#askmiriel

[judgeofarda]

Stranger, waiting

Stranger

Nàmo was, in truth, a little nervous the first time he saw Miríel Therindë standing in front of him. He didn't know her at all- how was he supposed to judge her?

With Melkor it had been different. Manwë had helped him then, and he knew Melkor well. Even though he didn't quite believe what his brother had done...

He studies her Fëa carefully and sees weariness.

Just because he cannot say what he knows, it doesn't mean he cannot think it. Oh, Child, will you not stay for your son? In the end, his nerves get the better of him, and he sends her to Vairë.

But he cannot do that next time.

//(That was terrible, I know!)

Waiting

Things have happened. Lots of things. If Námo had permission, he would go to Beleriand and sort things out by himself. But he can't obviously, so now it's just a matter of time until the next battle. Until the Fëanorians mess up. Again.

The choice of the Noldor still annoys him. For goodness sake, he went out there, right to the edge of the Helcaraxë, to tell them not to go, and they still do. So now it's just a matter of waiting for the Nirnaeth to start.

Perhaps, one day, they'll realise their mistake.

//This was terrible too!

[curufinwefeanaro]

Uncle, if given a choice would you save your mother or save a slimaril?

« I would save a Silmaril, since my mother could not possibly have been saved, for death has been her own choice. How could I have been able to save her? »The only option is: he would not have been himself.

[highkingfinwe]

Muinë! I have missed you, love.

And I you. More than I can possibly say.

[curufinwefeanaro]

A Tapestry of Sorrows by =Gold-Seven

Mother.

[curufinwefeanaro]

Of all that your mother created, you are her finest work, and the one she loves most dearly. And for good reason.

His expression was calm, even pensive. He looked far, for a moment, as if he could meet Miriel’s gaze, then he nodded, breathing deeply.« I know what my mother did for me, how strong she made me, and I will never thank her enough. Though… » Fëanor frowned and his gaze hardened. « I wish she were still on the throne, instead of… Indis. »

[curufinwefeanaro]

A quiet messenger leaves an overrobe for Feanor, woven by skilled hands. Upon it, a note: 'With my love,' and his mother's name...

Fëanor caressed the silky cloth, touched with a fingertip the golden embroideries and admired the beautiful shape. The garment was fine, elegant, and the red colour was dark and shiny like a ruby.In the moment in which he was wondering about who might have left it there, he saw the little piece of paper. He lifted it up and read. His eyes widened. « Mother? » he whispered.He looked up as if the spirit of Miriel Therinde was standing there in front of him.

[finarfiniel]

Galadriel: *tries to be nice to Miriel/Nerdanel*

*makes everything worse*

[curufinwefeanaro]

ask-miriel said: Nay, grey-face. I chose to leave this world. I gave my soul to my son, so that he might be strong, and passed from weariness. It was my choice, and my burden. Do not blame my son for what he is unaccountable for.

I know what you did for me, mother. The gift of my strength comes from you. Let them talk or let them blame me, as if I care. They just have not to dare twisting the meaning of your death.