Don't Explain by Gwidhiel

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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.”