to grow out of ashy soil by softmoonlightmelody  

Faniel is, admittedly, one of the greatest joys of Indis's life. All her children are. But Faniel is special, in a way. Her last child, the only child she has without Finwë's influence. She looks like Indis and she looks like Finwë, even if her hair is the amber that neither of them possess.

Faniel, for all she has no father, will never know a father who loves a different child more. She will know a mother who loves her. She will know siblings who visit, sporadically, but who bring her gifts. She will know Valimar, not Tirion.

Indis raises her daughter up on the paths tracing Taniquetil, despite the Valar's distance. Indis raises her daughter up on the songs and ringing bells and sweet harps of the Vanyar. Indis raises her daughter up in a smaller manor with a courtyard the smells sweet of flowers.

She hopes she is doing well.

Indis waits, and waits, and waits. In twelve years, Faniel grows up, and in twelve years, everything changes.

The Darkening. The Kinslaying. Ingoldo's ascension to Ñoldóran. Fëanáro's flight. Arakáno and Lalwendë's trek.

Her grandchildren. Turukáno's wife Elenwë is pregnant when they leave, just barely so, but she refuses to let Turukáno stay behind on her account. There is only one grandchild in the House of Finwë, and he is not hers.

Findis is left. Arafinwë is left. Indis is left. And, even if Indis does not want to admit it to herself, her twelve-year-old daughter is left, too.

Indis resolves to let herself alone raise her daughter.

That sentiment lasts about as long as it takes for Míriel Þerindë to reunite with Finwë in the Halls, leave the Halls, and travel to Valimar to see her. Which means, around twenty years.

It happens on an ordinary day, when the lewisia flowers in her courtyard are just yet blooming. Faniel is taking music lessons with the minstrel Elemmírë, who seems delighted to teach her second Ñoldorin royal (after Makalaurë, of course). Elemmírë is in the process of writing her lament for Laurelin and Telperion, but she finds time to teach Faniel.

Indis was Makalaurë's first music teacher, yet still she defers to others. Of her children, Faniel is the sole heir of her musical talent. Findis is a writer, Lalwendë a cartographer. Arakáno prefers his law-making, and of course Ingoldo adores sailing.

And so Indis is alone in her house. For someone who grew up in palaces and married Finwë, Indis's new house is surprisingly ungrand. It is not small, but it is not grand, either. Standard Vanyarin architecture, an o-shape around a central courtyard.. There's rooms for Ingoldo and Findis, and another four guest rooms, but not much else.

Indis heard the Doom. And she lives close enough to the palace in any case.

And she also hears a knock on the door, before a muffled voice goes 'Ah, that is the doorbell!' and the soft chimes of the bell ring through her house.

A little noise later, Indis's butler Merwë answers the door, speaking shortly to whoever is there, before informing her of the woman standing in front of the door.

Indis closes her book and walks to greet her guest.

In front of her is none other than Míriel Þerindë, who breaks into a smile just like her son's in his most unguarded moments. Her silver hair is in a braid, red ribbons woven into it.

"Hello Indis Ñoldotári and Vanyáranel! I am Míriel Þerindë and Ñoldotári."

"Well met," Indis says, and nods her head in the proper inclination to a fellow monarch.

"Ignore the formality," Míriel tells her. "We married the same man. I think we're too close for that."

"Of course," Indis replies, feeling distinctly off-balanced. Whatever she expected, she did not expect this. "Tea?"

"Oh, thank you."

With all the decorum and will she has in herself, Indis gathers up and brings Míriel to the receiving room. It sits mostly unused - all her usual guests are close family, except for the occasional call from a Vanyarin noble who has not yet learned of Indis's dislike of visitors. Indis's housekeeper, Indomára, procurs the necessities of tea. Indis pours some out for Míriel and some for herself.

"Oh, it is quite wonderful to make your acquaintance," Míriel says. "I've been wanting to for quite some time - who else caught Finwë's fancy? I'm sure you're quite wonderful."

Indis struggles to find something to say. "You have already met me."

"Well, naturally, but that was so long, no? You have been living, had children, all while I have been in the Halls. I do not want to know the swift-footed princess of the Vanyar. I do not even want to know the second queen of the Ñoldor. I would like to know the Indis who lives under the stars a second time."

Indis, finally, properly, smiles. "I see. I would like to know the Míriel Þerindë who walks to her step-wife's home to get to know her better."

"Oh!" Míriel suddenly exclaims, taking her bag out. It's beautifully woven, and Indis recognizes it; Míriel made it before her reembodiment. "I forgot! I brought gifts."

Míriel brings out a tapestry, one of the largest Indis has ever seen. Indomára, in their infinitely helpful way, helps Míriel as soon as Indis calls them, bringing Merwë to help.

Indis gasps. In the centre is a beautiful recollection of her and Finwë's wedding day, without all the guests, just both of them standing at the altar. Surrounding the wedding weaving is pictures of all five of her children. Or, the four children grown and a Faniel who is unmistakeably herself yet an adult.

In the corner is Míriel's signature, in the red that all of her tapestries share.

It's gorgeous.

"Thank you," Indis says.

"My pleasure," Míriel says, unmistakeably proud of herself. In the spare moments that Indis hears Fëanáro without him noticing her, it's the same tone he takes when people praise his works. It's reflected across Makalaurë and Curufinwë and Morifinwë.

Indis wonders if Míriel knows that.

"I also brought this!" Míriel says. It's a much more impersonal piece, thankfully. Indis has enjoyed Míriel's company so far, but there is only so much Indis can think about her children before desiring to put every memory away.

To Indis's surprise, they contain the designs of the Valar. Manwë's swirls and Varda's dots, Nienna's droplet-shapes. The designs are unique to the Vanyar; the Teleri have adopted Ulmo's whorls only and the Ñoldor prefer to not dedicate their work, explicitly or implicitly, to any Vala, instead making images of stories from before and after the Great Journey, of individual Eldar.

Indis touches it, almost gingerly. Blues and greens dominate most of the piece, deep purples occasionally mixed in, all on the lighter side of their hues.

In the centre is a lotus flower. Although Indis is no great scholar of flower-meanings, she at least remembers from Findis's writing ramblings that lotuses represent resilience and rebirth. With Nienna's teardrops and Varda's dots, it is unmistakeable what Míriel means.

"Thank you," Indis says. Tears prick at her eyes.

Míriel embraces her, a slightly over-familiar gesture from a woman Indis barely knows. Indis accepts it.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Indis sees Indomára and Merwë take away Míriel's beautiful work.

Eventually, Indis frees herself from Míriel's arms.

"There is something else I wish to speak to you of," Mírie mentions. "Our husband wished me to pass on good will to you from the Halls."

"I see," Indis manages.

"Finwë decided that I should have a chance to live again," Míriel says, "but it comes not without a sacrifice. Therefore, he also told me that if you wish to remarry, eventually, he will hold it not against you."

"I wish not to consider remarriage at this time," Indis replies.

"Neither do I. Yet Finwë also apologizes for not helping your Faniel grow to adulthood. He wishes to give her an ataressë, if he is permissed, in lieu of speaking."

"What is it? I will ask if Faniel wants it."

"Findemeldë, or if you think it better, Meldánel."

Indis considers, for a moment. Neither her nor Finwë have ever been good at naming, or perhaps they simply do not compare to the name that is Fëanáro. But she understands the two points Finwë is making in his ataressi, the first element asserting Faniel as his daughter and the second reminding her she is loved, or just 'beloved daughter'. Meldánel Faniel is a tad repetitive, though.

"Findemeldë," Indis says, "is what I will offer Faniel. Meldánel sounds ill with Faniel."

"So be it," Míriel says. "Has Faniel been learned of by Tirion or by Valimar?"

"No. I considered, but the Darkening occured when Faniel was two-and-ten, when she should have been introduced. I suppose I have been keeping her to myself alone."

Míriel tilts her head and nods. "I see."

"You can meet her," Indis offers.

Míriel looks out at the city, and the clock Indis has in her receiving room. "I must apologize. I must leave. Do you know if lodging can be found in the city? I am not naive enough to think a silver-haired woman named Míriel, speaking Quenya the way I do and bearing the face I do, will be well-received by many."

"Stay here," Indis offers, surprising herself. "I have enough space. One guest room is sufficient for you, I would believe."

Míriel smiles. "Thank you, Indis. I hope I am not too much a bother."

"Faniel will be soon back; she will still yet leave for school to board soon. Company is not amiss. I shall introduce you as her ataveri."

Míriel smiles. "Very well."

"Follow me," Indis says. "I shall show you the guest room. Did you bring any belongings?"

"Yes," Míriel says, shortly. "That that I carry. Your son, Arafinwë Ñoldóran, was most gracious, but I did not want to infringe on his politeness."

"I raised him well," Indis says, accepting the compliment as it is. "You could have infringed more."

Míriel smiles.

"What colours do you wear? We shall shop."

"I usually make my own. And do not fear; I am sure the fabrics of Valimar will suffice. But really, you do not need to worry about my moneys. Fëanáro did not bring even half of his riches with him; in lieu of anyone else I shall inherit; Nerdanel has made it clear she does not care for any of his belongings, save what her sons have left. Moreover the moneys left from when I sold my works remain; those Finwë never claimed, and, in hope that I would return to make use of them as my own, Fëanáro never spent any. I can pay you also for the rent of your rooms."

"You need not worry of that," Indis replies. "Between lodging in my brother's city, and the money I use from our husband, I need not worry of pay at all. We may need to hire more staff, though - most of yours went to your son's service, and from there crossed the Sea in the swanships."

Míriel smiles at that, briefly. "We will manage. Extort your son if necessary."

"Míriel!"

Míriel laughs, and Indis smiles at her. "I'll introduce you to Faniel when she arrives back home."

Míriel nods, and closes the door of her new room.

Indis sets out.

Unlike the Ñoldor, the Vanyar do not build designated craft rooms in their houses. Every Ñoldorin house has at least two, but Indis has enough rooms to suffice. She has a music room - what is Faniel's craft room and her own music room - but she does not have a weaving room, or a fabric room, or whatever the specific term is.

Indis takes stock of the rooms in her house. There is the hall, for recieving guests and hosting parties; the receiving room, for receiving guests in small parties; the dining room; the kitchen, which is firmly her cook Melufindë's domain, although Melufindë must be informed of Míriel's staying; the servants' quarters, which Indis knows one room remains unoccupied, but must be kept for new staff - Míriel, at least, requires a personal servant; the parlor; the other parlor; the third parlor...

Why does Indis have so many parlors?

Oh, yes, they're general rooms. The Vanyar may not have craft rooms, but they have plenty of extra rooms nonetheless. The third parlor, therefore, can be turned into Míriel's craft room. It is across the courtyard from the music room, so if Míriel so wishes, she can open the window to hear Faniel's music or Indis's music.

"My lady?" Indomára brings her out of her thoughts. "I have informed Melufindë of Míriel's lodging with us; what else must be prepared?"

"Tomorrow, Míriel and I shall purchase a loom as well as fabrics and threads. While we are away, please clear the third parlor of most furniture save a couch and the cabinets. It shall be Míriel's craft room."

Indomára nods. "Melufindë asks of any issues with Míriel's diet."

"Prepare the standard food for a guest - I shall ask Míriel tomorrow. And lastly, Míriel needs a personal servant - begin looking for someone to hire. Preferably someone who does not harbour anti-Fëanárean sentiments, although that may be difficult."

Indomára smiles. "I apologize for your time, my lady."

"Oh, you don't need to."

And Indis waits. Ilinwë, Faniel's personal servant, is travelling on foot to bring Faniel back - Elemmírë's house is not far, luckily, and Ilinwë does enjoy walking far more than carriage or horse-riding (from some fear of the animal), and it is good for Faniel, so Indis does not protest.

Indis sighs and leaves to the music room. She cannot help her worrying; she is used to playing to help it.

She draws melodies out of her dulcimer, a common instrument among the Vanyar, and she waits for Faniel to be home.

The tune that winds itself out of her is an old one, from Cuiviénen, when the stars could still be seen, splattering the way that they cannot be seen in Valinor, with Laurelin and Telperion's light.

It is the oldest kind of song the Eldar have; a song from Cuiviénen about the stars. Composed by Lir and Liryë, two Nelyar who awoke as the second people of Enel and Enelyë.

It's about the stars. All of the earliest Cuiviénen songs are; the Quendi first saw the stars and could not believe their eyes.

And now, the stars are back, as brilliant as the ones in Cuiviénen.

Cuiviénen was full of fear and uncertainty and strife, but it was beautiful. And Indis has found that Valinor is no less full of strife, if perhaps more certain and less fearful.

She's drawn out of her musings by the sound of Faniel's laughter in the hall, and she rises to meet her daughter.

"Ammë!" Faniel exclaims when she sees Indis, a flash of her distinctive amber hair in Indis's eye before Faniel buries herself in Indis's arms.

"How was Miss Elemmírë?"

"She's good," Faniel says. "She says she's proud of me."

"That's excellent," Indis says. "And she's right. You have been doing quite well - it will only be a little before you surpass me!"

Faniel laughs.

"But otherwise, I have some news," Indis tells her. Faniel begins to look excited; it's the same way Indis tells her about either Ingoldo or Findis visiting. "I am sure you are familiar with the story of how your father and I came to be married."

Faniel nods, more hesitant this time. Indis locks eyes with Ezellien, her own personal servant. Ezellien nods, shortly, and moves up the stairs to get Míriel.

"Well, due to the circumstances surrounding your father's death, your ataveri has come to stay with us. Her name is Míriel Þerindë."

Faniel nods again. "Is she nice?"

"Yes," Indis says. "Would you like to meet her?"

"Okay."

Faniel is a little shy, just like how Ingoldo was when he was small, but Indis hopes Míriel won't be too daring of a leap.

Ezellien comes back down the stairs, and Míriel follows her. Her hair is, instead of its braid before, loose, yet still Míriel retains her weaver's braid and parental braid; the red ribbons are absent. Indis takes time to note her dress that she had overlooked earlier - a deep red, with Fëanárean stars and cereus flowers embroidered in silver and white. A silver sash goes around her waist, and it is deeply Ñoldorin with the high collars and form-fitting silhouette.

"You must be Faniel," Míriel says. "I'm your ataveri."

It's almost painfully obvious Míriel does not know how to act around Faniel. Indis suppresses a laugh.

"Hi," Faniel says back.

"Indis tells me that you play music," Míriel says. "What kind of music?"

"I like dissonance," Faniel says.

Indis winces internally. Usually, people do not like to hear that Faniel likes anything unharmonious. Indis could not care less and has grown to appreciate the unique music, but some people are less giving. Míriel, though, simply nods.

"Do you think you'll ever write music?"

Faniel lights up. "Do you think I can?"

"Anyone can," Míriel answers. "It's just about wanting to."

Indis nods, slightly, although neither Faniel nor Míriel are looking towards her. Although not quite accomplished, Míriel isn't entirely hopeless in the company of Faniel.

Because that statement makes Faniel light up. "You really think that?"

"Yes," Míriel says, with a sort of absolute certainty in her voice that feels like she has declared something unshakeable, something as true as the brightness of the stars, something as real as the fabrics she spins.

Indis is glad for it; she wants Faniel and Míriel to get along.

(She ignores the remembrance of Fëanáro's own calculated distance.)

The rest of the day is a rather relaxed dinner, and then Indis informs Míriel of the shopping that she plans on tomorrow.

"I do need a loom," Míriel says, rather carefully. "And some needles and other supplies."

"And more clothing," Indis reminds her.

"Very well."

And so, while Faniel is foistered upon her grandfather Ingwë, Indis and Míriel go shopping.

It's not really a bonding time. Indis takes Míriel to fabric shops, where merchants bring wool and cotton from the farms; Indis takes Míriel to woodworking shops, where looms sit new in the corners.

Míriel ends up choosing a loom of aged ipe wood, silver with time, treated only after it aged, and fabrics in all sorts of colours. Fëanáro, although remembered mostly for his red, wore all colours, too, silver and gold and red and blue and yellow. Míriel favours red and green and gold and silver, just like Fëanáro. She also chooses yarns and threads in every colour imaginable.

It's odd. Míriel Þerindë had never seemed like a real person in Indis's imagination. Míriel existed only as a nebulous concept: the first queen, Fëanáro's dead mother, Finwë's first wife, her predecessor.

But Míriel is in front of her right now, and suddenly, Indis understands how Fëanáro protested and protested and fought for his mother's continued existence.

The weight of forever never seemed so difficult. Míriel is a real person now, passionate and purposeful and proud.

Indis had always felt a little guilty for upsetting Fëanáro and Finwë's life. This guilt, the guilt for upsetting <i>Míriel's<i>, is new.

When they are finally done with all the shopping, sitting together in Indis's courtyard, Indis voices these thoughts. She's thousands of years old. She can do this. She's raised four children, half-raised one, and is raising another.

Indis is done just letting things happen.

"I'm sorry," is what Indis ends up settling on.

"About what?" Míriel asks. "You've made every accommodation for me. I should be apologizing for barging into your life."

"No. For marrying Finwë and letting you stay dead permanently."

Míriel looks to the side, her green eyes that are so reminiscent of Fëanáro's flickering to sadness before centering again. "I'm not upset at you."

Indis tilts her head.

"I barely knew you. I guess in some vein it would be easier to blame you. But mostly, as I healed and began to want to leave the Halls, I began to feel bitter towards Finwë," Míriel says. "When we met again, after all these years, I- well, I didn't really say anything. I didn't know how to be angry at him when he was just slain. And anyway, I didn't want our first conversation to be full of anger."

Míriel really has to stop reminding Indis endlessly of Fëanáro. Indis thinks she did the best could have done, but nothing has ever stopped her from feeling like she was failing him. He left weeks after Ñolofinwë was born. Findis is the only one who knew Fëanáro before he came back more bitter than a newlywed should have been.

"So you avoided it."

"So I avoided it. I guess the answer is that you could have been anyone. Finwë, on the other hand, was my husband."

"I'm sorry."

"I wish I could have apologized to Fëanáro, though. I feel like I failed him."

"Me too."

They sit in a sort of commiserative silence, thinking about the past and regretting it. But it's a settling silence, the domestic kind of silence.

From there, they begin a rhythm. Míriel, instead of Ilinwë, walks Faniel to school. Míriel spends time in her new craft room, but Indis will sometimes come into the room with her dulcimer to play while Míriel works. And, as it turns out, Míriel plays the flute, although admittedly not very well.

It's startlingly domestic, sometimes. Occasionally, when they talk, Indis gets glimpses of why Finwë must have loved her. Míriel is, for better or for worse, very similar to Indis when she begins to strip away all the outer layers. There's a deep feeling that Indis understands to be a love of life, in its every forms. Just like she sings loudly in the streets and in the paths tracing the woods of Taniquetil, Míriel watches the stars, endlessly, and goes dancing in the plazas whenever there is a dance to be had.

Indis had been born in Cuiviénen, just before her father Ingwë had come back from Valinor, but had not lived in it the same way Míriel did, being born just before the Great Journey commenced. Míriel and Finwë had wed in Valinor, although betrothed in Cuiviénen, and Indis was grown by that time. She still remembers it clearly. First, of course, the lightning-strike moment when she fell in love with Finwë, and second, the raining moment that came after in which she realized she would never have him.

The second part turned out to be a lie, of course, but Indis wouldn't have known then.

Finwë is gone, now, though. Indis thought she had come to terms with that. But Finwë, of course, had to let himself stay dead permanently so Míriel could stay alive. Indis loves Finwë; he is one of the brightest stars in her sky. Indis wonders, briefly, if she'll ever see him again.

Indis is also, surprisingly, not entirely too sad about that. Finwë made his choices. She is bitter that he has abandoned Faniel a second time, but it is slightly alleviated by an ataressë.

The new domesticity she has with Míriel slips through her fingers, and weeks turn to months turn to years, and in the thirtieth year after the world has been Darkened, news breaks of new lights. The bright, golden light Indis knew as of Laurelin has kept is brilliance in Naira. Telperion's replacement, however, is much diminished - the flower that it was made for fell upon the ground. They call it Rána. Across the sea, Indis's children call Naira Anar and Rána Isil.

Indis has fallen out of fashion of praying, but she learns how to pray again. Not to Manwë and Varda as much as she did before, but more to Eru, in the style of the Ñoldor. She does not trust the Valar to protect her children.

Naira and Rána are high above. Spring brings the flowering of cherry blossoms and forget-me-nots. Faniel is forty-two. Míriel weaves a tapestry of their new sunsets. Indis hopes and sings. There is not much else to do.

Chapter End Notes

consider this my love letter to indis. generally, i prefer her and míriel to have only known each other in strictly political terms - i think it makes indis much more sympathetic of a character, and there's no sign whether or not they were friends. the minyar also held themselves above the tatyar and sindar because they were the eldest, so that could promote the distance between them.

i'm also a faniel truther although she doesn't play much into this story. i really like the symmetry of finwë having three sons and three daughters, as well as faniel and fëanor both missing a parent. same reason i go with indis ingwiel! it's possibly the least canon of all indis parentages, but the symmetry of elrond and elros uniting the bloodlines of finwë, elwë, and ingwë (plus olwë for good measure i guess) is impossible to pass up for me. i also think making indis younger (as she would be if she was ingwë's daughter) match nicely to her probably not realizing the full implications of míriel being dead forever.

finally, indis actually has a lot more household staff than i've led you to believe. besides ezellien (personal servant, kind of like a lady's maid), merwë (butler), indomára (housekeeper), melufindë (cook), and ilinwë (faniel's personal servant), there's also lótindil (gardener) and alcarinien (eventually míriel's personal servant). if i ever add more to this, i'll probably incorporate those two. indis has a very small household and lives in a pretty small place (compared to most vanyar nobility), but she's still a princess. and if you picked it up, indomára is nonbinary! i typically try to use names ending in -a or -u for nonbinary elves (given that -ë is feminine to -o's masculine, although there are caveats. see: makalaurë).

there's. so much more to say but i'm going to cut myself off here. i hope you enjoyed reading this piece!

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