1146
Indis' room in the Mindon was two floors down from the top. It was large and circular, its roundness marred only by the spiral staircase that wound up through the whole tower. This was walled off, with a small door opening on to each floor. Its effect on the shape of the room was as a bite taken out of an apple. The walls was not decorated in any way; their whiteness made a space for Indis to think in.
At the moment, she was lying on her bed and gazing dreamily at the ceiling. She and her parents had recently returned from a visit to Ingwë on Taniquetil, and seeing little Ingwion always made her think of babies. She was growing up now: almost old enough to have one of her own.
Her thoughts hovered lovingly around a boy-child with Finwë's black hair and mischievous smile. And then there was that look Finwë had when he talked to Ingië, secretly laughing at her eccentric manner from behind a mask of excessive politeness. Indis' child would have that; and through this point of connection she would have more love for both him and his father.
With such clarity did she see him, her clever and beautiful boy, playing beneath the silver tree of Yavanna in the Square of the King, that she had to get up and go over to the window. Of course there were no children to be seen; only the starshine of Míriel Serindë's hair, moving towards the Mindon.
Indis experienced some considerable irritation. Míriel never came to visit her at home! What did she mean by coming now? It had been such a lovely daydream; and she would never get it back after the other girl had talked at her for half an Hour.
But she sat up and arranged her expression into dignified politeness as she waited. Ingwë had taught her the importance of courtesy. Real courtesy, that is, which is the same as ordinary politeness, but underlaid by a genuine belief in the worthwhile nature of the other person. It was sometimes rather difficult for Indis to believe in the worthwhile nature of Míriel, but she always did her best.
Míriel came in without knocking, as was her custom; but she found her friend sitting demurely in the window, not sprawled on the bed. Not that she would have taken any notice if things had been otherwise. Míriel's observational skills were mysterious and specialised. She could better examine the petals of a flower than the expression on another's face.
Indis, on the other hand, although still at the stage where she was more interested in the contents of her own head than in anything in the outside world, could not help noticing the other girl's unusual excitement. No sooner was Míriel through the door to the staircase than she had thrown herself on to the window-seat and taken both Indis' hands in her own delicate little white ones.
"Ah, Indis! I have such news, you will never guess!"
"No," Indis said. "What?"
It was not easy to remain annoyed; not while there was in the girl's dark eyes that something of innocence or holy madness or simple otherness which would always protect her from real dislike.
Míriel leaned forward to whisper in her companion's ear.
"Finwë and I are to be betrothed!"
