Eä's Redemption by AaronAzrael  

Of Fëanor and the Release of Melkor

At last the Three Eldar Kindreds gathered
in Valinor, in the Noontide of the Blessed Realm;
Melkor was in chains, angry and bothered,
too busy being vile, grim and bitter; overwhelmed.

For Valinor, it was a time of joy and of glory -
long in years, yet rather brief in memory.
The Eldar grew in stature of spirit and body,
The Noldor advanced in craftmanship; exemplary.

Long years they laboured, ever better,
from which sprang countless precious things,
the Noldor even devised the first letters,
Rúmil of Tirion - the sage who invented signs

for recording written speech and song,
either carved upon metal and stone,
or inscribed with pen and brushes long,
for history to be remembered and known.

It was also in those days Curufinwë
was born in Eldamar, in Tirion's royal halls,
the first and most beloved son of Finwë;
Fëanor, the Spirit of Fire, was he called

by his beloved mother Míriel instead,
and by this name he is remembered
in the Noldor traditions' spread,
the glorified Master of Science hot-tempered.

Míriel was also called Serindë,
for her unsurpassed skill with the loom,
her hands most gifted known to be
at broidery; so was the gift of her womb.

Great and radiant was the love between
Finwë and Míriel, blossoming in the happy days
of the Blessed Realm; in the serene
light of the Two Trees they felt purest grace.

Yet in giving life to her son,
Míriel was slowly consumed in body and spirit;
longing for release of the burden
of life, she wanted to withdraw and be free from it.

Having bestowed upon the child both life and name,
she said to Finwë words that are hard to be heard:
"I shall not bear a child anymore - ever again,
my strength was poured wholly into Fëanor's birth."

Finwë was grieved, for the Noldor were still
in the dawn of their days, he hoped for many children,
amid the bliss of Aman, he had other will:
"Will not Aman itself restore your strength then?

Here every weariness finds its rest."
Yet Míriel continued to fade away so pale,
so Finwë thought Manwë knew the best,
who entrusted her to Irmo of Lórien, frail.

Irmo should care for her for a while,
and at their parting Finwë was crestfallen,
he considered the thought so vile
that she'd have to be away, he felt caution.

For he believed they would part for a short time,
that she would return recovered from convalescence,
and her man felt sad she'd miss the period prime
of their newborn son growing without her presence.

"You are right; it is so," said Míriel.
"I would weep, were I not so utterly spent.
Yet do not blame me for this, as well
as not for whatever may come as an event."

She went into the gardens of Lórien,
laying down to rest, seemingly asleep,
her spirit departed silently to heaven,
the Halls of Mandos, leaving Finwë to weep.