Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

The Twain Meet

Curufinwë nearly groaned in relief when the scouts at the head of his ragged column finally spotted Sirion ahead of them. It had been a very long and stressful few weeks. At least, he thought it had been a few weeks. The days had all run together in a way that hadn’t happened since the Darkening.

Perhaps it was his imagination, or perhaps the lack of sleep was getting to him, but the crossing point they’d used on his last visit – the point they’d aimed for as it seemed safest – looked to be running both higher and faster than he recalled it.

He would have liked to let Tyelpë lead the way, but as he’d never been to Nargothrond before, his son wouldn’t have the first clue which way to go. With any luck, they’d run into some of Ingo’s people soon.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

Or now.

Curufinwë had sharp eyes, but he still couldn’t spot whoever it was challenging him. Ingo’s guards were good.

“The princes Curufinwë, Tyelperinquar, and Turkafinwë, with all that survives of Aglon and Himlad,” he answered grimly.

“Stars above!”

The answer came not from the hidden guard who had spoken before, but from a voice Curufinwë recognized only too well.

“Gildor?”

Was Ingo mad to let the boy wander around at a time like this? Did he not know what had been going on in the north? If this was more of his dratted optimism…

“The very same – luckily for you, Uncle,” Gildor answered, appearing from behind a tree as suddenly as if he’d popped out of thin air. “I doubt anyone else here would have recognized you, and they certainly wouldn’t have taken it on trust that you are who you say.”

At least someone had their head on right.

“What, would they think we were orcs?” Tyelpë asked indignantly.

“Quite possibly, given the news of late,” Gildor said darkly, his eyes flickering to Tyelpë before returning to Curufinwë. “Uncle, how are your people? Can they manage a stern march? Or do you have wounded?”

“A fair few,” Curufinwë replied as his older brother joined them. “But they’ve managed this far. I daresay we can get them however much further you think necessary before we call a halt.”

“I think it best you press on until we reach the safety of the stronghold,” Gildor told him grimly, nodding to Tyelko as he joined them. “Keep your people moving.”

“You don’t trust even your southern borders?” Tyelko asked, letting out a low whistle.

Perhaps the situation was more dire than they had feared. They hadn’t stopped long enough anywhere for word of their position to reach anyone else, let alone for messengers to catch up with them. (Thingol probably knew where they were, but he should be the only one.) Rest breaks were as infrequent and short as he’d dared make them. The healers had words for him more than once, but he had always told them that stopping anywhere short of another Noldorin position put everyone in danger, not merely the worst among their wounded.

Terenë was unlikely to forgive him the deaths. He could only hope that with time, she would see that he had tried to save as many as possible. Otherwise he was going to have to find a new head healer in addition to the other vacancies that needed filling.

“Unless everyone behind you is a fighter and ready to man those borders immediately, my answer must regretfully be no,” Gildor replied.

And that does not look to be the case.

“Things are that dire?” Curufinwë asked in a tight undertone.

“I won’t trouble you with the news from the north just yet,” Gildor said, equally quiet. “It’s plain you’ve ill tidings enough of your own.”

“Best not to speak of it here, boy,” Tyelko cautioned.

“I didn’t intend to,”  Gildor said briskly. “We don’t time for catching up right now – I want you all inside the walls by dark, or at least as close to the stronghold as we can manage. I can call out reinforcements if need be, but I’d just as soon not if we can avoid it. Everyone is nervous enough as it is.”

Gildor turned to his own people.

“Send messages on ahead,” he commanded. “Warn the healers to prepare for more folk who need their attention. And the kitchens. They’re all going to want hot meals. We can worry about finding space for everyone after that.”

There was a rustle of branches, and some bird noises that anyone unaware of how the Sindar conducted sorties would not have thought twice about. Curufinwë knew enough now to understand it meant word was going before them.

“Move out, Uncles,” Gildor said, sounding slightly weary under the forced good cheer. “I’m afraid the journey will be rather less cheerful than the last time, but at least there’s the promise of a hot supper and a clean bed at the end of it. I trust you remember the way?”

Tyelko nodded.

“Not going to lead us yourself?” Curufinwë asked.

“I’m going to make sure there’s nothing worse on your heels than a few nosy crows.”

“Maligning the poor crows-”

“Quite a few of them are spies for the Enemy, Uncle, or hadn’t you noticed?”

Tyelko’s mouth shut with an audible snap.  

“Perhaps you should have listened to your neighbors,” Gildor muttered.

Tyelko looked like he might have fired up at that, but Curufinwë held up a hand.

“Add that to the topics of discussion once we’re safely inside the stronghold,” he ordered curtly. “Gildor, about your business. Tyelko, lead the way. You bloody well remember it.”

Tyelko shot them both a sour look, but did as he was told, steering Tyelpë with him.

“Come on, boy, no sense getting Daddikins’ back up.”

“Daddikins?” Gildor asked in bemusement.

“Get going,” Curufinwë snapped, sounding harsher than he’d intended.

The boy did, with a laugh that promised his detested nickname wasn’t going to be forgotten.

Curufinwë took his own advice and pressed on. When he reached the river, he found that his initial impression that it was running higher and faster than before seemed to be mistaken.

Not really.

It took several minutes, but Gildor reappeared at his side.

“I’ve asked the river to make the ford a bit easier for you,” he said quietly. “Once the last of your people are across, it will secure our retreat.”

“I thought you said you had things to do?”

“I’m doing them. I can watch for stragglers and spies from here.”

“You were serious about the birds?”

“Yes. We don’t believe the Enemy has discovered the location of the stronghold yet, and Atto’s last order was to see that it remains so.”

Curufinwë’s mind was racing. He’d thought Ingo was still here, but by the way the boy spoke, he was in command.

“Are you supposed to be out here?” he asked suspiciously. “Surely it gets harder to conceal your location if you keep coming and going?”

“Just as well for you that I was, isn’t it?” Gildor shrugged. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said the others wouldn’t have recognized you – and I’m not too sure they would have let you pass even if they did.”

“They’d have left other elves out here unprotected?”

“People are shaken and upset,” Gildor told him, as serious as he’d ever heard the boy. “And more than a few of them are scared.”

“What are they doing out here if they’re so scared?” Curufinwë asked – but without any acid in his tone. He had a feeling that whether he cared to admit to it or not, Gildor numbered among the scared.

“Protecting Nargothrond,” Gildor replied. “And doing what we can to help. You’re not the first group of strays we’ve picked up, though you are the largest. But the previous ones were Sindar known to most of us. Not many here recognize you or Uncle Tyelko, and none of them would know your people save by report.”

Curufinwë decided that the divergence from Ingo’s command was equal parts bravado, Gildor not doing better with being cooped up than any other Finwion, and genuine need.

“You don’t have to wait here,” Gildor added after a few minutes of not quite awkward silence as they watched his people crossing.

“Ingo taught you a thing or two about command, didn’t he?”

Gildor nodded.

“Would you go on ahead if it was your people?”

That got a familiar glare. He’d have to tell Artanis the next time he saw her. If he saw her. Thingol was loathe to let his younger kin out of his sight at the best of times. He doubted Ingo was the only one to have commanded his people to get inside and close the doors.

After that, there was no more talk of not waiting. Actually, there wasn’t really much talk. Gildor probably wanted to, but he was keeping to his word about out here not being the place for it.

Curufinwë dearly wanted to put an arm around his son, but he didn’t dare give Ingo’s people or his own the idea the boy wasn’t a competent commander.

They didn’t move until the last of the column was across the river.

The second they reached the west bank, the river rose in full spate.

“Ulmo’s protection still holds here,” Gildor explained in an undertone. “It’s strongest closest to the water. We don’t dare venture too far beyond Sirion.”

“Yet you came looking for us.”

“Several hawks reported your people. They know orcs from elves.”

“You’re using birds as scouts?”

“The birds not already in league with the Enemy tell us things because they prefer us to the orcs,” Gildor shrugged. “They also warn us which of their kind are not to be trusted - mostly the carrion birds. Morgoth offers them far more than we can. They’re feasting in the north.”

He gave another bird call. This time several of his guards emerged from the trees. One of them handed over a leaf-wrapped packet.

“You should have some lembas, Uncle,” Gildor suggested. “It’s still several hours to the stronghold.”

It’s Ammë’s, he added silently.

Curufinwë wouldn’t have refused even before that addendum. He’d been on short rations as the food situation got tighter.

---

When they reached the gates, Finduilas came pelting out, seizing Gildor to make sure he was undamaged.

She turned to Curufinwë, flushing slightly, no doubt realizing her welcome wasn’t quite what the Noldor would expect from one of their princes.

“Uncle! It’s good to see you safe! And we’ve finally met Tyelperinquar…”

Curufinwë might have laughed at the way she trailed off, had it not sounded like she was close to tears.

“It’s not quite the way we imagined it,” Gildor added, trying to salvage the moment. “But at least he’s here.”

Curufinwë was relieved to find that everyone else was already inside. Once they were in themselves, Finduilas gestured at the gate guards, and the great doors swung closed to be barred behind them. He was slightly surprised – he hadn’t imagined sweet little Findë had it in her to be so very in charge.

She was all smiles and encouragement for both his people and Ingo’s as they went, and snagged Tyelko and Tyelpë effortlessly.  

“Your people are all being looked after, worry not on that score.”

It wasn’t until they were safely in Ingo’s private rooms – which looked to now be Gildor’s for the duration – that she rounded on Gildor.

“You are not going out there again!” she informed him flatly, poking him in the chest for emphasis, with more menace than Curufinwë had ever heard in an Arafinwion. Maybe that was the Sindarin side? She certainly didn’t get that spine from Resto…

“It worked out fine!” Gildor protested.

Curufinwë opened his mouth to intervene, but Tyelko pushed him into a chair and shook his head.

“You were supposed to stay inside. That’s what Uncle Ingo told you to do! Crossing Sirion is not by any stretch of the imagination inside!”

“I barely went beyond the eastern bank. And I brought back our uncles! And Tyelperinquar! They weren’t getting across the river otherwise!”

“You got lucky,” Finduilas informed him frostily, folding her arms and pinning him with a glare marginally warmer than a northern winter. “Don’t even think of doing it again.”

Gildor started to answer out loud, changed his mind, and definitely said something silently. Whatever Finduilas’ rejoinder was visibly shook him.

“Has there been any word of Atto?” he asked hoarsely, looking so close to collapse that Tyelpë sprang up to help.

“None,” Finduilas admitted quietly. “I don’t know, Gilya. And I don’t like it.”

“Care to share the news with the rest of us?” Tyelko asked sharply.

“Which parts do you already know?” Gildor asked wearily, shrugging off Tyelpë’s hand and throwing himself into what looked to be his favorite chair.

“Not much,” Curufinwë answered before his brother could say anything. “We failed to hold Aglon, and didn’t dare make for Amon Ereb without knowing how everyone else was faring.”

“Wise of you,” Finduilas sighed.

She paused as one of the staff brought in a tureen of the same hearty stew they’d seen being dished up to their people.

“What we know is patchy,” Gildor explained. “Most of it comes to us via Brethil and Region. We don’t know if there have been other messengers from further afield who haven’t gotten through. But what they’ve been able to tell us is bad enough. Uncle Makalaurë wasn’t able to hold the Gap. We’re pretty sure Uncle Ambarussa and his people are safe at Amon Ereb. We haven’t had any word from him, but the orcs haven’t gone that far south that we know of.”

“We think Uncle Makalaurë was able to retreat to Himring,” Finduilas added. “Aunt Nimmy is watching from Nan Elmoth, and she sent news that Himring is still holding out, so we know that much for certain. We haven’t heard anything about Uncle Moryo and his folk. Even the best far-sighted eyes in Nan Elmoth can’t see that far with all the smoke and darkness. And we haven’t had any messages from your brothers directly. We’ve been hoping Uncle Ambarussa might get a messenger through.”

She wasn’t quite shredding the swatch of fabric in her hands, but it was plain she’d picked it up to avoid absentlymindedly doing worse during the recitation of disaster.

“Communication between east Beleriand and west Beleriand was cut off when Dorthonion fell,” Gildor continued grimly as Finduilas contemplated the ceiling. “Mithrim is holding, and at least they have a clear path to the sea if Morgoth manages to cross the mountains. The last we heard, Uncle Nolo was trying to link up with what’s left of Dorthonion, with Uncle Finno keeping a clear path to the mountain fortresses in case they needed to retreat. But it’s a bit late for most. Uncle Ango and Uncle Aiko are dead.”

There was a strangled noise from Tyelpë. Curufinwë couldn’t say anything, though, because while he’d certainly suspected things were going badly for his cousins, it was still a gut punch to hear it confirmed.

“Cousin Resto was at Tol Sirion when the assault started, and we believe he’s still there,” Gildor continued. “Atto marched north with the best part of our strength to try to aid his brothers. The last word we had from Brethil is that there was stiff fighting in the north of the Pass of Sirion, and it looked like it would go against us.”

Tyelko winced.

Their summary of the current situation also more than explained why both kids were on edge.

“And how are you two holding up?” he asked.

That got a trenchant look from Finduilas and an immediate and patently false ‘fine’ from Gildor.

Finduilas glared at him and Gildor in equal measure.

“You’re a pair of idiots,” she informed them tartly. “We are not fine any more than you are, and you knew that before you asked.”

“Yes, but he wanted you to say it,” Tyelko sighed. “It’s one of his more annoying quirks. Tyelpë is used to it, but Curvo hasn’t been around you two as much.”

Tyelpë, for his part, gave Tyelko a look that suggested he was making even less sense than normal.

“Atto isn’t the only one concerned for you,” he offered in his quiet way. “Uncle Tyelko is too. And me.”

Finduilas favored him with a small smile.

“We know, Tyelperinquar.”

“At least you’re finally visiting,” Gildor said wryly. “We were starting to think it would never happen.”

“We’re happy to see you, really,” Finduilas said, trying her best to sound like she meant it wholeheartedly.

“Particularly happy to see you alive,” Gildor muttered.

“Yes, well, now that they’re here, we should be better hosts,” Finduilas sighed. “Where shall we put them up?”

Curufinwë suspected the only reason he caught the instant not Ammë’s rooms was his connection to Gildor. It certainly hadn’t been meant for him to hear – or the wild hope that perhaps she might turn up that went with it.

“The rooms for visiting family,” Gildor replied. “The suite Uncle Finno had on his last visit has enough space for Uncle Curvo and Tyelperinquar.”

“Tyelpë, please,” his son clarified, looking dismayed at his full name being used constantly by younger kin.

“And Uncle Tyelko can have his usual room.”

“Any chance you might persuade your aunt to come visit?” Tyelko asked with a grin. “She really adds to the experience.”

“We’ve troubles enough without whatever it is the two of you get up to,” Finduilas sniffed, sounding remarkably like Aunt Eärwen. “If Great-Uncle Elu ever hears about any of that, you can kiss all hope of him ever thawing toward you lot goodbye.”

“You mean he hasn’t heard of it already?” Curufinwë asked in some surprise. “Surely one of your uncles…”

The two didn’t see each other often, but he knew perfectly well they’d met up near the borders of Thingol’s lands or Nan Elmoth on occasion. If they did more than flirt outrageously when they did, Curufinwë didn’t care to know. By the sound of it, Finduilas didn’t either.

“No one wanted to be there for the reaction,” Gildor chuckled.

Curufinwë suspected Irissë might have dared it had she known. She would probably have thought it funny to see Thingol blow his top at someone other than her or Artë.

He wondered if Turvo was still standing. If he was in the North, the situation must be fairly grim for him as well… Then again, Morgoth would surely have wanted to rub it in if his realm had been destroyed with Ango and Aiko’s. Or was he somewhere further west? If Ingo had hidden on the Narog, could Turvo be on the Nenning or Brithon?

“I’ll make sure Uncle Tyelko’s room is ready,” Finduilas sighed. “Huan? With me? Enedrion is making sure all your people are housed, Uncles. There was a time when that might have been more difficult, but we’ve more rooms free than we used to…”

Curufinwë was startled to hear Ingo had left his most trusted retainer behind. Then again, he supposed that made sense. If the worst should happen, someone had to make sure the two kids made it to the Falas alive. By the sounds of it, Finduilas’ good sense might get her there, but Gildor’s was questionable.

“We’re a bit easier to house than we used to be as well,” he said ruefully. “Would you prefer to wait until the morning for our report, or hear it now?”

“I’ve no stomach for any more bad news tonight,” Finduilas replied quietly. “There’s been enough of it already.”

“I’ll see Uncle Curvo and Tyelpë to their rooms,” Gildor said, heaving himself back to his feet. “I don’t think it can hurt anything to wait until you’ve slept before you tell us how it went at Aglon.”

“I thought you said you were doing fine?” Tyelko said smoothly.

“Yes, staying inside and keeping the doors closed so we stay hidden isn’t exactly difficult,” Finduilas sniffed. “At least not for most of us.”

“I’m inside!” Gildor protested, dodging a not entirely earnest elbow as the pair made their way to the door. “And look! Family visiting! That’s a good thing!”

“Are they always like this?” Tyelpë whispered.

Curufinwë sighed and steered his older son out the door in the younger’s wake.  He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret his decision to come to Nargothrond.