Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

Family Reunion

Sitting around the campfire that night, Curufinwë found it almost possible to believe that nothing had changed since his youth. He could easily have fooled himself he was out in the countryside with his brothers and a cousin or two, laughing, joking, and telling stories, and cheerfully either eating or mocking whatever food they had been able to contrive, depending on the ability of the cook.

But if this were Aman, it wouldn’t have been Gildor sitting with them – or if it was, Gildor would have been Silmë’s son, not Artë’s. As he ought to have been… Curufinwë shook off the thought, which he’d been careful to keep in the innermost part of his mind, where no Arafinwions might overhear. Wistfulness for what might have been helped no one, and letting anyone else stumble onto the secret now would be worse.

Ingo had definitely rubbed off on the boy. (To Curufinwë’s relief, Moryo had taken his hint earlier to heart and not said another word on the subject.) But seeing his younger son in action left him wondering if perhaps he ought to have made different choices with the older one.

He was certain Tyelperinquar would be at a loss if asked to set up a camp on his own, and certainly not have contributed so creditably to dinner. He could also not speak so casually of trips beyond the immediate safety of the fortress he called home. At most, he visited the nearby support facilities – mainly the mines and quarries that supported the stronghold, but occasionally also the farms that kept them fed and in wool and leather.

Nor did he range nearly as far from Aglon. The furthest Curufinwë had ever allowed his son unaccompanied by him or Tyelko was the upper reaches of Aros, and then only with a large guard – and that was much closer than Sirion was from Nargothrond. Of course, Tyelperinquar also lacked like-aged companions he might take on such trips, where it sounded as though Gildor and Finduilas had a large set of friends they regularly had ‘adventures’ with.

Gildor had been cheerfully telling his uncles tales of their exploits since dinner – carefully selected and edited, Curufinwë suspected. He certainly wouldn’t have told his uncles everything he got up to at that age. (Nor would any of his brothers, for that matter. Especially not Tyelko, who was from all appearances enjoying the stories the most.)

“…and then he fell down, but fortunately into the water, in the section where it was deep enough that he didn’t crack his head or break any bones hitting the bottom. He came up sputtering and yelling and we’ve called him the Falling Squirrel ever since!”

Tyelko’s raucous laughter would have drawn every orc for miles had there been any about.

“What did Ingo say to all this?” Moryo asked dubiously.

“I doubt Ingo’s heard the full story,” Aiko said with a chuckle. “He’d take a dimmer view of horsing around on those rocks than Tyelko does. Less because he’s worried about this one doing himself harm than he frets that Findë might and he’d be stuck trying to explain it to her parents.”

“Her parents?” Pityo snorted. “Unless Merilin’s a good deal fiercer than I’ve been led to believe, I’d be far more concerned about Ango.”

Curufinwë privately agreed. Any fool who allowed Ango’s only grandchild to come to harm was likely to find out why he had been named Angamaitë - even his older brother.

“All of you worry entirely too much,” Gildor assured them airily. “We look out for each other. Save your fussing for when we’re older and off to take our turns on the watches up north. For now, we’re having fun, and the worst that’s ever happened to anyone is a twisted ankle. Besides, you behave as if I haven’t heard the stories about what you lot got up to as kids!”

That set off a round of everyone trying to one-up each other with stories of their brothers – always brothers, or occasionally in Aiko’s case, sister, but never themselves – getting into well-deserved trouble.

Judging by the grin on Gildor’s face, it was exactly what he’d intended them to do.

It almost took the edge off Curufinwë’s stab of concern at the casual way the boy assumed that in time he too would be taking part in the guard against Angband in the north.

Almost.

---

Gildor rousted them bright and early – emphasis on early rather than bright, given that the sun was only just peeping over the horizon.  There were more than a few grumbles at that from those among them who were not natural early birds, Moryo in particular.

“What’s the hurry, little one?” Aiko chuckled as his nephew hurried them through breakfast.

“If we get an early start, we should be back before Aunty arrives!” he replied eagerly.

“She didn’t get in yesterday?” Curufinwë asked.

Two nods in the negative answered that question – both Aiko and Gildor were certain Artë was still on the road.

“What’s that you say? You want us to go as slowly as possible this morning?” Tyelko said, matching action to words. “No need to rush?”

“You do realize he knows the way from here and you don’t?” Curufinwë couldn’t resist pointing out to his brother after only a few seconds of watching Gildor glare at him. “Overdo the slow motion and he might just ride off and leave you.”

“I could, couldn’t I?” Gildor said thoughtfully. “In your own good time, Uncle. I mean to depart in a quarter of an hour, with or without you.”

“Just what the world needed, Curvo teaching Arafinwions how to be devious,” Moryo snorted.

“Flattering of you to think that one needed any teaching,” Aiko sighed with a shake of his head. “Be grateful he’s an only child.”

And likely to remain that way, his tone implied.

It was a reasonable assumption. Ingo would take no bride, unless by some utterly unlooked for chance the Valar relented or Amarië found a way to cross the Sea in search of him. Should that ever happen, Curufinwë suspected she’d dote on the boy as much as Ingo did.

Privately, Curufinwë thought that Gildor was certain to acquire a younger sibling or two – even if one discounted the prospect of Amarië joining Ingo, there was simply no way Artë and Celeborn weren’t going to be parents at some point. It was merely a question of when.  He smiled to himself at the thought of Gildor teaching his younger sister or brother how to drive their mother to distraction. He could only hope he’d still be around to see it.

Smothering such thoughts with a sigh, he got busy packing up. He knew the boy meant it about leaving with or without them. Though he also trusted Aiko would get them there if they were left.

“Not in time, though,” Gildor said with a smirk. “And you’re almost as impatient to see Auntie as I am.”

Curufinwë sighed.

He hadn’t missed this facet of young Arafinwions at all – they’d all been damnably proficient at osanwë, to the point of catching unvoiced thoughts more often than was comfortable if one wasn’t careful.

“Manners,” Aiko chided his nephew – but with a grin that said he’d also heard the original thought as well as Curufinwë’s reaction.

All of them somehow managed to be prepared to leave by Gildor’s deadline, with Pityo – the first one ready other than Gildor himself – sniping at the rest of them for being such slowcoaches.

The ride to the Narog and thence to Ingo’s halls passed pleasantly enough. The early morning lent the countryside an air of being brand new, every leaf and blade of grass sparkling as the dew caught the fresh light. As the sun climbed higher, the day warmed, and it was not only Gildor who sang cheerfully as they rode. (Gildor broke off singing from time to time to point out to them sights he considered worthy of comment, or sites of particularly enjoyable adventures.)

Curufinwë hadn’t been at Nargothrond since Ingo had declared his halls complete – Tyelko had been the one to go to that gathering along with Pityo. It was also Moryo’s first time there, so Curufinwë trusted Ingo would be raring to give them both a full tour. He was eager to see what Ingo had made of the place. It had already been promising enough when he was last there.

Gildor’s haste brought them to the gates at the same time as the party from Doriath, which was more than just the three Curufinwë had been expecting. Despite Aiko’s half-hearted admonition to Gildor to remember his manners and behave in a manner fitting a prince of the kingdom, the boy did a flying dismount in his haste to greet Artë.

Curufinwë was startled to note that Gildor was now of a height with Celeborn, who greeted him almost as heartily as Artanis herself did, though it was Artë who kept an arm around him as the rest of their travelling companions followed them toward the gates.

Curufinwë recognized Oropher, but while he could see a resemblance to Oropher and Celeborn in a few of the others, the rest of the party were unknown to him. Likely they were also kin to Finduilas’ mother Merilin, who was greeting them all warmly. If so, this promised to be an interesting visit – the princes of Doriath weren’t overly fond of him or his brothers, being now aware that unlike Artë they fully deserved the epithet kinslayers.

Indeed, more than one of them were already looking askance at him and Moryo, the most obviously Noldorin among their group. Tyelko with his silver hair wouldn’t be out of place among the princes of Doriath, though doubtless they would discover he was the one who had nearly killed Artanis before long.

He wasn’t sure if Tyelko’s thoughts ran in the same direction as his, but his oldest brother present shot one of the women a charming grin, which only widened at her rection. Ingo appeared at his elbow and appeared to be trying to guide him away from the Iathrim with a slightly strained expression. Perhaps he hadn’t fully considered the logistics of the occasion until now…

Curufinwë would have snickered at Ingo’s predicament, had he not known perfectly well he’d need to do his part to keep the peace. On second thought, given the lack of their two eldest brothers, he’d likely end up doing more than his part.

“I’m just trying to be friendly!” Tyelko assured Ingo cheerfully as Ingo passed him over to his brothers.

“Of course you are,” Curufinwë snorted. “And your friendliness has nothing whatsoever to do with Sindarin notions of permissible relationships.”

“I’m wounded, dear brother,” Tyelko replied. “How could you ever think such a thing? Much less say it in front of the children?”

“Thankfully the children are occupied in greeting their visitors,” Moryo said drily. “And I suspect Ingo would appreciate it if you not complicate matters by attempting to seduce a princess of Doriath.”

“Why, is the famed lady Lúthien here as well?” Tyelko asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

Moryo gave their older brother a hard stare, and Curufinwë hoped that he wasn’t fool enough to take the bait Tyelko was gleefully dangling in front of him. They didn’t need to start quarreling less than five minutes after arrival.

“Dear cousins, long time no see!”

Curufinwë was surprised but pleased to discover when he turned that in addition to the party from Doriath, another group of guests were newly arrived. Findekano had come down from Mithrim. It was clear he brought no other kin – Curufinwë briefly wished several rather creative but non-fatal injuries on Turvo for having taken Irissë with him. But he did have enough of an entourage to even the numbers and offer a buffer against any unpleasantness from the Sindarin contingent. Finno was on good terms with the Sindar of Mithrim, and he and Uncle had exchanged letters with Menegroth that had been cordial from all Curufinwë had heard.

“Who is that?”

Gildor and Artanis had joined the knot of Feanorions plus Ingo, and Gildor was eying Finno in bemusement.

“That’s your Uncle Finno, darling,” Artanis answered fondly. “Though the stars only know what brings him here. Ingo, you didn’t say he was expected.”

“He wasn’t,” Ingo shrugged. “I wrote and invited Uncle, though without any notion he’d accept.”

Artanis adored Ingo too much to tell him he was ridiculous, so Curufinwë said it for her.

“You surely knew better than to seriously think he could leave Mithrim for any length of time.”

“True, but I thought he’d be pleased to be asked. It never entered my mind he’d let Finno make the journey. Though I suppose it’s a rare occasion, there aren’t all that many of the younger generation, so two of them coming of age in the same year…”

“Perhaps you should be offended Finno didn’t attend Tyelpë’s party,” Tyelko suggested.

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Curufinwë snorted.

“Wrong brother,” multiple brothers and cousins informed Tyelko in unison.

“What do you mean?” Gildor asked in confusion.

“Darling, why don’t you go see if you can pry Findë away from Oropher so you can introduce yourselves to Uncle Finno,” Artanis suggested. “He’s come all this way to see you! In the meantime, I’ll walk your other uncles inside before Tyelko can cause any trouble leering at Nimloth.”

“What do you mean trouble? What trouble? She didn’t mind!” Tyelko protested.

To everyone’s relief, he grudgingly allowed himself to be herded inside by the combined pressure of brothers and cousins all the same.