Meeting by Starlight by StarSpray

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The evening was warm, heavy with the sweet scent of apple blossoms and violets. Spring had taken hold of Valmar, and Vána and Nessa had danced singing through the streets all that day, trees and flowers bursting into bloom at their passing as the silver bells rang to welcome the new season. Now it was quiet. A bell chimed here or there as the breeze passed by, and the stars were very bright overhead.

Ingwë's garden was silver and grey in the starlight, beyond the reach of the soft yellow lamplight that spilled out of the windows along with the soft sounds of laughter inside, and the sweet notes of a lyre. Indis sat beneath a trellis that, come summer, would be heavy with deep red roses. She gazed up at the stars, tracing familiar constellations and recalling the tales they had told of those shapes beside their fires when the Elves had been young, before Oromë's horn had ever been heard echoing off the water.

The quiet click of a gate-latch and the softest whisper of silken skirts over the grass heralded the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Indis lowered her gaze as Míriel sat beside her on the bench, her silver hair loose and glimmering, her eyes large and dark, and her long slender fingers ever moving, twisting the ends of her hair or stroking the fabric of her dress, strangely plain and unadorned, as though they marveled at the softness.

They had been great friends once, Míriel of the Noldor and Indis of the Vanyar. Now many long years and a husband and five children lay between them, and as the moon began to peer over the garden wall Indis wondered where it had all gone so wrong.

She said, after a time, with certainty and a heavy heart, "He will not return."

Míriel shook her head once. "His fëa came to Mandos sorely wounded. It will be long before he will wish to return to life, I think—and I was ready, and growing restless as I had not thought I ever would again. We spoke for a long time—or maybe not so long—before he went to Mandos."

"I am sorry," said Indis. "I never though the Valar would pass such a judgment."

"Nor did I. But I said then and I say now, Indis, you have my love." She reached out and took Indis' hands in her own. Her skin was cool and smooth, all the callouses of former days having faded away. "I do not grudge you your marriage or your children. It is my task to weave our family's tale into the tapestries of Vairë, and your children and their children, and their children's children will be glorious."

"What of yours?" Indis asked.

"The fire of my son's spirit burns bright also in his sons," said Míriel, her gaze for a moment drifting far away. Then she smiled at Indis. "But we have fire in our spirits too, and someday perhaps we shall petition for Finwë."

Indis smiled and squeezed her hands. "Yes."