Estë had risen from her daytime dreaming, although Irmo had not yet returned to the fountain clearing. “Good evening, Indis. Good evening, Findis, and Galadriel.” Her melodious voice calmed Indis’s anxiety, and when Estë had drawn near she reached out her hand to cup Indis’s chin, and scrutinize her face. “You look much improved since I saw you yestereve,” she remarked.

“Thank you very much, Lady, you are correct. My talk with the Lady Nienna has done me tremendous good, although my healing is not yet complete. In fact, my daughter has helped me to see that my next task is to seek out Míriel Serindë, to ask for her forgiveness for the part that I played in her sorry fate,” Indis replied earnestly.

“Is her fate so sorry?” Estë asked somewhat cryptically. “It is certainly unique but I put it to you that, unless you have a way of knowing what is in Míriel’s heart before you have even spoken with her, you cannot know that hers is an unhappy existence.”

“I admit that I have no knowledge whatsoever of what lies in Míriel’s heart,” Indis replied. “But it seems to me impossible that she could be happy as she is, severed from all her kin, abandoned by her husband, unable to see her only child. I know that I should hate such a life.”

“Your sympathy does you credit, Indis,” Estë observed. “But, while it is always well to imagine yourself in another’s place, you must not make the error of assuming that all experiences must mirror your own. I have conversed on many occasions with Míriel Serindë, and while I will not speak for her, I do suggest that you avoid drawing premature conclusions about her.”

A hint of a self-deprecating smile emerged on Indis’s lips, as she sighed, “since unwarranted assumptions about Míriel were the very thing which led me to my gravest error, I must take care to avoid that folly again,” she acknowledged.

“You understand well now, Indis,” Estë replied warmly. “And while I have suggested that Míriel’s condition might not be as unhappy as you imagine it to be, I applaud your decision to seek her out. As she is not in my charge I cannot tell you for certain that you will be successful in seeking her out, but I can at least point you in the right direction. If you would set out now, I will accompany you to the edge of Lórien, from which it is but a short distance to Námo’s halls. If you would rather wait until the sun has risen in the morn, I will instruct you about how to reach Vairë’s door in Námo’s halls.”

Indis looked at her daughter and paused before replying. “I think that I would like to set out now, rather than waiting for the morning to come,” she decided. “And although I would dearly like to have your company on this quest, Findis, I think it is something that I should undertake alone. If you would wait here with Galadriel, I would be grateful. I will return here directly after going to seek Míriel, although I cannot say now how long I might be.

“Of course, Mother,” Findis replied. “But if you are gone longer than seems reasonable, I cannot promise that we won’t come looking for you!”

Indis smiled, “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” she asserted. “And if I decide that I, too, would like to take up weaving in Vairë’s workshop, I will be sure to send word to you so that you won’t be left to wonder what has become of me!”

Estë joined the laughter of the three elves, and then turned to Indis, “Let us set out then, Indis.” She turned to Galadriel and said, “And if you will be so kind, child, I will charge you with informing my husband that I might not join him this evening, for the journey to the northwestern edge of Lórien will take some time, and I might even visit Mandos myself, to visit the fëar within. But I shall return tomorrow, and will perhaps see you both then.”

“Yes, Lady,” Galadriel replied. She and Findis both bowed to the Vala, who once more took Indis’s arm, as the two glided from the fountain clearing.

The journey to the edge of Lórien took several hours, during which time Indis and Estë exchanged only a few words. The Vala perceived Indis’s need to prepare herself for the encounter with Míriel; indeed Indis found her mind turning repetitively over a jumble of thoughts – what she would say to Míriel … and what she might hear in return.

But although Estë did not seek to engage Findis in much talk, she was not silent, and the anxiety that Indis felt was lessened a bit by the lulling, haunting melodies that Estë hummed and sang as they walked through the moonlit garden realm. Indis heard songs that seemed to hearken to the time before the Two Trees, when the Valar themselves had dwelled in the East, during the Spring of Arda. Estë’s first songs were green, sweet, delicate, and tender. Then, without Indis noticing exactly when the change occurred, the songs shifted to sounds of cool darkness, muted and tinged with sorrow. The words were not intelligible to Indis, for Estë sang in a tongue that she had never heard before, and yet somehow she found that she understood all the same – Estë was singing of sorrows endured, of unexpected loss and grief. Eventually the songs changed again, and the melodies were warmer, richer and more complex than before. Now Estë sang of redemption, of new life and restored hopes.

By the time they reached the border of Lórien, Indis had reconciled herself to facing Míriel, and to seeking her forgiveness, even if it was not granted. She did not allow herself to guess at what response she might receive; rather, she focused on what she needed to convey, and resolved that part of her task would be to hear whatever Míriel might wish to say to her.

Estë stopped singing as they exited the garden realm. The first hint of dawn glowed on the eastern horizon, and overhead Indis could see Ëarendil’s star traversing the sky. Estë pointed northward and explained, “Mandos lies ahead, and should not be more than an hour’s walk for you. You will be approaching the southern side first, and you should follow the outer wall westward, and then round the corner to the western side. Pass through the outer gate, and in the center of the western face of the building you will find Vairë’s door. Send a prayer to Vairë, explaining why you have come. She will answer you, one way or another.”

Estë turned to face Indis, and pressed a kiss onto her forehead. She smiled warmly, “Go with my blessing, Indis. May you find the peace you seek, and which I think you now deserve.”

“Thank you, Lady. You will not then go to Mandos yourself?” Indis asked.

“I will go, but by another path, as I do not seek Vairë’s workshop,” Estë explained. “Our paths part here."

The sun had breached the horizon when Indis reached Mandos. With Estë’s words echoing in her mind, Indis arrived at the door which led to Vairë’s workshop within the Hall of Mandos. She bowed her head for several moments, and then lifted her arms, palms upward, in prayer, asking to be granted speech with one who dwelt within.

Ages ago, on the rare occasions when Finwë’s first wife was discussed after her deliberate passage into the halls of Mandos, the Noldor who remained in Aman had taken to calling her Firiel, “she who sighed.” The new name had seemed disparaging, and Indis had never used it. She closed her eyes as she prayed to Vairë and to Námo,

Great Lord and Lady, I beseech thee both.
Grant that I, though living, might enter
To speak with Míriel Serindë, if she will.
That I might thereby gain peace of mind
And set right old wrongs, if I may.
And if Eru wills it.

Her prayer met with silence. Undeterred, Indis drew breath and repeated her entreaty, again and again. As she began to recite it a fourth time, the door opened, and Nienna and Vairë stood before her. Nienna’s hood was thrown back and Indis could see her smile, warm and grave at the same time. Vairë spoke.

“Welcome, Indis, Queen of the Noldor. Sister, wife, and mother of kings. I know your purpose and I share the pleasure my husband’s sister takes in witnessing your courage and determination.

“Nevertheless it would be against all laws and nature to allow you, a living being, to enter my husband’s halls, even for a moment. I cannot grant your request. But the one for whom exceptions have been made is able to step outside these halls, if she will.”

“She will,” a low voice spoke from the shadows behind Vairë. A small figure moved forward and for the first time in more than four ages, Indis beheld the face of Míriel Serindë.

Unintended Consequences

Read Unintended Consequences

“My Lady has given me leave from my labors so that I might speak with you, Indis of the Vanyar and the Noldor. I am willing to do so for my own part, and I am counseled by my Lady, and by the Lady Nienna, that in so doing I might assist you in your quest to mend old wounds. As the grief from these wounds lies heavily upon me, with shame for the part I had in their making, I am willing to speak with you, Indis the Fair.”

Indis stared at Míriel, who did not smile as she gazed at the tall blonde figure before her. Míriel’s appearance was much as it had been before her passage into the Halls of Mandos: large dark grey eyes, rounder and wider than those of most of the Eldar, framed by delicately arched brows of a shade somewhere between black and the color of her long silver hair, and a small straight nose over a delicate mouth.

She was much shorter than Indis, and her movements were quick and economical. Although Indis was renowned for her grace, she briefly felt overly tall and awkward as Míriel passed the two Valar and exited the hall. Míriel wore a simple black dress over a long white chemise. Her hair was pulled back simply, as unadorned as her clothes. She wore no jewels, no rings or amulets.

“Shall I call you Sister?” Míriel asked solemnly. “It does not quite describe our connection, but I cannot think of how else to put it.” Indis could not tell if Míriel’s words were spoken in sympathy or derision. She chose to believe the former.

“I would like that, Sister,” she replied.

“You may also call me Míriel, if you wish. I am not used to conversing. Shall we stroll over to that small stream? It is a pretty place and I enjoy the sound of the water rushing over the rocks. It was one of the few pleasures that I rediscovered upon my return to life.”

“I will follow you, Míriel. And as you already have, please call me Indis.”

Míriel nodded once, then turned toward the stream. Indis looked back to bid farewell to the two Valar, only to find that Vairë’s door was already shut. She followed the small dark figure who moved ahead of her on sure feet.

After they had walked in silence for several minutes Míriel stopped at a spot on the side of the stream where the grass grew thick. She turned to Indis and raised an eyebrow in question. Indis nodded, and Míriel seated herself comfortably on the grass. Indis did the same. They sat in silence as Míriel gazed placidly at the rushing water, and Indis toyed with a piece of grass.

It falls to me to start this conversation, Indis told herself. But she was uneasy in the face of Míriel’s calmness. Míriel didn’t seem at all discomfited at finding herself in Indis’s company. But why should she be concerned? Indis realized. There is nothing I could ever say to her that would hurt her more than she has already been hurt. I am anxious because of what I fear she might say to me. Perhaps I am not ready to face the truth after all.

No! Giving herself a mental shake Indis drew her wits together, and addressed the strangely still figure sitting a few feet away from her. “I thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Míriel. I have journeyed across Aman to seek help from those who might know how I can resolve the issues that have hung over my family – over our family – for too many years to count. Our children share a father, and as you have already observed, that makes us kin of a sort, although the connection may be unwelcome to you.”

“It certainly was to my son.” Míriel’s reply was inscrutable.

“Yes, yes it was,” Indis admitted.

“And yet I do not find it to be an unwelcome connection, Indis. For the sake of our strange tie I will do what I can to help you find peace for your family,” Míriel offered calmly. “I say your family because, although our children indeed shared a father, neither my son nor any of his children remain to worry about. So the only family concerned, at this point, is your family. Not mine.” Míriel had turned her steady, direct gaze upon Indis, but her words were neutral, seemingly devoid of anger or resentment.

Indis understood. She is curious about my purpose, she does not see any remaining connection between her fate and mine, she thought.

Indis answered, “That is also true, Míriel. If you are willing to help me I will be most grateful to you. It is for the sake of my children, and my own peace of mind, that I have sought to unravel the coil of misunderstandings, falsehoods, and hard feelings that were woven into the very fabric of my marriage to Finwë.”

“And you believe that I was the instrument of that deception?” asked Míriel.

“No!” Indis hastily replied. “I know that you were not. It was Finwë himself who deceived me. I have lived with that knowledge for a very long time, for he revealed it before his death at the hands of Melkor. More recently I have come to understand that I, too, was not fully honest with myself, nor with Finwë, and so I bear some of the responsibility for the tragedies that descended upon our house”

“If Finwë deceived you, Indis, I cannot help but feel that it must have been inadvertent. Finwë would never deliberately lie. He has surprised me a few times since we first met, but I know him well enough to know that.”

“No … I agree that he would never deliberately lie, to anyone. His dishonesty lay in a failure to share certain facts with me, information that would have changed the course of our relationship had I ...” Indis wavered. The conversation was heading in a direction she had not intended.

“Did he fail to mention to you that he had loved me truly and deeply, before he loved you?” Míriel’s eyes had narrowed and in their depths a flame sparked, the white-hot glow of challenging scorn that Indis had seen all too often in Fëanáro’s eyes.

But Indis was not cowed. “Not at all. In truth, Míriel, he did not need to tell me that, because his deep love for you was clear to all in Aman. I was fully aware that you held his heart before he opened it to me.” Indis sighed. “I am sorry. I knew that I needed to see you, and yet now that I am here, and you are willing to speak, I find myself at a loss for words.”

Míriel said nothing for a moment, but the challenging gleam departed from her eyes. She seemed to relax a bit, and said, “Indis, I have no quarrel with you. If you are afraid of what you might hear from me, know at least that I have no accusations to lodge against you, and I hold you blameless in what has passed. I know that my son held you responsible for my fate, but I, of all people, know that he was wrong.”

Indis looked wide-eyed at Míriel. “In truth I am amazed and most grateful to hear that. Very well, then. I will try to come to the point.”

She took a deep breath. “Shortly before his death, my lord Finwë revealed to me something that he should have told me before we wed: that before you were summoned to answer Manwë's questions, before you had learned of Finwë’s plan to sever his tie with you so that he might take me to wife, it had not been your intention to remain forever within Námo’s halls.

Míriel seemed to draw into herself. “Yes,” she answered shortly.

“This discovery was the cause of the breach between me and my husband, who had been your husband before he was mine. Had I known that Finwë’s love for me, and our wish to wed, were what led you to ask to remain in Námo’s halls for all time, I would have broken with him. I swear to you that I would have, Míriel.”

Míriel’s gaze was distant and sad. “How could you have known, Indis? And what would have been accomplished if you had parted with Finwë, and refused to marry him? My final choice was made in an instant, and only Finwë and I knew why. Once the Valar issued their ruling, none of us could undo it.”

“Finwë could have spoken up before Manwë announced his decision,” Indis protested.

“Yes, he could have. But he did not,” Míriel replied, somewhat impatiently. “I fail to see what you think you could have done to alter the course of my fate.”

Indis persisted. “He should have told me. Instead he kept it from me and in so doing he made it almost certain that Fëanáro would be alienated from me and my children.” Indis’s voice grew low and bitter, “For we lived a lie, everyone who believed that your choice to abandon life was perverse, without cause. But Finwë knew the truth. And Fëanáro intuited it. And I … I should have been perceptive enough to realize that you must have had a reason to leave.”

Míriel turned her head to look sharply at Indis. “My choice was wholly voluntary. My reasons for doing so were mine, and of concern only to me, Finwë, and Fëanáro. The fact that Finwë did not choose to tell you the truth about what passed between us when I was summoned before Manwë is not something you will be able to resolve by speaking with me,” she said crisply.

Indis pressed on. “Be that as it may, since I cannot take it up with Finwë himself, I seek to understand what happened, what led to your departure from life. But I also seek your forgiveness, Míriel, for I should not have presumed to judge your reason, since I did not even know what it was.”

She continued, “I feel as though I never really knew Finwë, that my marriage was built on an illusion. Yet it produced four children whom I love dearly. I have been torn for many long years. My children, and your son, suffered because of Finwë’s deception, and because I would not see any reason to doubt that I should marry Finwë, once the Valar had allowed it.” Indis raised her hands in a helpless gesture.

Míriel turned her eyes back to the tumbling water for a long moment. Then she lifted her unflinching gaze once more to meet Indis’s beseeching eyes. “Very well,” she said. “I cannot see how this will help you, but since you have gone to all the trouble to find me and ask, I will tell you how I came to seek release from life.”

A wave of excitement and apprehension passed through Indis. For so long she had wondered, and now Míriel herself was about to explain her choice. “Thank you,” she replied in a hushed voice.

Míriel rose, with her toes just at the water’s edge. Her eyes grew distant again, as she appeared to summon her thoughts before she began her strange tale. “You are not the first to question me about my choice, but it may be that, apart from Finwë himself, you are the only one who might actually be able to understand me. At any rate, you are owed my best attempt, and so I shall make it now.

“My marriage to Finwë was a happy one, and we took great comfort and joy from one another. You of all people must know the power and allure of Finwë’s character. He makes others wish to know him and, perhaps more importantly, to be known by him. I was not at all like him in that regard, as you might have observed when we had occasion to meet, so long ago. I am reserved where he was outgoing, and while his enthusiasms were always infectious and drew others in, mine are more solitary and internal. Yet we made a good pair. Finwë would have an idea and I would see it to its fruition.

“We wed before the palace in Tirion was constructed, and this you might recall, since your folk had not yet moved to dwell on Taniquetil. Finwë, having seen Manwë’s hall, was inspired to build something as beautiful for himself and his people. I always had the sense that Ingwë and your people were offended by that ambition, as if the Noldor were reaching too far by trying to imitate the achievements of the Valar.”

Indis pondered this. “Yes, there might well have been that sense among my brother and his chief counselors, although I would not say that it was actually offense,” she allowed. “Perhaps puzzlement at what seemed like an unnecessary undertaking. But since my brother eventually built a palace for himself that rivaled Finwë’s in Tirion, ultimately he did not pass judgment on the Noldor for their efforts. But at first, yes, I think he was taken aback by their ambition.”

“I had always wondered about that,” Míriel commented with a small, wry smile. “But once Finwë had settled upon the idea of building a stone palace, nothing could dissuade him. Indeed I did not seek to change his mind, and instead set about helping him to realize this wish.”

“My chief talent has always been working with textiles, but I have some skill in drawing, too, and thus I oversaw the planning of the construction of the palace that Finwë wished to build. It was the first time the Noldor had attempted to build on such a scale and it required considerable planning and the coordination of hundreds of hands. If the main vision was Finwë’s, its execution was mine. Finwë had not the patience to attend to the small details of his undertaking. But he had the charisma and energy to inspire his folk to partake in his ambition, and without that, all of my planning and drawings would have been for naught.”

Indis nodded slowly as Míriel spoke, observing to herself, “no wonder, then, that I always sensed Míriel in that house – it was itself her handiwork!” Aloud, she asked, “I wonder that your part in its construction was not widely known, for indeed I remember coming with my brother to see Finwë’s palace as it was being built. I remember watching him as he oversaw the stonemasons and carpenters. He had such energy! I do not recall seeing you there, or knowing that you were involved in the building of it – it seemed to be Finwë’s creation entirely.”

Míriel shrugged. “That is ever how it was between us; neither Finwë nor I made a distinction between ourselves when it came to our joint undertakings. That the credit for things such as the palace went wholly to Finwë mattered not a bit to me, for my motivation had never been to gain the approval or admiration of others, but rather for the simple pleasure of the task itself and the greater pleasure its completion brought to my husband. Finwë brought me into the warmth and light of our people, for without his charm and strength to support me, I tended to shy away from all but my closest companions.

“Between us I would tease him at times when he referred to his palace, or his crown (which was also of my design). And at such times he admitted freely and with good cheer that such accomplishments were indeed ours and not just his. That this was known between the two of us was all that mattered to me. Our partnership was mutually satisfying, as our needs and our strengths were complementary.”

Indis digested this for some moments, and then offered, “yet some things were indeed yours alone – such as the fine tapestries you wrought which adorned the walls of the palace. Surely Finwë had no hand in that?”

“Indeed, no, my needlework was entirely my own, in both inspiration and in execution. Likewise I can take no credit for Finwë’s qualities as a leader. Neither of us was fully involved in all of the other’s undertakings, but more often than not we supported each other in essential, if unseen, ways.”

Míriel paused, and her words became more hesitant, though Indis could not tell whether it was out of reluctance or uncertainty. “When we decided to conceive a child … at first it seemed that, as ever, we would together produce something that would bring us both pleasure and pride. … But once the seed was planted, Finwë’s ambitions for the child began to grow to wild proportions: our child would be the most glorious child ever born to Elven kind, he would be the personification of the combined strengths of his mother and father – the most creative, the most insightful, the most beautiful, the most charming, the strongest, the quickest …” Míriel’s gaze was again distant as she paused.

“He was many of those things,” Indis said softly.

For the first time Míriel looked uncertain of herself. “Yes, perhaps…. In fact, Indis, I should say now that, when I was unhoused in Mandos, I was not wholly unaware of the kindnesses you showed to Fëanáro, and I thank you for that.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, indeed it was my duty; in marrying Finwë, how could I not embrace his son?” Indis answered simply.

“You persevered longer than most would have, in the face of his resentment and ingratitude. Yes, Fëanáro might have embodied many of his parents’ strengths, but he also inherited, from me, stubbornness, perfectionism, and indifference to the opinions of others.”

“… And from his father?” Indis wondered aloud.

“Ah, if you truly love Finwë, then you love him in spite of his flaws, and to do that you must know what they are. I never thought my husband was without his faults, and I have long known the weakness that came to my son from his father – are you saying you never saw it yourself?” Míriel raised an eyebrow at Indis, the hint of a mocking smile dancing on her lips.

Indis was silent for a moment. Of all the pains she had endured over the years, the worst were the doubts she felt about her husband, whom she had once adored with every ounce of her love and will. When she learned of his appalling betrayal of Míriel, Indis came to question how well she had ever known Finwë. Yet, she still loved him. Until very recently her response to this quandary had been to suppress such thoughts. But, having come to terms with her own complicity in the unhappy events in her past, Indis found that she was able to view her husband more clearly than she ever had before – for better and for worse.

She answered slowly. “… I suppose … the inability to see other truths besides his own … yes. Finwë was wise and kind and gifted in seeing to the heart of the matter when disputes arose between his folk … but when it came to his own family, to things close to his heart, he was ever blind to any perspective but his own. He expected us – me and our children – to understand and accept that Fëanáro must always come first. Not long before his death I learned why that was so. But it was never fair, and in fact it was not wise. And Finwë simply could not see that. In that, Fëanáro was like him, wasn’t he? I am sorry to say that your son’s terrible selfishness and stubbornness are usually attributed to you.”

Míriel laughed sadly, “Yes, I who now am called Firiel by my people – I know that I am a sad, strange mystery to them. And who can blame them for connecting my son’s weaknesses to my own? I am stubborn, and ever have been so. But it is a particular fault of Finwë that, the stronger his emotions, the less able he is to consider another’s perspective on the matter. And it was that which drove me to flee to Lórien."

Míriel continued her story, “As the child within me grew, my worries did too. A part of me was as eager as ever to see Finwë’s dreams realized, and indeed I poured all of my strength into the child, so that he might be as strong and as gifted as my husband wished him to be. Finwë’s hopes for Fëanáro were innocent, as all of his ambitions ever were, and that they involved his pride and self-importance should not be held against him. The fruits of his ambitions hitherto had always brought good things to his people. He had never had to choose between what he wanted and what was good for others, as the two were always one and the same.

“But in the conception of Fëanáro, Finwë’s failure to distinguish between himself and me, and also between himself and his son, had terrible consequences. My strength was sapped in carrying and bearing Fëanáro, but Finwë simply could not recognize how much it had drained me. He seemed to believe that, as with some of our other endeavors, this creation of a new life had been a truly equal undertaking – and he himself was not in the least bit tired! In fact, he was very eager to have more children. His own delight and excitement at Fëanáro’s birth blinded him to the cost that I had paid entirely from my own strength.”

“And yet,” said Indis, “he took great pain to make sure with me that I was not too taxed in bearing children. And each time we decided to have another child, he went to great lengths to be certain that it was what I wanted, and that I had the strength for it.”

“I am glad he learned that lesson, at least,“ said Míriel. “And indeed, perhaps you were better suited to bear children than I was, for your children are undeniably strong and good, yet you were able to deliver four to my one.”

“I love my children with all my heart and love none better than I love them,” said Indis. “But I can admit in all truth that, in native talent and raw power, none of my children could match their half-brother.”

“And yet, that is not all that mattered in the end, was it?” Míriel returned sadly. “Even now I wonder if I had remained in life, would Fëanáro’s character have taken a different shape? Would his faults have dominated him as they did? Would he have done such terrible things?”

“In seeking to answer these questions, you and I share a purpose,” said Indis.

“I don’t seek to answer them. They are my regrets and I have learned to bear them. We cannot undo what has passed. I don’t see what good could be served in answering them,” Míriel sighed.

“And yet, if I may ask, did you not foresee some part of what was to come with your son? Is that not why you left?” asked Indis.

“That is difficult to answer, but I will try. To do so I must return again to my relationship with Finwë and his ambitions for our son.”

Indis nodded. “It is curious that Finwë was so certain about what Fëanáro would be like, so convinced and unrestrained in his ambitions … because he did not express such definite hopes for any of our children. Neither our sons nor our daughters. In fact, he was careful to withhold predictions about what any of them would be like. In moments of doubt, I confess that I feared that perhaps he was reluctant to do so because he thought that no child of mine could compare to your glorious son, so his expectations were lowered,” said Indis.

“I think, rather, that he had learned the other thing I once sought to convey to him – that he was unreasonable to expect that our son would fulfill his ambitions,” Míriel responded.

She continued, “to me, Fëanáro would be what he was; that he would be great was clear to me, too, but I was troubled by the extent to which Finwë was consumed by his enthusiasm for our son’s greatness. Fëanáro was not a palace, built to Finwë’s specifications. But in the weeks and months following Fëanáro’s birth Finwë crowed with unfettered delight, as though Fëanáro’s every movement and sound was a precursor of greater marvels to come. Though I reminded my husband that our son was but an infant whose fate was yet to be revealed, Finwë was fixed on the visions of glory that he had for our son, and for the other children he wished us to have.”

Indis commented, “I remember his joy at Fëanáro’s birth. He commissioned a beautiful cup to be made – I believe it was wrought by Mahtan – which he had delivered to my brother. To commemorate his first-born. Ingwë was delighted for Finwë; indeed I think all in Aman shared in his joy,” said Indis.

“All but me,” Míriel observed.

“Yes. I learned that you were ailing a few months after the birth. We sent fresh figs and water from the spring on Taniquetil with the hope that they would help restore your spirit and strength.”

“Did you? That was very kind.” Míriel looked surprised. “I was in a haze of exhaustion and sadness, and took note of little besides my son and my husband. The exhaustion I think is easier to understand than the sadness. You have wondered why I chose to abandon my life. It came down to this: Finwë was so consumed by his vision for our son, and for a larger family, that he was oblivious to the fact that we were no longer of one mind. He simply could not grasp that I would want something other than what he wanted. And he was equally blind about our son.”

Míriel sighed. “What chance did my small son have to grow and flourish, if his father overwhelmed him with expectations? At his birth I, his mother, did not perceive fully where Fëanáro’s talents would lie, and I knew that Finwë did not possess such foresight, either. So his ambitions for our son were premature at best. Yet he was so adamant. There was no gainsaying him. Fëanáro would be a builder, he would become Aulë’s premier pupil, the Valar themselves would marvel at the things Fëanáro would create.”

“But he was right, Míriel, those things did indeed come to pass,” Indis pointed out.

Míriel shook her head. “But that matters not. Was it chance, a lucky guess on Finwë’s part? Did he push Fëanáro in that direction, perhaps unwittingly? It happened much as Finwë had hoped, but at what cost? I looked down at my tiny son and foresaw terrible sorrows. But my husband would not hear my worries. He only saw the glory that Fëanáro would bring to the Noldor.”

“Yes,” Indis replied, “Finwë could not, or would not, hear me when it came to Fëanáro. Although I have long believed that his blindness where Fëanáro was concerned was born of guilt.”

“That might have contributed to it,” Míriel agreed, “but the obsessive ambition was already there. And after three years I could endure it no longer. Finwë was wearing me down, and I felt that I might soon capitulate to his wish to have another child just to placate him.”

Indis frowned, “I cannot believe that Finwë would ever have forced you to bear another child.”

Míriel shook her head, “you misunderstand.” She sighed and gathered her thoughts for a moment before continuing. “Finwë was a loving, attentive husband. He worried over my lingering weakness and my disinterest for any of the things that had occupied me before Fëanáro’s birth. Yet, at the same time, he was bursting with enthusiasm and ambition, which he was unable to reign in. We had endless discussions, which wearied me all the more. After we would talk, for some days or even weeks afterward he would seem to understand – about my need for rest and peace, my lack of interest in having another child, and my concerns about his boundless expectations for Fëanáro. But, inevitably, he would break the confines of his new-found restraint, and I would have to explain myself all over again. Each time it took longer and more of my energy to convince him of the need for patience.”

Indis nodded slowly, “yes, he was always quite steadfast in his beliefs.”

Míriel shot Indis a sidelong glance, but did not respond to her remark. Instead she continued her tale. “Eventually I could bear it no more, for not only was Finwë persisting, but Fëanáro was growing, and he too required my energy. I wished I could give it to him, but I was just so tired.” Her eyes grew misty as she reminisced, “how I loved him. To my eyes he was the most beautiful child in all of Arda. I delighted in touching him, and holding him next to me. His first word was ‘light,’ which he uttered while pointing at the glow in the window from Telperion.”

“Is that so?” asked Indis in surprise. “Finwë told me that Fëanáro’s first word was ‘Mother’.”

Míriel laughed. “That was the first word Finwë heard him say. I’m sure I told him when Fëanáro said ‘light,’ for it was a few days, at least, before he said, ‘Mother.’”

“Perhaps in his grief Finwë only remembered the first word that he had heard from Fëanáro’s mouth, which would have seemed all the more significant once you were gone,” Indis suggested.

“Yes, perhaps.” Míriel’s reply was unrevealing.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Míriel spoke again. “So I thought to seek rest in the gardens of Lórien. I thought that if I spent some time there, in peace and solitude, I would regain my strength sufficiently to better curb Finwë’s excessive and heedless enthusiasm for an enormous family that would gain the admiration of the Valar themselves.”

Míriel sighed, “I did not intend to be away for too long. Perhaps a few months at most. I was sorry to leave my son, and my husband too, but I knew that I could not go on, exhausted in spirit and in body as I was at the time.

“Finwë objected strenuously. I should have known that he would, but I suppose I hoped that he would recognize my need. He did not wish to part from me. He worried about Fëanáro. And he was also concerned about what our people, and the Valar, would think if I sought refuge, alone, in Lórien.

“When he saw that I would not be swayed by his pleas to remain in Tirion, he determined to escort me to Lórien himself. I did not wish him to do this, because I just wanted to be alone for a while. And also because I deemed it would be better if he remained with our son. But he insisted … and once we reached Lórien, he would not leave my side! He was distraught and anxious about my well-being, and demanded that the Lord of Lórien do all in his power to restore my strength.

“Many months passed. Finwë journeyed back to Tirion twice during the time that I lived in Lórien, and when he departed the second time, I retreated, at Estë’s invitation, to her island in the middle of Lórellin. When Finwë returned to the gardens, he could not reach me, for no one may come to her island without Estë’s permission. But he sat on the shores of Lórellin and pleaded for me to return. He sang songs for me. When I think of it now, it touches my heart and I feel such pity for him. But at the time he drove me further into despair, for it seemed to me that my husband would not listen to me, would not allow me to have a need that did not suit his wishes.”

“He loved you greatly,” said Indis. “I think he truly did not understand why you left, and when I first met him he was desperate to regain you.”

“Yes,” Míriel nodded. “I know. I knew that even then, but it just wasn’t enough. It seemed that no matter where I went, Finwë would follow me and insist that I return with him. So, after more than a year had passed, I left my hröa on Estë’s island, and my fëa entered the halls of Mandos. And at last, I found peace.”

Míriel's Surprises

Read Míriel's Surprises

Míriel stepped back from the water’s edge and sat down rather abruptly. She shook her head and her eyes were distant as she continued her tale, her knees drawn to her chin. “In departing Tirion I had two purposes: to regain my strength away from the demands of my husband and child, and to make my husband see that our child could not be the means to his visions of glory for our people. I did not like to leave, but I saw no other way.

“When I entered Mandos, my two-fold purpose remained. The halls were not nearly as full of fëar as they are now – and even now, I think, the fëar within commune with each other only rarely. It is largely a place of silence, wherein a fëa comes to terms with herself, her limitations, her mistakes, and her possibilities.

“But of course my entry was unprecedented – at first Námo was reluctant to even allow me to enter, and tried to convince me to return to my hröa. When I explained why I wished to enter his halls, he relented, but not without misgiving. He reminded me that a fëa’s natural state is with its hröa, and only in the gravest of circumstances are the two severed. Likewise, he reminded me that a young mother’s place is with her infant, and a wife’s place with her husband. He felt that I was abdicating my duties to my son and my husband, and that I lacked faith in myself to see to it that Finwë followed a wise course. He was right, about all of these things, but first I just sought to rest for a bit.

“In what seemed like a very short time I was more at peace with myself and also with the struggles I’d had with Finwë, although I was still not ready to return to life when I was summoned before Manwë himself at Máhanaxar. I was escorted to the Council by Uquenta and Ahyalo, two of Námo’s assistants who had tended to me upon my entry into Mandos, and who have been my closest confidants ever since. Neither they nor I knew what business required my appearance in the Ring of Doom, but I assumed that it must pertain to Finwë.

“And sure enough, upon my entrance into Máhanaxar I discovered that Finwë had presented a petition to the Valar. My heart swelled with pity for him, and I felt remorse that I had forced him to go to such lengths to convince me to return to him. Although I would have preferred to abide a bit longer in Mandos, I decided that I should return soon to life, if Finwë truly could not bear my absence any longer. I addressed him with love, for although I no longer occupied my hröa, our fëa were able to communicate much as they had since we were wed. I asked him to be patient. … And then I divined his purpose, and I retreated from him. The last thing I perceived while communing with Finwë was shock, as he had concluded that I would never return to life. In my turn, I was shocked to find that he was petitioning to sever our tie so that he might wed you.

Míriel stared ahead with unseeing eyes. “In that moment, I saw that Námo’s admonishments had also been warnings. The path I had chosen led my husband to believe that I had utterly forsaken him, and our child. I had not realized that more than two years had passed since I entered Mandos, for to me it had seemed to be no more than a few weeks.

“In leaving I had been focused on my need for peace and my wish for Finwë to listen to reason. But I had failed to consider that in so doing I would deprive my husband of the support he had always depended upon me for. I knew that Finwë felt keenly the burdens of kingship; indeed his devotion to our people, and his wish to bring glory to the Noldor underpinned his drive to create an unparalleled royal family, one that would represent the best qualities of our people. Finwë had always harnessed his energy and enthusiasm for the good of our people and I realized, even when my spirits were at their lowest after Fëanáro’s birth, that his inability to hear me was simply a manifestation of the difficulty he had in separating his private duties to his wife and family from his public duties to his people. Before Fëanáro’s birth there was little need for him to distinguish between the two.

“And I did not share in that burden, for my own concerns had always been more privately focused. I was queen only because I was Finwë’s wife, and although I, too, loved our people, I never sought to lead them. Thus, I saw my son solely as a mother sees a child; while Finwë saw Fëanáro both as a father sees a son and as a king sees a prince. In arguing for my son, I appealed only to the father. In leaving my husband, I also left the king. In truth, I had forgotten the king … but the king, the father, and the husband were one and the same. I had failed them all.

“At Máhanaxar I discovered the terrible fruits of my stubborn, selfish path: Finwë had come to love another. The Valar were considering whether to allow him to repudiate his marriage to me so that he might wed you. You were standing next to Finwë – tall, golden, and beautiful. I observed your love for Finwë shining in your eyes, and I knew that such love was impossible unless Eru had deemed it good. I realized that I had underestimated so many things: Finwë’s needs, the narrowness of my own perspective, the passage of time. I am relating to you now an understanding that I did not possess in that moment. At the time, I was overwhelmed with grief, dismay, and confusion, and could not imagine returning to life under such circumstances.

“When Manwë addressed me, I responded to tell him that I did not wish to return to life. In that moment it was true. Ahyalo and Uquenta both urged me to reconsider. Námo warned me against making such an unnatural choice. But in that moment I did not know any goodness in the world, could not recall the love I felt for my son, could not feel anything but the terrifying knowledge of my failure. I responded, truthfully, that I wished to remain unhoused in Mandos, and that the Valar should not view me as an impediment to Finwë’s new marriage.”

Míriel stopped speaking. After a long pause she added, “And so it came to pass.” She had recounted her tale staring straight ahead, with distant eyes. Now, at a small sound from Indis, Míriel turned stoically to face her.

Indis wiped tears from her own eyes as she met Míriel’s. “I do feel towards you as I would a sister, and your account has touched my heart with much sadness. If only Finwë had known! If only … ah!” Indis sighed, shook her head, and then continued, “Now that you have explained what led you to your decision, I am all the more ashamed of my presumptuousness. In hearing your account I see that you knew Finwë far better than I ever did, and that you struggled with the most difficult part of his character. I suspect that his experience with you did teach him to better differentiate between his private and public duties, for he did not place such heavy expectations on me or our children as he did on you and Fëanáro.”

Míriel was silent for a moment, and then offered, “that is so. I have also come to realize that perhaps I was too private in my dealings with Finwë. I had only a few close friends besides my husband, and once I entered my confinement, prior to Fëanáro’s birth, I ceased to communicate even with them. Had I sought counsel or assistance from others, I might have been better able to meet the demands of my husband and child. I might have found a way to make Finwë truly understand me. I made my decision in isolation and exhaustion, and did not at the time recognize its flaws.”

The two elves sat watching the swift water tumble over the rocks. At last Indis spoke, “Thank you, Míriel, for sharing your story with me. You did not think that it would be very useful, but it has made things even more clear to me.” She drew a deep breath. “I have apologized already for my lack of sympathy for your plight, but there is a second matter for which I must beg your forgiveness … and I realize now that this trespass might be the worse of the two.”

Míriel regarded Indis with an impassive face, waiting while the latter paused for a moment with averted eyes.

Finally Indis continued, “I had long loved Finwë before we wed. Before he ever loved me. When you lived, I knew that my love for your husband was without hope, and could never be realized, so I buried it deep in my heart, and remained alone. But it drove me to seek Finwë after you had passed into Lórien. It was not mere chance that led to my encounter with your husband once you had entered Mandos. I had been in the habit of wandering alone, and I wandered where I was sure to encounter Finwë as he journeyed between Tirion and Mandos, for my heart would not be denied.”

At this, Míriel was jolted from the preternatural calm that had hitherto characterized her participation in their conversation. Indis had striven to meet Míriel’s calm, and had been grateful that the latter seemed disinclined to allow emotion to enter their discussion. That ended with her confession, as Míriel’s face clearly displayed her shock.

“But … but how could you have loved Finwë when he and I were husband and wife?” Míriel asked in confused disbelief. “You did not even know him then! I … I do not understand.”

Indis hung her head, unable to meet Míriel’s incredulous gaze. “From the first time I laid eyes on Finwë, shortly after the Noldor had arrived in Aman, I knew that I could love none other than him. And so I went without love for a long time, for it was equally clear to me that his heart was given to you.”

Indis summoned her courage and lifted her head. “For a very long time I had no thought of ever having Finwë’s love, and I was reconciled to remaining alone.” She glanced down before raising her eyes to meet Míriel’s. “But then you aba-, you left for Lórien, and later entered Mandos. And I could feel Finwë’s anguish, for I knew all too well … what it was like to be parted from the one you love. In an unacknowledged corner of my heart, the love I’d borne for so long, unanswered, sparked hope that perhaps my suffering would end. So … I made a point of wandering where he was sure to pass, between Tirion and the Halls of Mandos.”

Míriel’s face still showed her shock as she rose, shakily, to her feet. “… Finwë … believes that it was Eru’s will that he met you. He came to believe that although you were fated to meet, he was not wise enough to apprehend the right course of action. He believes that his imperfect reception of Eru’s good will led him to betray me. … He believes that all of his family, including you, came to sorrow, as a punishment for his failure to find the right path. He believes that his death at Melkor’s hands was in some way deserved!”

Indis nodded sadly. “I knew that he believed we were fated by Eru to meet, and at the time I believed that too. In fact, I had believed that to be true until very recently. With the Lady Nienna’s help I have come to see that I blinded myself to the truth even in that fatal moment, for I had long been accustomed to ignoring what I felt for Finwë. I did not truly know what I was doing when I set out to meet him.”

Until this point Indis had been sitting, but now she rose to better face an appalled Míriel. “I promise you that I had not intended any harm at all. I have come to recognize, at long last, my own motives in this matter, and I am filled with shame and remorse. But while my heart had compelled me to unwise action, at the time I could not have even hoped that meeting Finwë would lead to my marriage to him. It was unthinkable!”

Míriel responded coldly, “it should have been unthinkable, but I do not know whether I can believe your claim that it was so for you. It seems to me that the mere fact of your supposed love for my husband was beyond what is natural for an Elf. … And you allowed him to believe that he had deceived you, and that he was responsible for the ruin brought to his family, when any blame lay just as heavily upon you.”

“I know,” Indis replied miserably, “and I …”

Míriel interrupted, “please stop! Do not explain any more! I … I must think on this.” She walked several paces upstream, to where a large boulder in the middle of the rushing water afforded an easy crossing. Míriel hopped over to the other side and paced slowly along the opposite bank, still upstream from where Indis stood, watching anxiously.

Míriel appeared to be lost in thought, struggling to reconcile this revelation with what she had long believed to be true. Eventually Indis became aware of another presence, near Míriel. Míriel’s lips did not move, but she seemed to be nonetheless conversing with … someone. Indis watched as Míriel shook her head several times, pacing all the while. Then Míriel stood still, staring with unseeing eyes at a distant point, as she seemed to listen to a voice that only she could hear. She nodded slowly, and sank to her knees beside the stream. Tucking her feet under her bent legs, Míriel sat and then leaned over the water to gaze into it. She remained thus for a long time, apparently lost in thought.

Could it be … ? Indis waited and watched. The sun had long since passed its zenith and was descending, casting its bright rays in Indis’s eyes as she looked to the western bank, where Míriel sat, still staring at the water.

Eventually Míriel raised her head, still seated at the water’s edge for a few more moments. She then rose to her feet, nodded once, and slowly made her way back to the boulder that allowed her to cross back to the side of the stream where Indis still was standing. Míriel approached Indis solemnly.

“I do not yet know in full what I should make of your revelation, Indis,” she announced. “I am counseled by Ahyalo to take time to consider all the implications of what you have told me. He will return with some food for us, for I did not think to bring any with me when I left the workshop.”

“He is very kind to do so. I carry with me some peaches and bread from Lórien, if you are hungry now?” At receiving no response from Míriel, Indis continued, hesitantly, “…Ahyalo, you mentioned, is one of Námo’s people? I did not think it was common for Maiar to move among the Eldar when not in a physical form.”

Míriel responded distractedly, “that is perhaps so for most of the Maiar, but Námo’s folk have no need of hröa when consorting with the fëa they tend in his halls. I believe that Ahyalo usually does take a shape when he goes abroad, but he did not need to do so when he followed me here, for he had not intended to enter our discussion, nor to communicate with me at all. He has long been my friend, and accompanied us unseen out of concern for me. You will see him, no doubt, when he returns with the food he brings.”

“He heard our conversation?” Indis asked.

“He did not. He waited on the other side of the stream. He did not wish to intrude.”

An uneasy silence descended, as they awaited Ahyalo’s return. Míriel seemed disinclined to speak. Indis felt there was nothing more she could say – Míriel might never forgive her, and if so Indis was prepared to accept that condemnation.

But eventually Míriel addressed Indis again. “Your news was unexpected, Indis, and I cannot deny that it has brought me sadness and dismay, for it seems that much sorrow followed your actions. I think that Finwë in particular has suffered more than was necessary or just, because he long believed that he alone was responsible for what came to pass.

“But in truth, I have long known that I was responsible for no small part of the tragedy that befell my husband and my son … and eventually your children as well, Indis. I long ago recognized the mistakes that I made, my weaknesses and my errors in judgment … and it seems to me that, regardless of what led you to place yourself in Finwë’s path once I had entered Mandos, you were not responsible for my decision to leave Finwë in the first place. Had I not been summoned to address Finwë’s petition to wed you, I cannot say how much time would have passed before I would have considered leaving Mandos. How long would my husband have had to cope without me? How long would my son have remained without a mother? Whatever your faults might be, they do not lessen my own.”

Indis blinked in amazement at Míriel’s pronouncement. “I have no reason to expect such generosity from you, Míriel,” she said slowly. “You have every right to blame me for what passed.”

“I am not being generous, I am being truthful,” Míriel replied somewhat impatiently. “And I have not said that I do not blame you for what happened. It seems to me that there is more than enough blame to share between you, me, and Finwë.”

Indis considered this for a moment, and then nodded gravely. “I believe you must be right, and I …” she stopped in mid-sentence as she spotted a figure approaching.

A light, reedy voice called out, “Greetings Indis of the Vanyar! I promised my dear friend that I would return with some food, and so I have.”

Indis beheld a tall, slim male whose facial features, ears, and general shape gave him the appearance of an Elf. This was how the Maiar usually appeared when they moved among the Eldar. But unlike most Elves, Ahyalo’s hair color was indistinct – not golden, nor silver, nor a rich brown, nor black. As he drew closer, walking in the shade of tall trees, Ahyalo’s hair appeared to be a muddied, muted brown. But when he stopped two paces from where Indis and Míriel stood, in a spot illuminated by a glowing beam of the setting sun, Indis saw that his hair was a mixture of many colors, including the rare red tones that some of her stepson’s children had inherited from their grandfather.

And then Indis realized that this was not the first time she had seen Ahyalo. Her mind flew to a long-forgotten memory. She had been sitting in one of the palace gardens in Tirion with Findis, who at the time could not have been more than four or five years old, when they were startled by an elf who had hopped down from the veranda roof into the outer courtyard, opposite the garden. Believing it to be Fëanáro, Findis had jumped up and run to greet the elf, who turned at the sound of her voice. Mother and child were both surprised to see a stranger smiling at them, who did not seem at all discomfited at having been discovered leaping from the roof of a house not his own. “Greetings, Lady Indis! Greetings, Lady Findis!” he said with a bow.

“Why were you on the roof?” Findis had demanded.

“I am a friend of the one who built this house, and for that reason I have come to Tirion,” the elf had explained.

“You will find my husband in the stables, I think,” Indis had replied with a laugh. “But if not, I don’t think you will have much luck on the roof!”

“Having just come from the roof, I can attest that Finwë of the Noldor is not to be found there,” the strange elf had agreed, as he joined in Indis’s laughter. “But much can be seen from the roof; it affords a particularly nice view of the city! And it also showed me where I can find the stables. Thank you, Lady!” he had exclaimed with another bow, before striding off in the direction of the stables.

Indis had then spent a considerable amount of time explaining to her small daughter why she must not climb onto the roof herself, despite the fact that her older brother – and perfect strangers – often did so.

Indis pulled out of her reverie to address Ahyalo as he unpacked a supper of meat, cheese, wine, and bread. “We have met before, have we not? In Tirion, when Aman was still lit by the Two Trees?”

“Yes, indeed, your memory serves you well, Lady,” Ahyalo said with a smile. “Allow me to introduce myself properly, this time. I am Ahyalo. I belong to Námo’s people. I have known Míriel Serindë for a very long time.”

Indis replied, “and now I see that I misunderstood you when we first met, long ago, for I believed that you were seeking Finwë.”

Ahyalo chuckled a bit, “yes, and I apologize for misleading you about that, lady. I did not wish to make myself known to anyone, lest I cause a disturbance in your household. Such was not my purpose. Twice I journeyed from Mandos to Tirion to bring news of Fëanáro to his mother. During those times I never conversed with the son himself; indeed I do not think he was ever aware of me, for I usually tried to not draw attention to myself. After my unexpected encounter with you and your daughter in the garden, I did not climb onto rooftops again!”

Medium

It's been a very long time since I've worked on this story. This is the first of what I think will be at least a couple of new chapters.

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Indis smiled at Ahyalo’s admission and then turned to Míriel, “it must have pained you to be parted from your son. I cannot imagine how you must have longed for him. If news of Fëanáro eased your grief, I would have happily welcomed Ahyalo or any other emissary into our home.”

Míriel shook her head slowly, gazing with unseeing eyes at the stream. “You do not understand what it is to be in Mandos. I did not long for food or drink, I did not wish to see or to hear. I did not miss my son, not as I have since I returned to life. When I was unhoused within Mandos, I was wholly preoccupied with understanding myself, and what had led me to make the choices that I did. I saw how my weaknesses had affected others, I saw all of the mistakes I had made … I worried about my son. I worried that I had caused him irreparable harm. And so twice Ahyalo, unbidden by me, sought to confirm that Fëanáro had endured despite my mistakes, that he flourished even though I had left him...”

A few moments later Ahyalo continued where Míriel had left off, explaining to Indis, “Yes, I made two visits to Tirion, and encountered you and your daughter on the first. The second time was many years after Fëanáro was married with a family of his own. Both times I was happily able to report that Fëanáro appeared to be well, although it was clear that he continued to strongly mourn his mother.” 

A lengthy silence ensued. Eventually Ahyalo gestured to the food, which he’d laid out on a plain white cloth on the grass, and the three sat down. Ahyalo poured wine into three goblets, handing one to each of his companions. Indis accepted hers with a gracious nod. Míriel did not appear to notice his outstretched hand, so Ahyalo set her goblet down beside her, and turned to pick up his own.

Sipping some wine, he blinked and exclaimed, “how long it has been since I’ve consumed any food – I must remember how enjoyable it is!”  His pleasantry went unanswered, as the two elves each appeared to be deep within her own thoughts.

Finally Míriel spoke, her eyes still distant. “Of course later events showed that you had not seen how deeply Fëanáro’s heart was scarred. That which I had feared most for my son did indeed come to pass – he brought sorrow to his family and shame to his people.” Ahyalo nodded in grim agreement.

Indis responded carefully, “Fëanáro’s actions did shock and grieve us all, but I don’t think he would have gone to such extremes were it not for the poison that Melkor plied him with. The Marrer also wielded influence with my children, particularly my son, Nolofinwë, and my daughter, Lalwendë. His cunning perceived the weaknesses in our family, and how to exploit them. As you have said, Sister, there is enough blame for all of us – but the worst of it came from Melkor.”

Míriel glanced unsmiling at Indis, before resuming her unfocused stare at the rushing water.

As the twilight deepened, Ahyalo broke off pieces of cheese and bread for himself, and then passed the food to Indis, who obligingly took some and nibbled. Míriel continued to take no notice of what was set before her, but when Ahyalo looked pointedly at her with a worried frown Míriel turned to face them, with a wry grimace followed by a fleeting smile.  Ahyalo smiled in turn as Míriel popped a piece of cheese into her mouth.

Watching them, Indis smiled too. “There is a strong bond between you, I think. You can speak directly into each others’ minds?”

Both turned to look at Indis, Ahyalo’s smile warm, Míriel’s expression startled.  “Yes,” she answered, “…that is so, although until this moment I’d never thought about it. Our friendship began when I was an unhoused fëa, in Mandos, and there of course our communication was mind-to-mind. Once I returned to life it continued that way … “ she hesitated, turning to Ahyalo. “And yet I … I think I’ve always known what you look like and what you sound like … but I cannot recall when it was that I first saw you with my own eyes. Or spoke words aloud with you. How can that be?”

Ahyalo chuckled softly, “the gap between corporal life and unhoused existence is not perfectly recalled in either state – which is why I was so surprised to rediscover the simple pleasure of eating and drinking! And I think that is also why you do not perfectly recall the first time that you, in your physical form, saw me in mine.”

Míriel briefly looked abashed before replying, “how foolish of me – I do remember, of course.  Yours was the first face I saw upon my return to life. And I knew you immediately.” The two friends smiled at the memory, before Míriel turned back to Indis to explain, “but since then many of our conversations have been mind-to-mind.  Ahyalo does not need to don a hröa to walk with me, or watch me at my loom.”

“Yes, I see how that could be,” Indis replied politely. How lonely she must be, with only disembodied voices for companionship. Indis’s native tact served her well, for neither Míriel nor Ahyalo seemed to notice the flood of pity that she kept in check.

They continued their meal in silence, although for all Indis knew the other two might have conversed privately. Having eaten her fill, Indis slowly sipped wine and reflected on what she had learned. A new question sprang into consciousness and, for once speaking without thinking first, she turned to Míriel and said, “You told me that Finwë believes he deserved the cruel fate that Melkor dealt him. So, you have spoken with him since he entered Mandos?”

Indis perceived Míriel drawing into herself a bit, her expression guarded as she exchanged a glance with Ahyalo before answering. “It is impossible for a living elf to converse with an unhoused fëa within Mandos.  Although some exceptions have been made for me, since my return to life I’ve been barred from the main part of Námo’s halls, just as you are.”

Indis nodded slowly. “I see. But then how could you know what Finwë believes about what happened to him?”

Ahyalo answered for Míriel. “The fëar within Mandos rarely commune directly with each other, and never with anyone without. But they do converse with Námo himself and we who serve him. And my people are not confined to the halls, but may go freely between them and the outside world.”

“You can bring messages from a fëa within Mandos to someone who awaits outside?” Indis asked.

Ahyalo hesitated before replying, “only rarely does that happen. In fact I myself have only carried messages between one unhoused fëa in Mandos and one living elf … and she was not fully outside Mandos…”

Indis sat very still as she absorbed this news. Míriel watched her impassively, while Ahyalo looked on with concern. After a few minutes Indis looked up to meet Míriel’s eyes briefly, before turning to Ahyalo to ask, “Could you, would you, carry a message from me to Finwë?” Looking back at Míriel as if for permission, Indis continued, “it is important that he should know that he is not entirely to blame for what happened so long ago, that I bear as much responsibility for the circumstances of our marriage as he does. I wish him to know that I deceived him before he ever deceived me, by allowing him to believe that we were destined to meet. It was I, not Eru, who caused our first meeting. I blinded myself to that truth for a very long time, but now that I know it, he should know it too.”

Ahyalo bowed his head, but before he could reply Míriel interjected, “to what end would you have him know this? Finwë has agreed to remain in Mandos forever. The Valar have decreed that he cannot have two living wives while living himself. How will it help him to know that his sacrifice was for naught?”

Indis frowned with uncertainty, “Was it for naught?  You are here and have aided Vairë in her labors. Through the efforts of our children and grandchildren, Melkor and his servants have been put down. The Noldor have found peace under the leadership of my son. Should you ever wish to return to live amongst our people, you would be welcomed with open arms in Tirion, I have no doubt. I … I admit that I can’t say how or even if it would help Finwë to know now that it was I, and not Eru, who caused our paths to cross. But I feel he has a right to know.”

Míriel shook her head, and turned away to gaze again at the rushing water. But Ahyalo looked approvingly at Indis and said, “You cannot know how this will affect Finwë, but it a brave and generous thing to do. No good comes from deliberately hiding the truth, especially from one who is struggling to find it.” He tilted his head and looked at Míriel’s back for several moments. She eventually turned, reluctantly, to face the other two with a doubtful expression. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t see what good can come of it, and I fear that it might bring more grief to one who has borne it for so long. …But I don’t always see clearly, and I trust your intentions, Indis. More, I trust Ahyalo’s intuition. And it is not for me to grant or deny your request, anyway.”

Any vestigal doubts that Indis might have harbored about how truly Míriel loved Finwë dissipated. Indis veered between blaming herself entirely (or nearly) for her extended family’s tragedy, and continuing her long habit of blaming Finwë. But Míriel, who had paid a very high price for their collective mistakes, was even now worried about Finwë. Indis had not given his circumstances much thought at all – she’d felt sundered from him as soon as he’d left Tirion to join Fëanáro in exile. For more than three ages she’d believed his absence from life reflected his guilt and his preference for his first and best-loved family; the pain brought by those beliefs haunted her. Indis wished to arrive at the same calm acceptance that Míriel evinced, which she hoped to achieve by claiming her part of their story.

“If you believe that it might help Finwë to know what I did, I would have him know. I would have him know how much I regret my mistakes, and the sorrows that stemmed from them,” she said, bowing her head. She did not dare ask for Finwë’s forgiveness.

Ahyalo smiled gently and nodded. He rose to his feet saying, “I am happy to lend my help to your cause, Lady. And so I shall go directly to Mandos and convey your message. I’ll bid you both good evening.” He gave a small, graceful bow.

“Thank you, Ahyalo. Good evening.” Indis responded softly, looking up to watch as he turned and disappeared into the moonlit evening. Míriel said nothing, her face shuttered and unreadable.

The two elves sat silently for some time. But eventually Míriel shook off her rumination and began to gather the remnants of their meal. Indis moved to help her.  Once everything was tied into a neat bundle, Míriel stood, looking uncertainly at Indis. “Will you return now to Lorien or would you rather wait until the morning to set out? If you would wait, I will wait with you.”

Indis’s face showed her confusion. “I would like to be here when Ahyalo returns, in case …”

Míriel sighed and shook her head. “Time works differently in Mandos. I cannot tell you precisely how much time passes between a message sent to Finwë and a response received but it is not measured in hours or days. It might be many months or even years before Ahyalo emerges from Mandos again.

“And,” Míriel added not unkindly, “you cannot even be sure that there will be a response from Finwë.  I cannot guess myself. You should return to Lorien, or even Tirion if you prefer.  Ahyalo will find you in due time.”

Indis blinked, and then stared in surprise at Míriel for a moment, before replying ruefully, “I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know where I should go next.  The last few days have changed so much of what I thought I knew! But I cannot wait here for months while my daughter and granddaughter await me in Lorien.”

“No,” Míriel agreed, “you cannot remain here until Ahyalo emerges from Mandos. I do not believe you would be given leave to enter even Vairë’s wing of Námo’s halls and there is no other shelter close by.”

After an awkward silence Míriel continued, “why don’t we sit here under the stars and then, when the sun rises, you can set out to rejoin your kin in Lorien?”

Indis sensed the discomfort behind Míriel’s offer. She must be eager to for an end to our visit, and to return to the comfortable solitude she is used to.  I’ve disturbed her peace of mind. But she could not bring herself to decline Míriel’s offer of companionship through the night. “Thank you, Míriel, you are very kind to stay with me.  Although I don’t know what else we might say to each other, I do not yet feel ready to say goodbye to you. And I must gather my thoughts before I return to Lorien, where my eldest daughter, Findis, and my granddaughter, Artanis, are waiting for me.”

Míriel settled herself down on the grass again. “Then let us wait with the stars for the dawn.”