Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

Growing Pains

Curufinwë sighed as he laid down the steward’s report.  He’d been working long hours to ensure everything was in good order before his upcoming trip to Nargothrond.

He wondered idly what Artanis thought of the idea that their son was about to be at least technically ‘adult’ – and whether or not it would be safe to rib her about it when he saw her. Ingo’s latest letter had implored him to come for Gildor and Finduilas’ coming of age, which was to be celebrated jointly that summer.

He’d returned for visits once or twice over the intervening years. He expected Artanis had done the same, though likely more often given it was an easy journey from Thingol’s realm to Ingo’s these days. Unfortunately, any visits she’d made had never overlapped with his – though perhaps it had been for the best.

While he was sure she’d tried to hold out longer, Artanis had to surrender to the inevitable and return to Menegroth before Gildor’s thirtieth begetting day, doing her part for diplomacy. Thingol might have grudgingly accepted one of the younger kin under his protection who had a Noldorin mate leaving, but he wouldn’t brook two – and apparently Celeborn was the one he preferred not to do without. (Although a cynic might say that Merilin was better suited to be Thingol’s eyes and ears in Nargothrond.)

Curufin expected Artanis would be there for this, and was looking forward to it. Given the lack of diplomatic relations between Thingol and any son of Fëanaro, letters between them had to take a roundabout route via Mithrim, and sometimes thence to Nargothrond or Tol Sirion. It could take two years or more to get a reply to any question. It made it difficult to keep up with each other, and all but impossible to speak freely. (He had no idea what Thingol did, but he wouldn’t be surprised to learn Uncle Nolo read the letters between his nephews and niece passing through Mithrim, if for no other reason than to make sure he didn’t have to worry about new feuds breaking out.)

With both Gildor and Finduilas celebrating, all the Arafinwions should be there. In fact, now that he thought about it, there was every chance his brothers might all be there as well – unless Nelyo decided that someone had to stay up north to keep an eye on things.

He couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Tyelko had asked one or two rather odd questions after his first visit to Nargothrond, but never said anything more after that. What Nelyo would think was something Curufinwë avoided pondering. He worried less about the others.

If Pityo were actually clear-headed enough to figure something like this out, it would be the best possible sign he was truly recovering. But even if he did, he’d never rat out Artanis. He just might take a swing at his older brother, though.

Kano was unlikely to believe the truth even if Curufinwë flat out told him – he’d laugh and ask what Artanis had really done if this was the diversionary excuse.

Moryo was clever enough to figure it out, but the only thing he was likely to do with the information was extort his least favorite brother for extra supplies. Fortunately, given Ango’s ongoing refusal to be reasonable, Moryo was also the most likely to be told to stay home to mind the borders. Then again, given that Ango wasn’t actually fond of any of them these, days, he might well turn up…

“Daydreaming, little brother?”

“Don’t be silly, Atto doesn’t daydream. He thinks.”

Tyelko and Tyelpë had slipped in without him noticing – not unusual for his son, but practically unheard of in his older brother, who was normally about as subtle as an orc unless he was on a hunt.

“What brings you two here at this time of day?” he asked.

“The little one,” Tyelko began only to be interrupted.

“Really, Uncle? I’ve been an adult for some years now, and there are actual children in the family.”

“The little one,” Tyelko repeated, louder and for emphasis, “was explaining to me his plans for a new series of experiments, and I thought before he got started, it might be a good idea to sort out who’s going where when.”

Curufinwë glanced at his firstborn.

“Tyelpë?” he asked. “I thought you knew we were going to visit Uncle Ingo. Your cousins’ coming of age? I’m sure I mentioned it to you.”

More than once, in fact. He was somewhat nervous about bringing the two boys face to face, but could see no good way around it. Particularly given both Ingo and Tyelko have been pestering him about bringing Tyelpë down for the past few years.

“You did,” Tyelpë replied, squirming slightly. “It’s just that I had a letter from Uncle Moryo, and another from Great-uncle Nolo. Uncle Moryo wrote about something the dwarves he trades with had mentioned, and Great-uncle reminded me of something he had seen Grandfather do once, and when I put them together, it gave me an idea…”

“I take it testing this idea requires a fair amount of time and you are hoping to be excused the trip?” Curufinwë asked, with a sigh that was only partly feigned.

Given half a chance, Tyelperinquar would lay out his entire thought process from tinco to úrë. It sounded as if in this case it was a lengthy chain. Curufinwë would happily indulge his son later – Tyelpë hadn’t yet reached the point in his craft where it wasn’t still a useful exercise to have him explain his reasoning and ensure it was sound. But for the moment, he preferred to stay on topic.

“Yes, Atto. I can’t see where it will make much difference. It isn’t as if Finduilas or Gildor know me – we’ve exchanged a few letters, but that’s all. I’d be just one more older relative to them. They’d probably rather celebrate with their friends and the kin they know. I doubt they’ll feel slighted. I wouldn’t, in their place.”

There was some sense in that, even if it was largely motivated by Tyelpë’s desire to pursue his own project. And there were certainly a fair number of young folk in Nargothrond these days, if Ingo’s letters were anything to judge by.

“Tyelko? You dragged him up here, I’m assuming that means you have an opinion on this.”

His older brother shrugged.

“I just thought it was better to sort it out than have the two of you both turn all dramatic when you announced it was time to pack and Tyelpë blinked in confusion and said he wasn’t going anywhere.”

“You were right. But right now I’m asking what you think about leaving him here? Seeing as you’re the one who’s generally been adamant he ought to meet his little cousins and faulted me several times already for not taking him with me or sending him on his own or with you.”

Tyelko sighed.

“I still think they ought to meet. Knowing one’s kin is to the good, and he’s too much on his own here. There’s no young folk here as there are in Ingo’s halls. But I also think the boy is old enough that it’s time he had a taste of being in charge – and I don’t know when else he’s ever going to get it if you and I keep taking it in turns to stay here with him as if he were still in need of a minder.”

Curufinwë paused to digest that idea. It was an aspect he hadn’t thought of, but Tyelko had a point. His son was a prince of the Noldor. At some point, he would be expected to lead. If the peace held, he would not need to do so in earnest any time soon. All the same, it wouldn’t be wise to wait until a major battle to test his abilities. Battle would be the sternest test, of course. But giving him a chance to demonstrate he could run a fortress without his father or uncle hovering over him would be a good start, and hopefully to his benefit.

“Hm,” he said. “You’re right, he is old enough. As he said, he’s an adult. He has been since not long after Gildor and Finduilas came into the light, as a matter of fact. But if he’s in charge, he’ll have to remember he can’t stay in the workshops all day and all night. Being in charge means just that – being in charge. Do you understand, Tyelperinquar?”

Tyelpë blinked.

This was evidently somewhat more than he’d bargained for. But he was also quick enough to realize that if he turned it down, he’d be going to Nargothrond and whatever experiments he had planned would have to be put off for a year at least. Better to have less time to work on them than none at all.

“I… hadn’t thought you would trust me with so much responsibility, Atto,” he said, shifting from whatever he’d meant to say at first. “Did you mean it?”

Curufinwë wasn’t sure if the lad was hoping it would be taken back or not.

“I would hardly have said it if I didn’t,” he replied briskly. “You’ve been of age long enough to begin taking on more responsibility. I should probably arrange to have you spend a few seasons each with your uncles in Himring and Helevorn as well, to see how other fortresses are managed. Just because Uncle Tyelko and I do things a certain way does not mean it is the only way, or even the best way.”

Maybe that carrot would make spending time with Moryo less of a trial, assuming he made it to the young ones’ party. He might not be fond of Curufinwë, but he did fairly regularly mention wanting to see more of his only nephew.

“And have him trained to fight by someone who won’t go easy on him,” Tyelko added in a not quite undertone.

“Atto doesn’t go easy on me!” Tyelpë protested indignantly.

“You say that because he’s the only one who’s trained you so far,” Tyelko laughed. “If you’d had anyone else, you’d know better!”

“You’ve trained me too,” Tyelpë pointed out with a slight glare. “I’ve the bruises to prove it.”

“I treat you like delicate glass,” Tyelko snorted, rolling his eyes. “Can’t do anything else with your worried father hovering constantly. Nelyo and that captain of his ought to take you in hand with Curvo at a distance sufficient that he can’t tell them to be nicer about it. Orcs won’t be nearly so considerate as your adoring atto.”

“One thing at a time,” Curufinwë said firmly, glaring at his older brother. “Yes, Tyelpë, you’ll remain here. Your uncle and I will both make the trip to Nargothrond. Maikindo will know he’s to answer to you, not vice versa.”

“Though that does not mean you should not take his advice,” Tyelko put in. “He and Lanwion both know a good deal more about the nitty-gritty of running this place than you do as yet.”

“How is ‘being in charge’ so different if I’m to mind the captain of the guard or the steward than if I’m to mind you?” Tyelpë sighed in irritation. “Just because it’s your retainers here with me while I’m nominally in command instead of one of you two?”

“You will be the one everyone is looking to, Tyelperinquar,” Curufinwë replied sternly. “Last I checked, Maikindo’s title was ‘Captain’, not ‘Prince’. You being in command will not be nominal. Nor are we saying that you are to leave things entirely to him – only that if you are taking a decision and he feels strongly that you should reconsider, you should hear him out and weigh his advice carefully. Particularly if it’s a military matter.”

“I know the limits of my knowledge, Atto,” Tyelpë sighed. “It’s unlikely I’d argue if Maikindo tells me something is a terrible idea.”

Curufinwë glanced at his brother.

It didn’t sound as if his son was ready yet for the concept that there might come a time when he would need to argue with Maikindo. The man was a damn good tactician and had an understanding of what orcs were likely to do that verged on foresight, but he was not in overall command. And he was as fallible as any other person.

But there should be no need for such discussions in the next few months. So far the winter had been almost worryingly quiet. With any luck, it would stay that way all year. Tyelpë could have his first experience of leadership, then go to Helevorn to shadow Moryo for a year or two. If nothing else, he’d learn a good deal about logistics.

---

As it happened, not all of Curufinwë’s brothers ended up making the trek to Nargothrond.

Aglon had stayed quiet, but the Gap had not, so Kano and Nelyo had both remained in the north. Selfish as it might be, Curufinwë was relieved to think that his eldest brother would be close at hand should anything happen at Aglon in his absence. And yes, also somewhat relieved that Maitimo would not be setting eyes on young Gildor anytime soon…

“Would you knock it off already, Curvo? You’re so nervous it’s making me nervous, and I think the boy will do just fine. The way you’re behaving anyone would think he wasn’t even as old as the young ones we’re going to Nargothrond for!”

He tried not to glare at Moryo. He wasn’t behaving that badly.

“He’s right, and you know it,” Tyelko laughed. “What’s more, if you don’t stop it, you’ll get Pityo all keyed up, and that’s the last thing we need.”

Rather than have their youngest brother ride north to meet them, the three of them had come south to him. The plan was to continue all the way down to the Ramdal, and then ride along south of the hills. They hadn’t been entirely sure how crossing Sirion would go, but knowing more ways to Ingo’s kingdom was worth whatever small trouble it might prove.

Now that they were actually to Sirion, however, the crossing was looking less simple than they’d hoped. It was still early in the day, but tempers were already fraying.

“I’m hardly about to get worked up about my nephew being left in the fortress he’s lived in since it was built,” Pityo remarked evenly. “It’s not as if he’s a toddler. Besides, he’s got your entire garrison to look after him. You two idiots, however, I’m sorely tempted to push in. If you keep being so annoying, I’ll chuck your packs in after you.”

“I’ll help,” Tyelko offered with a toothy grin, cutting off any possible retort his other two brothers might have made.

“I’m beginning to think we should have ridden further north,” Curufinwë said, glaring at Pityo. “We might have crossed where the river was still safely underground.”

“Yes, I’m sure picking our way through those hills would have been much easier,” Pityo snorted. “You really ought to come down from your mountains more often. Get to know the rest of Beleriand.”

“Enough!” Tyelko sighed. “Pityo, you made your point. Either tell us what you think is a good way to proceed or chuck them in and be done with it.”

Pityo gave them a look that suggested he might well have taken the latter option had a voice not hailed them.

“Hello there, cousins! Lucky for you we spotted you earlier in the day and worked out where you were making for. This is a terrible place to try to cross!”

Aiko had a small party with him. Curufinwë wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or irritated to see Gildor among them.

“Uncles! It is good to see you all!” he called. “But Uncle Aiko is right – this is the very worst spot to cross. It may be narrow, but it’s deeper than it looks and dangerously swift. Even the Gates would be safer. But there is a much better place if you will follow us downstream, about half a league from here.”

The river widened as they rode, until it spread into what might have been called a gentle stream had it not been so broad, easily a hundred paces. But it was now shallow enough that the horses could pick their way across without so much as wetting their knees.

When they reached dry ground on the western side, Gildor grinned.

“There, that was easier, wasn’t it? Mark this place if you’re going to cross below the Gates, or pick your way north further east and go through Aelin-uial. Either is safer than trying to cross too near the Gates.”

“You might have told us that sooner,” Tyelko grumbled.

“I’m sure Atto would have, if you’d given us any indication you meant to come this way,” Gildor shrugged. “We expected you’d come down with Uncle Finno.”

A snort from Aiko’s direction made it clear that Gildor might have thought that, and possibly even Ingo, but not everyone had such delusions.

“Not while Ango was in the party,” Aiko told his nephew. “There would have been fistfights if not worse,  by the time they reached Taeglin at the latest.”

“Still the only sensible man around here, Aiko?” Moryo asked affably. “It’s good to see you again. I know Helevorn is well out of your way, but you are welcome anytime.”

“I’ll save that for when I need to rile my brother,” Aiko said wryly. “Gildor, your uncle Moryo, who you won’t have met before. The rest I think you know.”

Gildor nodded.

“Welcome, uncles,” he said with a grin. “You are not quite in Atto’s kingdom yet, but close enough for us to play hosts.”

Aiko rolled his eyes, but fondly.

“I don’t know where you propose to host them, lad” he said. “We’re more than two days’ ride from Ingo’s halls, and there’s not so much as a shepherd’s hut between here and the Narog.”

“Yes, it’s two days home at best speed,” Gildor nodded. “But there is a meadow we can reach by this evening that’s quite comfortable to camp in, and perfectly safe. I thought we might overnight there, and have an easy ride on the morrow.”

Curufinwë decided that if this was anything to go by, Gildor was of a more practical bent than his older son. He somehow doubted Ingo would have any doubts about leaving him in charge whenever he next went north to Tol Sirion.

“Your father lets you go ranging so far?” Tyelko demanded, before his brothers could.

“We are less troubled by unexpected orcs than you in the north,” Gildor replied easily. “Or even Uncle Amras in the east. It’s safe enough. Besides, I’d need to learn how to travel sensibly in any case. Great-Uncle Nolo is insistent that as he cannot come here, Findë and I must go visit him now that we’re old enough. We’ll make the journey with Uncle Ango, Uncle Aiko, and Uncle Finno when they return north.”

“So of course you had to practice on your own first?” Moryo said drily.

Gildor grinned.

“You can hardly call it on my own when there were never less than a dozen of us out here at a time. Findë, too.”

“Has her father taken leave of his senses?” Tyelko growled.

“Hardly. Her mother’s the one who has been teaching us,” Gildor said, his tone so crisp that no one who knew Ingo or Artë could have missed that he was annoyed on his aunt’s behalf. “She’d have been out here with us to greet you, except that the party coming down from Doriath are expected anytime. So she chose to stay to welcome them. Oh, and best behavior, you Noldor – Findë’s Uncle Oropher is coming with them as well. We’re all under orders to make nice and humor Thingol in front of him.”

He favored them with a sunny smile at the grimaces that announcement elicited before turning and urging his horse into a trot.

Moryo grabbed Curufinwë’s hand.

Are we sure he’s not Ingo’s by blood? he asked quietly.

Curufinwë glanced at his brother and shook his head ever so slightly. This was neither the time nor the place to discuss it.

He’d prefer not to discuss it at all – none of his brothers were stupid or unobservant – but if it was unavoidable, they should wait until there were no Arafinwions present.