Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

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Small Steps

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Galadriel held her son’s hand tightly. The last thing she needed was him running off and taking a tumble into the river. She wasn’t sure why children this age were referred to as ‘toddlers’. Gildor had gone almost directly from crawling to running with next to no actual toddling in between.

Her brother thought it was hilarious and assured her that she had done much the same. She had pointed out rather tartly that there had been fewer chances a small child running headlong through Tirion would meet with a fatal accident.

Ingo, drat him, had only laughed harder and shared what he believed to be a highly amusing anecdote in which, at roughly the same age as Gildor was now, she had charged at full speed off of one of the quays near their grandparents’ house in Alqualondë. Their mother had been horrified.

He had sobered slightly when she reminded him that unlike Emmë, they couldn’t count on Lady Uinen or some other friendly maia bouncing Gildor right back out of the Narog before he drowned should he do something similar.

But despite his habit of running off if she didn’t keep hold of him, she wouldn’t have Gildor miss this – Resto, Merilin, and Finduilas would be arriving shortly. They had been explaining to him for several days now that he would have a new playmate, a cousin his own age.

Unfortunately, from the looks of it, Resto and Merilin weren’t travelling unsupervised. And that wasn’t Ango with them.

“Ammë! Ammë! Kena! Kena!”

“We speak Sindarin in public, Gilya,” she murmured quietly. “ Look .”

“Look,” he repeated, a slight trace of crossness in his tone.

Curvo had gotten his wish in this at least – their son was more than Noldorin enough to irritate Thingol. Noldorin had also been the language the boy chose when he began to speak. It was probably not surprising, given that it was what he heard her and Ingo using when it was just family. But she knew from Celeborn’s reaction that it would do her and Ingo no good with their great-uncle should he ever hear of it.

Gildor would have learned Sindarin either way, as many Sindar as there were in and around Nargothrond. Even if that hadn’t been the case, it was only sense that he should be able to converse with the elves of Beleriand freely in their own tongues. But it was galling to need to teach Sindarin to him as a requirement rather than something that happened naturally. She meant to put as much if not more effort into teaching him the Lindarin of her grandparents as the language of Beleriand.

“Yes, I see, darling. That’s your Uncle Resto and Aunt Merilin, and your cousin Finduilas with them. Won’t it be exciting to have a cousin to play with?”

“Who with?”

“Who else is with them? That would be your Uncle Tyelko,” she said, trying not to sigh.

She really shouldn’t have been surprised that Tyelko had managed to attach himself to the party coming down from Mithrim if he’d been there when they were making ready for the journey. It would have been odder if he had stayed away once he knew there were not one but two little ones who might appreciate a mostly responsible uncle who was excellent at games and pony rides.

Indeed, little Finduilas was riding on his shoulders, and showing every sign of enjoying her vantage point.

Gildor let out a squeal of delight, and managed to worm his way out of Galadriel’s restraining grip.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, he did not aim for the river. Instead, he ran headlong at Tyelko, who scooped him up with a whoop. Finduilas clapped her hands gleefully.

“Hello there, you must be the rascal my little brother told me about!”

Gildor paused from laughing long enough to look hopefully around for another child.

“Ah, sorry, squirt!” Tyelko chuckled. “Didn’t mean to confuse you. My little brother is your Atto’s age – not your size anymore, I’m afraid.”

He’d continued his forward progress, the additional child in no way slowing him.

“Hello there, Artë! This one keeping you on your toes?”

When he reached her, he deposited an utterly charmed Gildor in her arms.

“In a manner of speaking,” she said drily.

“Aunty!”

Resto’s greeting was enthusiastic.

“I wasn’t sure if we’d find you still here or not,” he said. “But I’m pleased to see you – and to introduce you to Findë!”

He beamed as Tyelko made a show of somersaulting the girl down from his shoulders, which started her giggling. Resto’s attempts to get his daughter to ‘greet your aunt properly’ failed utterly, for as soon as she was on her feet, Gildor squirmed back down and the two began chattering away – in Quenya.

She had to work to keep the smirk off her face, and the only thing that helped was noticing that Tyelko wasn’t making the least attempt to hide his. Thingol’s ban wasn’t so ironclad that anyone would call a pair of toddlers ‘betrayers of kin unrepentant’. (Though she didn’t doubt that if they did, her son would be in far more trouble than her grandniece.) 

“I suppose I should be grateful she has a cousin near to her own age,” Merilin sighed as Resto moved to greet Ingo. “I just hope between us all we can make her understand when she needs to speak Lindarin.”

She didn’t say it, but Galadriel suspected she was thinking of Gildor as well.

“Plenty of time for that,” Tyelko snorted. “Unless you plan on taking her to Doriath soon?”

“Absolutely not,” Resto said, firmly enough that for once he sounded like Ango. “She’ll be staying here until she’s grown. I won’t have my child subject to Thingol’s whims, much less Thingol’s temper.”

The set of Merilin’s mouth betrayed that this was a sore subject, not that Artanis had expected otherwise. She and Celeborn were also of differing opinions on their great uncle. Merilin and Celeborn could forgive, but Galadriel and her brothers could not forget.

She for one would never again not be on her guard in Thingol’s realm – if she had to be there at all. Ango had already declared he wouldn’t be. She suspected Aiko felt similarly, and he had the loosest ties to Thingol of any of them. Ingo had rarely been there for anything beyond short visits, and could easily plead the necessity of running his own kingdom to dodge any invitations. She doubted it was any different for Resto. They had been shown too clearly that they were outsiders.

“I don’t intend to return for some years,” she said, gesturing toward Gildor. “Not while he’s still so small, at any rate. It would be a shame to miss any of his childhood.”

For any cousin but Tyelko, she would have added the qualifier ‘even if Thingol admits my bloodstained hands won’t pollute his kingdom’. But the truce between them felt too new and fragile for references to Alqualondë just yet. Besides, she suspected at some point talking to him without others around would be unavoidable. If she wanted to vent about Thingol, in front of Merilin and Celeborn was not the time.

“They grow so fast,” Tyelko agreed. “Part of why I was so keen to see the pair of them now!”

Any further conversation was cut off by two toddlers doing their best attempt at polite while still being quite firm about wanting back up. Tyelko, ever the obliging victim when it came to his young kin, swiftly complied and strode off inside without waiting to see if anyone else was following.

Well done not killing him, Ingo told her.

She shot him a glare before turning to follow, ignoring his laugh.

“You can trust him with children, you know,” Ingo told her, catching up with her easily. “He survived with four of you, after all. Two should be much more manageable.”

With that in mind, she managed to take herself off with Celeborn – who was even less keen to spend time with her cousin than she was – for an afternoon alone together.

The formal dinner that evening was unavoidable. Nargothrond was in a state of excitement at having Resto and Merilin, not to mention little Findë. Tyelko inspired more wariness, but Alqualondë or not, he was still a prince of the Noldor. If Ingo was willing to host him, no one would protest openly.

The two children were far too excited about each other to be the least bit fussed about how long dinner lasted, and had to be carried from the hall fast asleep not long after dessert.

Galadriel found herself walking with Merilin for the first time since she had left Menegroth.

“He’s quite the little darling,” Merilin said, nodding toward Gildor, who was so happy that he had a slight smile on his face even in his sleep. “Easy to see why Finrod’s people are so charmed.”

She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

“I could say the same,” Galadriel replied, keeping her tone pleasant. “Though I hope for your sake that your daughter is calmer than this one.”

“He behaved so beautifully,” Merilin protested.

“Only because your Findë was there,” Galadriel snorted. “Don’t let him fool you.”

“We shall see,” Merilin said with a smile that faded slightly. “At least, I hope we shall?”

“Of course,” Galadriel replied. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Uncle Finrod wrote that he was adopting the boy, but it’s clear he’s quite attached to you – which is no surprise under the circumstances. As his milk-mother, you might have reconsidered leaving him here with your brother. I’m sure Uncle wouldn’t mind in the least if you brought him to Doriath.”

Galadriel suppressed a sigh.

She supposed this was preferable to the question she’d thought might be asked – if she had reconsidered bearing children in light of her ‘milk-son’. It was merely the mildest of hints that Thingol would quite like to meet the boy… She supposed it might also count as a tentative overture to restoring relations.

On the bright side, knowing how she and her brothers felt, Merilin was unlikely to argue at a demurral. If anything, she was likely to read  into it an unwillingness to expose a child to Thingol’s capricious temper. She’d no doubt heard more than enough on that score from Resto, and possibly Ango as well. (Ango had been uninterested in travelling south with Tyelko, and had sent a request via his son to be informed when ‘that overenthusiastic lummox’ departed.)

“No, we’ve been quite clear with Gildor that Ingo is his father. In due time we’ll explain that I am properly aunt, not mother, and I don’t always dwell in Nargothrond. When he’s old enough, Celeborn and I will return to Menegroth. But there is no expectation he will go with us. His place is here.”

“That’s good for the little ones, I think,” Merilin said thoughtfully. “I have been unhappy at the thought that my daughter would grow up without kin near her own age. It was not so for me – and not, I think, for you either?”

Galadriel smiled at the slightly bittersweet memory of her own youth with Irissë and Ambarussa. She hasn’t seen the cousin who was practically a sister to her since the Feast of Reuniting, and didn’t even know where she was. It was a far cry from their childhood, when there had scarce been a day they weren’t in each other’s company.

“Not at all,” she said, allowing the wistfulness to show.

“Well,” Merilin said, clearly trying to end the evening on a more cheerful note as she reached the door to her family’s rooms, “I suppose we must hope for other cousins for the pair of them. Orodreth’s father can do nothing to add to the numbers, but perhaps Aegnor might? Do you think we can between us persuade your youngest brother that he should marry?”

Galadriel couldn’t help the laugh. As far as she knew, marriage and begetting of children was far from her brother’s mind – and that was unlikely to change if Ingo and Ango had anything to say about it.

“You don’t choose easy goals, do you?” she asked. “Unless you’re far more persuasive than I am, these two will be grown long before Aiko marries.”

“We shall see what two determined women can accomplish,” Merilin grinned. “Good night.”

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With two children eager to spend as much time in each other’s company as possible, not to mention several more relatives to take turns watching them, Galadriel found to her surprise she had more time to herself than she had since Gildor’s birth. She took to escaping into the countryside with Celeborn most afternoons. The time in the nearby woods was nearly as much a balm to him as the time alone with her mate was to her.

It also had the happy side benefit of keeping her well away from her cousin. If anyone other than Ingo would see through the story about Gildor, it would be him.

After a week or so, she had a disagreeable feeling that whenever they happened to be in the same vicinity, Tyelko was giving her thoughtful looks. So it wasn’t entirely unexpected when Tyelko wandered into her rooms one evening while Celeborn was off with Merilin, and Ingo had both little ones.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me,” Tyelko announced, ignoring her annoyed expression as he tossed himself into the chair that was usually Celeborn’s. “But that’s ridiculous. You sent me a peace offering, and I accepted, so we’re good, are we not?”

“We’re good,” she agreed, wondering where he was going with this.

“Then why do I get the feeling if I hadn’t neglected to knock, we wouldn’t be chatting so amiably?”

She met his gaze impassively. The worst part of trying to fool Tyelko was that he knew her nearly as well as Curvo or Ingo did – and could recall every trick she’d ever used to get out of trouble in her childhood or youth. Especially the many he’d fallen for at the time.

“You speak as though you haven’t been spending as much time with the little ones as you possibly could,” she sniffed. “I could as easily say you have been avoiding me . It’s not as if it’s been any secret where I am most of the time.”

“Funny you should mention the little ones,” Tyelko said with a grin that bordered on wolfish. “It’s them I wanted to talk about. Or more accurately, the little rascal you call a milk-son.”

“Has he been misbehaving?” she asked suspiciously.

“Hark at you sounding so maternal,” Tyelko chuckled. “Shame several folks back home can’t hear this! But rest easy, that’s not what I meant at all. Gilya’s no worse than any of the rest of you, and if what my brothers say is to be believed, considerably better than I was at that age.”

“That’s a relief,” she replied drily.

“I have no complaints whatsoever about his behavior,” Tyelko continued. “It’s just that I’m not quite sure I believe the story Curvo came back with of you three just happening to stumble across an abandoned infant.”

It took all her self-control not to flinch.

“Particularly now that I’ve seen him. When I put those nagging little doubts together with his looks…”

Tyelko paused.

“Don’t throw anything at me for this,” he said carefully. “But I’ve an idea Gildor is more than just your milk-son. So please be honest with me. Are you covering for Ingo?”

“Excuse me?” she asked, not entirely sure she’d heard him correctly. On the bright side, it meant her surprise was honest enough.

“He’s nearly the spit of Ingo at that age,” Tyelko told her earnestly. “Except the hair, of course. Ingo’s was more golden. But he looks like Ingo, he behaves like Ingo… You’re too young to see it, but I suspect Uncle would have the same thought, and so would Aunt Irimë. Come to that, I think Nelyo would as well.”

“Not Kano?” she replied, more stalling for time to think than from any real curiosity.

“Not unless you happened to catch him on a day when he’s fully paying attention, but that doesn’t happen too often these days,” Tyelko shrugged. “I can see you’re furious with me. But really, Artë, it’s downright uncanny if your story is true and he’s entirely unrelated.”

She glared at him.

“Ingo would never be unfaithful to Amarië,” she said fiercely. “Never.”

It hadn’t once occurred to any of them that in trying to keep suspicion away from her, they’d deflect it onto her eldest brother. Well – it hadn’t occurred to her. She didn’t know for sure that it hadn’t crossed Curvo’s mind that it might be added security. It wouldn’t be unbelievable for him to have considered it and decided not to say anything.

“I’d understand ,” Tyelko told her earnestly. “Truly, Artë. We’re a long way from home, and no matter how much he loves her, Amarië’s not here, nor is she going to be. And if the blasted Doom is to be believed, he may never see her again. If he found a nis who reminded him of her-”

“I’m glad you chose to have this discussion when no one else was around to hear it,” she said with perfect honesty. “And before you ask any more ridiculous questions, I’m quite confident that Ango and Aiko had nothing to do with Gildor’s begetting.”

Tyelko snorted.

“Ango inherited your grandmother’s looks, and wee Gildor couldn’t look less Vanyarin if he tried. I might have thought of Aiko if I hadn’t known for a fact that he went straight from Doriath to Mithrim and thence north, so how you’d have stumbled on a child of his on your way here is a problem I doubt even Curvo could logic out.”

“It’s not as if I said he birthed the child,” Galadriel sniffed.

“No, you didn’t. But it’s no less ludicrous an idea – if Aiko had someone in Doriath, he’d hardly have gone north and left her on her own. I also notice that for all the talk about how Gildor couldn’t be Ango’s or Aiko’s, you’ve not said straight out that he’s not Ingo’s,” Tyelko said quietly.

She had no good reply. If she denied on Ingo’s behalf, Tyelko might well hit on the truth – or part of it, at least.

“It would explain why it’s you and Curvo who brought the child in, as well as why it’s you who had to be the boy’s milk-mother. You’re the two he trusts most. And ‘adopting’ the boy keeps him close…”

Tyelko leaned forward.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m not about to run my mouth to anyone else. The child is family either way. I just thought it might be easier on Ingo to not have to pretend.”

“You mustn’t bring it up in front of him,” Galadriel said at once.

“If you think he’d rather not, I won’t,” Tyelko agreed. “I meant to make things better, not worse. If he’s too embarrassed by the affair… Well, then we never had this conversation.”

“What conversation?” Galadriel asked brightly, channeling her days of covering up childish mischief and praying it rang true.

Tyelko grinned.

“I don’t suppose you have any more bottles of grandfather’s wine squirreled away, do you? I wouldn’t say no to sharing a glass or two.”

“You know perfectly well I don’t,” she snorted. “I sent the last bottle to you with Curvo – and I assume you drank it.”

“With great pleasure. But you can’t blame me for hoping, can you?”