Upon a suggestion from Celebrian that Tintilien would benefit from socialization with her peers, Erestor began to take her with him to Gondolindon once a week to attend dancing and singing lessons at an all-girls school. Three weeks went by, and Erestor was asked to stop in to see the headmistress when he came to pick his daughter up that day.
After learning that Tintilien had kicked one girl, slapped another, and then locked herself in a closet when her teacher demanded that she apologize, Erestor enrolled her at another school as well. She now spent two days a week taking etiquette lessons, and another dancing and singing. Four weeks passed before he was stopped again while picking up his daughter. This time, it was at the second school, where he was shown the mess in the small classroom where Tintilien was sitting on a stool in the corner, her arms crossed and face red.
Once he had paid for the damage to the desk, the books, and everything else, Erestor added a third day of etiquette to her schedule, and then walked her to another building to arrange for weekly appointments with a counselor on yet another day regarding her anger issues. On the way home neither spoke to the other, and fewer words were exchanged between them as the weeks went on.
Instead of improving, Tintilien’s attitude worsened. Toys and privileges were taken away so often that Glorfindel often just kept them in anticipation of the next outburst. A spanking was a nearly daily occurrence for her now, and Erestor’s voice was getting hoarse from the number of times he lectured her.
“She was better BEFORE she was integrated with other elflings,” remarked Haldir one evening after his adopted half-sister was led from the dinner table. He set to mopping up the milk that had been spilled on the floor, wincing when Tintilien let out an unhappy screech from the next room.
“I! DO! NOT! WANT! TO! GO! TO! BED! I! AM! NOT! SLEEPY! IT! IS! NOT! DARK! OUT!”
Erestor’s low voice still attempted to calm her, but it cracked, and he coughed, and she took the chance to let out another ear-splitting screech.
“Enough of this.” Elrond threw his napkin down onto the table and stormed out of the kitchen, pushing through the door with such force it swung in and out a number of times after he disappeared. A few moments passed, and it was evident he had arrived to wherever Erestor and Tintilien were from the yelp from the elfling.
Glorfindel stared at the door. “I keep wondering where we went wrong,” he said as the sound of Tintilien being marched to her room faded out of the hallway.
“Some children are just... more difficult than others,” offered Galadriel.
Her husband pondered the defeated look on Glorfindel’s face before standing up and excusing himself from the table. “I think I will check to see if they need any reinforcements.” Celeborn dropped his napkin onto his plate and gave Glorfindel’s shoulder a squeeze and a pat before leaving the room.
Outside of the door to Tintilien’s room, Celeborn found his son-in-law and his wife’s previous lover speaking in low voices and shaking their heads a lot. There was grumbling coming from within the room, but the screeching had abated for the time being. “Everything under control at the moment?”
“At the moment,” replied Erestor with a sigh. He flinched slightly when Celeborn put his arm around his shoulder.
“Walk with me,” said the former Lorien Lord, and after a brief glance at Elrond, Erestor did just that, allowing himself to be led out of the house and down to the shoreline. “Raising children... one of those things done out of love that you get no accolades or awards for, despite it being the most difficult of all occupations known to us. One of the most rewarding, they say... and sometimes I wonder, did ‘they’ ever have children?”
Erestor smiled slightly as he stared out across the sparkling crystalline waves of the sea that rippled gently towards them as the tide came in. “It is rewarding, Celeborn, you know that.”
“But not easy. At least, not usually.” He dropped his arm in order to pull a flask from his pocket. “You have had a more difficult time than most, from what I understand. The first child you raised turned out not to be yours; the first child that was yours you did not get to raise. Then there was Gwindor, and I think we both know that you did an exceptional job parenting, despite the outcome.”
“And now, not so good, right?” Erestor took in a deep breath of the sea air and let it out slowly. “I think I thought this was going to be easy this time around.”
“Each time is different. Each elfling is a new challenge. I am not going to fault you for your decisions so far. You have done precisely what I would have, however, perhaps I would have removed her from the classes sooner.”
“You think the schools are not helping?” asked Erestor. He sounded a little hopeful, as if he was looking for someone to suggest what he himself wanted to justify.
“She is too young to be spending that much time traveling every day, and the inconsistency of it all is probably not good, either.” Celeborn offered his advice gently, as always, offering the flask first to Erestor before taking a drink from it himself.
“It was never supposed to be every day like this. I just wanted her to make some friends her own age.”
Celeborn nodded in agreement. “It would be good for her to have playmates. By now she likely has a few friends in her classes. Perhaps instead of taking her there, she could invite a few of them here on a day when there is no school.”
“That is the trouble,” said Erestor as he took the flask again. “I have asked her on a number of occasions if there is anyone she would like to visit, but there is not a single child that she can name for me.”
“Perhaps another school, then, but no more therapists and disciplinarians. Just a school, just the dancing, and one last chance. If she misbehaves, she loses the privilege of attending and has to... oh, I do not know, something boring... make her sit home and balance the finances with Glorfindel.”
“That would be pure torture,” chuckled Erestor. “For me, at least... but anyhow, you are right, as always.”
“As always? Tell my wife that sometime, would you?” And the two had a laugh and more liquor from the flask. “Speaking of, do you want to be the first to know a secret?”
“Depends on the secret,” answered Erestor.
Celeborn looked over his shoulder, perhaps checking to see if someone was eavesdropping upon them, or perhaps simply looking toward the seaside house. “Galadriel is pregnant again.”
“Oh. Well, congratulations.” Erestor took a step back from the oncoming tide. “I did not know she wished for another one.”
“No, this one was me. One last hurrah before I resign myself to being old.”
Erestor smirked. “If it helps any, next to me, you will always be young.”
“True, but when there are more and more little people calling you grandfather and great-grandfather, you long for the days when it was simply ‘Ada’.”
“I understand. Obviously.” Erestor tried to take another sip from the flask, but found it empty. “This is the last time I am going to be able to raise a child. I have already resigned myself to the fact I am old and it is becoming too much for me to chase after these little ones.”
“Let us make a father’s pact,” offered Celeborn. “I am terrible at raising boys, and Galadriel is due to birth our son in eleven months. I will continue to offer my fabulous fathering advice for unsure parents of young ladies, if you would assist me in not being an idiot with this son once things go beyond the eat-sleep-puke-change phase.”
Erestor smiled, and noted the silver-haired elf had the same time-telling crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he did. “Agreed.”
---
So it was that the next morning when Erestor traveled to Gondolindon, or New Gondolin as some took to calling it, Tintilien and Glorfindel both went with him, both in much better spirits than the day before.
“Where is my new school going to be?” asked Tintilien. She had been chattering away upon learning of the changes that were to be made. The first half of the trip was spent telling them of all of the faults of all of her instructors before moving on to the students. As it turned out, there was not a single person she had met during her studies that she liked.
Unfortunately, neither parent had an answer to her question. “I am going to ask Mistress Taralawen if she has any suggestions.”
“Probably just another bad teacher,” grumbled Tintilien. She slouched in her seat until some gentle prodding from Glorfindel had her correcting her posture. “Maybe I could just read a book on how to dance and learn that way.”
“Sometimes there is no substitute for a real instructor,” explained Glorfindel. “Books are helpful, but I am sure we can find another teacher for you.”
It turned out that Glorfindel was far more optimistic than the reality of the situation. Erestor entered both the office of the counselor and the etiquette school alone to cancel the appointments. When they reached the dance school they entered as a group and waited until the early morning advanced class ended in order to speak with the headmistress.
“I suppose it is for the best,” remarked Taralawen as she sat down behind her desk and pulled out the cancellation book. “She is a terrible dancer.”
Erestor furrowed his brow as some notes were scribbled down. “Just last month you insisted I leave her in a little longer, telling me she had potential.”
“I was wrong,” said Taralawen simply as she slid the book across the desk for Erestor to sign. “Of course, due to the abrupt nature of her withdrawal, the deposit will not be returned.”
“What does that have to do with it? The deposit was meant to cover the use of costumes for recitals and rental of the theatre for them, and as she never attended a single performance, it hardly seems fair for you to keep it,” argued Erestor.
“Her leaving us is very sudden. Since I do not have a replacement student, that is a loss for me that needs to be covered.”
“Maybe you should have considered that when you pretended that she was good enough to stay only when it was profitable for you.” Erestor had only partially signed his name, else it was quite evident that Taralawen would have insisted they leave. He set the quill down and folded his arms over his chest. “I am not going to sign this without the deposit. It was not in the contract.”
“Fine,” spat Taralawen. “I do not have the money with me, but it will be forwarded to you.”
Erestor looked as if he wanted to argue, but picked up the quill. Glorfindel settled his hand over Erestor’s before the page could be signed. “We have other business to attend to here. We shall return at the end of the day, to collect the full amount of the deposit, and to sign these documents.” Glorfindel began to stand, but Taralawen waved her hand.
“I may have most of it in the other room.”
“We will return when you have the whole amount,” said Glorfindel calmly as he motioned for Tintilien to stand up.
Taralawen narrowed her eyes. “Wait here a moment.” She left the room through a door in the back, returning after a minute. “I happened to remember that I did have an addition in another class and that their deposit was still here.” She counted out the full amount to Erestor, and then impatiently watched him sign the book. “I believe our business is concluded,” she said abruptly as she snapped the book closed.
“Thank you,” said Glorfindel as they left, for Erestor had only scooped up the coins and then taken hold of Tintilien’s hand. “Incidentally, you would not happen to know of another dance school in town, would you?”
“For her?” Taralawen sniffed. “Hardly. Most of the other schools are for advanced dancers or ones who are more talented, and the others will have no interest in her.”
“Ah. I see.” Glorfindel decided to stroll out of the studio leisurely despite wanting to hurry to catch up to the rest of his family. Outside, he found Erestor comforting Tintilien, who was having a wibbly lip moment. “Oh, she was only saying those things because she is an old cow who has no hopes of being a great dancer herself,” said Glorfindel. The remark earned him a smile from Tintilien. “I have a feeling there is another school around somewhere where they will love to have you.”
Tintilien sighed and raised her maimed arm. “Maybe if they have a freak show during intermission.”
Glorfindel shook his head and dropped down onto one knee to face his daughter. “You are a very beautiful little lady. Somewhere, there is someone who is going to see how talented you are. You are a fighter. You think these prissy little girls are going to be great dancers? No way. One blister on their toes and they are going to quit. Bet you are tougher than all of them.”
“Way, way more tough,” promised Tintilien.
“Now that is what I like to hear.” Glorfindel stood up again and held open the door of the carriage. “I think we should take Erestor to work, and then you and I are going to go dance school hunting.”
“I would rather not go in to work today,” admitted Erestor. He climbed into the carriage last, but did not yet shut the door behind him as command on where to go needed to be given to the horses. “I wish I knew where they other schools might be so that we could see them. The only others I have directions to are the advanced ones.”
“Are you sure they would not have beginner classes?” asked Glorfindel.
As Erestor nodded, Tintilien said, “We could still just get a book.”
“There must be someone,” insisted Glorfindel.
The carriage remained motionless as some of the younger students that Tintilien had studied with began to arrive. She slid down into her seat and mumbled something about not staying longer than necessary.
Glorfindel nudged Erestor’s boot with his own. “What about the theatre that was being rented for the performances. I assume most dance schools do not own their own theatres, and there is probably more than one that rents the same theatre?”
“An idea with definite merit,” agreed Erestor. “If I only knew which theatre it was.” He looked around at the dancers entering and leaving, and upon seeing a small group of ellyth near their majority, waved them over with a charming smile. “Excuse me, ladies, I was wondering, do any of you happen to know the name and location of the theatre where the recitals are held? My niece has a performance I am to attend, but I misplaced the letter she sent me.”
“Oh, that would be the Orchard Bend Theatre,” replied one of the ladies. “But the recitals are in two weeks; you must have the wrong date!”
Erestor pretended to berate himself with an eye roll. “In two weeks! Well, better early than late,” he said, and the ladies giggled politely. “For future reference, just which way would I go to get there?”
Directions were given, and soon they were on their way. Once out of earshot, Glorfindel kicked Erestor’s boot less gently, but in a somewhat playful manner. “What was that about?”
“What?” questioned Erestor.
“That bit of flirting you were doing back there.”
Erestor looked shocked. “Flirting? You thought I was flirting?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was not flirting.”
“It certainly sounded like flirting,” piped up Tintilien.
“Indeed?”
“Indeed,” agreed Glorfindel.
With a small, sly shrug, Erestor said, “I shall need to make up for it with lunch at some fine establishment somewhere.” This seemed to appease them both as they turned down the path that would take them to the theatre.
The large building was situated at the end of the road, and looked as if it could use a coat or two of paint, and perhaps some new shingles. The steps were a bit eroded as well, and the grounds were overrun with weeds choking the few flowers and shrubs. “Cheerful place,” whispered Glorfindel as they exited the carriage and walked up to the doors. A knock and a wait revealed nothing, but when the handle was tried and the door pushed open, Glorfindel entered despite Erestor’s plea they wait for an answer. “There may be no one here, or they might be somewhere that they cannot hear us,” reasoned the Vanya as they walked through the reception area and long corridor, which both looked a bit more inviting than the outside had.
“I see lights coming from that room,” said Tintilien, pointing to an open door. The trio moved toward it, and found it lead into a huge chamber with a marvelous vaulted ceiling and a stage that had likely been fantastic at one point in time. Now it looked in a state of disarray, missing the curtains and scuffed on the walls and floor. One floorboard was completely missing, leaving a gaping hole a dozen centimetres wide and several metres long over the covered pit orchestra area.
“Remind you of anything?” asked Glorfindel as they shuffled down the raggedly carpeted steps, past rows and rows of dulled velvet seats.
“Aye, but Salgant’s theatre was tiny compared to this one,” answered Erestor.
“They always do things bigger in Valinor.” Glorfindel looked around with a frown, and then looked up. “I see where they light came from,” he said, pointing to a big hole in the ceiling. “Matches the one on the stage so well.”
“Perhaps there is no one here after all,” admitted Erestor as they found another door that led back into the lobby. Across the hall was another series of doors. “Two theatres?”
“The building is certainly large enough,” decided Glorfindel. “And if there are groups renting it, it is not likely they are renting this side.”
Tintilien reached the door first and opened it for her parents. They stepped inside, one after the other, and were awed upon entry. It was a mirror image of the other side, except that everything that was wrong with the other side was right with this one. Carpets and fabrics were bright and brilliant, ruby and sapphire in even the dim torch lights that lit the room. Walls were gilded; curtains were hung; the stage was perfect. And upon the stage, at the center, danced an elf who, despite the lack of music, leaped and spun with his eyes closed, hearing flutes and harps that no one else could.
Quietly, the trio shut the door and padded down to a row close to the stage, but not so close that they would disturb the dancer. At this closer proximity, they could see his lips moving. Whether he was singing along with his inner music or was just talking to himself was unclear. That he was breathtaking in all other movement was an understatement.
He danced upon his toes as if he had been born with them pointed. Every time he leaped and landed, not a stumble or teeter kept him from the next move. His legs stayed straight when they were meant to, and bent perfectly as he willed them. The smooth movements he made with his arms would have made the wind jealous. And then, in the midst of it, with a captive audience, he stopped. Just stopped, no reason, no mistake, no falter to speak of, just a point at which he lowered himself to his feet and decided he was done for the day, or the moment at least, and opened his eyes.
Now he lost his poise, stumbling back in surprise when he noted the viewers. “How long have you been here?” he demanded, voice frightened but commanding an answer.
“Long enough to watch quite a lovely performance,” said Glorfindel. “I hope I will not offend you to say you make a better dancer than you did a king.”
Fingon gave Glorfindel a stern look, but the blush in his cheeks took Glorfindel’s words to be a compliment. “I do not appreciate being watched.”
“My apologies, but we did knock,” said Erestor.
“And I chose to ignore you,” admitted Fingon. He retrieved a towel which he used to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. “However, since you are persistent, I will ask what business you have here before I throw you out.”
“We will be brief, then,” said Erestor. “Our daughter—“
“Wait... your daughter?” Fingon peered down at Erestor, and then at Glorfindel. “Did you steal an egg from another bird’s nest?”
“No. Another bird kicked their egg out,” answered Glorfindel a little more gruffly than intended. He put his arm around Tintilien and stated in no uncertain terms, “This is OUR daughter.”
Fingon held up his hands. “Pardon. Go on.”
“Our daughter was taking dance lessons, but there were some issues with the instructor. We were hoping to find another instructor.”
“Which one did you have trouble with?” asked Fingon.
“Taralawen,” said Erestor.
Fingon frowned. “Yes, she is a bit of a... yes. Hmm.” Fingon started to pace the stage. “There are a few other schools, but most of them have very high costs or expect the child to come from a family with promising lineage, in hopes that the ability has been passed on.”
“Are there no other schools?” Glorfindel shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”
“There is one on the northern coast, but unless you were willing to relocate... where are you living, anyhow?” asked Fingon.
“Near Alqualonde,” said Erestor.
Fingon cringed slightly. “No sense sending you up to the other coast, then. Sorry, that pretty much exhausts the possibilities.”
“Well, thank you anyhow.” Erestor sighed and gave Tintilien a pat on the head. “I guess we may have to find a book for you.”
“That is fine,” replied the elfling as she filed out of the row to the aisle. “I hated those stupid other girls anyway.”
As Tintilien lifted up her arms and begged for a ride on Glorfindel’s shoulders, Fingon looked on with questioning and concern. “Eresse...” He motioned for Erestor to come to the stage as he sat down on it with his legs over the edge. When Erestor approached, Fingon asked, “Was she born like that?”
“No. She had an accident on the farm she used to live on.” Erestor smiled weakly. “She is a fighter, though. Keeps on going even when people tell her she will never manage as she is.”
Fingon watched as Tintilien climbed up onto Glorfindel’s back with the use of only one arm. He hesitated at first, but as Glorfindel turned to leave, called out to him. “Bring your daughter up here. I am curious to see what Taralawen taught her.”
Tintilien was lifted up onto the stage while Glorfindel and Erestor settled back into their seats. Fingon took a few steps away from the girl, rubbing his chin. “Show me what you know.”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“First position,” he said, and she complied immediately. Her routine was basic and flawed, but it obviously impressed the experienced dancer. “Good,” he said as she executed a difficult move with only a little wobble, and “Excellent job,” followed when she tried it again and managed not to teeter. “How much do you hate having to work with the other children?” he asked as he circled her, still assessing her abilities.
“A lot. More than I hate broccoli.”
“So, you would eat a whole bunch of broccoli if you could take a class without any of them in it?” pressed Fingon as he stepped over to correct her stance.
“Two whole bunches if Mistress Taralawen was not my teacher.”
Fingon crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright. I have seen enough. You have good leg muscles. Your posture needs work; your steps are rushed and sloppy. You are fearless, though, and I appreciate that.” He looked out into the audience at Erestor and Glorfindel. “She needs to be here an hour past sunrise. We will practice until noon. Four days a week now; six days when she advances.”
“I...” Erestor shook his head. “That is too much, too many classes. We have dealt with this problem before. Besides, I have a feeling that I cannot afford that many lessons.”
“I never said it was going to cost anything, did I?” Fingon looked down at Tintilien. “Do you want to be a dancer?”
“As good as you are?”
“Yes,” said Fingon without hesitation. “Is this what you want to be when you grow up? A dancer on the stage?”
“Very much so,” admitted Tintilien.
Fingon looked back at Erestor. “Tomorrow, an hour past sunrise. Do not be late.”
