1157
Míriel was dancing with Finwë on the grass of Ezellohar, between the Two Trees. There was something odd about the Trees. They were not themselves. Rather, they were the stylised versions that Míriel herself had developed and placed in the background of many of her embroideries. She could recognise the gently curving branches, each bearing exactly three flowers or fruits, now made three-dimensional and real.
She tried to point this out to Finwë; but he only laughed and urged her to go on dancing, although it was important about the Trees. She could seem to make him understand the significance of it. He only wanted to dance.
Now she and Indis were walking together through the streets of Tirion. This was odd, as Indis had emigrated to Taniquetil, with her parents, in 1149. She too would not understand about the Two Trees having been replaced by Míriel's copies. She herself had something that she wanted to explain: something long and complicated. Míriel was trying to listen, only her mind did not seem to be working properly. A gentle warmth had filled her and was lifting her away from Indis and into the air.
She was on Ezellohar again, alone: her husband had vanished. She walked or floated over to Laurelin, but her fingers slid over the smoothness of the trunk and the warmth was becoming a scorching heat. As she cried out for Finwë in this pain, a curtain of darkness descended over the whole scene, so that she could see nothing. Only the afterglow of the light of Laurelin burned brighter and brighter before her eyes as the heat consumed her body from within-
"Míriel, wake up! Míriel!"
Slowly her eyes focused on the lines of his face, lit by the silver rays of Telperion. She was in her own bed in the palace. Finwë was leaning on an elbow over her.
"Ah," she said, "why did you not come when I called for you?"
"Because it was only a dream, my darling. I don't believe you're properly awake!"
Finwë sat up in bed and looked at his wife. She glared tearfully back at him, looking far more formidable than was warranted by her size.
"Damn it, why didn't you understand what I was saying to you?"
It was some time before she would allow him to comfort her, gathering her into his arms, kissing her delicate eyelids, whispering lover's promises into her shell-like ears until she pressed her face into his shoulder and slept. Finwë lay awake for a while, watching the slight movements of her breathing, wrapped in the soft and floating smell of her hair. He was filled with an almost unbearable superfluity of protective love.
Finwë and Míriel had been married for three Years. They were deliriously happy. At least, Finwë was. He knew for a fact that Míriel was happy, but whether she was as ecstatic as he was another question. He was not sure whether it was possible for anyone to feel what he felt. It sometimes seemed almost indecent to have so much joy concentrated in one so unworthy. After all, what had he done to deserve Míriel? Why should those dark eyes smile on him?
