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Ancestress  by Dreamflower

 

Putting Off the Widow's Weeds


Mirimė resumed the form of the elleth which she had worn after returning to the West when she lost Tūk. It had felt so right and so natural to become Adamanta again when she met Bilbo and Frodo Baggins.

She had been Adamanta the Bright, wife of Tūk, for scarcely threescore years and ten. It was barely a blink in all the long ages of Arda. Yet somehow that brief span, lived among mortals, had somehow come to be the most important part of her existence. She had returned to the Lady Yavanna, wretched and broken in her grief, for even Melian's sundering from Elwė Singollo was brief compared to the sundering which she would have from her hobbit.

The pain of their separation was compounded by the burning agony of fleeing West to her Lady, formless and undone in her grief. When she had arrived, she had collapsed at Yavanna's feet, returning without her will to her hobbit form, weeping incoherently. "What have you done, my child?" Mirimė had no answer but more tears.

She felt a cool hand upon her cheek, and looked up into eyes that read her story. "Ah! Mirimė, had I foreseen this I do not know if I could have had the heart to set you to your task. Yet Eru's will be done. None must see you this way."

She had been borne to Lórien, and there she was given over to Nienna. And over the course of the age, she had painfully learned to refrain from being Adamanta. But to stay long without physical form was still agonizing, and so she had become accustomed to walking as an Elf-maiden. None in the West save Lady Yavanna and Lady Nienna had ever seen her as Adamanta.

Until now.

Now she was free





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