Child of Kings by singing-sorrowless  

Lalwen

His sword was sharp, his lance was keen,

his shining helm afar was seen

Lalwen—

Lalwen had come as quickly as she could from her quiet, lonely home in Nevrast after receiving Fingon’s letter. Now, she sat by Galadwen’s bed, where Lalwen had settled the elleth, helping her wash and change after delivering her child. She had delivered many Noldorin babes over the years in Beleriand, but never a child of one of her many nephews and nieces, not until now.

Lalwen cradled the babe in her arms as Galadwen slept, Fingon sitting on the bed, a strange look of love in his eyes as he watched his wife. A wife none of them had known about, and now a child. Lalwen would have expected such a thing from Celegorm, or Aegnor, maybe, but not Fingon. He had never been a secretive person, for all that he loved recklessly.

“Will she be alright?” he asked.

“As far as I can tell, Galadwen will recover fully, hroa and fëa,” Lalwen assured him. “She is only tired from the birth. Now, come, dear one, hold your son.”

She settled the babe in his arms, noting the resemblance between her nephew and his child. The babe had the same light brown skin as Fingon, the same wide, dark eyes, though he had his mother’s silver hair.

“He’s beautiful,” she told him.

“He’s so tiny,” Fingon said, “I don’t remember any of the little ones in our family being so small.”

“The Moriquendi and Edain women bear smaller babes. He will grow.”

“Lalwen…” he trailed off. “Was it wrong, to ever bring him into the world?”

“Wrong because of Galadwen or wrong because of the world we are living in?” Lalwen asked pointedly.

“Not Galadwen,” he said, face darkening, “I've heard the gossip; I don’t mean that, you know I don’t! But by marrying her, I’ve put her in danger, and now our child will be in danger, too.” He spat a curse, at Morgoth, at himself.

“Oh, dear one,” Lalwen said, standing, wrapping her arms around Fingon, “you cannot control everything, and you cannot save everyone.”

“I cannot even keep my family safe. I promised Galadwen a good home in Beleriand, and she trusted me, and now she is under the shadow growing in the North with a child to care for.”

“He would be safer elsewhere,” she said. “But you must see your son, and raise him. You will have to decide whether it is worth the risk to keep him here.”

“I don’t know anymore, what’s worth it and what is not,” Fingon said dejectedly.

“But that is a lie of the enemy,” Lalwen replied, taking the child, who was beginning to wake, soothing him. “You know better than most when risking everything for those you love is worth it.”

“I trust Galadwen, Fingon said, sighing. "We can decide together. She knows she can go wherever she wills, and I’ll follow her as best I can."

“It’s alright now,” she said, half to the restless babe, half to his frightened father. “It will be alright.”

“I know. Or at least, I hope.”

“That is all I would ask,” Lalwen said. “Now, what father-name will you give your son?”

“Artanáro,” Fingon said. “A high flame, a beacon in the darkness.”

It was a good name, Lalwen thought, defiant, like his father and grandfather, echoing Arakáno’s name. Light here under the shadow, and life.

Chapter End Notes

Artanáro is glossed as "Noble Fire" by Paul Strack, creater of the Eldamo Elvish Lexicon.