I own nothing.

"You wish to have many children? That is your desire, I suppose, but mark my words, I would be content with just one."

She had said that, and Finwë had stared at her blankly, as though he could not contemplate how anyone could not desire to have many children in the bliss of the Undying Lands. Míriel took this as a compliment, laughed gently and kissed his still rather bewildered face.

Míriel Þerindë remembered the starlit lands of Endóre. She remembered the waters of awakening, by which they had first walked and spoken and wondered at the stars (Elen! Elen! they had cried. She was one of them, and had never forgotten.). Those had not been days of bliss, though Míriel had always been one for making her own happiness. Those may have been the days of awakening, but they were not blissful days, especially not for mothers.

Though they were Eldar, and thus deathless, unconstrained by time, they were by no means undying in those days. There were many who met their untimely ends at the hands of the Hunter in the Dark or his agents. There were many who starved, many who were lost and never found. Míriel had also watched infants die, too small and feeble to survive outside of the womb for long. She had also watched young mothers wither away from weariness while their babes screamed at their breasts. As a result, there were few nissi in Endóre who had ever chosen to have more than one or two children. They did not have the energy to spare on any more than that.

This life in the Undying Lands could not truly be called bliss unless there was something Míriel had left behind that was not blissful, not at all. She counted herself lucky every day she walked in the lands that were lit by the gold and silver lights of the Two Trees. She knew that she was blessed to be here, that she was safe from the violent deaths that had taken many of her fellow Eldar in Endóre.

But weariness?

Míriel was growing very tired, lately.

She was with child. She knew that, Finwë knew that, and thanks to Finwë, the entire city of the Noldor knew that their Queen was with child with the King's heir. Míriel supposed that she should be glad that Finwë was so eager to let the Noldor know that they were going to have a child. She supposed that she should be glad that he was so eager to be a father. All the same, she would have preferred to have disseminated the news of her pregnancy in her own time, at her own discretion. There were many prospective fathers who were spreading the news without the agreement of their wives, these days. Míriel supposed that was just one of the other changes that came from living in the Undying Lands.

Míriel had first noticed this slight weariness coming over her when she first realized that she was with child. She could not have been more than a month along, but that was about the time nissi usually realized that they were with child. There were a number of symptoms associated with this condition, that Míriel knew well from her time in Endóre. Vomiting, bloating, fatigue, the like. Her own tiredness ought not to have struck her as strange. She was tired, yes. She had difficulty getting up in the mornings, difficulty moving around, difficulty staying awake. That should not have struck Míriel has anything out of the ordinary for one who was with child.

And yet, she had a feeling of foreboding. As her belly swelled, her strength waned. Míriel still possessed clever fingers and a mind full of images to document in thread and fabric, but as she went on like this, her ability to connect the images when the thread and fabric and tools in her hands faded. Her arms and legs grew weak and trembled when she tried to use them. Her eyes drooped, and she had a hard time keeping them open.

The child was in no danger. The child was big and strong; that much Míriel could tell. He or she kicked and pulled at her constantly, shifting position in her womb so often that she was often woken in the middle of the silver Tree's glory, when the Eldar usually slept. Her child's kicking was the only thing that could wake her in the night, anymore.

It was strange. It was strange because Míriel had never been a deep sleeper to start with. She had never been one to fall asleep under the golden light. Her mind had always been full of energy, of vivid images, and it was far more common for her not to sleep at all under the silver light. Finwë had once commented that she was remarkably sleepless for an Elda, and Míriel had replied that how could she sleep, when there was still so much for her to do?

Now, she simply could not stay awake.

The surface of her belly was always warm. It was hot and hard and taut. There were times when it was so hot to the touch that Míriel felt as though she would scald her hands, as though her robes and the dress she wore beneath would burst into flames. You would think that this would keep Míriel up when she was sleeping, that the unnatural heat would keep her locked in unnatural, discontented sleeplessness. Unfortunately, all it did was send her further down into sleep, while her child grew big and strong.

Under the golden light, when Míriel could find it in her to wake, she would count the veins on the back of her hands and in her forearms. Unsure of why she was even doing it at all, she could count, track their progress up her arms into her shoulders and her chest, marvel at how prominent they had become, like the veins on the wings of a butterfly.

When she slept, she would dream of a pillar of fire.

Endóre—Middle-earth
Nissi—women (singular: nís)