Archive of Our Own

Of course Celebrían was familiar with the tale of Míriel, or at least she had thought she was. When Celebrimbor had met her off the boat at Avallonë and taken her to Lórien she had been so numb with the pervasive greyness that had overtaken her since her capture and torment that she had barely the energy to consider what she would find there, beyond the hope of healing.

Their passage through Tirion had been a blur of introductions, too many related strangers with well-meaning offers of assistance that she wasn't ready for. Fortunately Celebrimbor had been at her side throughout, helping her navigate the situation until she could leave without appearing rude. Celebrían was certain her grandparents were lovely people but she didn't have the energy to get to know them just yet.

But eventually they reached Lórien - stepping under the canopy of trees had been a relief - and were met by elven and Maiar assistants of Irmo and Estë, who guided her to a safe place to rest. Celebrían was half-convinced the soft-spoken silver-haired elf woman had called herself Míriel but she told herself she must have been mistaken in her tiredness and confusion. 

But as her healing progressed she discovered she had been right the first time. She certainly hadn't expected to find their shared great-grandparents alive and apparently all happy together.

As the deep sense of peace that radiating through the woods of Lórien started to sink in and Celebrían finally lost the tremors that had wracked her for years, she began to feel curious about the story behind it.

She had always heard that Míriel had forsaken life in her weariness after bearing Fëanor and, depending on who you listened to, either that it had been an early warning of Fëanor's disruptiveness or else that Finwë's subsequent remarriage had doomed the Noldor. One version she had been told had even said that Finwë would be forbidden re-embodiment, and yet here the three of them were.

One evening, sitting quietly under the stars with her cousin's warmth against her side, she asked him if he could explain. Instead, Celebrimbor offered to invite Finwë, Míriel and Indis to join them and, moments after she'd agreed, the three elder elves wandered into their clearing.

Finwë always gave her a sense of familiarity; all the men of his line had a certain similarity of features - Celebrimbor, Ereinion, Elrond himself - with the same dark eyes. Indis had the rich golden hair of the Vanyar, whilst Míriel's was so fair it was almost white, all the more striking against her dark skin.

They settled down, all three in contact with each other, and Indis started the tale:

"I hear you wanted to understand how we came to be together? We met under the stars at Cuiviénen and loved each other, never knowing any wrong in it."

Celebrían found herself watching as a younger Míriel and Indis stood close, hands clasped together as a young Finwë, a beautiful blond man, presumably Ingwë, and a taller man, who must have been Elu Thingol, spoke to a glowing stranger.

The huntsman – for it was clear he was such with his white horse, his horn and spear and a bow slung over the back of his seat – was taller and broader than any of the Quendi and when he spoke his voice carried deep and clear. "I am Oromë of the Valar," he names himself. "I stand with those opposed to the Enemy, the Dark Rider and all their works. The Valar have watched you from afar and wish to befriend you, who we call Eldar in our own speech, people of the stars, for you are guided by them and abide in their light."

Some of the Quendi watching are clearly curious about his words, and gather closer; others, less trusting perhaps, continue to observe from a distance, whilst more, including Míriel and Indis start to wander off, to return to their daily tasks or interests, Míriel to her weaving and Indis to her spinning.

Finwë joins them later, carrying a dish of stew from the communal pot. Indis serves it into bowls with fresh bread as Míriel packs away their crafting.

They sit on either side of Finwë, always in contact as they are in the present while telling their story. Finwë tells them that the rider had given them a warning, "He didn't give any explanation how or why but he says there will be strange times to come, the very air will be disturbed, but he cautioned us to stay here at Cuiviénen where it will be safe and not to wander, however long it lasts." 

That must have been the Valar's original war on Morgoth, when the Enemy was bound and cast into Mandos. Celebrían, long accustomed to her parents being the eldest elves around, is suddenly struck by how ancient her great-grandparents are, who were already thousands of years old when Galadriel was born, and had seen so much.

And through their memories she sees Míriel, Indis and Finwë laid down to sleep on a flet high in the trees; Míriel closest to the trunk of the tree, an arm around Indis' waist, who in turn has her head resting against Finwë's shoulder, Finwë being nearer to the edge of the platform, a stone knife close to hand, with the settlement at Cuiviénen spread out before them. It has some similarities to Lothlórien, though there are more buildings on the ground, of a variety of materials and some brightly painted. It is easy to forget that at this time the Quendi probably numbered no more than ten thousand, only a few short generations from their first awakening ancestors.

"We wondered if it would really be anything to be concerned about. But we were soon glad of the warning. The ground shook at times, the waters of the lake rose and fell violently, and there was brightness like great fires in the skies to the north. We huddled together at rest, listening to sounds like distant thunder, through the skies above Cuiviénen were clear."

"It lasted for many years but eventually peace was restored, though the land had changed in many ways, new streams formed while other rivers dried up, hills and valleys appearing where the ground had been flat before."

Oromë, the bright huntsman returns to them once things have settled. "I come with an offer from my kin, the Valar. Valinor, our home, is a safe place free from sadness, pain, and death. I will lead any who wish to travel there, though the journey will be long."

Finwë's is one of the voices raised in favour but, for a decision to be made for all, a full council must be held, made from the leaders of the Minyar, Tatyar, and Nelyar. Though those who have lost loved ones are attracted by the promise of safety, while others are interested in the promise of a fertile land full of animals to hunt without the risk of the creatures which lurk in the dark forests, the arguments to stay win out: too many of the Quendi are happy in Cuiviénen, despite its dangers, and don't see why they would want to leave their homes to take a long journey to an unknown place.

Finwë, disheartened, returns to Indis and Míriel and shares with them his own desire for adventure. The burden of responsibility for the safety of his people also weighs heavy on him, "Even if the journey is long, surely it would be worth it for the reward at the end?"

"Myself I'm intrigued by the stories of these ever-glowing Trees," Míriel says. "What cloth might I weave there of colours I have never seen before." 

Indis takes up the idea, "Indeed what fibres, what dyes might we find there? Certainly, there may be other trees or flowers that we have not encountered."

"Or animals to hunt and skin," Finwë says, clearly now seeing where this was going. "Yes, there is much to be learnt from a new land."

Celebrimbor, ever the craftsman, says, "Now I see what truly persuaded the Noldor to travel here. Not for peace nor safety but to sate their never-ending thirst for knowledge!"

"Of course," Finwë agrees. "We spent the time until Oromë returned planting ideas in their minds of what treasures we could discover, of what we could learn from his people."

"And despite everything which happened," Míriel says softly, "I think we were right."

She continues, "When Oromë returned, looking for ambassadors, Finwë was one of the first to volunteer to speak with the Lords of the Valar and find if there was truly a place for the Quendi in Valinor. Again, the council met to discuss the matter but this time the answer was the one we hoped for."

Finwë bursts into their crafting room, "It's agreed, I'm to go with Oromë."

"Alone?" Indis asks with concern.

"When are you leaving?" Míriel asks more practically.

"At dawn. But not alone, Ingwë and Elwë will travel there too."

"We need to pack for your journey," Míriel says sensibly. "Do you know how long it will take? What supplies you will need?"

"We're to ride with Oromë on his horse so travelling light. He says everything will be provided but whether he means we will hunt as we go or perhaps he has stores along the route, it wasn't clear."

Frequently years passed between Oromë's visits but that didn't mean his home was that far away. "How long will you be gone though. Months? Seasons?"

"Several months, I should think, from what he has described," Finwë says. "We shall try to stop each other from getting distracted but there will be so much to see."

"Must it be you?" Indis asks, but she is clearly certain of his answer as she is already heading to a chest where she pulls out a knapsack and starts to fill it.

"You know how I feel about this opportunity," Finwë tells them.

"We shall miss you," Míriel says gently, without lifting her eyes from her work.

Finwë's expression softens and his voice catches as he says, "I'll miss you too."

Time passes - a whole season - and the leaves are once again full on the trees when the three elves return, dressed in fine robes beyond the skill of even Míriel, and their eyes seem to carry an inner glow like a reflected star. 

Indis is the first to approach Finwë, tentative in reaching out to him as though he might have changed in more than just appearance. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close with an urgency, even as Míriel closes the distance to join them.

Then all the Quendi are gathering around their returned folk, voices raised full of questions.

Finwë is animated as he describes everything they'd seen, the lands prepared for their settlements, the forests and lakes of the new land, but he is almost at a loss for superlatives to describe the Two Trees; taller and wider than any tree seen in their wanderings before, the glow was visible for miles around, as soon as they had crossed the mountains, almost dazzlingly bright compared to starlight or firelight, and the colours… 

Ingwë and Olwe add their own accounts and between the three of them, a large number of the folk of Cuiviénen are ready to pack up and depart immediately, though they are cautioned that their journey will not be as simple as travelling in Oromë's company had been.

Celebrían has been impressed by the beauty of Valinor, the calmness, after living through a much less turbulent time than the elves at Cuiviénen had. Even with the tales her mother had told, she couldn't imagine how different it could have been with the Two Trees. And yet, Galadriel had grown up taking them and their light for granted. For elves accustomed to only starlight, it must have been truly overwhelming.

"The journey was far from easy with our whole folk carrying all their worldly possessions. Maybe the Dark Rider was gone, no dark force stealing our people in the night, but there were still dangers and distractions. Elwë's folk in particular were divided, torn between their curiosity and their love of our homeland, especially when Elwë himself disappeared one night with no sign of where he'd gone."

"After waiting several months for Elwë's return we decided to cross the river and continue on our journey."

"If I go missing," Finwë tells Míriel and Indis that, "I hope you will continue onto Valinor without me." 

Míriel and Indis promise him they will. "We'll draw strength from each other if that happens."

Celebrían had never met Elwe, called Elu when her mother spoke of him, but she knew of his story. In Finwë's expression there is grief at losing a dear friend but she cannot regret it: if Elu and Melian had not met, Elrond would have never been born.

They see in the vision that resuming the journey hasn't gone smoothly. As the Noldor cross the river on their makeshift bridge, there is an accident - a cart wheel breaks, tipping its owners and the contents of their wagon into the river. 

Finwë himself goes in after them and the elf and their child are rescued with only minor injuries but many of their possessions have been washed downstream and can't be recovered. As a shivering, soaking Finwë tries to hand the child back, the distraught parent angrily blames him for their loss and injuries.

Wrapping him in dry blankets, Míriel and Indis reassure Finwë that they trust he's made the right decision in leading them here and onwards. "There were dangers back in Cuiviénen too, that's part of why we all agreed to travel to Valinor."

"But we wouldn't be facing these dangers if we'd stayed there." He sighs deeply. "None of the Vanyar seem to doubt Ingwë's decision."

"Meanwhile a large part of Elwë's people are already talking of stopping in these lands or even turning back," Míriel points out. 

"Take your mind off it. Tell us again about the sights you saw on your journey, those you can't wait to share with us; of the light of the Trees, or the beauty of the lands of Valinor, or maybe the glory of the sea," Indis suggests.

Finwë leans back and closes his eyes. "It won't be long now until we reach the sea. It's not like anything you've seen before: a lake so broad it felt like it would never end, and the waves out in the middle of it are nothing like the soft ones which break on the lakeshore but higher than the tallest tree. But it shines silver and blue-green under the stars, sparkling like millions of dewdrops."

Míriel and Indis at his side are clearly rapt by his descriptions.

"I wish I had seen more of these lands though," he laments. "We raced along on Oromë's steed at breakneck speed. It was enough to tell it would be a long journey on foot but not enough to warn of the terrain."

They reach the foothills of a great mountain range. Ingwë and Finwë are asked if these are the mountains that mark the entrance to Valinor - their people looking in vain for the promised light - and they have to admit there is still further to travel.

As it seems many are ready to give up, Oromë returns to guide them the last stretch of the journey to the sea. A host of the Teleri under Lenwë choose to turn back and the remainder hesitate over which group to follow.

Celebrían has heard this side of the tale before, from Círdan, who was one of those who had stayed. It is clear that this will be a long tale so they call it a night.

"Surely you have heard this all before?" Celebrían asks Celebrimbor as they head back to their lodgings.

"Only the abridged version," he says, shaking his head. "I had feared to ask."

Celebrimbor and Celebrían return the next day, settling down again to listen.

"So, you left off yesterday as you made it to Valinor?" Celebrían prompts.

Míriel takes up the story, weaving as she talks. "Well, eventually. It took many years, and more baulked when we came to the shore of the Great Sea, but finally the Noldor and Vanyar at least reached the shores of Valinor. We rested there a while, becoming accustomed to even the softer light as it passed the mountains."

"In time we were shown the places set aside for our settlements and started building. The Blessed Realm was everything we had been told it would be, peaceful and filled with natural resources. The Trees were as beautiful as described, maybe more so, the light almost painfully beautiful and I had so many ideas for what could be done with it." 

"Once we were all housed and had started to build for pleasure rather than simply necessity, the Valar encouraged us to hold celebrations and Finwë was proclaimed King of the Noldor, Ingwë of the Vanyar and Olwe of the Teleri." 

"The celebrations lasted for days, as much for making it to Valinor and safety as for the coronations since the kingship didn’t mean much to us at that point; it was just another name to mark the ruler, who had always to that point just been the most suitable child of the previous ruler."

"Our celebrations however were disturbed a little by a conversation Finwë had with Manwë."

"What's wrong?" Indis asks, the first to look up from her work.

"Manwë called us together to discuss what he considered an important matter."

Both Míriel and Indis put their craftwork down and give Finwë their full attention.

"Manwë told us we should each have a Queen, as he does."

"And you didn't think we'd want the responsibility?" Indis asks, a little pointedly.

"No, it's more complicated than that. He explained marriage as a soul-deep connection sanctified by Eru Iluvater and spoke of the bonds between Vala and Valier as exemplars."

"Certainly. So what's the issue? Is there a ceremony we need to do like your coronation?"

"He told me marriage is between two souls, not three."

Both their expressions show deep confusion.

"Why?" 

Finwë picks up the story: "I didn't see why it should matter but, if it was true I would manage without a Queen. The three of us continued to live together but the Valar, and especially Ingwë's disapproval, was particular hard on Indis. So we discussed our options. Míriel thought I should marry Indis since it was her people - the Vanyar - who were most concerned while Indis argued that the King of the Noldor should have a Noldor Queen. Eventually Míriel agreed she would marry me and that we would see if marriage really did make a difference."

The scene before them is of Míriel at her weaving: as she makes both of their wedding robes herself and also a robe for Indis that subtly echoes theirs: where Finwë's is cloth of gold with blue embellishments, both Míriel's and Indis' are blue with gold embellishments, Míriel's heavy with embroidered designs and Indis' much simpler.

On the morning of the wedding, Indis helps Míriel dress, kisses her for luck and braids flowers into her hair: larkspur, peonies and cornflowers, all representing love and devotion, a reminder of her place in their relationship, even if it might all change after this.

The wedding ceremony is recognisable but very different to those Celebrían has attended, including her own. No family members are present for either of them - whether they had already died in Middle Earth or chosen to stay behind Celebrían chooses not to ask - which role had been a significant concern on Celebrían's own wedding day; it was unlikely Maglor would've chosen to attend, even if he had known about it, and even less likely for either of Elrond's parents to appear but it wasn't impossible. Fortunately Glorfindel had done the honours and the only indication was the star of Eärendil glowing particularly brightly that evening.

But Míriel and Finwë make their vows in front of a great audience, swear in the name of Eru, and exchange rings, before a feast in the grand hall of Tirion. Indis sits between Ingwë and a younger elf, who must have been his son, at the feast while Finwë and Míriel are seated at the high table. All of them take turns at casting longing glances at the other when they think no-one's looking.

"It was a beautiful day but we both missed Indis’ presence at their side throughout," Finwë says. "Even after exchanging vows, we didn’t feel any new and special bond. Perhaps we had truly been married privately since we first made promises to each other under the starlight skies of Cuiviénen." 

When Finwë and Míriel get back to their room, Indis is waiting there for them. "Well?" she asks.

Míriel closes the distance between them, takes Indis' face in her hands, and kisses her. She looks back to Finwë who smiles and joins them. He leans in to kiss Indis, keeping one hand on Míriel's waist.

"We all agreed we felt no different," Finwë concludes. "We thought, maybe the rules on marriage were just for the Valar, and so we decided we would continue with our relationship as though nothing had changed."

On one level, her original question has been answered but Celebrían finds she only has more things she wants to know. She doesn't see Celebrimbor again the following day, and spends it wandering peacefully through the woods, enough like Lothlórien to soothe her soul but also there are so many new and different paths to explore. 

She has plenty of time to think, how would she feel if Elrond married again, if her children were at each other's throats, if she learnt they had done terrible things? Well, she had grown up knowing her mother had fought at Alqualondë, that Elrond had been raised by kinslayers, and she had always been close to Celebrimbor.

It's maybe a week later when she enters a clearing to find Celebrimbor, Míriel, Finwë and Indis sitting round as though they are waiting for her.

"Ask, granddaughter," Indis encourages her. "We won't be offended; the worst that will happen is that we will choose not to answer."

Celebrían drops onto one of the cushions. "So if you were all happy together how did it end up as, well, the version that we all got told."

"Ingwë disapproved of my spending too much time in Tirion and, when the Vanyar moved to Valmar, he strongly encouraged me to stay there with him. Though he wouldn't outright forbid me to visit he made his disapproval clear."

"Whatever he said, I appreciated that he was only repeating what he had been told by the Valar and that none of them understood the bond I had with Finwë and Míriel. And as much as it was frustrating that Ingwë couldn't accept the idea that the Valar could be wrong about something like this, I knew Ingwë loved me and only wanted what was best for me."

"She might be your closest friend but it's time to put away your childish notion that you can somehow share Finwë," Ingwë tells her, his tone and expression both suggesting that he thinks he's being helpful. "If you wish to marry, you should attempt to behave with more decorum, then maybe you can find a husband of your own."

With each visit to Tirion, Indis finds herself increasingly on the outskirts of the growing Noldorin court, as other elves have married as the Valar encourage, with triads and more from Cuiviénen breaking up into pairs. Indis has no official role in Finwë's court and, though no-one would openly admit any disapproval of how their king conducts his business, it is clear from the looks that she gets when they walk in the gardens together, or through the marketplace, that they are not sure how Indis fits into what they see as Finwë and Míriel's relationship. If she is fortunate, the looks are pitying, if not, they are judgmental.

"When I was away from them, of course, we could communicate a lot through osanwë but you know it isn't the same. We couldn't lie watching the stars and talk about whatever was on our minds - talk about how much we missed the stars even, for in that age the light of the Trees was so bright it outshone them. For the first time in centuries we weren't living in the same place and it was hard, even if I could still feel that I was loved and missed."

"We wrote each other long letters but we had to be circumspect as there wasn't such an expectation of privacy then, not when we had lived so closely together for so long, and I had concerns about Ingwë's ability to consider my relationship my own private business." 

"But when Míriel wrote telling me she had news the next time I visited, I was certain I knew what it was and left as soon as I could."

"I'm pregnant," Míriel announces, once the three of them are alone in their rooms, even though it's clearly not news to Finwë. She's glowing and Indis is delighted for her.

"How long have you known?" she asks. "There hasn't been an official announcement."

"We didn't want to do that until we'd told you in person," Finwë replies. "It didn't seem fair."

Indis gives him a warmly appreciative look. "If you want me to, I'll stay until the child is born."

"I always want you to stay," Míriel tells her softly.

Míriel is so evidently thrilled to be pregnant it takes a while to realise how much strain the pregnancy is putting on her - her skin is ashen and dry, how ever much Indis helps her moisturise, her hair becomes brittle and sheds onto the hairbrush, her cheeks hollow out even as her belly grows, and her eyes are more sunken with bags under them as, even though she sleeps for hours, it is never restful enough. 

Indis ignores letters from Ingwë presumably asking when she will be returning to Valmar. When Míriel asks about them, Indis tells her, "Ingwë cannot complain about the propriety of me helping my dear friend during a difficult pregnancy," and that's all she will say.

Indis stays at Míriel's side even through her childbirth, a constant presence when Finwë's duties take him away. The child - who Míriel names Fëanáro - is full of life and energy whilst Míriel is exhausted but satisfied.

"It took a while to realise that Míriel was still unwell," Indis continues, with a glance at Míriel to ensure she was comfortable with the turn of the story. "She seemed so happy with her son that I even returned to Valmar for a short while and it was only once I saw her again that I could tell she wasn't recovering."

"I had always assumed we would equally treasure any child born to the three of us but Fëanor screamed any time he was held by anyone other than Míriel or Finwë. Finwë did his best to ease the strain on Míriel but he had so many other duties that much of the caretaking fell on her. I did my best - I loved her and Finwë so I wanted to love their son too - but Míriel never seemed to regain her vitality."

"As she weakened, Finwë had to increasingly step in to care for Fëanor and meanwhile I was caring for Míriel."

Indis sits at Míriel's side as she is lying on a cushioned bench, clearly thin and drawn. Indis helps Míriel take sips from a steaming mug, which she is too weak to hold alone.

"Eonwë says we should take her to Lórien, they may be able to find healing for her there."

"We? So you will come too?"

Finwë sighs, looking harried. "I'm sure my councillors will claim I cannot be spared but I will bring Fëanor to visit once she is settled there."

Indis has received another letter from Ingwë which she flings into the fire in disgust.

"What does he say this time?" Finwë asks, rocking Fëanor in his arms.

"He complains about how much time I am spending here. Asks why Míriel's family aren't looking after her. I <i>am</i> her family and he knows full well what fate befell the rest of her kin."

Finwë shushes her as the baby starts to stir. "Don't wake him. Ignore Ingwë, I will handle his objections."

So Indis travels in a cart, piled high with cushions and blankets, with Míriel taking her to the Gardens of Lórien, stays at her side as Maian attendants bustle around them in a scene which is deeply familiar to Celebrían as that could have been her from just a few months ago.

While Míriel slumbers, Indis weeps helpless tears as her lover spends more and more time asleep until the day she doesn't wake again.

Celebrían understands the desire, to just fall asleep and not wake up, but she's Galadriel's daughter. She could've stayed in Middle Earth to fade, she came to Valinor for healing.

And she is healing, for the first time since the attack, Celebrían has been able to sleep every night without waking suddenly in terror. She can't imagine giving up.

She tries to be polite when she says as much but Míriel only smiles. "Things happen the way they are needed. If I had lived, Indis and Finwë could never have been together."

Míriel talks a little about her side of the story, "I don't remember those days clearly. I felt like everything was happening to me through a grey fog. Yes, being pregnant was more draining than I'd expected, and giving birth even more so, but it was more than that. I couldn't face seeing other people and I found myself watching Fëanor anxiously all the time. I knew many women whose lives revolved around their children, and I'd seen no harm in that since the years children are small pass so quickly, but this didn't feel the same. My fears combined with my tiredness and I would go to sleep only to wake from nightmares then have to stay awake for a full cycle of the Trees just watching him and so it went in a vicious cycle. I had no energy to do anything else - even how weaving and embroidery lost all interest to me." 

Celebrían can't help but sympathise, she remembers well how exhausting pregnancy was, how tiny and delicate newborns were, and is again grateful for all the support she'd had from her mother and Elrond during her pregnancies and in those first few months of caring for her new babies.

Finwë takes up the story, though Míriel is clearly familiar with it and settles into Indis' side to listen.

At Míriel's funeral, Indis stays close to Finwë's side, though not touching for propriety's sake, even though it is clear she wants to. At least Finwë also has his son close by since, as much as it is known that she and Míriel were close, Indis can't cross the line in public. However, as soon as they are alone, they hold each other close, comforting each other as they let out their grief.

They sleep that night in the same bed, though nothing happens between them.

The next morning, Finwë looks resigned as he says, "I suppose you have to go back to Valmar now."

Indis frowns. "Why would I do that? Do you want me to leave?"

"Of course, I don't but Ingwë won't be happy," Finwë warns her.

"I don't care," she insists. "I'm not leaving you alone."

"It was easy to fall back into our old patterns of behaviour, though it felt wrong that Míriel wasn't with us, her absence a hole in both our lives."

"We hoped she would soon return, as though who died in the Hither Lands or on the journey to Valinor had, but years passed and Míriel wasn't reembodied. When I asked the Valar, they would only say that Míriel wasn't ready to return, and meanwhile Irmo's Maia continued to care for her body."

"I wasn't prepared to abandon Finwë, so I stayed in Tirion, despite the discomfort it clearly caused Ingwë."

"I asked the Valar if I would be permitted to marry Indis, since we wished for more children and I wanted them to be legitimate, but they insisted that death didn't negate my marriage to Míriel. I pointed out there were elves who had been reembodied already whose spouses had remarried following their deaths in the Hither Lands but that wasn't enough to convince them."

"I did my best to honour my promise to Míriel not to blame Fëanor for her death, but I struggled not to resent him for it all the same. And in return Fëanor seemed to resent me for being able to comfort Finwë in a way he could not. He grew up with the Valar's teaching, however much he later turned against them, and so he could only see me as trying to replace Míriel, not understanding our relationship."

A hundred years pass by and they again petition the Valar that they should be allowed to marry. 

This time, Námo makes the judgement that, if Míriel agrees she intends to remain unembodied, Finwë will be permitted to remarry. It isn't the solution either Indis or Finwë want but, when his messenger arrives to let them know Míriel has agreed, they agree they will respect her wishes.

Although Indis and Finwë still hold out hope that Míriel may one day be persuaded otherwise, at least it allows them to admit publicly to their own bond.

Fëanor refuses to attend their wedding, citing the time it would take away from his apprenticeship. 

Their ceremony is small and private unlike Finwë and Míriel's. Many of the Noldor disapprove of Finwë's decision to 'remarry.' Indis wears the dress Míriel had made her for their wedding and Finwë has a new robe crafted to match it. They both wear circlets of camellias, Míriel's favourite flower.

Ingwë reluctantly gives his blessing, telling her, "I hope you know what you're doing."

They exchange vows and, despite the doubts they've heard expressed by sceptics at court, as they have always known, their bond remains unchanged.

"The early years of our marriage weren't easy. I was nervous about pregnancy and childbirth and Fëanor's resentment threatened our happiness, but my fears were unfounded and soon I was absorbed with my own children, and Fëanor busy with his crafting. By this time, it was already clear that Fëanor had a true talent as a craftsman and I was glad to display the gifts he sent to Finwë, especially the cunning flameless lamps."

"I continued to hope Fëanor, as he reached full adulthood and started his own family, would come to accept me but he persisted in carrying a grudge."

Despite Fëanor's snubs in public and rumours abounding of what he had to say about her in private, Indis refuses to be drawn into any rivalry even when Fëanor names his firstborn Nelyafinwë. The court may consider it a challenge to the legitimacy of her children, or simple pettiness, but Fëanor isn't wrong: his child is a third generation Finwë, even if that wasn't necessarily what he meant by it.

As Nolofinwë and Arafinwë grow older and take up roles in Finwë's court, Indis hears the rumblings that are trying to cause a wedge between Fëanor and her sons and is sure it is the work of the Enemy. He cannot steal their loved ones here as he did in the Hither Lands so he foments distrust amongst them.

It comes to a head with Fëanor threatening Nolofinwë at sword point. Nolofinwë has learnt her lessons well and walks away but the Valar interfere, sending Fëanor into exile.

Finwë comes to their rooms looking tired. "Fëanor wishes for me to join him in exile."

"Did you not fear taking sides?" Celebrimbor interrupts.

"I suppose you were just a babe in arms when we moved to Formenos," Finwë muses. "You were too young to have heard the arguments that led up to the events that caused it."

"I remember you always being there when I was growing up. It wasn't until I was much older that I realised what your presence there meant. Politically, that is."

"Well, we discussed the options at length," Indis says.

"It will look like I'm taking sides," Finwë says.

"It'll look that way whichever you decide," Indis points out. "But all of our children are adults now they don't need you close the way Fëanor seems to."

"I fear that if I let him go alone now, I will never repair the damage it does to our relationship."

She nods decisively. "Then you should go with him."

"But what shall I do about the kingship?" Finwë says. "I can't rule from Formenos and, even if I could it would surely only cause greater division amongst the Noldor."

"I'm sure the day-to-day running of the city, and the court, will continue in your absence," Indis says. "How often are you specifically needed to make decisions or resolve disputes? A handful of times a year? And barely any of them are urgent - we can always send a messenger to you if required."

"No, I will name a regent in my absence - yourself or Nolofinwë - it won't do to have people thinking they can play their disputes off between us nor to risk making a rival court at Formenos."

"You're right," Indis says reluctantly. "Of course, if you leave myself and Nolofinwë to rule in Tirion, it is making Fëanor's fears become the truth."

"I don't see another option, unless Nelyafinwë would agree to stay behind in Tirion. But it's not in Fëanor's nature to agree to something like that."

"There isn't really another way around it," Indis agrees. "Very well, we shall manage the best we can."

"It won't be for long," Finwë promises her. "What are fifty years in the scale of things?"

"Again, I say all things happen for a reason and only Vairë knows all as she weaves it into her tapestries. Or maybe not even she knows the full picture until it is woven. If I hadn't died, Finwë and Indis could not have wed and then neither you nor your husband would exist. If Finwë hadn't died, would the Noldor have left Aman and battled against Morgoth for so long?" Míriel says. "If Celebrimbor hadn't had the example of seeing Finwë's sacrifice in his formative years, would he have resisted Sauron with such success?"

Celebrimbor shudders as Celebrían reflects that it had only been a relative success since it had also caused his death. But now Indis picks up the story again, since she had been the only one of the three left alive at that point:

"After a few years, when it was clear Nolofinwë was confident acting as regent, I had moved back to Valmar, taking our youngest, Findis, with me. And I was still there when Morgoth's attack came."

"It was a day of festival and, though Finwë and I were far apart, it was otherwise a normal day. I had just recently received a letter from him advising me to stay in Valmar as Fëanor had been summoned to Tirion to officially reconcile with Nolofinwë and he thought my presence would only aggravate the situation."

"So I was already a little on edge. There was panic as the light of the Two Trees dimmed and went out and we were surrounded by a darkness so deep no light source could pierce it. But that soon seemed a minor grief compared to the sudden shock and pain which came through my bond with Finwë before it was suddenly sundered. I had been with Míriel when she passed and felt her gently slip away. This was nothing like that."

"It was some hours later, or maybe days, when a messenger brought me the official news of Finwë's death and how it had come at the hands of Morgoth. I felt betrayed that we had been promised this safe haven but both Míriel and Finwë had died here."

"I felt so alone, I even briefly considered journeying to Lórien to lay down beside Míriel's body and joining them in Mandos' Halls."

In the memory Valmar, seen from a high window, looks like any other settlement by night, awash with lanterns large and small, some fixed, others moving. But after a moment it becomes clear that something is wrong, an undercurrent of nervousness, of fear, reminding Celebrían of the mood in Lindon before the war on Sauron.

Indis is attended by younger elves, moving cautiously around her - as much adrift in the darkness left by the death of the Trees, as Indis is lost in the darkness of her personal grief.

The scene shifts, Indis is weeping alone in her room, head buried in her hands. A shadow falls across her at the exact moment as she looks up, head tilted to one side as though she's hearing something they can't before a hand drops onto her shoulder, a slender familiar hand.

She turns, disbelieving, but it is Míriel. Indis clings to her, as though her presence is the only thing keeping her together. "You're really here? I'm not just dreaming?"

"One of Námo's servants came to tell me of Finwë's death, that I could join him in the Halls," she explains. "At first I thought to do so, then I thought of you alone. I asked… if that was my only option and was told that, with his death, I was released from my obligation not to seek reembodiment and I found I could not bear the thought of your loneliness. So I told Námo that I wished to be reembodied and he could clearly think of no reason to deny my request."

Míriel comforts Indis but soon messengers arrive with disquieting news from Tirion, where Fëanor and his household had returned despite the sentence of exile still being in effect.

"My son," Míriel laments; she wished to see Fëanor but, though her fëa might be refreshed from her years in Mandos, she is unused to being embodied and is still easily wearied. 

"We'll send a message to him," Indis suggests practically and Míriel carefully drafts one. However no response is forthcoming - whether Fëanor doesn't believe in its veracity or it simply doesn't reach him they never find out - before more worrying news reaches them.

"Prince Fëanor has sworn an oath, and his sons too," this messenger tells them, "calling the Everlasting Darkness upon themselves if they fail to keep it, to hunt down Morgoth and regain the Silmarils."

"The Silmarils?" Míriel asks in confusion and Indis has to explain Fëanor's masterwork.

Míriel insists on travelling to Tirion despite her frailty but they are too late, as they arrive only in time for news to reach them of the kinslaying. Indis and Míriel together mourn as they hear the Doom of Mandos, praying that their children will turn back.

"I should have pleaded to be reembodied sooner," Míriel says. "How could it have come to this? Curse Melkor and all his schemes."

"We should've fought harder for your return," Indis responds. "But Finwë thought he could talk reason into Fëanor himself and that he would come to accept it in time."

It doesn't seem safe to travel onwards and so they wait in nearly abandoned Tirion, fearing every message will be the one telling them all their children have left Valinor. At least Finwë's death has brought them together but that is cold enough comfort with everything that has happened since.

Then messengers announce a host on the road and they hurry to greet whoever is returning. Arafinwë is at the head of the march, dejected, head drooping in shame. He doesn't quite seem to know what to do with Míriel and Indis together but welcomes their guidance as he takes up his father's crown to lead the remnant of the Noldor.

"Once he was settled in his role, we settled together in Lórien and then started to wonder if we could marry and resolve the Valar's decree that way. We approached Estë, since we knew her best."

Estë is clearly confused by their request but, once they have finished explaining, she looks each of them deep into their eyes and then agrees to help.

They have to go to Máhanaxar to plead their case before the council of the Valar. They explain how the three of them lived together in Cuiviénen, how they had decided that it should be Míriel and Finwë that wed initially but how it hadn't changed their relationship. 

"As far as we are concerned," Indis tells the Valar, "we consider ourselves married already."

"Given your decision after my death," Míriel says, "we see it as nothing more than a formality to get your approval now."

They are not allowed to be present as the Valar debate their case but it doesn't take long and, whichever argument convinced them, they officially give their approval.

Míriel and Indis have a small private wedding ceremony, attended by Arafinwë who clearly doesn't quite get the situation but is glad to have something to celebrate for a change, Findis, and a few friends.

Míriel and Indis continue to live together in Lórien where they are largely unbothered by Noldor politics. However, when the slain Teleri begin to return from Mandos, they start to ask when Finwë will return.

"Of course, your marriage complicates matters," Vairë says doubtfully.

"Which one?" Míriel asks.

"We were always happy to be a triad," Indis points out. "You can ask Manwë since it was he who told Finwë that marriage was a union of two individuals and I think we have already proved that incorrect."

"You were obviously successful?" Celebrían says.

Finwë picks up the final section of the story. "Of course, I didn't find out the details until later but, since we were all happy with the situation, Míriel and Indis demanded that I was reembodied so we could all be together."

"The Valar would have argued about it endlessly," Indis interjects, "especially since the War of Wrath drew a great deal of their attention but, once Morgoth was banished apparently Námo decided he had heard enough and took matters into his own hands, which we learnt when Vairë brought us Finwë reborn."

"Given the disorder Fëanor had wrought," Finwë continues, "which many blamed on my decision to remarry, or else for going into exile with him, I was surprised that there were many who apparently assumed I would return to Tirion and take up the kingship again. I made sure to dispel that notion as quickly as possible."

Finwë stands in a council chamber, before an audience of the Noldor, dressed in heavy formal robes. Even so, he is dressed more simply than Arafinwë at his side.

"I have no desire to reclaim the kingship," Finwë insists. 

"But who will rule us?" a tall man with a thin, pinched expression asks.

"I am confident that my son, King Arafinwë is doing a great job and should continue."

Arafinwë straightens up beside him. "I have always endeavoured to lead our people in a way which would make you proud."

"And you have," Finwë tells him, clasping his hand then pulling him into an embrace. He steps back and bends a knee, formally acknowledging Arafinwë's rulership. After that there is little any of the council can do to argue.

They have a final wedding ceremony for the three of them together. They have no need for a big celebration but the Noldor need to see them united. Finwë appears with Míriel on one arm and Indis on the other and they don't care what anyone else thinks. They leave the party early - it's not really for them anyway - and make their way back to their room for their own private celebration.

"So there you have it, our whole tale. It has not always been happy but it has ended well enough."

"Do you not miss the city life?" Celebrimbor asks.

"After all the years I spent in the quiet of Mandos' halls, Tirion is too busy and I no longer have the patience to deal with minor disagreements and all the business of ruling," Finwë says. "Why should I not appreciate my second chance with those who fought for me to have it."

Celebrían longs for peace but she chafes at inactivity. Only now she realises the freedom of Valinor. Like her kinsfolk, Celebrían doesn't have to live up to anyone else’s expectations - she can run, ride, camp in the wild, sleep under the stars, and she can do all this without risking orc raids or wild animals hunting in the night.

She could live in her grandfather's court, she would be welcome there like Finrod, the uncle she had heard so much about and only met in passing as she travelled here, but she could have this too - the quiet woods of Lórien, the namesake of Lothlórien, where she had spent so many happy years, and the company of her great-grandparents.

Maybe one day, when Elrond joins her here in Aman, she will live wherever he lives but until that day she has a home here.