Work Text:
Finarfin had not even known Míriel had left Vairë’s home until she arrived in Tirion with a project in her hands and a request for a room to stay in. Eärwen had found her a room a hallway away from theirs, and later returned, urging Finarfin to go speak to her about her project, for it would be good for him.
Finarfin did not know how he could be for him, but he went anyways.
“If the world was kinder, I would have been your mother too as Indis is, and she would have been Fëanáro’s mother as he did not wish her to be.” Míriel did not pause in her sewing, though she glanced up at Finarfin as she spoke.
Finarfin paused where he stood, unable to respond to that direct of a statement, when few in recent years had even been willing to mention either Indis or Finwë to him.
Míriel sewed another row of stitches. “That was not to be, so now I must only give you what I can. This is designed to go under your other armor.
“We did not have metal armor when we came to Valinor. There was not enough metal, nor enough skilled craftsmen to make it. We had fabric and leathers, and we sewed them to give some safety to us,” she said. She turned the fabric around, and he could see now the shape of it. “I spoke to Mahtan. He is the most knowledgeable of any in these lands save Aulë at working metal, and he says the current armor is not infallible. This is not either, but it may turn a killing blow into a wound if your other armor does not stop it.”
There was not time now to speak of all the questions and thoughts her words formed in his mind. Not the question of what her words meant about the relationship between her and both his parents, nor the question about why she would wish to be his mother as Indis was, nor the thought of how even if she was not his mother in name, she was the one who had left her peace and healing at Vairë’s home to come to Tirion and craft armor he had not even asked for. He was not sure either of them were prepared for those conversations.
“I thank you for it. It is kind of you to make it,” he said instead.
Míriel shook her head. “It is my wish, not a kindness. I could not bear to sit by Vairë’s side and stitched a tapestry of your death because I had not sewn this. Nor could I bear to return to your mother’s side if I had failed another of our children.”
“She would not blame you for my death.”
“No, Indis mourns your loss already,” Míriel said. “I would blame myself, and she would sit on her mountain and mourn even as Finwë mourned my loss and mourns now in the Halls for each of our children and grandchildren who die.”
Finarfin dared not accuse her of lying, though he did not know how Míriel could have learned of it if Indis did mourn him already, nor of what Finwë did in the Halls.
“She does and he does. When Nolofinwë died, I begged to be the one to tell her, for I did not wish her to learn from another who did not care for her. She told me that day that she expected any of her children and grandchildren who stepped foot in Beleriand to only return to her via the Halls, if they returned at all.” Míriel set down her sewing and stood, head tilted back to stare at Finarfin, though she stood almost a head shorter than him. “I visited her again when the decision was made that an army would go forth from these shores. We both knew you would choose to go, for you are too much like your father not to. I told her another of our children would not die, but she could not believe me.”
Finarfin tried again to keep the doubts from his face, but he could see that Míriel did not believe him. It was not that he did not believe his mother cared, but centuries had passed she had left Tirion. Míriel did not press him on it, though, simply sitting back down to resume her sewing.
“This will be finished by Arien’s return. I shall bring it to your rooms, so that we may make sure it fits properly.” She returned to stitching. “We will discuss the rest when you return from the war.”
“Thank you,” he said again, before he left quietly and returned to his own rooms to find them empty. There was no time for him to go to Ingwë’s halls and find his mother there, though now he longed to as he had not in years.
He pulled out a piece of paper instead. It could not hold all the things they needed to say to each other, but it could be a start. He would leave it for her to read while he was gone, and hope she would speak to him upon his return.