Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

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Truth and Consequences

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In the end, it was closer to ten days than fourteen.

Curufinwë wasn’t overly surprised. He could imagine that there had been more than enough in that conversation to concern Artanis’ husband and drive him to make haste.

She had been somewhat calmer the last few days, which he suspected had more to do with the increasing proximity to her mate than any measure of resignation to their joint predicament.

It was the eleventh day since the begetting of their son – the fifth since he’d reconciled himself to the concept sufficiently not to wince any longer – that he spotted another elf approaching from southeast.

Artanis, he was thankful to discover, was still deeply enough asleep not to be consciously aware of his presence.

Curufinwë elected to meet the other ner far enough away from their little camp that Artë would not hear anything that was said. He was resolved that if Celeborn did decide to beat him, he would take it in silence, seeing as it would be no more than he deserved. If there was blame to be apportioned, he deserved the lion’s share as both the older kinsman and the one who had more experience of Beleriand, not having been safely ensconced behind the maia queen’s protection for the past several decades.

The silver-haired elf had come on foot, and while he carried a pack, it was not as prominent as the bow and matched knives. Curufinwë might have wondered that the Sinda had no sword, except that for a journey in the wild, the knives were doubtless more practical than a sword would be.

The newcomer slowed, closing the distance between them with caution that Curufinwë might have deemed insulting as recently as two weeks ago.

“Hail, stranger,” the Sinda called when he at last drew near enough not to shout.

“Well met, kinsman,” Curufinwë replied in his best Sindarin, certain by the look of the other that this must be Celeborn.

He could nearly have been a brother to the two who had been sent as ambassadors to Mithrim.

A single silver brow went up, surprised to be hailed as such by one who was clearly an Exile.

“Kinsman?” he asked. “I am speaking to one of the princes of the golodhrim?”

Curufinwë kept his face pleasant, though he liked that name no more than any of his folk did. If they could fuss so much about how their own names were rendered, they could certainly give his people their preferred appellation.

“Indeed. I am Curufinwë Fëanorion,” he introduced himself. “I have been traveling with my young cousin Artanis Arafinwiel who tells me her husband has named her Galadriel and she would answer to that now.”

Had they been meeting under other circumstances – as they ought to have –  the smile that broke out on Celeborn’s face at those words would have been most heartening.

“Well met, indeed, kinsman Curufin,” he replied. “I am Celeborn Galadhonion, and sorry am I that you could not be present at our wedding feast, for of her many cousins, I believe Galadriel has missed only Ireth more.”

He was now near enough that they could clasp forearms in the Sindarin fashion – something Finderato had written was a way of ensuring that the one you met was not about to draw a weapon. Curufinwë thought the gesture would be more practical if it involved both arms. While most elves preferred their right hand, it was far from universal. And his oldest brother was testament to the fact that with will and practice, one could become just as adept at the use of the left.

“Not as sorry as I was to have missed that feast,” he told Celeborn. “And I am sure Irissë will rue her absence still more when she hears of it.”

If she hears of it – who knows what news reaches Turvo these days. But if the news does come to her, she’ll plague her brother no end for making her miss the occasion.

“Many believed our little Artë would never marry. It was the wonder of Mithrim when she arrived wearing a wedding ring, and my brothers may well think the news a bad joke on my part, so accustomed are they to thinking of her as unattached.”

Celeborn laughed.

“That I can well imagine, for it was her independence of mind that first caught my attention. Such strength of character is not unheard of in our women, but it seemed more… unusual among yours.”

 “I would say rather that she is simply less bound than others by convention,” Curufinwë said drily. “She is hardly the only one of our ladies who can hold her own.”

Were that not the case, he thought,  both my mother and Silmë would be here with me – nor were they the only wives who refused to yield to their husbands’ folly. Ask your law-brother Angarato about Eldalotë, if you dare.

“But what has happened that Galadriel desired my presence so urgently?” Celeborn asked, less concerned about Noldorin ladies in general than his Noldorin lady in particular. “It is well enough to meet one of her kin, for until now I have known only her brothers and nephew, but I find it difficult to believe that could be such an important matter as her state of mind suggested.”

Curufinwë steeled himself.

If Celeborn reacted badly, better that it was him the Sinda raged at than Artë.

“Has she told you that her sleep has been troubled in the extreme since she departed Doriath?” he began cautiously.

Celeborn frowned.

“No, she said nothing of it,” he replied slowly. “Though I fear she would keep such news from me, knowing that I would be upset, all the more so at being unable to help her.”

Curfinwë seized the opening.

“Indeed,” he said. “I feared she had concealed it from you, for I myself learned of it too late. Had I known sooner, I might have realized that we should have been more cautious, and not trusted that we were safe merely because we knew there to be no orcs about.”

He had succeeded in rousing Celeborn’s concern.

“What has happened?” he asked urgently, looking torn between worry and confusion.

He would have known if Artanis had been injured, and yet he understood from what Curufinwë had said that all was not well.

“Is it true what I have been told about the one your people call Gorthaur?” Curufinwë asked. “That he delights in tormenting you, often forgoing a swift kill if it means more suffering for his victim?”

He could see in the other ner’s carefully blank expression that it was.

“I do not think you yet know all the words I would need to accurately describe the cruelty of that foul creature,” Celeborn said darkly. “What rhugar has he wrought this time?”

Curufinwë didn’t recognize the word, but took it to mean something along the lines of foulness.

With a deep breath, he plunged in, telling it all. Their foolishness with the wine, commiserating with each other about their absent spouses, and then falling asleep with no thought in their minds to keeping watch for their own safety. He left out that they had never needed such thoughts in Aman, for he was sure the other ner would add that part in himself.  (In his experience, the Sindar made no secret of their views on how well prepared the Noldor were for life in Beleriand, which ranged from disbelieving amusement to outright contempt.)

Celeborn frowned when he got to the dreams.

“But that was no trick,” he protested. “It was a shared dream!”

He reddened slightly, probably realizing as he spoke that by Noldorin sensibilities this was not a topic normally discussed with the male kinsman of one’s wife. Curufinwë had no idea how the Sindar viewed the subject, nor did he care to ask.

“Aye, it was,” Curufinwë agreed heavily. “Up to a point. You, I trust, would not have begotten a child without Art- without Galadriel’s knowledge of your intention – and her agreement?”

“Of course not!” Celeborn snapped, looking somewhat affronted. “The foundation of a good marriage is trust. How could she ever trust me again if I pushed her into something so important before she felt ready in herself to take that step?”

His outrage dimmed somewhat at the look on Curufinwë’s face, though his expression hardened.

“You seem surprised by my words. Do you truly think so little of us dark elves?”

“No,” Curufinwë said as soon as he was sure he had a voice to speak with. “My surprise is not for you wishing to wait for Artanis’ consent. It is for your words. I had expected you to say such a thing was impossible. That both would-be parents must intend to beget a child.”

Celeborn laughed grimly.

“I assure you that no matter what pretty tales you tell in your land of light, parenthood does not require the consent of two. It can be achieved if one party desires it greatly enough and has no care for the wishes or opinions of the other. How else did you think orcs perpetuated themselves in the early days, and indeed even now, if an elleth is unlucky enough to fall into their power?”

Curufinwë devoutly did not wish to think on such matters, and was abruptly thankful that at least Artanis had understood at once that it was not her husband’s will at work in her nightmare.

“What has happened?” Celeborn asked again, this time with far more worry in his voice. “Did an orc…”

He trailed off, looking as sick as Curufinwë felt at the suggestion he was dancing around.

“No,” he managed to tell Celeborn. “Not an orc. Sauron played us quite the trick. Artanis dreamed of you, I of my wife…”

He could see the realization in Celeborn’s eyes, but he made himself say the words anyway, if only because he needed to face it squarely.

“I dreamt I begot a child with my own wife, yet when I woke-”

“It had been Galadriel,” Celeborn whispered in horror. “She carries-”

“Yes,” Curufinwë admitted.

For a moment there was silence.

“As you said, it was not an orc,” Celeborn said, his voice sounding strained even to Curufinwë’s unfamiliar ears.

“I feel in some ways it is worse,” Curufinwë told him, unable to meet the other ner’s eyes any longer. “She is as a younger sister to me.”

“Even by Sauron’s usual standards, this is rather depraved,” Celeborn replied, sounding shaken.

“I ask no mercy for myself, but I hope you will spare Artë-”

“Spare her?” Celeborn’s voice cracked in shock. “What under the stars do you imagine I would do to her? To any woman with child? What sort of –” Curufinwë did not understand the word at all, for it was one he had not heard before and had no cognate in the tongue of the Noldor, “do you take me for? Or us – I know what you call us, but do you really imagine my people so barbaric?”

“I did not know what to expect,” Curufinwë admitted. “I have only been imagining how furious I would be had another violated my Silmë.”

He was surprised to feel a hand under his chin. Celeborn tipped his head up, forcing Curufinwë to look him in the eye.

“And would you, no matter how angry you might fancy yourself at this imagined ellon, dream of taking it out on your beloved wife when she was clearly one wronged, not one in the wrong?” Celeborn asked quietly.

“Never,” Curufinwë replied at once.

“No more would I,” Celeborn said firmly. “And now that you have told me all, I would see Galadriel. If you have been imagining such a dire reaction on my part, I fear she may also be thinking in such terms. I suspect she will have fears enough without that worry on top of them.”

Curufinwë nodded.

“She is just there, in the tent,” he pointed. “I have been keeping watch.”

“And thought if I were to react badly, better that she not witness it,” Celeborn guessed.

He started toward the tent where Artanis slept, then turned to face Curufinwë again for a moment.

“I am sorry we meet under such circumstances, kinsman Curufin. I think had things been otherwise, we would have been friends.”

Curufinwë nodded, for the thought had occurred to him as well. But no matter what else might happen, this would always stand between them, and he did not delude himself that it was something Celeborn would ever be able to overlook.

“Go,” he said gruffly. “She’s been looking for you for days.”

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Artanis woke to someone kissing her forehead. She was all set to smack Curufin until she realized that it was emphatically not her cousin.

She bolted upright, and into Celeborn’s arms.

Beloved.

She took a deep breath, ready to tell him all that had happened, but she felt him shaking his head.

“Your cousin has already told me all, my heart,” he told her, holding her tightly. “I know.”

She had never felt so vulnerable in all her life.

“It matters not, Galadriel.”

If Celeborn’s voice shook, his fëa was as strong and sure as the earth beneath them.

“You will have this child, and he will grow up knowing he is loved by his kin. That is all that matters.”

She burst into tears, letting all the worry of the last few weeks out in a matter of moments.

Celeborn soothed her as best he could, only too aware that she had not wanted to beget a child, and grimly certain that her fears would not have lessened after such a demonstration of Sauron’s power.

“Shh, beloved. I promised when we wed that your kin were mine as well, and your battles would not be fought alone. I will not go back on my word merely because the skies look grim. We will weather this storm.”

“How?” Galadriel demanded. “Anyone who can count-“

“None aside from ourselves and your cousin can know when exactly I reached you. The Iathrim will know when I set out, and when I passed the borders. But who can say how long the journey took from there? A handful of days either way is no great matter. Children are not always born precisely a year to the day after their begetting, and with such a strong willed mother, who would be surprised if the child also has a will of his own?”

He said it with such confidence that she began to relax.

“Your cousin will hardly give you away – indeed, he seems more concerned for you than for himself. Who will think it anything out of the ordinary if we all continue to your brother’s halls, and share the joyous news on our arrival?”

She looked at him, the last of the tears draining uncertainly from her eyes.

“I believe we can do this, Galadriel. It is a shock, but not a disaster.”

When he kissed her, he felt the tension and some – but not yet all – of her fear melting away.

He could only hope that the presence of her brothers would ease most of the rest of it. It was beyond his power to give her the kin he could feel she wanted most – her mother, her grandmother, and her aunts – but he could at least see to it that she brought her child into the world surrounded by as much kin as could be gathered.