I own nothing.

In the darkest of dark nights, Nargothrond is remarkably quiet and still, bathed in shadow. It is well past midnight; Rána is high in the sky. The great marketplace is silent and empty; the lamps have been doused in the houses. The royal complex is quiet as well. Out of all of the city, the only people to be found awake are the night watch, the guardsmen who watch over Nargothrond in the dark and lonely nights.

And them.

"Watch yourself on the stairs, Finduilas," Finrod whispers to his niece, one hand on the cool stone wall, the other clasped firmly around the small hand of the one following after him. This is a back stairwell, not one of the main ones, so it is walled by stone on both sides. There is no danger of her tumbling out from under railings. But the steps are still a bit slick. They both need to take care.

"I will, Uncle," Finduilas replies in her thin, piping voice. Their shadows, one significantly larger than the other, flutter and dance in the torchlight, but even being cast in shadow, he can still see the bags under her eyes. She is sleepy, yet can not sleep; hence this.

They move through the complex as quietly as they are able, trying their best not to wake anyone. Past the residential apartments they go, down into the servants' quarters. To Finrod, it is a matter of courtesy, this stealth. To Finduilas it is a game, and a game she enjoys very much. Finrod has in the past had occasion to hear of his niece's prowess in games such as hide-and-seek and blind man's bluff. She seems to get inordinate enjoyment out of sneaking past people. If not for her heritage, she'd have the makings of a fine scout, Finrod can't help but think. Alas, this seems impossible.

Eventually, they slip past the swinging doors to the kitchens, deep in the bowels of the royal complex. "And be careful not to wake the cook," Finrod adds softly, nodding towards the head cook. He often falls asleep in his chair in the kitchen, and tonight has been no exception. Usually one of the kitchen maids wakes him and sends him home to ready himself before his services are required for the morning meal.

Finrod sets Finduilas down on a countertop, procures a cup, and ventures into the cool, dark dairy. "Alright," he whispers upon emerging, holding the cup out to her. "Drink up."

This has become a sort of secret tradition of theirs, and Finrod calls it 'secret' because he knows that the description gives Finduilas some joy, enough to sustain her through the long walk from her chambers to the kitchens. A cup of milk helps the child sleep when sleep will not come to her. This, Finrod has learned from long experience with Finduilas.

And Artanis, I suppose, he muses, stroking the young girl's hair as she drains the cup. Neither Finrod nor his brothers ever had any trouble sleeping as children; only Galadriel had been forced to contend with wakeful times when she should have been able to sleep. But Galadriel could not be soothed and satisfied with something so simple as a cup of milk; She never cared much for milk at all, really. She instead insisted on being allowed to simply not sleep, until tendrils of golden light crept in through the windows. Finarfin always warned his daughter that it would do her little good not to sleep at all, and indeed Finrod can remember her drifting off during lessons or mealtimes once or twice.

It is probably a good thing, a very good thing, that Finduilas is content with this. If she demanded the same thing that Galadriel did, Finrod isn't sure what he would do. He would not be content simply to let her while the night away awake, and that would inevitably pit his will against Finduilas's, never a wise decision.

She gulps down the last of her milk, setting her cup down on the countertop with surprising gentleness. Finduilas smiles brightly up at him, and Finrod smiles conspiratorially back at her.

She really is such a dear child.

Orodreth and Meresír were concerned about the issues surrounding raising a child in such a bleak region as the mountain pass where Minas Tirith is located. And Minas Tirith itself really is no place to raise a child. It's a fortress meant to guard against the Enemy's advance. If Morgoth was ever to pour into Beleriand, Minas Tirith would be one of the first places he assaulted, if not the first. Nargothrond, on the other hand, is far from the front lines and is neither bleak nor forbidding. It seemed only natural to Finrod that he should offer to bring up their daughter here in a safer place, and it had seemed only natural to Orodreth and Meresír that they should accept.

Now, Finduilas does not see her parents often. Neither of them can afford to be away from Minas Tirith for more than a day or so but rarely, and the ride from the fortress on the island of the mountain river to Nargothrond is significantly longer than a day. She knows of them, certainly; Finrod would consider himself quite remiss in his duties as a caretaker if he did not ensure that Finduilas knows of her parents. She receives letters from them, and even wrote her first one a few months ago. And of course, she has met them a couple of times. Orodreth and Meresír take great measures to be sure that their daughter never has reason to doubt their love for her.

Finrod bites back a sigh. Caring for Finduilas, bringing her up here, it awakens old desires, old longings, old dreams doomed to go unfulfilled.

He will never have children. There will never be any person for him but Amarië, and Amarië has remained on the other side of the Sea, in Aman. Finrod will never marry for as long as he lives in Endóre, and he will take no lover as some of the lords of his court have done. Finrod will never have any children.

Privately, he will admit to envying Turgon and Curufin, who have had the opportunity to have and raise their children, even if they must do so without their wives at their sides. He even envies Maglor, who, while still childless, at least has the company of his wife here in Endóre, at least has the chance of having children here in this new land. Finrod has no chance.

He imagines, sometimes, that if he and Amarië had had a child, their child would look very much like Finduilas, sweet, gray-eyed, hair as golden as Vása's light.

It's late (or very early, Finrod supposes), and Finduilas's eyes are at last beginning to droop. They have many narrow, winding stairwells to traverse before they reach her chambers, so Finrod elects to lift Finduilas up into his arms for the return trip instead of having her walk. She is very light, barely seeming to weigh anything at all, and when she latches her little hands around his neck, she still feels lighter than some of the necklaces Finrod has worn in the past. In fact, he remembers her tugging at the Nauglamír as a baby, and frankly that had been a sharper pull than this.

As Finrod creeps back over the silent halls and stairwells, he smiles faintly to himself. The King of Nargothrond sneaks through hallways when he could declare his presence openly and it would make no difference, on account of the half-asleep child in his arms. He'd not have it any other way.

Artanis—Galadriel

Rána—the Exilic name for the Moon, signifying 'The Wanderer' (Quenya)
Endóre—Middle-Earth (Quenya)
Vása—the Exilic name for the Sun, signifying 'The Consumer' (Quenya)