To Call You Home by Rocky41_7

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To Call You Home

            Once upon a time, the queen of the Noldor pricked her finger on a spindle. Queen Míriel was a mighty weaver, such that she was called by the Noldor Serindë, the Broidress, for it was not merely in creation alone in which she reveled. The mind of Queen Míriel had devised many a new technique for the making of cloths more subtle and beautiful and durable than had been before, and so the Noldor took great pride in their clever queen.

            But as has been said, on a time she was sitting at her spindle, weaving thread for she desired it of a particular hue and strength for a project of her own and so she would not barter for it in town, and she pricked her finger.

            The queen had lately borne the only child of the royal family: little Finwë, called so after his father, and who was named by Queen Míriel Fëanor, “spirit of fire,” for even in infancy the strength of his mind and body was evident. In fact it was said that Míriel had given overmuch of her own strength into the child, so that she waned after his birth, and thus when she pricked her finger, she felt into a swoon as if dead.

            She was found on the floor by a maid, who rushed for the king with a wail, and he gathered her up straightaway and took her to their chambers, where he laid her abed and prayed to Ilúvatar for her recovery, thinking then that it was only a strange but temporary illness which had taken her. King Finwë gathered to her all the healers of Tirion, but none of them could summon the queen’s spirit back into her body. Similarly ineffective were the efforts of the healers of the Vanyar and of the Teleri.

            Sitting by her bedside, Finwë kissed her and begged for her return, but unavailing were his pleas, and the child wanted tending. Therefore at great length and with reluctance beyond measure, Finwë removed Queen Míriel up into a tower which overlooked the mountains around the city, where she laid undisturbed.

            Great reward, riches beyond measure, and unending gratitude did Finwë promise any who could come and rouse Míriel from her endless sleep. The Elves were ever curious of mind, and many came with notions and hypotheses about how to restore her, but none succeeded. As Fëanor grew, Míriel slept.

            Years on the king wore his braids still short in mourning, and at that time came to the Noldor royal palace Indis, a lady of the Vanyar who had made the Great Journey to Aman. She was a hobbyist academic of sorts, concerned with the potential for others to succumb to Míriel’s fate, and begged leave to study the queen’s condition that it might be ameliorated, or at least prevented in others. Initially reluctant, King Finwë permitted Indis to dwell in the palace, desiring that no others should experience his family’s tragedy.

Many months stayed she in Tirion, though she was unsuccessful in learning much of Míriel’s condition. But amid his grief Finwë heard the song of Indis, who had long loved him in silence from afar, and from sorrow his heart turned to her. Against the wishes of Prince Fëanor, by then more than half grown, and in light of the inability, it seemed, of any to stir Míriel, they were wed.

***

            Once upon a time, the queen of the Noldor fell in love. Long had Indis loved Finwë, seemingly to no purpose, but while her heart was so occupied, she would not take another. No desire had she to be seen taking advantage of the king’s mourning, yet when she heard the tale of Queen Míriel, called Serindë, her curiosity was powerfully awakened. She took to the study of medicinal arts, and attended to the tales of those who had sought to heal the Noldorin queen. When years had passed with no change, Indis could contain her curiosity no longer: she journeyed to Tirion to face Finwë and ask if she might study Míriel.

             The king was reluctant to allow anyone else to poke and prod at Míriel by the time Indis arrived, particularly one who made no claims to be able to heal her, but Indis’ care swayed him and he took her up to Míriel’s tower, where she observed the sleeping queen. Indis had seen the dead and dying, for there had been not a few on the journey to the Blessed Realm in which they dwelled, but Míriel seemed to her as one sleeping, waiting to be woken.

            Indis set with dedication to studying Míriel’s condition—examining the body, and the spindle at which she had first collapsed, and questioning the family and staff who answered with the rote dullness of those who had answered such questions many times—but no answers did she find.

            No solutions to Míriel’s condition did she discover—but something else, even less expected, did occur: Finwë grew to love her. More at ease did he become over Indis’ months, drawing slowly into years, of study, and they began to walk in the garden and speak of other things, and the shadow seemed to fade from his face. Indis was therefore filled with joy, if she yearned still for a way to cure Míriel, and when Finwë proposed the notion of their marriage to her, she gladly accepted.

            Long enough had she dwelled in the palace at Tirion that it was reassuringly familiar when she entered it for the first time as the queen of the Noldor. There were many who were relieved at this, for the uncertainty surrounding Míriel unsettled them, but there were plenty others who muttered in discontent about the impropriety, and Finwë’s son among them.

            Indis went on studying Míriel, though she had lost any faint hopes of curing her.

            The evidence of Míriel’s brilliance lay all about the palace, in her tapestries and clothes; in the tools of sewing and weaving that populated Noldorin tailor shops and dressmakers’ studios; and in the genius of her son, who was like his father in face but had entirely his mother’s spirit. Indis sought out the creations of Míriel, and observed them with awe, and the only polite conversations which Prince Fëanor would deign to have with her were to tell her of Míriel’s works.

            Indis was not a great artist, and her abilities lay more in the realm of arranging than of making. The rooms of the palace which had remained untouched since the seeming-death of Míriel she redecorated, and they were pleasing to the eye and to the mind. Even Míriel’s tapestries she removed to clean and store, and replaced them with others of Míriel’s prolific oeuvre.

            “Is it not pleasant, to see more of her works?” she asked her husband cheerfully when he observed with some unease this change. Nevertheless he agreed, and deferred to Indis’ choices.

            In simpler times, it had pleased Finwë to throw grand parties with much feasting and many guests, but it had been long since such merriment had filled the house. Now he began to fret that Fëanor had grown too long in a house gone quiet in mourning, and the happiness in which he dwelt with Indis rekindled in him the desire for festivities. So the king and queen together planned and hosted a particularly lavish party, the first occasion for many to meet their new queen in person.

            Indis had great delight in the event, for many of her friends arrived from Valmar, and many friends among the Noldor she met that night. Nevertheless, in her nerves over her potential reception by the Noldor, she imbibed quite a bit, and while Finwë was bidding a good night to the last of their guests, she stole up Míriel’s tower.

            There she sat on the floor beside Míriel’s bed and took her hand. So much of Indis’ time of the last several years had been devoted to studying this woman that it felt impossible for her not to consider Míriel also a part of the new family which Indis had chosen. Therefore, it seemed appropriate to share with Míriel the news of what had transpired, and once Indis began to talk with Míriel, she found she did not wish to stop. A part of her was convinced Míriel could hear her and that it would be unkind not to speak with her.

            Thus it came to pass that Indis began to regularly visit Míriel, not to any medical or scientific purpose, but merely to converse and to gaze upon her placid face and shapely hands. Indis began to feel that they knew one another, and in her heart she envisioned Míriel as a friend—or even a part of her marriage with Finwë (though this she seldom dared to even think to herself but to brush off as a fanciful jest). Convinced that others would not understand, Indis kept these meetings from the rest of the palace. But in her familiarity, Indis grew careless with her half-hearted secrecy, and this was how Finwë came upon her one day in Míriel’s tower, seated on the edge of the bed, stroking Míriel’s hair.

            Now Finwë was not given to quick anger nor to the bearing of grudges, but the thought of anyone disturbing Míriel’s body when she was so helpless put him at once in a wrath, and even as he opened his mouth to command Indis away from Míriel’s bed, she bent and pressed her mouth to Míriel’s in a tender kiss. There was a sigh, which Finwë and Indis both took to be Indis, until Míriel’s eyes opened.

***

            Once upon a time, two queens of the Noldor spoke, one to the other. For months Indis came to Míriel, and more vulnerable and open thoughts did she share each time. So often did she think of her confidante beyond the confines of Míriel’s tower that she felt she too, missed the company of this woman she had never known. The more she spoke, the more she anguished over Míriel’s inability to reply; she yearned to hear her voice, to know what Míriel would say to her, rather than merely to imagine.

            “Will you not speak to me, Míriel?” she murmured at the queen’s side, stroking her hair, a loose waterfall of silken silver. “Have I not proven my affections well enough?” She leaned down nearer to Míriel, until her breath whispered over the sleeper’s face. “Will you not grant me just a word? You know not what I would give for that.”

            And then she kissed her, and Míriel woke.

The tower of the queen was gripped in petrifying shock; Míriel gazed in some wonder up at Indis, while Indis and Finwë stared agape at Míriel, who seemed again in full possession of herself as she had not been for near two decades.

            “I have dreamed of you,” said Míriel to Indis. “Though I do not know your name.”

            “My name is Indis,” said she, “and you are Míriel, queen of the Noldor.”

            “Have I known you?” Míriel asked.

            “No,” said Indis. “We spoke not on the walk west; but I saw you with—” Here she blushed and looked askance and saw for the first time Finwë in the door, and there Míriel’s attention went as well. Silence drew out like a cord between she and he, taught and twisting, and then Míriel spoke.

            “I heard you,” she croaked to the man rooted to the floorboards. “You were calling to me.”

            “You did not answer,” said Finwë, and spoke as one feeling an old wound.

            “I…” Now Míriel avoided looking on his face. “I was weak,” she said at last. “I had no strength nor desire to speak.”

            Now they gazed those two on Indis, who burned under the attention.

            “It seemed I was in a fog,” said Míriel. Her delicate brow furrowed, and she struggled, and Indis helped her to sit upright. “There was not light nor sound to lead me from it. When at last I spoke it seemed that I called out to no avail, my words swallowed into the mist. I suppose you had lost hope for me then.” Finwë was stricken, but Míriel went on: “Perhaps this was reasonable. Still, then I dreamed of you,” she said to Indis. She blinked shrewd tawny brown eyes at Indis and asked: “How did you call me back?”

            “I…” Indis’ hands twisted anxiously in her lap, and she blushed, and wished not to be impertinent—but neither did she wish to lie. “With love, I think,” she said softly.

            Then Finwë looked on them with dawning comprehension and he said: “Not one voice, but two, to draw you home.” It seemed to him then that a greater power than chance had led Indis to his house.

            Míriel looked between them and said, her voice hoarse with disuse: “I recognize not this room. Where the devil am I?”

***

            Once upon a time, the throne room of the royal palace of the Noldor was short one chair. Two thrones wrought with all the artistry mustered by that people sat in the airy hall beneath crimson beams and curling rooves, imbued with gems and delicate metalwork décor, and yet these two were not enough.

            So for a time, one ruler of the Noldor was obliged to stand, while the other two set to a great deal of teasing about the immediate state of affairs. (It is said that they delayed in the commissioning of a new triad of thrones—merely to add one more would have thrown off the balance of the room, and so the whole situation necessitated reworking—out of amusement with the shortage, though no confirmation of this can exist.)

            It is hard to accurately convey the level of consternation among the general populace of Tirion as to what precisely their state of government was at this time. It had taken many years after the fainting of Míriel to accept that Finwë might remarry—and even then many had remained opposed, including Finwë’s own heir—and then several years more for the Noldor to become accustomed to Indis—to finally lose the confusion surrounding which individual was being referenced as “the queen”—so then to have both of them standing bright and shining in the place of the king and queen was jarring to say the least.

            The prevailing opinion of the city was that one queen must depart—one or the other would win out in the end. But these opinions were voiced by the ignorant who had not been in Míriel’s tower and knew nothing of the love that bonded the three rulers of Tirion.

            Neither queen departed, and the new thrones were built in time, and in the meanwhile Míriel often reclined out in the gardens, finding that after her long sleep she had more of a craving for treelight and a breeze on her face than ever she had had before. There with her often sat Indis, whose recited poems and sung hymns greatly pleased the Broidress, and if Indis had worried that Míriel would resent the one who had taken her place, those fears were washed away in Míriel’s gratitude for the one who had called her back from darkness, and touched something in Míriel’s heart with her words.

            Thus it was often that Indis would say, in the late hours of Telperion’s waxing, “Are you ready to sleep now?” and Míriel would reply, “Not now, I would have a little while longer.” And Indis would smile with tender delight, and they would stay awake until the fresh mingling of the Trees.

Chapter End Notes

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