Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

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Curufinwë sighed.

He wondered how much time Artanis planned to allow them to produce her commanded miracle. He faintly hoped she might have gone to rest. But he rather doubted it, given the huff she’d been in when she returned to her tent. He didn’t imagine they had more than an hour or two before she’d be back and pushing for a better solution.

Unfortunately, he just didn’t see one. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t given ample consideration to the problem already.

Celeborn looked thoughtful.

“When you said we should remain here, did you mean Eithel Ivrin specifically, or simply this general area?”

Curufinwë shrugged.

“I thought here, but I don’t know this country well. If you believe there is somewhere better suited to our purpose, please tell me. I have no doubt that you know the land better than either myself or my cousin do.”

“I do not object to remaining in the general area,” Celeborn replied, looking rather as if he was considering and discarding possibilities even as he spoke, “but I think we should move further into the woods.”

Curufinwë raised an eyebrow, waiting for the reasoning.

“This area is sheltered, but it is still more exposed than any of the springs deeper within Nuath,” Celeborn explained. “If we move further in, we would be concealed from any prying eyes, whether they belong to friend or foe. The fewer who notice our presence, the better. There are several smaller springs and streams that might suit our purposes.”

Curufinwë nodded in understanding.

Moving further into the wood also had another virtue. It would be unlikely any of their own people would think to look for them there, whereas searchers might just check Ivrin if Uncle Nolofinwë was sufficiently concerned about Artanis’ disappearance from Mithrim – and Curufinwë had to admit that was likely.

He was certain Artanis had left no word of her intended destination. If she had, they would have been intercepted in the first few days. As it was, he imagined scouts would be sent searching for her in all directions. They wouldn’t have to be particularly zealous to recall the Mereth Aderthad had been held here, or that Artanis thus knew the place well.

The thought of his uncle’s reaction to Artanis’ disappearance was almost enough to make him feel sorry for any of their cousins remaining in Mithrim. Almost. (Fine, he did feel sorry for Finno, whose prospects of slipping away to visit Maitimo anytime in the next few years had just plummeted.)  More to the point, reflecting on the subject made him uneasy as he figured days and distance – depending on how upset Nolofinwë had been and how quick to mount a search, scouts could well stumble on them at any moment.

With any luck, there would have been some delay before the search began in earnest, to allow letters to be sent to Tol Sirion enquiring if Artanis had followed her brothers. It should seem the most obvious destination. And the searchers would have travelled slower, not knowing Artanis’ intended destination, and duty-bound to investigate anything that seemed promising.

“Did you have a particular spot in mind?” he asked.

Celeborn considered for a moment.

“Yes,” he said. “There is small spring which gives rise to a stream that runs into Ginglith. Few even among my people know it, and it is closely surrounded on all sides by the wood. The forest is so thick there that even a spy looking down from the Ered Withrin would be unlikely to spot us. There should be material enough for building, whether we would construct a talan or a house in the manner of your folk, and it will be no great trouble to feed ourselves.”

“I suspect Artanis would prefer a house,” Curufinwë sighed. “She will have to forgo a good many things she should by rights have as a new mother. I would give her that much at least.”

Now it was Celeborn’s turn to nod.

“I understand,” he murmured. “I cannot bring her mother or her grandmothers to her, or even her aunts, though I know she wishes for them above all others.”

Curufinwë squared his shoulders. There was no point in Celeborn dwelling on what could not be. There was no point in any of them dwelling on it.

“Aside from our aunt in Mithrim, she could not have them in any case. Not unless the Valar were to relent and allow her to return West,” he said. “Do not reproach yourself for being unable to give her what is beyond the power of any elf.”

“She might at least have had Aunt Melian, and my cousins,” Celeborn said regretfully.

 “Unless she’s a good deal fonder of them than I think, she would probably prefer our cousin Irissë,” Curufinwë snorted, reflecting thankfully that was only slightly less impossible than his aunts or his grandfather’s wife.

Close as she and Artanis might be, he couldn’t imagine Irissë being much practical help – moral support at most. As an unmarried nis, she’d not been permitted in the room for the births of her niece or any of their other young kin of the next generation, only allowed entry after the child came into the light. If anything, she’d more likely be a danger to him, or have to be restrained from charging off to Angband to settle the score with Sauron.

“Is it possible to bring Ireth to her?” Celeborn asked hesitantly. “Galadriel should have her trusted kinswoman if it can be done. From how she speaks of her cousin, I think we could rely on her to keep our secret. I know it is said that none know where Turgon is to be found…”

Plainly he was hoping that story was only for the benefit of the Sindar, and the Noldor actually had better information.

“Unfortunately, it is said because it is true,” Curufinwë told the other ner regretfully. “None of our kin have any idea where they are to be found – if they did, my uncle would surely have retrieved his daughter by now. Besides, much though I love her, I would not entrust her with this secret. Less because I believe that she would ever intentionally betray Artanis than because I know she is prone to speak and act without thinking carefully.”

Celeborn nodded, and let the subject drop with no further comment.

“A house, then,” he said briskly, smoothing out a patch of dirt and offering Curufinwë a stick. “As I think Galadriel needs a bit longer to calm herself, we may as well discuss building. What did you have in mind?”

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Safely secluded in her tent, Artanis hugged her knees. She was not going to cry again. She’d done enough of that in the last few weeks.

Hitting something would have been more satisfying, but there were no ready targets. Hitting rocks or tress would do nothing but damage her hand, and if she took her frustrations out on any of her own things, she was liable to break something needful. She didn’t have much with her, and what she had was going to have to last for the next year at least.

She didn’t doubt that she was going to hear about her fit of petulance later, from her cousin if not from her husband.

But it was utterly unreasonable to expect her to be pleased at the thought that she would bring her first child into the world as far from any other elves as possible, with none but Celeborn and Curvo to assist her. True, birthing couldn’t be too terribly complicated – the elves that woke at Cuivienen had managed it, after all, and none of them could have known what to expect the first time, much less had anyone more experienced to guide them through it. But it was usually a primarily female affair, an event for which one would be surrounded by kinswomen who had been through it already.

She hated Curvo’s plan, from beginning to end. She did not want to give birth here, she did not want to give birth with no other nissi to support and guide her, let alone any of her kin, and she most certainly did not want to give her child up or conceal from the world that he was hers.

Yes, fine, so she didn’t want to explain to the world that Curvo was his father, but Celeborn would not have offered to raise the child as his own had he not meant it. Why could they not go to Nargothrond to have the child? If he happened to be born with dark hair, she and her brother could surely come up with some way to conceal it. Although she supposed that would mean confessing to Ingo… and when she thought about that for more than a moment, she could understand why Curvo would rather not chance it.

She particularly did not want to conceal the truth from her son – yet that was exactly what she would need to do if Curvo’s plan was to succeed. Tell the boy that she was only the nis who had saved him from starvation or exposure, not the one who had given him life. Pretend she did not know who his kin were, even though she would be leaving him in the care of his uncle if all went well. See him seldom if at all for much of his childhood and youth- for once Ingo took a parental role, it would be remarked upon if she were to spend too much time with his son when she had not taken as much interest in Ango’s boy. (She had not neglected her nephew by any means, but she had not been constantly present as she wished to be for her own son.)

She tried to comfort herself with the idea that her child would be safer this way. Her brother’s kingdom might not be quite as hidden as Turvo’s, but very few knew the way hence, and those who came and went from Nargothrond did not gossip outside his walls about what happened within Ingo’s kingdom. If she went on about her life, returning to Doriath whenever Thingol relented as though she had no son, Sauron could not kill him as he’d threatened.  Even he can’t kill what he can’t find.

Perhaps they might even be able to delude the foul maia into believing that the child had died unborn. She was already a Kinslayer, after all – why should he believe she would shrink from one more death, when it would save her and her cousin both? She’s not sure such a thing has ever happened before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there? When they departed Aman, the Noldor had never before defied the Valar either.

But when would the deception end? And what would her son think of such a mother whenever he finally learned the truth?

To her intense frustration, her thoughts triggered a fresh wave of angry tears.

She heard the rustle of the tent flap.

“If you do not wish to see me, I can go again,” Celeborn offered tentatively.

She shook her head miserably, and leaned into him when he put an arm around her.

“I am truly sorry, beloved,” he said softly. “I know this is not how you wish to bring a child into the world. It is not what any of us wish. But unless you would tell the whole world what has happened…”

“No!”

Her rejection was immediate and instinctive.

She will not put her child at risk. Well, at any more risk. There’s some risk just in existing in Beleriand, slightly more in being one of the Noldor, and more still in being one of their princes. That’s more than enough already without Morgoth’s right hand taking a personal interest.

“Then we must do what is necessary,” Celeborn concluded. “If it helps, I did ask if it would be possible to bring Ireth to be with you for the birth.”

She couldn’t help the laugh.

“Irissë would be terrible at keeping such a secret,” she said, trying not to let her nose drip. Crying had made it run. “She’d probably go riding hotfoot to Angband to demand Sauron answer for his crime.”

“Your cousin said much the same thing,” he chuckled. “I do hope I get to spend more time with her someday.”

Celeborn had met Irissë briefly at the Mereth Aderthad, when she had come to awaken Artanis and found the two of them sharing a bed – and not told any of her brothers or cousins. (At least, not that day. She had let it slip to Ingo several months later. Possibly on purpose.)

“Someday,” she agreed hollowly, though when that nebulous ‘someday’ might be, she had no idea.

“I think you might have to have the baby first,” Celeborn suggested gently.

“Obviously,” she sighed. “We’re not going anywhere until I do, are we?”

“Actually, your cousin and I have been speaking about that.”

She raised an eyebrow.

What more have the two of them been cooking up without her?

“I thought the plan was to remain here.”

“To remain in a wholesome and sheltered place where we will not be easily spotted, by eyes friendly or otherwise,” Celeborn corrected. “Your uncle might send searchers here. Curufin certainly believes it possible.”

Her stomach plummeted at the suggestion.

Yes, Uncle Nolo would be looking for her. He wouldn’t want another Irissë, vanishing without a trace – though he might well believe she had followed her. They were close enough that Irissë might have told her the secret.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“A spring I know of deeper in the woods,” her husband said, showing it to her mind to mind. “By the time the weather turns cold, we can be prepared to overwinter very comfortably.”

She didn’t doubt that. Celeborn wasn’t the architect Curvo was, but she still felt like it was somewhat dangerous putting the two of them together for such a task. At least she had an excuse to stay out of the way.

“And when do we depart?” she asked with a sigh.

“Just as soon as you can make ready,” he replied. “Your cousin seems quite nervous about the possibility of being found by your people, so we judged it better to be off at once.”

She looked around the tent. Breaking camp wouldn’t take very long. And in truth, she wasn’t all that sorry to go. Despite the joy of the Mereth Aderthad, her memories of Eithel Ivrin were now unavoidably bound up with what had happened to her and Curvo.

“There were good times here also, my love,” Celeborn reminded her softly.

“That is true,” she sighed. “And perhaps the day will come when they are what I remember first.”

Celeborn kissed her tenderly.

“I will help you pack.”