Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

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Three To Make Ready

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The first few days after Gildor’s birth passed in a quiet, blissful haze.

Artanis, once the birthing was over and they had made her comfortable, slept deeply for the first time in weeks with her son beside her.

A quiet discussion between Celeborn and Curufinwë concluded with them agreeing to burn the afterbirth and scatter the ashes in the waters downstream, to leave no sign that there had been a babe born here. Giving the ashes to the water meant Ulmo might know, but between Morgoth and Ulmo, both Curufinwë and Celeborn agreed they would rather take their chances with the latter.

It had been a messy business – though no messier than the birth itself, Curufinwë supposed – but happily, they’d managed it while Artë and the babe were both still asleep.

Gildor woke first, but restless as he’d been his last weeks in the womb, he proved to be a calm and easily quieted child now, happy to be rocked and cuddled by his father and step-father. So long as someone was holding him, he was happy.

They let Artanis sleep until hunger made Gildor fretful enough that only his mother would do.

Celeborn looked so utterly charmed by the sight and sound of Artë singing what could only have been a Telerin lullaby while feeding her son that Curufinwë felt almost like an intruder. He slipped inside to begin preparing the next meal, and any tears he shed were definitely due to the onions.

The first few days of a newborn’s life were held almost sacred by the Eldar, a time of calm of which was not to be interrupted without good reason.

‘We made it this far, now we need to plan what to do next’ was not quite a good enough reason, yet Curufinwë couldn’t help musing on exactly that as he chopped, peeled, and pared. He felt some urgency about moving both his son and his cousin somewhere safer.

So far, they had succeeded with their plan, but so far the most they’d had to do was stay alive and out of sight. At some point in the not very distant future, they needed to move on to Findarato’s kingdom, and he couldn’t help feeling that the sooner, the better.

Only when they arrived in Nargothrond would they find out if this plan would truly work. Ingo was the one most likely to see through them, but if he was the only one, Artë and Gildor would still be safe, no matter how badly it might go for Curufinwë. But if anyone else realized…

He fervently hoped they’d find that Ango and Aiko were still off in their brother’s northern fortress. Ango had the shortest temper, and Aiko would defend his sister’s honor first and ask questions after.

Ango is probably visiting his first grandchild, Artanis said tartly. Or had you forgotten about Resto and Merelin’s daughter? 

He had, actually, but if Ango would be safely occupied elsewhere, so much the better.

“They’re almost certainly still at Mithrim,” Artanis continued, coming inside with a now sated Gildor dozing off on her shoulder. “I can’t imagine Uncle Nolo being eager to have them travel anywhere with a newborn.”

She didn’t have to spell out for him that she was in no hurry to travel with a newborn herself. He wasn’t either, in truth, but he saw little way around it.

“We don’t have to move on right this minute,” Curufinwë admitted. “But we shouldn’t stay here too long. We don’t want you to have been wandering aimlessly around Beleriand long enough to set tongues wagging when you show up at your brother’s with a child.”

The Sindar might take such things in stride, but the Noldor might wonder. And many of them were excellent at math. If they arrived at Nargothrond within the next few weeks, the timeline would still be tight enough that most would dismiss any possibility of the child being Artanis’ own out of hand.

“Why would anyone suspect an infant I claim isn’t mine is?” Artanis asked. “You do realize that what happened here is so odd that anyone who suggested it would be laughed off as a fabulist?”

“The less likely the truth seems, the better,” Curufinwë muttered, tipping the herbs he’d finished chopping into the pot to simmer with the meat.

“How much longer can you stay with us?” she asked.

He blinked at the unexpected question.

“You can’t leave Tyelpë alone forever,” she pointed out.

“He’s not alone,” Curufinwë protested. “He’s got Tyelko, who you know perfectly well is competent to mind younger children than him, and all the garrison of Himlad besides”

“But not his father,” she replied quietly.

“His father is rather busy at the moment, and Gildor is young enough to still need both parents for the time being. I’m not leaving the two of you until I’m satisfied it is safe to do so. I trust that Tyelko will remind Tyelpë he has to leave the library or the smithy to eat and sleep at appropriate intervals.”

He would doubtless hear about his prolonged absence from Tyelko, who had been expecting to look after his nephew for several months, not a few years. His brother had stong views on proper paternal conduct, and a father disappearing without notice would rile him. Curufinwë was in no position to truthfully explain his prolonged time away to anyone, least of all his older brother. And, of course, he couldn’t give Tyelpë a good explanation for his absence either, since the boy couldn’t know anything of what had happened.

He did his best to contain his thoughts, and hoped his face didn’t reflect his distress at the thought that Tyelpë might not meet his baby brother until Gildor was grown. Artanis had enough worries of her own that she didn’t need to deal with his into the bargain.

“How am I to explain your presence when we arrive at Nargothrond?” Artanis asked.

Curufinwë shrugged.

“Tell most of the truth,” he suggested. “That is your specialty, isn’t it?”

She glared at him, but couldn’t really argue.

As a child, Artanis had excelled at getting herself (and often Irissë and Ambarussa) out of trouble by the clever use of selective truth – she’d admit to part but not all of the story, and happily allow herself to get caught in a minor infraction to cover up a major one. By the time anyone discovered the bits she’d left out, it was usually so much later that to punish or even scold was pointless – if anyone worked out that she was the one at fault in the first place. Curvo, Ingo, and Turvo had taken the fall for their younger siblings more than once, as had Aryo and Aiko. Even Moryo had been roped in on occasion, despite being an adult by the time of Artanis’ begetting.

“You caught me sneaking out, and when you heard I was meeting Celeborn, you were struck with the desire to meet your new cousin,” she said slowly. “We were in no particular hurry to be anywhere, as we’re neither of us welcome in Doriath at present and I’d had enough smothering in Mithrim.”

“So far so good,” Curufinwë nodded. “And where does Gildor come into the tale?”

She frowned.

“Why must there be a tale at all?”

Curufinwë mentally braced himself. He’d been hoping she wouldn’t raise this point, though he wasn’t terribly surprised that she would. Parents bonded with their newly born children. It was perfectly natural. He wasn’t thrilled about having to leave his son either, but he recognized the necessity.

“He doesn’t have dark hair as you feared,” Artanis continued doggedly. “His hair is as silver as Celeborn’s. So why should I not keep him with me?”

“Very well, Artanis,” he said, “you keep your son with you and either announce or allow all and sundry to assume him to be Celeborn’s son. Why then did the pair of you choose to while away your pregnancy and give birth in the wild, so far from kith and kin with the sole exception of your kinslaying cousin? You could have been set upon by orcs or other creatures of the Enemy at any time. What kind of parents are you to expose your child – your first child – to such risk?”

She glared at him.

“We could not go to Doriath and Mithrim was too stifling!”

“You could not go to Doriath? Why ever not?” Curufinwë asked sardonically. He hoped she was taking the point that he was only posing the questions that others would ask – many behind her back, no doubt, but a few would dare it to her face. Thingol probably numbered among the few.

“Do you mean to say that Celeborn wouldn’t dare Thingol’s temper for his son’s safety? Or that you wouldn’t bend your pride? Was suffering our uncle’s fussing really so dire that you decided it was best to give birth in secret?”

Now Artanis was showing signs of true temper. Curufinwë didn’t like having to do this, any more than he liked having to entrust his son to another, but it was vital that Artanis understand that the boy was safest following the plan they had agreed on – what’s more, so was she. He pressed on.

“Even that being the case, it would not explain why you could not go to your brothers – any of them! If you could not catch up with Ango and Aiko, you know perfectly well that Ingo would never turn you away. And so does everyone else!”

“He is right, beloved,” came a soft voice from behind Artanis.

Neither of the cousins had heard Celeborn enter, but he had evidently caught enough to understand what was going on.

“There is no explanation that would suffice for my people,” Celeborn continued quietly. “It would be understood if necessity had forced us to travel close to your time and our son came into the light unexpectedly, the rest of his kin unable to be with us. But to have deliberately made it so when there were other options…”

The expression on his face suggested it might be an unforgivable offense, one that would make the break between Artanis and Thingol permanent.

“Nor do I think your brothers would understand such a remarkable decision,” Celeborn continued, deftly relieving Artanis of her sleeping son. “They would support you in far worse circumstances than having begotten a child while being unwelcome in our uncle’s kingdom.”

Artanis’ face was a thundercloud.

“Remarkable,” Curufinwë repeated, pouncing on the word. “Remark being precisely what we need to avoid if you wish to keep your son safe. It is not only other elves you need to worry about.”

“It will surely be remarked upon when I arrive in Nargothrond with an infant at my breast,” Artanis snapped.

“It may be,” Curufinwë agreed. “But only in Nargothrond, and you will have a ready explanation for it. On the other hand, you arriving with a son you brought into the light out in the wild, having been missing for over a year, would be the talk of every elven realm known to us – and you know as well as I do such news would spread quickly!”

“If he were our son, beloved, there would be no reason to keep word of his birth from your uncle in Mithrim, or your cousins in the north,” Celeborn pointed out. “Much less our uncle and kin in Doriath.”

“And Ingo adopting a baby I found won’t be widely spoken of?” she protested with a snort. “I begin to wonder about your logic, both of you!”

“Ingo may mention in passing that he adopted a foundling,” Curufinwë said. “But that you found him need not be mentioned widely. It might be something to tell others in our family, but it would not be nearly as singular as you having begotten and birthed a child in secret would be.”

He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, “I doubt even my brothers would find it worth more than a shake of the head that you should have chosen to try your luck in the wild for some months, given the temper you were in when you left Mithrim. And foundlings are not unheard of – at least they are not in the north.”

Artanis still looked like she might cheerfully add several parts of him to the stew pot simmering away, but he could see in the slight sag of her shoulders that while she was not liking their arguments, they were getting through.

“He will still be with your brother,” Celeborn pointed out softly. “In a place you might visit as often as you choose. We should remain in your brother’s kingdom until Uncle Elu relents in any case – and that may be several years yet. He may regret his reaction by now, but it will take him longer to admit to it publicly.”

Artanis still looked mulish, but Curufinwë had seen defeat in her expression often enough to recognize it now. He didn’t press the point, instead letting Celeborn soothe her.

It was only after dinner that he returned to his question of how she would explain Gildor’s presence when they encountered the Nargothrondrim.

Artanis frowned, but did not reignite the earlier argument. Instead, she considered the problem.

“We can’t say we found him in Talath Dirnen,” she mused. “It’s watched from Nargothrond and probably from Doriath as well. If we claim to be somewhere they should have spotted us or his supposed parents, we’d be found out.”

She thought for a while.

“We came across him while following the Ginglith down, well above where it curves around toward the Narog,” she said finally. “That should be safe enough.”

Curufinwë considered that.

“That’s a rather specific location. Why there in particular?” he asked.

“With Turvo no longer holding Nevrast, it’s not unthinkable that small parties of orcs might come down the Lammoth, pick their way through Nevrast, and raid south of the mountains. A small party disappearing does happen on occasion. But orcs can’t come too close to the Falas, or to lands Ingo’s scouts patrol frequently, or they’d be noticed and slaughtered. It’s also not a place that would be easy for anyone to check into more closely – by the time we reach Nargothrond, it would be weeks at the least since we were there. Any traces of Gildor’s supposed parents, not to mention the orcs we blame for their absence, would be faint if not gone altogether.”

He nodded. Her logic was sound.

“Very well,” he agreed. “That is what we will say.”

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No matter how much Curufinwë might feel it was best to have little Gildor safely within Nargothrond as soon as possible, he had never before contemplated traveling with a child so young. He wasn’t at all sure how to prepare for it.

Though she’d conceded the necessity of sticking to the plan, Artanis was still pushing to remain in their hidden glade several more weeks at least. If Curufinwë was nervous about travelling with a newborn, she was something approaching irrational on the subject. She had even broached the prospect of remaining there another winter, until Gildor might reasonably be walking – and been furious when both neri had shot down that idea at once.

Celeborn found the fretting of both his wife and her cousin rather amusing.

“You two do realize that there were children born on the Journey? And that here in Beleriand, waiting until a child can walk before going anywhere is not always possible? Of course there are ways to travel with an infant!”

He’d then set about trying to teach them. There were various forms of carriers that made taking a child on long journeys much more bearable than either Curufinwë or Artanis had imagined.

Celeborn started by showing them how to use a length of cloth to form a sling which might be worn by an adult on their front or back. It had the advantage of keeping the child close, in immediate contact with an adult, which generally meant a calm child.

He then moved on to a woven basket, which could be carried on an arm, or strapped to a back. But he also began work on what he called a cradleboard, which would be worn on the back of an adult, and offer little Gildor more protection from sun, wind, and rain than the basket. While it took a few days, it was considerably less time than Artanis would have liked before it was ready.

“It is still rough, and one can see that it was made in haste,” Celeborn said somewhat ruefully. “This one is terribly plain and undecorated. Normally a child’s kin would put much more effort into the making. But I suppose a hastily made cradleboard is in keeping with the tale we are to tell.”

Curufinwë nodded.

He didn’t say it aloud, but it would also be evidence to any who might otherwise be suspicious that Celeborn had been with them when Gildor was ‘found’ – he suspected few other Noldor had seen a cradleboard before, and it would not have occurred to him to make such a thing.

Thus it was that they set out from their hiding place a scant week after Gildor’s birth, bound for Nargothrond with all possible speed. Curufinwë couldn’t help thinking as they turned south that little Gildor, who was making pleased chirping sounds from his cradleboard, was the only one happy about the journey.