Indis's pregnancy with Ñolofinwë had been fairly difficult - often sick, sore and tender, and the baby kicked frequently towards the end. Yet, despite Finwë's fears, the birth had been quick and easy.
Indis's pregnancy with Arafinwë had been mild - very little sickness or discomfort, and Arafinwë only kicked once in awhile. Now, she had been in labor for many hours - the light of the Trees had changed - and she was still pushing.
By the Valar, she was in pain. But even worse than the pain was the fear. The very real fear that like her beloved Míriel, she too would perish.
And yet, there was a part of her that wanted to go to the Halls of Mandos and see her love again. See her love and be safe. After the horrors picking off their people one by one, then in packs, Finwë had led them to the Blessed Realm with the promise of safety if they lived by the Laws of the Valar. But safety was an illusion. Indis struggled with the Laws - in particular, burning with lust for other women, some of whom had been her lovers in the old days, who she had to put aside once the Laws were made. Indis didn't feel very safe here, like she was carrying things buried deep inside her that would be unearthed someday, damning her.
This was no life. Time had not changed that.
Indis pushed again, and this time, the cry she let out was a name. "Míriel." It felt like it had been ripped out of her very soul. "Míriel!"
Finwë gave her a sad, wary look. "Míriel is dead, my heart."
"I want to go to Míriel." The words came out of her before she could stop herself.
Finwë flinched as if Indis had struck him. "You cannot. I need you here. Your sons need you here." He was so convinced the child Indis was carrying was a son.
Indis pushed again, gritting her teeth. "Then bring her to me."
She had no idea what that even meant, what she was asking for, but her heart ached. If we had never left, we would both still be alive, Indis thought to herself bitterly, even though she knew that wasn't true - the foul creatures had killed Míriel's twin Aramë, so many of their own had died, it seemed like a matter of time before they would fall as well.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that the Blessed Realm was cursed, that it had cursed Míriel for her sin, that it was cursing her now too... and all she wanted was the love she'd lost, something to hold onto as she birthed yet another child who would eventually suffer under the yoke of the Valar.
Finwë rose from the bedside, grim-faced. Indis closed her eyes and tried to breathe, as another spasm racked her. The pain stabbed again, and then something was being pushed into her hand. Something soft. Indis looked down and saw one of the braids that had been cut from Míriel's body, something to remember her by. Finwë sat back down next to her and covered her hand with his. The braid felt warmer, but not because of her husband's touch.
The next spasm hit and Indis blacked out. There she was, silver hair aglow like the light of Telperion, eyes sad and kind. The glow faded as the darkness faded and one of Míriel's tapestries unfurled behind her, two lovebirds in a flowering tree. Indis embraced her, and when they pulled back, Míriel touched her face.
You cannot stay here. This is not your world.
Indis blinked back tears. Aman is not my world, either.
You cannot leave your sons motherless. You cannot leave Finwë to grieve once again. Míriel's own eyes filled, too bright. He blames Fëanáro -
Wrongly. Once again, Indis's heart ached for the boy - Finwë disapproved of her showing kindness to him.
And he will blame your son for your death. He will be cruel to all three of them, crueler to Fëanáro than before. Please, I know it hurts, but stay for your sons. Míriel took Indis's hands. Our sons.
Indis could not argue with her. She had seen the grief-madness grip her husband. He was always kind to her, but the way he treated Fëanor made her angry.
Be his light, Indis. Be their light.
You were my light. Indis felt like she was going to break.
I still am. Míriel put her hand on Indis's heart.
And then, Indis came back to herself with a giant push. The head of the baby was finally out.
The rest came quickly now. Indis pushed, and pushed, her fist tight around the braid in her hand, the piece of Miriel she had. When it was all over, the midwife took the baby and cleaned it, and Indis looked down at her hand. The braid had disappeared.
Indis passed out again before her new baby could be put in her arms. When she came to, she frantically shook one of her handmaids and asked her to scour the floor, looking for a silver braid, fearing that perhaps she'd dropped it in the last, most intense bit of pushing. But there was no braid to be found anywhere in the room.
Indis started to wonder if maybe she'd dreamt the whole thing, if Finwë hadn't given her one of Miriel's braids to hold onto, if that was just a trick of her mind to help her get through the ordeal. But it felt so real. And when Finwë came back in the room to check on her, Indis asked him, "Did you give me one of Miriel's braids?"
"I did."
"Did you take it back and put it away?"
"No. You still have it, don't you?"
There was a long, awkward silence. Before Indis could answer in the negative, the midwife returned with the new baby, swaddled in a soft green blanket. "He's hungry," the midwife said.
Indis took the child in her arms for the first time - a baby boy. One with a full head of hair...
...golden like hers, and silver like Miriel's.
"I will call him Arafinwë, in honor of Aramë," Finwë said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Though that love had been sin according to the Laws, it was innocent enough to name the boy in the memory of one of the fallen.
"Ingoldo. Ingalaurë." Indis stroked the child's hair in awestruck disbelief as she drew him close for his first feeding. It was like seeing the light of the Trees as it changed.
It was as if she had received a sign to keep going.
Be their light. Remain in light.
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