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Time had become a blur, the days even stranger than the nights. Nothing accounted for its passing other than the changes in Míriel’s bed sheets, a pitiful reminder that she had been confined to her chambers for far too long.
It was a miracle that she had made it inside the carriage, yet alone on her feet, for the trial had left her imprisoned inside her own body, her skin pricked with kisses of ice — winter’s embrace.
The groans of her attendants did nothing to better the situation, for they were equally as troubled by her predicament as they were for their journey ahead. Restless, they grew unbearable, the rocky terrain causing the wheels to hit many bumps in the road, shaking the carriage back and forth. Míriel wrapped herself tightly within her scarf, the thinly-knitted garment doing nothing to shield her from the cold nor the ongoing ruckus.
Peace occurred at last when they finally came to a halt, soldiers ushering out commands as they reined in their horses. Míriel veered her head towards the window like a leaf desperate for sunlight, but whatever warmth she felt was denied to her twice over, for the rays spilled nothing but frost against her cheeks.
To be touched by the Valar was to be absolved of sin, or so the laws of the trial claimed. But here she stood neither healed nor renewed. Míriel did not know what to believe anymore, for her mind lied in an otherwise state of confusion, and so it seemed her body too followed suit.
The carriage door opened without warning, the voice of her captor deep and clear on the other side.
“Come. I have you.”
Míriel dismissed Elendil’s approach, her thoughts fixed towards the sun and its absence.
“My Queen has travelled long and hard for your amusements, Captain.” One of her ladies spoke now, the oldest she was sure, for her tongue had become worn and aged with bitterness. “Do you lack compassion? Can you not see that she is unwell.”
“It is for her health that I bring her here, my lady.”
“And where is here exactly?” The old woman huffed sharply. “Just take us back — at once!”
“I answer to the Queen.”
“As do I!”
“Enough.” Míriel breathed out, her voice nothing more than a whisper that rippled like a pebble across an open shore. She no longer had the power to command them but if it was pity that made them listen then she would lean on their sympathy. “Why…why am I here?”
“Fresh air will do you good.”
A groan escaped her lips. She sounded just like her companions, frivolous and bothersome.
“Trust me,” he said at last.
Míriel took a moment to ponder his request, for the thought of stepping outside was already agonising enough. But she trusted him, of course she did. And so, with both hands stretched out she wandered through the bleak and dark abyss until she found him, his strength now hers as he pulled her out of the carriage.
Her feet made landfall on the grass below, a strange feeling for she had been shipwrecked for many days, drifting like a piece of wood across the salty sea. Many hands guided her steps as she walked forth, the delightful neighs of Elendil’s steed echoing in her ears as he pulled himself onboard its back.
“Make camp here,” he instructed to the others. “It will be a while before we return.”
“And where do you plan on taking her?” Her attendant asked, her tone still sour as before.
Míriel found herself bearing a weak scoff as she ascended the steps of the mounting block, her fingertips tickled by the horse’s fine coat. “To the edge of the world.”
Elendil helped her the rest of the way, his hands firm on her waist as she adjusted herself in front of him. She could feel him laughing behind her, the vibrations low and deep as he leaned into her mangled curtain of hair. “Close enough.”
And with that, he gathered the reins, trapping her between both of his arms. She half expected the horse to gallop ahead, she had prepared herself for it. But under Elendil’s command it ascended into a slow and delicate trot. Míriel was almost offended by the pace but nonetheless gratefully that she did not have to speak her worries out loud. She eased slightly as they fell into a steady rhythm, the soiled air around her filling her nostrils as they rode into the unknown.
Time had become a mystery, the distance even more so. Her eyes offered no help, the frail skin underneath her blindfold itched by the rushing wind as they travelled for miles and miles.
Míriel had grown impatient, her body frozen to the core. She could sense Elendil’s concern as she sunk into him, his low whisper breathing down her neck.
“The sun is high, can you not feel it?”
Míriel shook her head, it was all she could do; she had no energy for anything else.
Elendil wrapped her scarf tighter around her shoulders, his arms pulling her deeper into his embrace. He whipped the reins and compelled the horse to go faster, its steady trot quickly forming into the hurried chase. The rest of the journey was unbearable, her mind lingering inside the never-ending abyss and the prison she could not escape.
The moments that followed felt like a fever dream, one she was only a passenger to. Was she asleep or was she awake? The two felt oddly similar these days.
Her body had been marked, foreign hands filled with intent. She could still hear them around her, their voices hushed and overlapped as if the very words spoken were a secret. But Míriel’s hearing was not yet futile, for she knew the tongue well, its delicate and enigmatic speech resembling that of the Eldar — the Faithful’s dying solace.
And so, as she rested herself against the firm surface underneath, she listened carefully to men that conversed between themselves, one already familiar to her ear.
“I do not understand,” Elendil stressed, desperate, pleading.
Something was being mixed, stone grinding against stone. Míriel flinched slightly as she heard it — an older man’s voice almost coarse and lost amongst the noise. “You can not expect to encounter the gods and remain unscathed.”
“But she was saved … why save her if only to curse her? ”
The man laughed, amused by his notion. “You believe this was a curse? ”
“What else could it be, Father? ”
“Who am I to say? I only heed his will, I cannot interpret his ways.”
Míriel smothered a scoff, her refrain the only thing keeping her back from laughing at his poetics. Elendil’s silence was surprising to say the least, perhaps he too had thought the same. But there was no time for retorts or remarks, for the grinding came to a sudden halt, the older man’s attention elsewhere.
“Blessed be, Your Majesty.”
Míriel gasped, her eyes wide beneath her blindfold, her breath caught in her throat. Those surrounding her stopped at the sound of his voice, his presence alone enough to cause them to retreat from her body.
She tried her best to conform herself, her arms constrained and wrapped in some kind of cloth or bandage.
“Where…where am I?”
The older man let out a heavy groan as he rose to his feet. “Some say the house of god, others…who knows these days.”
It was then when Míriel realised that she was in the hands of pious men, priests no less, the oldest perhaps an appointed Elder. She was surprised that they still offered her care, for she had publicly renounced the ways of Eru, her ascension to the throne only made possible by her Father's desperation to appease mortal men.
“I have prepared a treatment for you. It should take awhile before you feel its effects.” The Elder paused for a moment, a peculiar silence lingering in the air. “Perhaps once you have rested I can lend you my ear. Perhaps then we can…talk.”
“Talk?”
“Yes.”
Míriel scoffed, her head turned towards the ceiling. “I assure you, Father, we have nothing to discuss.”
She could feel his dismay, the rope he extended out of kindness slowly being pulled away.
“If that is what you wish.”
And without further ado, he was gone, the footsteps of his companions following in suit, their hushed murmurs fading in the distance.
Míriel did not mourn his presence nor did she miss the invasion of their hands on her body. Priests and noblemen were torn from the same cloth, their motives equally as callous, their gifts exchanged for something more valuable in return.
“So you bring me all this way to be closer to god?”
Elendil shifted at her accusation, her current ire fixed on him. “Is that so wrong?”
Míriel bit her tongue, she had spoken out of turn but she dared not say. Her hands explored her surroundings as she pulled herself up — cushions and sheets — a bed of some kind.
“Why not speak with him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why must I?”
“Surely there is no harm in doing so.”
“I only heed his will, I cannot interpret his ways.” She scoffed as she repeated the Elder’s words. “Is that not what he said?”
“My Queen—”
“Enough, Elendil!”
A deafening silence fell between them, Míriel’s voice scorched as it stretched across all corners of the room. The burning cold returned once more without warning, the gods taunting her as they blessed her skin with ice and frost. She could hear Elendil’s footsteps as he rushed towards her, his body close behind as she collapsed deep into his chest.
“Come. Drink this.”
A thick fluid painted her lips, sticky and sweet against her tongue. It warmed the pits of her stomach, lingering only for a moment before being swept away with the incoming tide. She was almost grateful for its lack of resolve, for her spite had become more prominent than her desire to be healed, her disdain for order and faith slowly spreading like a poison in her heart.
Elendil fed her more of the concoction, her body flushing in and out of warmth, her shivers becoming more apparent as she opened her mouth to speak, her teeth clattering together.
“I—”
“Be still.”
Míriel shook her head and tried again but Elendil continued on with his assurances, the voice of the Eldar fading off his lips as he hushed her desperate pleas to say more.
She did not wish to leave their conversation like this, not when she had shown such little gratitude for his time and efforts. None other had gone out of their way to ease her pain, not even the court physicians who stood high in their towers, their pride full as they claimed to be the most clever of all men.
Elendil deserved so much more than her burdens, her grievances the only thing that had kept him company since the inception of his service. She did not deserve him. She did not warrant his devotion nor his heart, if that was even hers to claim. But nonetheless she wished to say something, anything that could absolve her behaviour.
As if he had heard her, his arms twined themselves around her body, her thoughts betraying her as she leaned deeper into his embrace. Her ears reddened with his breath as he emitted into song, his voice low and ancient as he adopted the Faithful’s promise, the words almost like a prayer, one she did not know nor understand.
Míriel found herself drifting once more, but not into the abyss that had kept her prisoner, somewhere far greater — consecrated. Whether she believed in his gods or not made no difference, for Elendil was her secret altar, the ship she would take into the depths of the unknown, her remorse absent as she stayed course and never looked back.
And so, as he made his prayers, she journeyed West to the place where the Valar had forbidden them to go, her heart full of fire as she demanded Eru to cure the poison that seeped within, returning her body whole so that she could be with the one she loved.