Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

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Waiting


Before her name was Galadriel, Artanis had thought nothing could be worse than the Ice.

As in so many other things, she had been wrong.

Fire was worse. Fire – and what came after. She already knew two brothers were lost to her, and most of their people with them. She’d woken choking on the fumes and feeling the unbearable heat. She had not screamed. What would have been the point? They were already gone.

It was almost as though the Doomsman was laughing at them - they had never wanted to be cold again.

Waiting for the hammer to fall on her remaining brother and her nephew was slow torture, and it was not helped by the mockery of sympathy from her grandfather’s brother.

It was just as well that Celeborn had been the one to name her Galadriel, and the name had been offered well before Thingol’s ban. Right now every reminder that she was denied her cradle-tongue and her brothers their given names at his decree sparked anger in her, a soul-deep rage she knew could do no one any good but flared unbidden nonetheless.

She had been refusing to see her great-uncle since she felt the death-blows in the north. She did not want anything of him right now but permission to depart for Nargothrond to mourn her own among her own. As he would not allow her that, she could not avoid him entirely. But she did her best.

She had been blunt as a hammer with Aunt Melian when she pressed the issue, trying to coax her out ‘at least among family’.

“He drove us from his kingdom when his grief and anger were fresh to him. Now that my own are fresh, I would leave of my own volition.”

“You know that cannot be, my cygnet. He worries for your safety, now more than ever. You frightened him badly when you disappeared.”

“He worries for Celeborn’s safety, you mean. My death would not discomfit him in the least did he not fear it might wound my husband to the quick.”

“You are blinded by your grief, young one,” Melian replied reproachfully. “Elu cares about all his younger kin.”

You included was implied, but she knew perfectly well in Thingol’s mind the formulation would be ‘even you’.

Galadriel laughed without any mirth whatsoever.

“Kin, you say? Since he learned of the kinslaying, we have only grudgingly been allowed kinship with him. He punished us for deaths we were blameless in and saw with our own eyes.”

Deaths she had tried to prevent. She would love to know what the so-called King of the Lindar would have done had he been there.

“If you believe so, you err,” Melian said quietly.

“Do I? Perhaps it is you who err,” Galadriel shot back ruthlessly. “I may be blinded by grief, but I am not blinded by love of him. I understand well enough it is not kin whose loss in the north he regrets, but the falling of a barrier between his borders and Morgoth. If he wants to pretend that he mourns my brothers more deeply than I do, as he did for my uncles, let him do it out of my sight and hearing. I will keep to my rooms until he is ready to cast me out again.”

Melian’s disapproval hung over her like a wet blanket.

“You will not persuade him to change his mind thus.”

“I was not the one who worried about changing his mind,” Galadriel said, doing her best not to snarl. “That was Ingo. I’m sure Elu will be rid of him soon enough as well.”

“Speak no words of ill-omen,” Melian cautioned sternly.

“That was no omen, it was plain common sense,” Galadriel sniffed. “Finrod is in the worst of the fighting, and there is little hope Fingon will force a path to him.”

She did not speak their true names, but her feä practically screamed Ingo and Finno as she said the words, and she knew Melian would have heard.

“He cannot undo the past,” Melian said softly.

“Nor can I,” Galadriel said, with finality in her tone. “And I have had enough of conditional kin and their demands. Leave me to mourn my brothers in as close to peace as there is in Beleriand.”

Melian’s presence withdrew, but Galadriel knew better than to expect she would actually be let alone. If Thingol was agitated about her refusal to leave her rooms, Lúthien or Daeron would be next. At least after that she might have solitude. Oropher would know from Celeborn that it was no use. Belthil was away on the northwestern borders, and Merilin had drawn the lucky straw and gotten to depart for Nargothrond with her son. Nimloth had better sense than to interfere.

She didn’t even know if Gildor was safe. He was a prince of Nargothrond, Ingo might have taken him north as well…

He has too much sense for that, my love.

She looked up to find Celeborn looking at her wearily. She’d been so deep in thought – and misery – that she hadn’t heard him enter their rooms.

“What was the point of training the boy to serve as his regent, and successor if need be, if he drags him into a crisis at his side? Besides which, he is like every other parent and wants to see his son safe.”

“Celeborn the Wise,” she murmured.

He sighed, and she reached out to soothe his spirit as best she could with her own so roiled. His logic was sound. But the fear in her stomach was as deep as the bottomless sea beneath the Ice.

“Sooner or later, Uncle will relent,” Celeborn sighed into her hair as she stepped into his embrace. “He did before. He will again. You will get to see for yourself the boy is safe.”

“Not in time,” she predicted dolefully. “Nargothrond’s fate may already be sealed. I do not think I will see it again.”

As she said it, she was suddenly certain she would not.

Nebulous foresight taunted her. Darkness and death hovered just out of sight, far enough that though she could recognize the outlines of doom, she could not see what it was she most desperately wanted to be sure of. Nargothrond could fall if it must, just so long Gildor lived…

One can go mad chasing visions of the future, Celeborn reminded her. Come back to the present, my lady of light?

“Madness might be less painful.”

“I’ve never known you a coward before, my heart, and now is no time to begin. It needs no foresight to know that the situation may be grimmer still before the light returns.”

---

If the ‘kids’ – and he knew he really shouldn’t be thinking of the older three as such, they were adults now – were on edge for the next few days, Curufinwë supposed that was no surprise.

He did his best to keep them all busy. Busy hands had no time for mischief. Busy minds weren’t fretting about the worst that could happen. (At least, not much.) But not too busy – he didn’t want them so tired that tempers frayed or they made foolish mistakes.

He set Gildor to teaching Finduilas basic self-defense in Tyelko’s absence – the sort the Noldor hadn’t ever thought necessary for nissi. He had the two of them work at that for a few hours after breakfast, and the two hours before dinner. Gildor protested indignantly after the first day that it was unfair Tyelpë wasn’t being used as a practice victim, but Finduilas pointed out smugly that he couldn’t very well make her armor if he was there with them.

She at least seemed to be somewhat enjoying the change in circumstances. From what Curufinwë observed, she’d really only needed competent instruction and practice. Her progress was as rapid as he could realistically wish, and better than he’d hoped. (He privately suspected the girl hadn’t been as much a novice as they’d supposed, at least not in the theoretical aspects. But it was clearly the first time she’d had a chance to put anything into practice.)

Curufinwë also had the little boy to look after. Young Gil-galad had gone very solemn and quiet once his mother left. Everyone had assured him that his big sister, Gildor, cousin Tyelpë, and new-met uncle would look after him. He had expected the boy to prefer his sister and Gildor, and would not have been surprised if the little one had been trying to hide from him. At his tender age, new met kin of kin wasn’t at all the same as kin you knew.

Instead, the first evening, he’d arrived to make sure Gil-Galad was put to bed at a reasonable hour for a child of his age to find his older son assuring the boy in a whisper that ‘Uncle Curufin’ told the best bedtime stories, all he had to do was ask nicely. One only slightly embroidered tale about how Uncle Ara had met Aunt Eärwen later, the little one was charmed and falling asleep.

After that, he’d found himself firmly on the short list of people the boy didn’t want to let out of his sight. They rapidly discovered that Gil-galad with his older sister, Gildor, or Curufinwë present was a solemn but calm child. Gil-galad without any of the above proved to be a screaming, teary, snotty mess. (Tyelpë was an acceptable stopgap, but only in the sense that in his company, the little one would cling to him and cry quietly.)

Curufinwë kept the boy with him during the daytime, going about his meetings or reviewing papers with the child on his hip or his lap. It might not do wonders for his dignity, but it couldn’t be helped. Any of Ingo’s remaining council inclined to amusement at the sight swiftly learned to stifle the impulse. He’d do what was needful to keep the boy as calm and at ease as possible. The older kids adored little Gil, but none of them had any experience of parenthood and they all had other duties to attend.

A seven-year-old was entirely too young for any of this. Curufinwë was privately appalled at the necessity of a mother leaving a child of such tender years, even on what should be a relatively safe scouting trip. It was the first time the thought had ever crossed his mind that Thingol had not been cautious enough. (Surely that was statement enough on the desperate times they found themselves in.)

He quickly discovered that little Gil didn’t know a word of Quenya of any sort. So he’d started teaching the child simple words and singing nursery songs to him when they weren’t in public. He also started him learning tengwar, with the promise of a book bound just for him once he could read his own name. The boy was the right age for it, and having something new and interesting helped take his mind off of the absence of both parents and charged atmosphere.

He also insisted all three of the older kids reserve time to mingle a few hours each morning and afternoon to make sure they got to know what was now effectively one people. Any distinction as to who had originally been a resident of Aglon, Himlad, or Nargothrond was rapidly eroding, and Curufinwë saw no good reason to fight it. The requirement to socialize drew a few half-hearted protests from the boys, Tyelpë in particular. (Findë, being a natural people person, was perfectly happy, not to mention sensible enough to include her little brother.) But he’d squelched their notions by pointing out that princes had to know and be known to their followers.

Curufinwë didn’t tell them that the fusion of their peoples might well be permanent. Amon Ereb would still be the fallback point for the rest of his brothers, but leaving western Beleriand understrength was not a sensible plan. It was inevitable that Ingo would lose people in the north – the only question was how many. He hadn’t had time to discuss it with Tyelko, but leaving some of their people with Ingo a practical solution. For his part, he didn’t see much point to taking any but the fighters to Amon Ereb. Between his brothers, there should be sufficient support craftfolk as it was.

That still left the problem of communicating with Amon Ereb. While he had no intention of making his way there immediately, Curufinwë needed to know who was there and in what condition. More than that, Nargothrond needed reliable news of what had played out in East Beleriand before they could make any plan for the future, regardless of what happened in the north with Ingo, Resto, Uncle Nolo, and Finno.

To that end, he called one evening for volunteers to attempt a message run to his little brother’s fortress. He was frank in his announcement – both about the need, and that with Gildor’s permission, he would take anyone willing to risk the journey, regardless who they’d originally answered to. The response was much better than he’d expected, to the point that he could afford to be choosy and still have an adequate party.

He had Tyelpë, Gildor, and Finduilas review the volunteers with him when he drew up the list of who would go a few days later. Some people would be just itching for action – or verging on reckless, in a few cases. He wanted to know he was sending steady, reliable people who would keep to their mission. But he also wanted it to be  a mixed group, not disproportionately his own people and Tyelko’s. He wanted the way known to all, and to demonstrate to everyone at both ends that the Noldor had not fallen apart but were regrouping.

Gildor nixed two of the Nargothrond volunteers – one was too important to risk, as he’d been closely involved in the building of the ‘back doors’. The other he was concerned might take unnecessary risks, as she’d just lost a brother in the north. Finduilas vetoed a third as likely to go to pieces in an emergency, not something she thought a good qualification for a trip that faced both the prospect of picking a new route through rough terrain and the possibility of ambush at any time.

Curufinwë was pleased to see Tyelpë becoming more assertive after a few days in Gildor and Finduilas’ company. After quietly observing how freely and frankly his cousins spoke out, he offered tentatively that he thought one of the volunteers originally from Aglon was unlikely to return from Amon Ereb once she arrived there.

“I believe Alyamë volunteered only because she hopes to find news of her kin from Thargelion. But she is unlikely to want to dare the return journey whether she finds her cousins at Amon Ereb or not.”

Curufinwë frowned, then tossed the decision to Gildor.

“You’re the prince regent,” he said lightly. “What do you think?”

Gildor blinked, having not expected that Curufinwë would want his opinion on someone who was after all Curufinwë’s follower. (Well, technically Tyelko’s. But at this point, it was all but impossible to distinguish between the two unless you stopped to think on who had originally marched with who from Tirion.)

“The woman we’re speaking of is a baker, is she not?” he asked. “We are grateful for the extra hands, but not so pressed for kitchen staff that I need to keep her here if she would rather make her home elsewhere. Wanting to be closer to what kin she has left to her – at least, we hope she has left – is understandable. Let’s just make sure there are enough others expected to return that her absence won’t create problems or increase danger for those coming back.”

He paused.

“She won’t be the only one who will want to shift to Amon Ereb, will she, Uncle? How are we to manage that?”

Curufinwë was pleased to see the lad hit on that without having to be led to the idea.

“For the time being, everyone else will have to content themselves here in Nargothrond,” Curufinwë replied. “From what I’ve seen, most are ready enough to do so. Once we know the situation to be calmer, we can see about rearranging who is assigned where. It’s neither safe nor practical at the moment.”

If the situation becomes calmer,” Finduilas said soberly. “Supposing it doesn’t?”

Score another one for the kids, Curufinwë reflected grimly. They were facing the facts head on, better than many adults.

“Then everyone is stuck here, or retreating to the Falas, Sirion, or Balar, as the case may be,” Curufinwë shrugged. “If it comes to that, we have to deal with whatever is given us, not waste effort wishing it otherwise.”

“I think many of our people will be content here,” Tyelpë said thoughtfully. “I have heard plenty who are happy to not be on the front line any longer, particularly after what just happened.”

“Let’s hope we’re not the next front line,” Gildor muttered.

Curufinwë regretted the sober turn the mood had taken, but it was better for all of them that the younger generation accepted the reality. They’d had a sharp shock. Unfortunate as that might be, he was pleased to see they were clever enough to recognize without being told that there was no good reason to expect a return to the deceptive peace they had known until now.

Gildor took an active hand in preparing both the party for Amon Ereb and another party heading for the Falas. Finduilas nearly fretted herself sick about her part – it was the first time she’d ever found herself wholly in charge of preparing waybread for anyone other than close kin.

Half of the Falas group were to remain there, but the others were to attempt the return with any news Círdan had to share – and hopefully with a few of Ingo’s people who had been caught there when the fighting began. Sending them had been Gildor’s notion, and Curufinwë had seen enough sense in it not to attempt to talk him out of it.

Curufinwë was as proud of him the day they sent both parties off as he had been of Tyelpë’s masterwork. Ingo was due most of the credit, of course, but the boy wasn’t just competent, he was good – a prince his people would follow.

“I haven’t just sent them off to die, have I, Uncle?” Gildor asked quietly as they reached the sanctuary of the family rooms, where Finduilas was playing with her younger brother.

“I don’t think so,” Curufinwë replied. “But even if it should prove so, it was necessary. You can’t make good decisions for your people knowing nothing but what’s right in front of your gates. Take heart – should it go ill for them, you can always put the blame on me.”

Ingo’s people, at least, would happily accept that. Far easier to blame an outsider than their own king or prince, who they knew to want the best for them.

Gildor shook his head.

“I had the final say, their fates are on me, not you. I suppose this is something I’ll get used to, in time?”

“No,” Curufinwë told him soberly. “You won’t. It doesn’t get easier. And the day may come when you have to give orders you know will result in deaths, but there will be no better way open to you. If you ever find that comfortable, distrust your own judgement.”

Gildor gazed into the fireplace, his eyes as intense as Artanis’ had been years ago when she spoke of the Ice.

“How do you bear it?”

“You bear it because there is no other choice as a prince in Beleriand. I suppose I should apologize to you – unlike those of us who came here by choice, you were born into this mess.”

“That was not your doing,” Gildor snorted. “Clearly you share the common Noldorin idea that this is no place or time for children. Not only has Tyelpë remained an only child, I note my uncles haven’t taken wives or begotten children. Which is all the more remarkable given I’ve seen how you look at little Gil when you think none of us notice.”

“We Noldor are odd in that way,” Curufinwë shrugged, forcing himself not to react to the casual comment and give it all away. “We believe children are to be treasured and kept safe, not risked against Morgoth and his creatures. I worry for the little one, it would be very hard to lose a parent at his age. I suppose his parents thought it safe enough. Things worked out nicely enough with Finduilas. They could not help the misfortune of timing. As for having more children myself, I left my wife in Aman. I know her well enough to be certain she’d object to Tyelpë acquiring siblings with no reference to her.”

That drew a rueful laugh from Gildor.

“My apologies! It’s so easy to forget the kin on the other side of the Sea are real. It’s like something out of a song.”

That didn’t sit well with Curufinwë.

“I’ll tell you what I already told your crony Findë – I’ve every hope you’ll meet your grandmother in Alqualondë, your grandfather in Tirion, and maybe even my Silmë. When you do, be a good lad and convey my apologies.”

Gildor’s laugh at that was genuine.

“Of course, if you think you won’t be there yourself. Or were you planning on sending us off the ship first to look cute?”

“You’ll see them long before I will,” Curufinwë sighed. If I ever do.

The boy must have heard that, for he looked up, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You’ll be there too, someday, Uncle. The Valar can’t be that hardhearted. If they won’t allow you back for your own sake, they’ll have to do it for their own peace and quiet – Findë, Tyelpë, Gil, and I will pester them ceaselessly otherwise.”

Gildor smothered a small chuckle that seemed out of place.

Curufinwë raised an eyebrow.

“The foresight came and went too swiftly for me to be certain of much, but I think we’ll have allies. There will be enough of us that we can’t be ignored! I think that bodes well for peace eventually breaking out, don’t you?”


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