1158

Míriel lay in the lying-in room, her child in her arms. Entombed in leaden weariness, she felt strangely detached, from the infant, from Finwë, who sat by the bed, and from herself. When her husband spoke, even forming the words to answer him was an effort. Her voice was no more than a fragile whisper.

"How do you feel, my darling?"

"Not well."

"But is there any pain?"

"No. None at all."

As a matter of fact, there had been no pain for some Days. She rather missed it. At least it had been a positive sensation.

"Well, that is a good sign, is it not?"

"I suppose so."

"You know it must be!"

Oh, leave me alone, Míriel thought; but it seemed cruel to send him away. Besides, it was less effortful to lie still and silent and let him burble on. He was speaking of her recovery from the weakness after childbirth, which he expected to be imminent.

"You will be able to take up your work again quite soon, I expect. Only think of that!"

Míriel made no reply. The thought filled her with nausea. She was not inclined to appreciate pattern and colour, at least not at the moment. Perhaps she never would again. Just now, she desired only the uncomplicated greyness of a dreamless sleep.

"You will feel better tomorrow, my sweet. Try to think about the future."

"The future."

"Yes."

"What is - the future?"

There was something oddly literal about this question, as if Míriel were checking the definition of a word. In a way, she was. The concept of the future had no real meaning in her changed inner world, simpler and flatter as this was, stripped of many of the landmarks by which she had once guided herself. Something irretrievable had passed from her, leaving only a dragging weight.

Finwë took the child and held him up before Míriel's face.

"He is! Look at him! Is he not beautiful?"

He was. She assessed him from a distance, like another woman's embroidery.

"The first birth is always the hardest, my darling. It will not be like this with his brothers and sisters."

Míriel laughed a small laugh; so tiny that Finwë could not make up his mind as to whether he had heard it or not. She laughed, not because she was amused or believed herself capable of ever again being so, but because his perspective was so hopelessly far removed from hers that the difference demanded some form of recognition.

"He will have no brothers or sisters."

"Don't say that, my dear. You will feel differently in time."

"No!" Míriel struggled to a sitting position; even this movement was an effort. "Never again shall I bear a child, for the strength that would have nourished the life of many has gone forth into Fëanáro."

"Surely there is healing in Aman?" Finwë murmured. "Here all weariness can find rest."

Míriel laughed softly in her throat.