I own nothing.

Indis has not seen Fëanáro since he was a baby. For the duration of her betrothal, she dwelled in Taniquetil with her brother and his family, listening to the whispers of her people with thin lips and ears that could not be shut all the way. That, she thinks, has prepared her for anything she might encounter from the Noldor in Tirion.

Perhaps she was mistaken.

It was certainly too much to ask for Fëanáro to recognize her; Indis wasn't expecting him to. She has no idea what he's like. Finwë says that he is a bright, intelligent child (he has since changed his son's father-name from 'Finwë' to 'Curufinwë'); those are always the words he uses to describe his son. But Indis knows from dealing with her nieces that this doesn't necessarily mean a lot. All it means is that he is bright and intelligent; it says nothing about his temperament, his habits, his essence.

What is Finwë and Míriel's child like? How is he in mood? Indis wonders at this, wonders at how he must live, without a mother.

In Endóre, it was not uncommon for children to have to grow up without their mothers, or their fathers, or even as orphans. Life was short and immortality meant nothing. But in Aman, the Quendi have unlearned many of the lessons they took to heart in starlit lands. There is little more remote than death among the Calaquendi, and Fëanáro would be the first child to grow without one of his parents since all of the Calaquendi reached the shores of Aman. He alone has no mother, out of all of the children in Aman. How must that affect him?

Her first official meeting with Fëanáro revealed nothing. Finwë and Indis were wed in Taniquetil, and returned to Tirion without fanfare—Finwë understood the need for doing all of this quietly; he said that there had been issues among the Noldor. At the same time, he told her that he had sent word ahead, explaining to Fëanáro that they had wed in Taniquetil. Indis had felt a twinge of doubt of the good judgment of handling the matter in such a way; surely it would be better for Finwë to tell his son in person? But what was done was done, and she supposed she would simply have to trust that Fëanáro would take it well, and that Finwë would be able to explain all to his satisfaction.

They arrived at the palace complex early in the hours of Malinalda's light. Indis saw a young boy waiting outside of the entrance with a woman dressed in mourning clothes. The woman looked over Finwë's shoulder at Indis and frowned in obvious displeasure. Indis felt her face color, but she said nothing, knowing that it was unfitting for her to complain.

The boy rushed towards Finwë, and though Indis knew that this must be Fëanáro, she was still taken aback. Fëanáro was only five years old. The way he threw his arms around his father's neck and giggled as Finwë lifted him off the ground certainly put Indis in mind of a five-year-old child. But he was tall and well-formed, more so than she would have expected. He looked closer to ten than five. Could this really be Míriel's child?

There were too many similarities in Fëanáro's face to Míriel's for him not to be her son. He beamed at Finwë, but seemed to stare straight through Indis. It was as though she wasn't even there.

A few hours later, Indis is walking through the gardens, humming absently. Her belongings are being set out, and she felt in the way. She felt suffocated, needed air. The wind blows through the trees and the bushes, blows through her long, loose hair. She remembers the times when Míriel walked through these same gardens, her braided hair glinting in Malinalda or Silpion's light. She remembers walking through these gardens with Míriel, speaking of construction efforts, or old friends, or wondering about the Teleri left behind still in Endóre. Walking through these gardens alone makes her heart ache.

Indis turns a corner, and spots a small, dark shape kneeling beside a pond, running a long stick through the pond scum. She sees long black hair tied into a single braid, and recognizes Fëanáro, sitting all alone, having apparently evaded the company of the nís Indis soon identified as his old wet-nurse.

She bites back a heavy sigh, her heart aching all the more.

Indis makes her way over to the pond, sweeping her long skirt up in her hands as she sits. Fëanáro jumps a little as she sits at his side, and Indis holds up a hand in apology. "I did not mean to startle you, Fëanáro."

Fëanáro nods a little, but he does not meet her gaze, and he gives no verbal reply. He continues to prod at the pond scum at the edges of the pond. Indis sits beside him, the golden light warm on her bare arms, and she watches the fish swim back and forth, back and forth in the pond. Their white and red and orange scales glitter and flash.

What is she to say to him? Indis looks at Fëanáro and finds herself tongue-tied. She had told herself that she would present herself in a friendly, sympathetic manner. She told herself that she would offer him love. He needs a mother. She does not share his blood, but is the only one who can be his mother now.

"You are not my mother."

Fëanáro says that in a remarkably matter-of-fact tone of voice, swirling his stick in the water, not even bothering to look at her.

"I… I know that, Fëanáro."

Indis knows that she is not Míriel, and would never aspire to becoming her, or becoming like her. Míriel was someone so unlike her that she does not think she would survive the attempt, at least not in her heart. The memory of Míriel will never be gone from this place.

"You will never be my mother," Fëanáro goes on. "My mother is dead," he says flatly, though the tension behind his flat tone is all too noticeable. "She is dead, and you can not replace her, do you understand that?"

She shuts her eyes and nods. "Yes, Fëanáro, I do." Opening her eyes again, Indis looks at the child and smiles weakly. "I know that I can not be your mother, Fëanáro. But… Do you think it possible that I could at least be your friend?"

Fëanáro's head snaps up, and he stares at her. It's impossible to tell whether the expression on his face is one of anger, incredulity, astonishment or scorn. "No," he replies quietly. "No, I do not."

Later, Finwë inevitably picks up on his son's cool attitude towards his stepmother. He keeps trying to push Fëanáro and Indis to do things together, to spend more time together, to get to know one another better. Fëanáro is anything but receptive to his father's encouragements, and his coolness towards Indis persists.

Finwë assures Indis that Fëanáro will come around eventually, that he will come to love her. Indis says nothing, knowing that Finwë is mistaken. Fëanáro is Míriel's son. He's made up his mind.

Fëanáro, Curufinwë—Fëanor

Endóre—Middle-Earth (Quenya)
Quendi—Elves (singular: Quendë) (Quenya)
Calaquendi—Elves of the Light; Elves who lived in Aman, especially during the Years of the Trees (singular: Calaquendë) (Quenya)
Malinalda—'Tree of Gold', a name of Laurelin (Quenya)
Silpion—'Shining Lights' a name of Telperion (Quenya)
Nís—woman (plural: nissi)