*An homage to classic Tolkien, and his proclivity for hinging stories on a piece of jewelry ;)
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The Gift
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Early the next day as the sky was just turning to a cool gray when Mírian was woken by the piercing cries of the gulls. Her foster mother was gazing with Gilduriel out over the cliffs, when the young mortal approached them to behold the sea at sunrise.
"You were mumbling in your sleep," said Lothaelin. "But I could not make out the words. Do you remember what they were?"
Mírian looked over at her. She thought for a moment, trying to recall any dreams.
"I heard some of what was said," said Gilduriel. "You spoke of warriors and falling kingdoms. Hearken closer to your dreams now, child, that you might discover what the Valar would tell you."
The sky grew lighter. Looking down at the beach Mírian saw now that the tide was low. After swiftly packing her things she descended back down the stairs for one last feel of the waters while the others were preparing to leave. The sea was calm now at low tide, almost as tame as the lake back home. She sat for a while on the damp sand with her feet in the gently lapping waves, every so often pulling a colored shell or smoothed pale stone from the water to inspect it. "Anufiniel!" she heard her foster mother calling, for so those folk had nicknamed her, saying that while her brother's hair was bright and pale as the morning rays, hers was more a burnished gold that brought to mind the broad river Gelion shining under the brazen sun at early evening. Mírian resolved to sit just a few moments longer.
Now the sun had climbed well above the mountains into the morning sky. Mírian let her gaze soften as she stared at the water washing back and forth between her feet, and noticed a glistening flash beneath the surface. She reached for it, guessing it might be some glassy stone, and pulled something firm and very cold from beneath the lazy morning waves. Opening her hand she saw to her amazement a large flower about half the size of her palm, wrought of gold with many fine cut little diamonds and sapphires on the petals and a brilliant large gem of pale yellow set in the middle. At the back was a little pin.
'A brooch?' she thought to herself. A wondrous thing that may have once adorned the garments of some lady of high status. But who? And from where? Who could say? Mírian stood up and looked out at the horizon of the sea, wondering how such a valuable token came to be here on the shores of the sea, right at her feet, where few had tread in many years.
At last her foster-mother wearied of calling and descended down to the beach, and the young mortal showed what she had found. Lothaelin looked at it equally amazed, and likewise looked out at the sea, pondering the puzzle of such a treasure. They returned to the cliff top, where Gilduriel insisted adamantly that the token was a gift from Uinen to help Mírian in the task she would be given. "And now," said Gilduriel, "you must discern what that is. Tell us if you hear more whispers in your dreams, child, for they may guide our decisions the rest of the way."
Lothaelin then strung through the back a thin but sturdy twine cord. She hung it about the girl's neck, and tucked it under her layers. "Keep this safe," she said, "for I believe my mother is right, and it is meant to aid you in your fate, whatever that may be."
Now they turned eastward to follow the Echo Mountains, making their way back inland. To their south lay the meres of Nevrast, above which they could spy all manner of birds fluttering about their business: ducks and geese, finches and pipers, herons and pelicans and storks, with hawks and falcons circling high above them on the hunt. But they kept well up on the hillsides above the wetlands where the biting little bugs would not bother them. Mírian began to have more dreams of different kinds: one in which she only heard but did not see the trickling of a splashing stream. In another she heard a woman's voice speak: "May this find you when you return, my son, one day when the world is changed," it said, "Until then I give thy gift into the keeping of the waters."
Then came a dream in which she seemed to be peering out from under the surface of the water at a little waterfall, and overhead was a white bridge with delicate leaves and flowers and birds intricately carved into its rail posts. Behind it high on a hill lanterns and lighted windows were glittering from a marvelous city in the distance, from which there rose a very high tower with a great lamp gleaming at the top, beyond which were snow capped mountains reaching far into the sky. On the bridge and the banks around it were many people, holding fair white flowers which were blooming in plenty on the trees around them on the hills nearby. The valley would have been dark in the deep shadow of these mountains, but for the silvery blue light of the great lamp tower. The people sang sadly, calling out for the lord. At the center of the bridge stood a woman lovely and sad, and in her hand was something that shone white and gold and blue against her face. Suddenly she parted her hands, and into the water she let it fall.
Mírian woke up startled that morning. Her foster family had been puzzling much over her dreams, but for this one she had no doubt: she had seen the lady who had claim to the brooch, and watched her cast it into the water.
Lothaelin was astounded. "That flower," she said, "then must have once belonged to a lady who held dear the high king of the Noldor in Middle-earth: Fingolfin who fell in single combat with the great foe of Arda."
"You have caught a glimpse of Elvenhome!" Gilduriel added. "Even we have not beheld the sight of its splendors."
Mírian was at a loss in her great wonder and confusion. "But why?" she asked. "I thought such things were barred to mortals."
"So it is said," said Lothaelin.
"But it is also said," inserted Cúdolin, "that tasks from the Valar are at times given to both Elves and Men."
"Well if I am to be given a task," said Mírian, "then I hope my dreams may speak it plainer, lest I run out of time to do it!"
Cúdolin laughed. "Take heart! Whether your dreams give you plainer instructions or no, I believe your fate will become clear soon enough."
Mírian had no further dreams for the next few days. Autumn had begun, and they sought to press on and pass over the hills before the chill of the waning year settled in. At last they started their ascent up the pass over the Shadowy Mountains. The skies were clear when they started their descent on the other side, and in the bright morning light they could all see for many leagues beyond: the Narog as it ribboned gently over the plains stretching away southward, and in the distance to the east the dark crowns of the great forest loomed like the edge of the sea, lined by the tributaries of the Sirion. Thus did Mírian and her foster folk leave the solace of Nevrast and come into greater Beleriand.
