The Bride's Jewel by Scribe of Mirrormere

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Chapter 3 - The Halls of Vairë

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“It’s a boy!”

Finwë delighted in the infant who cried mightily. After the midwives washed and wrapped him in a soft blanket, Finwë took him in his arms first and declared him as Curufinwë. But setting her eyes on her firstborn, Míriel could only think of Fëanáro, seeing the fire and her own soul trapped in the small child.

Míriel didn’t know how long she had slept, or how much time passed between each period of wakefulness. She had been well attended to, the afterbirth and the blood cleaned off and her body covered with warm blankets. The others may have been speaking to her, but she did not hear them. Every bone in her body seared with pain.

When Finwë placed the infant in her arms, she could scarcely move to welcome her son into the world. Instead she wished for sleep. She turned to him, noticing his great smile, and mumbled that this child would be her first and last.

*

Míriel could not find blame in the child for her own loss of energy. He was a sweet delight, beautiful and intelligent, though just as stubborn as herself even at such a young age. But with every embrace she could feel her own life’s force inside him, her soul which he had unknowingly taken away from her, and which no amount of rest could rekindle.

She did not think to go to the Valar. The thought of blaming a fruit seemed silly to her, and she was convinced it was just hallucinations she had experienced during childbirth.

But, soon, living became a burden, although she pushed herself to continue on, for her son if nothing else. But as the years passed and the infant grew into a small child, her heart ached more and more in grief and in anger whenever she could feel her own spirit trapped in him.

She recalled life in Cuiviénen and of the tales the elves brought over when they ventured far south or far north, of beings made of smokeless flames and monsters forged from shadows and fire. As the different tribes dispersed and their languages changed, so did the names of the terrible threats they’d come across: ifrit, d’inni, balaraukô. Míriel herself had not seen them, for she and Indis were careful and cunning with their every step to ensure neither befell the strange doom that took many of their kin. But after all their wit and their sense of victory in thinking they had escaped the dangers of Endor, the wicked evil had found another way of ensnaring her, and it took on the form of the smiling youth in her arms, his innocence mocking her.

None of the others, neither elf nor Ainu, gave any inkling that they sensed the great wicked fire burning in his core. They were impressed and delighted in the bright-minded child who was schooled among young elves older than he, having mastered basic knowledge well before his peers. Finwë was especially proud, and he showcased his child as though he were the greatest invention the Noldor had wrought with their hands.

From that, Míriel found it hard not to be a little resentful of her own child, though the love for him in her heart only complicated the matter further.

*

“He is adorable,” Indis said during Míriel’s last visit to her. Even traveling had become a burden. Fëanáro was only four years old then, and he ran around them, grabbing at rocks or whatever else he could find for a new project his young reeling mind was scheming.

“Good day, Lady Indis, Lady Míriel Serindë,” greeted one of the Noldo passing by.

“That would be Therindë,” Míriel corrected sternly. “Goodness, if my serving-woman ever changes her name to Sámien, I think I will strangle her!”

“Why would you want to change that delightful letter?” Indis laughed. “What is happening to the tongue of your people?” And they teased the Noldo further, who corrected himself in respect, and none were aware that Fëanáro had stopped what he was doing and was watching them closely. Indis was the first to notice, and she gave a laugh.

“Why, aren’t you a little darling with that pout! I just want to tickle you!” She got up to embrace him, but he dodged her, screaming as he dropped the rocks he had been collecting, and soon a chase ensued as Míriel watched with an amused smile.

Perhaps, she thought, she should have Finwë meet Indis at last.

*

But four years later and still she hadn’t introduced her husband to her wife, though the burden of living only grew. It slowed her down, as though she wore a cloak made of stone, and she would often dream of casting it aside and walking as free as she once had in her youth. Finwë grew worried, as had everyone in their house, seeing their strong queen too ill to work at the loom. Finwë visited with Manwë frequently to see if there might be anything that could help Míriel.

But Míriel felt herself only growing weaker. When she could no longer thread a line through her loom, she tore it apart, and then seeing the tapestry she had made seemingly eons ago, of the tree at the precipice, her mind suddenly morphed it into the evil western tree which had poisoned her, and that too she ripped down/apart with all the strength she could muster.

Then fallen upon her knees, she wept loudly. “Why, Indis, why?” she repeatedly pleaded, too weak to finish the words in her mind: Why is there so much suffering in this land?

She was unaware of her son watching her silently from behind the doorframe.

*

Finwë still hoped she would gain strength enough to carry another child, but for the time being, he was busy with Fëanáro, unaware that Míriel was writing a letter to Indis, the tears in her eyes blurring the Sarati letters on the parchment.

At Laurelin’s next turn, she made for Irmo’s lands. While Finwë held council with the Valar, Míriel had her own meetings with Irmo, and all had decided it would be best for her to rest a while in his lands.

But Míriel wished to go alone and unseen by any, having made her decision.

After reaching Lórien, she made a prayer under the trees, the gentle swaying of the long willow branches and the tall grass about her setting her body at ease, beckoning her to sleep. The feeling remained long after she finished her prayer, and she found that she needed help in getting to the long bed Estë and her maidens had set out for her below a beautiful willow tree. She thanked them and lay her head down, the sweet promise of rest still beckoning her. The prayer and the faraway chanting of Irmo and Estë, of the Maiar and the elves alike mingled about, soothing her aching bones.

It was no different than falling asleep after a long hard day of work, Míriel realized. She smiled, and closing her eyes she drew a long, deep sigh.

*

When she awoke she felt far more rejuvenated and merry, and acting out as though she were a child, she kicked her legs up and laughed, welcoming a new day. But moments later she realized the reason for feeling so free was that she had indeed shrugged off the heavy cloak: her body. She was no longer under the tree in the gardens of Lórien, though she assumed her body still was. High above her was an incredibly tall ceiling, dark and dotted with stars and cosmic clouds, so very much like Cuiviénen but also fairer.

She hopped out of the bed to explore around her. The halls were dark but beautiful in their own way. There was a sense of calm, a silence which nudged her to think on her own life, perhaps with the intent of helping her to heal. She would oblige to the silent command, but not until she had explored the halls where no other elf in Valinor had ventured.

She soon learned she was not alone as she passed through doorless rooms, each housing a soul she recognized as one of the elves who had not taken the road west. She made to call to them but could not find it in her to speak, and none of the elves seemed interested in much else beyond their own misery.

“I see you have woken in my halls, my Lady,” came a voice behind Míriel, and she turned and bowed to Mandos. “My brother has done well in praying your spirit here.”

“And I thank you for having me,” Míriel said politely before motioning to the other spirits. “They are from Endor, are they not?”

“They are, though I’m afraid how they came here was far more violent than your experience. I call out to any of the spirits I sense have departed from their bodies, but very few come. Many run off in fear. I do not place blame on them, for they do not understand that we mean them no harm. The ones who do follow my voice here do not speak, but that is very well. They are meant to heal in my Halls.”

A shadow passed over Mandos. “Though I would prefer to know the reason for their deaths, for I do fear for those who remained in Endor. I wonder if it may have anything to do with…never mind my talk. Do not worry yourself with the outer world, for you also need healing. Your spirit is greatly diminished. Even if you do feel more energized now than in life, you do not see yourself, how weak you truly are. But rest and gather your strength. Your spirit should return to normal, and one day you may rejoin your kin.”

But again a shadow passed over him, his dark eyes filled with concern and suspicion. “But how could one childbirth drain so much strength from a mother?” Míriel did not reply, for Mandos spoke under his breath. He continued down the halls, his long dark robes slipping into shadow.

Míriel made herself at home, claiming the room she had woken in as her own. There were other Valar and Maiar she had run across, often visiting before departing for their own halls. When they were not there for company, she divulged in memories of her life, of the people outside the Halls and beyond the sea. Closing her eyes, she’d often enter a dream-like trance and find her spirit soaring past the stars, leaving her more content than before by the time she awoke.

One time after such a session Vairë sought her. She had woken after a long reverie, thinking that she felt something press against her lips.

“Lady Míriel, you have a visitor.”

“I cannot face any visitors now, be it a friend or my husband or son,” Míriel said. “I am still healing, and to be honest, my soul does not yet miss life.”

“Do you wish me to ask your visitor to turn back, then? She has traveled all the way from Taniquetil to see you.”

Míriel gasped and jumped to her feet. “Lead me to her!”

With a nod and not another word, Vairë led her down numerous long halls, further than ever Míriel had explored, and she began to wonder if she was being led out of the Halls of Mandos.

“Where are you leading me, to your own Halls?”

“My Halls are closed to only spirits, just as my husband’s halls,” Vairë explained. “But there is a small chamber which connects both wings, and this is where those who still take corporeal form may mingle. But I do warn you: You cannot see your visitors and they cannot see you, for your form is still too weak and the sight may set a fear in them difficult to shake off.”

“Then how will I speak to Indis?”

They stepped onto the annex, and instantly Míriel felt the difference, as though the light, terribly dimmed, was setting a burden on her shoulders, and she became conscious of the true state of her soul, shriveled and tiny next to Vairë.

Vairë brought her to a long thick black veil which flowed down from the top of the high ceiling and expanded the entire length of the wall.

“Your visitor lies beyond it,” Vairë explained. “You may not pass through the veil, but both of you will be able to hear the other.”

Míriel thanked her with a bow and warm smile, though she was suddenly nervous of the meeting. She had no knowledge of how much time had passed, for in the Halls there was no sense of the change in time or passing of the seasons.

She got as close to the veil as she could and said softly, “Indis?”

“Míriel? You’re here!” Indis said breathlessly, her soft voice awaking memories and fondness in Míriel’s heart so intense that she forced it back. “I came to the gardens of Lórien as you had instructed me in your letter. You were sleeping on that bed, and Finwë was there with his son. I stood away because I did not wish to trouble them. After they left, I came to you.

“I could not believe your soul departed, for your body is still well preserved, not like the dead rabbit we once found by the lake.”

Míriel chuckled. “I am glad to hear that.”

Indis went on talking, her voice lighting a warm glow inside Míriel. Her heart melted with the thought of what she was missing, but she obeyed in not pulling back the veil.

“You did not respond to my calls, so I…I kissed your lips to see if your eyes would open.”

Míriel chuckled. “Did you think you could wake the dead with a true love’s kiss, dear Indis? I am well away from Lórien’s gardens, though I may have felt your lips on mine.” Smiling, she recalled the sensation from earlier.

“I figured I would try, as I have before. It always used to wake you.”

“And punching your shoulder for pulling me so rudely out of my slumber.”

Indis laughed, and the sound filled the cold dimness around Míriel with warmth and mirth such that she chuckled in return.

“Why can’t I see you?”

“The Valar believe I am still not ready for your eyes, love,” Míriel said.

“But you will heal, will you not?”

“Yes, though it may take time.”

“Then heal, but do not take too much time,” Indis said.

“And do not become a stranger,” Míriel said.

“I will visit, as often as I can,” Indis promised. She pushed against the veil, and from the other side, Míriel could see the round tips of her wife’s fingers. She brought her own fingers to match each against Indis’s own, and though the thick veil blocked the touch of skin and spirit, their contact was enough to sate both of their needs.

They bid one another farewell for the time being, but Míriel did not step away until she heard the faint steps grow ever fainter, as Indis returned to the living world.

Míriel turned around to see Vairë studying her with curiosity.

“You are glowing,” she commented. “Your spirit is nurturing life already. But how interesting, that you would have turned away your own husband but not Indis of Taniquetil.”

“Indis was my wife,” Míriel said unabashedly. She was already dead, and by her own will. She figured she would be as blunt and honest with the Valar who were so kind to take her under their watchful care.

As she suspected, Vairë’s eyes widened. “Then why did you…”

“Marry Finwë? Because a heart can love more than once, I suppose,” Míriel said. “But Indis I wedded long before Oromë discovered us, though under your first law our marriage was considered dissolved. Our customs were different. As a matter of fact, there was an elf -- and I believe he still resides in the far East -- who wedded a man and a woman from every tribe just so his line would live in every tribe.”

The surprise on Vairë’s face only grew, to Míriel’s amusement. “There is still much to learn of your kin, though I do hope the laws which govern Valinor do not seem restrictive?”

“The elves here seem to accept the laws, barring the need for a few amendments.”

Vairë nodded and spoke, though it seemed it was more to herself than for Míriel, for her eyes were cast down. “I would have enjoyed it, to be able to cast my sight as far east as I could to record the happenings there, if I could just reach it.” Looking up, she smiled at Míriel. “Come with me. I wish to show you something.”

Míriel was led down the long annex, passing by many Maiar who chatted amongst themselves excitedly with plans of how their recently acquired knowledge could better help them in serving and guiding the elves. But the Maiar, Míriel realized, could dwell while in a physical body, though spirits such as herself could also wander. There were dining tables set, and a library, and meeting rooms, and Míriel thought of bringing Indis here once she was well enough to be seen.

Vairë rounded a corner to the right, and with one step Míriel was inside the Halls of Vairë. Long tapestries, expertly crafted, hung starting from the entrance, but the deeper they went, the fewer they became.

“I have been trying to capture as much of your kin’s history as I could, from the moment they arrived here,” Vairë said. “I was told you too are a broideress.”

“As I am also known as Therindë, yes,” Míriel said, suddenly excited at the realization that she could continue her passion for her art.

Vairë smiled. “Good. I will lead you to my own loom.”

The tall vertical loom brought about a twitch in Míriel’s fingers, eager to get back to working, but Vairë seated her upon a cushioned seat before it and steadied Míriel’s hand when she reached out to touch it.

“No,” Vairë said with a smile. “Not until I show you something. This perhaps isn’t a loom you’ve used before.”

It was precisely the type of loom Míriel had worked on, but a few minutes later, she understood what Vairë meant. She wove her hands over the long threads and suddenly an image appeared, as if a window opened in the midst of the loom. There was Indis jogging down the grassy fields, humming a merry tune, though Míriel noticed a little tear by the corner of one eye.

A breeze kicked up, and Indis stopped to get her hair out of her face. Something white and gold gleamed upon her breast, and Míriel smiled.

“She’s wearing my wedding gift,” she said softly. “I don’t think she ever takes it off.”

Vairë did not stop Míriel from reaching out this time to trace the round cheek or the lips of Indis.

By the time Míriel was done with her first tapestry of the halls, it was of the image of Indis, standing in the field with the great golden light blessing down on her, her long hair rippling in the wind.

*

“Careful with what visions you give Míriel,” Mandos said, hidden in shadows.

“I cannot stop her if she wishes to check on her husband and child, if she is curious,” Vairë said with a frown. “Do you perceive something in the future?”

“I cannot put a name to it yet,” Mandos confessed, “but I feel, whatever it may be, that Míriel must not be troubled by it.”

“Then what do I say if she asks me to give her another vision?” Vairë said. “She deeply loves Indis, but her questions may turn to Finwë.”

“Is there nothing else you could distract her with? There is something in the Music which sets me with unease. I do not feel it is right if she knows more of the outer world.”

“I know what I can do,” Vairë said. “We had a fascinating talk about the customs of her kin before we brought them to our lands. Through Míriel’s work, we may learn much of the first elves.”

And so it was decided. The next time Míriel asked to look out into the world through Vairë’s loom, Vairë instead asked her to make a tapestry of her favorite location in Endor, and Míriel set to work right away, depicting a tree by a precipice and the remains of a fruit on the ground.

*

Finwë had come to visit her, though Míriel did not think she could face him. It filled her with guilt, for she readily came to speak with Indis. But the memories of being with him reminded her of all that had eventually led her to the Halls, and she could not bear seeing him. Though she loved her son greatly, Finwë was always better with children, and she was comforted to know Fëanáro was under such loving care. And so she turned down each of Finwë’s requests.

Then one day, news came of a most bitter request. Míriel was sitting beside Vairë as the two collaborated on a long tapestry depicting the relationship between the elves and the Ainur when Vairë drew still, her eyes unfocused. Míriel was used to the changes that overtook the Valar when they were communicating by thought with another, so she only paused to be polite, taking the time to study their work with a critical eye.

“I bear news from my husband,” Vairë said. “Finwë has grown weary and in want of a wife, and he asks if you would return to your body or if he may find another to wed.”

Míriel froze. On the one hand, she was furious to think that Finwë would try to force her back out into the world, for she was content here, free of any bodily hurts and able to work on her crafts for hours on end without need for a break or feeling tired afterwards.

“Can he not be happy that I am?” Míriel said. “There is no greater existence than in this form.”

“He has told Námo that he desires to have more children.”

It was hard not to keep the tremor out of her voice, her fists clenched. “Then he wishes me to leave a place of comfort and happiness to return just to have him take delight in my body, and for me to lose more of myself in a second child’s birth? What, return to being enslaved to satisfying my body’s needs and his needs? I am happy dead! Let him wed again. It was hardly uncommon in Cuiviénen.”

“But it is odd,” Vairë said, though her voice held no scorn. “To the Valar, each man of the elves had a woman made for him. Just one, or none in some cases. It was how we perceived the Music, and we ourselves have fashioned our own forms and our relations accordingly.”

“And, truly, I respect and revere your kin's work on this world, for you have created all that we adore. And yet, though the Valar have fashioned this earth, the Valar did not make us, but Eru, and it does not surprise me that everything about us was not revealed to the Valar in the Music. How would that even be possible for the Valar to take it all in and to comprehend every note? Not to appear rude or skeptical of the One, but I do find it hard to imagine He spent so much time revealing to the Valar every facet of my people when your job was building this world.”

Vairë fell silent for a moment. “That is true. There is so much we were never exposed to. But this is getting beyond my scope. I will speak with my husband, and we may need to call a meeting.”

“You need not have one,” Míriel said under her breath, more to herself than to her mentor. “Eru knew what He was doing. And I am content here.”

But a meeting was still held, and Míriel found herself the center of the Valar’s attention, being prodded to explain, at length, the manner of elven marriage. Towards this, the Valar seemed far less inclined to warm up to, for they could not comprehend that love could grow twice, or more, in an elf’s life. They were settled in neat pairs, for the most part, and none’s heart was confused by having loved a second among the Ainur. The previous hearings of expanding the definition of a marriage had gone differently, for it was easy to convince them of the diversity of the body and of the soul. There had been evidence. But this time it had taken all of her energy to convince them that a second marriage was no mockery of Eru’s design of the Quendi.

Manwë sat in silence for the longest time, reaching out to Eru through thought, and when he at last did speak, it was only to ask Mandos a question.

“The laws the elves have forged for themselves in other lands are not of concern in Valinor,” he warned Míriel. “Our main concern now is what shall transpire should you return to life. We could extend the laws to accept the marriage of two Eldarin women or men, but we cannot extend it to more than one partner. What would become of Finwë’s second marriage should you be reembodied? Will Finwë not wish to return to his first wife, and what then of his second?”

“Then I will reside in the Halls forever,” Míriel said. “I have no desire to return to life.”

Nienna’s eyes did not leave Míriel’s face, though they held none of the sorrow or grief that she was known for, but confusion.

“You do not long for your life?” she asked, and though her voice was soft, the others grew silent and considered her words.

The memory of Indis, of their homeland and the lake flooded Míriel’s mind, mingled with the happy years with Finwë and of the moments she shared with Fëanáro when her body did not ache as badly.

“I…cannot,” Míriel said. “This would not be the first marriage you’ve dissolved, and it may not be the last.” Vairë and Nienna kept their eyes trained on her, though she noticed Manwë and Mandos’s faces turn to confusion. “But if you feel the best course of action is to keep me a spirit in these Halls, then I will accept. Sever my second marriage so Finwë may marry again.”

The expressions on Mandos and Manwë’s faces were, to Míriel’s relief, of compassion, even pity upon hearing her confession. They fell into conversation in thought, and when they at last spoke, Míriel was informed her marriage would officially dissolve in ten years’ time.

*

Indis sat, her meal untouched before her. Never did she imagine she would be sitting across from Finwë, but there he was at the dinner table, having been invited by Ingwë. He was as beautiful up close as he was from a distance. She had not meant to draw attention to herself, but seeing him making his way up the mountain brought the song out of her.

And now he sat before her, his eyes unable to leave hers. Her heart fluttered excitedly, sensing this to be the beginning of a new era for herself.

I have to tell Míriel!

*

The moment when the ties to Finwë were officially severed passed without Míriel knowing. She thought little of it, having returned to submerging herself in her work alongside Vairë. If that moment passed, Vairë chose not to tell her, having learned already how futile it was trying to get through such a stubborn elf. She only ever left the spinning room when Indis came to visit.

And such a day had come, some ten years since the day Míriel faced the Valar, that Indis appeared again. Míriel hummed to herself as she made herself presentable, the fluttering in her chest so akin to having her heart pounding fast in anticipation. It would be a visit unlike the others past for one special reason.

“Are you ready?” Vairë asked.

Taking a deep breath, Míriel nodded, and the long thick veil was cast aside, and Míriel and Indis both beheld one another for the first time in ages.

Indis let out an astonished gasp, unable to take her eyes off Míriel. “Love, you shine like the stars above!”

Míriel laughed. “I’ve become strong for you, Indis.”

“You have healed so well, it’s almost as if you have been reembodied! I…I have never seen you in such strong good health!”

Indis took a step inside, hesitated until Vairë encouraged her to come in, and she dashed towards Míriel. Their lips met and their arms gripped the other tightly. Míriel sighed into their long-desired kiss, marveling at how much she missed the sweet scent of Indis, of sugar and apples, her body so warm against her own, the curves still fitting against her so well.

“Your heart is racing so much,” Míriel said softly, parting a strand of golden hair and noting a vein in her neck pulsing excitedly.

“Yes,” Indis sighed. “I have wonderful news to report! But I hope you will not be angry with me?”

“Why would I be?”

“I broke my promise of not being seen by Finwë. Ingwë had invited him for a visit, and I was so excited to see him coming up the steps that I began to sing. It drew his attention to me, and…he asked Ingwë for my hand that very evening!”

“He did?” Míriel’s heart went cold, though it was not out of jealousy or spite, and she continued to embrace Indis. “But…what is the meaning of this, for my husband to wish to marry my wife? I put this curse on myself! He has found you and wishes to take you from me! And how odd. Our fates seemed to be interwoven, but why with him?”

“Perhaps this is written by Eru,” Indis said. “I will look after your son, though he is near adulthood himself. I hope you are not angry?”

“Slain, more like,” Míriel said. “The wife and husband I both have had to give up are marrying one another.”

“Then do you wish to return to life? I will vouch for you, for us.”

“No. This form you see shall be my only body for all of time.”

Indis broke away, taking a few steps to take in Míriel completely. “I hope you are not mad? You do not seem thrilled.”

“I am thrilled, trust me,” Míriel lied, and the next words she spoke was perhaps more to convince herself than to Indis that she truly was not upset. “I up and abandoned you when I came to Valinor, married another while you withered away with no love or child. You deserve the chance I had. I should have fought for us when I had the opportunity.

“I just cannot believe, why the both of us? Why are our lives tied to his?

“But do not think me jealous. I will pray for the best for you. You will adore Fëanáro’s stories and delight in his intellect, and Finwë, ah, you must dissuade him from any new form of art he may be considering, or from telling a joke he believes will amuse others.”

She approached Indis, cupping her chin in her hands. “Go, Indis. Claim the life you deserve. I will remain here and wonder what tale old Bálâ is seeking to tell with us. I give you my blessing, and my love.”

“And do not think I am replacing you,” Indis said. “You are forever my star by the Cuiviénen. I will visit you often; that will never change.”

Their kiss lingered long before Indis parted.

*

On the day of the wedding between Finwë and Indis, Vairë found Míriel looking through her loom, her long fingers softly tracing the form of her lovers, the first remnants, vague sketch of a new tapestry outlined with simple thread.

There were tears in Míriel’s eyes, though Vairë did not think it was from misery in having been replaced in life.

“I am truly sorry.” Vairë said softly, yet her voice came as a sharp echo in the silence. “This need not remain as such. We may meet again with Manwë, find another method to make everyone content.”

“She is wearing my jewel,” Míriel said, sniffling. “The bride’s jewel, I called it. It was my wedding gift to her. She exchanged fish bones for gold. It’s more beautiful on her than before.”

The pearl shone beautifully upon Indis’s breast, accenting her long silvery dress.

“It’s like she’s putting me in the marriage,” Míriel said. “I wonder if she plans on wearing it forever.”

“Was there a wedding gift she had given you?”

“Indis was my gift,” Míriel said. “I needed nothing else. And now that buffoon and bastard has come and married my wife.”

She laughed, but Vairë still caught the sniffle.