Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

The Morning After

It took Curufinwë a moment in to remember where he was. The trek to Nargothrond had blended seamlessly into his nightmares of fire and death.

A soft chiming from the outer room informed him that it was technically still morning, though only just. At least he felt somewhat rested.

When he pulled on a clean tunic – not his own, he hadn’t even bothered trying to throw together anything of his own before evacuating, but the right size for him at least – and strode into the sitting room, he found Finduilas in a chair by the fire, legs pulled up to her chest, staring into the flames.

She brightened at the sight of him, which surprised him slightly.

Then he realized with a sinking sensation that he was the closest to a parental figure present. He’d have brightened if Uncle Nolo came walking in the door, too. On some level, it was reassuring to have someone you thought of as a proper grownup around. It felt a little less like the world was falling apart.

“You woke sooner than I expected. Tyelpë’s still asleep,” Finduilas informed him quietly. “I believe Uncle Tyelko is, too. Shall I bring breakfast in for you?”

“I’m not ready for food just yet, but thank you all the same,” he told her. “Also, you needn’t whisper. I doubt anything short of an earthquake would wake my son just now. Did we hear all the news last night, or was there more?”

“No, and nothing’s come in this morning,” Finduilas said fretfully, hugging her legs. “Unless you count sympathy from the Falas. All’s still clear there.”

So they still had somewhere to retreat to, at least. Though if it came to retreat this far south…

“You said Resto’s at Tol Sirion. Where’s Merilin?”

He would have expected her to be here, keeping a vigilant eye on daughter and nephew alike.

“Nana was visiting Menegroth when it all happened. Uncle wouldn’t grant her permission to depart. He didn’t want her caught out on the road if Tol Sirion fell and the Enemy swept further south.”

And of course it hadn’t occurred to Thingol the useless that he was asking risks of his messengers he thought too great for his own kin, setting a terrible example. Nor did he apparently care it also meant leaving two kids to manage the emergency on their own. Not that Curufinwë could say that out loud. It would only make the girl feel worse than she already did.

“She’s probably on the southern border, looking toward the Ramdal and Amon Ereb. We’re hoping she’ll find out what’s happening with Uncle Ambarussa…”

There was that, even if it smacked of the girl grasping for a bright side.

“Pityo’s fine,” he said firmly. “Don’t fret about him. His people have sense even if he sometimes doesn’t. They’ll have pulled everything they can inside the walls and closed the gates. That fortress can hold out for months if need be. Pityo wouldn’t want you to worry on his account. Nor would your mother. She’s safe enough where she is. I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

Finduilas gave him a small smile, and relaxed her grip ever so slightly.

“Things are still pretty bad for all that,” she said soberly.

“True, but that’s no reason to lose heart. It’s darkest before the dawn, you know.”

At least, he hoped that was the case. It was possible it was only just gone midnight and they didn’t realize it yet.

“Where’s Gildor?” he asked, knowing she’d be better for his company.

“Still sleeping,” she sniffed. “I dosed him last night after you all turned in, it looked like he was going to stay up again. He’ll yell about it when he wakes up, but he needed to rest properly. He hasn’t since Uncle Finrod marched.”

The more he saw of her, the better Curufinwë thought of the girl’s good sense.

“How long has it been since Ingo went north?”

“Ten days.”

Curufinwë totted up times and distances. Ingo would have needed most of that time just to reach Tol Sirion, let alone move further forward to try to relieve (or retrieve) whatever remained of Ango and Aiko’s people. And of course it would have taken some time for the news to reach him in the first place…

“I always thought Grandfather was being overcautious not letting me north very often,” Finduilas said mournfully. “He didn’t even much approve of Gildor going up there. But he wasn’t, was he? We might just as easily have been in Dorthonion when the fires came.”

“Not if Ango had anything to say about it,” Curufinwë snorted. “If by some odd chance you had been there, you’d have been sent away at once. He might have soothed your dignity by telling you you’d be leading children and other non-combatants to safety, but you’d have been gotten out of the way of danger as quickly as possible.”

Ango might have been a pain in the ass, but he’d had his head on right when it came to the younger generations. He hadn’t even much liked his son taking his turns at Tol Sirion, and had flatly barred his granddaughter.

Curufinwë was starting to feel he’d been damn lucky keeping Tyelpë close hadn’t ended worse.

“How did Gildor take the news?”

Finduilas frowned, deliberating whether or not to tell him.

Yes, definitely shades of Aunt Eärwen there. Curufinwë spared a thought for what she’d say to all this.

“You might as well be honest,” he advised. “My brother and I are here for the duration, I’ll find out eventually anyway.”

“He got filthy drunk,” she admitted. “I managed to get him back to Uncle’s rooms before he could completely embarrass himself. Not that he was the only one. Everyone used to think taking their turns up north was great fun. No one who was up there when the battle started is coming back. And Uncle Finrod was careful not to take all children from any one family when he went North. I’m not sure he expected to come back either.”

She sounded remarkably matter-of-fact about it, but this must have been as great a shock to the children of the now-shattered peace as the Darkening had been to his generation.

“What happened at Aglon?”

Curufinwë sighed. He’d meant to tell them both – and hopefully Ingo into the bargain. But given how things were going…

“One moment all was well, the next the entire northern horizon was smoke and fire. We saw what looked like every orc in the world coming at us, realized there must be more of them elsewhere if Morgoth could spare so many on a well-fortified position, and understood we had no hope of holding the pass for long. Tyelko took the defense, I took the retreat, and the orcs took the hindmost.”

He was privately furious with his brother for his conduct of the last gasp defense that had bought the time for the complete destruction of the fortress and bringing down enough rock between them and the orcs to make safe the retreat.  

He’d understood they’d have to sacrifice a few people. But allowing not only some of their best fighters to remain behind, but Maikindo to lead the volunteers who had stayed to the last? They couldn’t afford to lose their best officers! Fully half the Noldor could manage logistics if need be, but people who could predict the Enemy’s moves and counter them were rarer.

He’d have words with Tyelko now that he’d had time to calm down, but they couldn’t take many such losses, now more than ever. Given the ongoing disaster in the north, veterans with experience of not only fighting but winning were too valuable to waste.

“Is there someone in particular you’re worried about up north? Aside from your father and Ingo?”

Finduilas sighed.

“My betrothed went with Uncle. I think you met Gwindor? His brother was already at Tol Sirion, and he wanted to go, so Uncle didn’t order him to remain even though by rights he should have. His father went, too.”

By the sounds of it, she was worrying the loss was going to be total.

“I’m sorry,” Curufinwë said. “Though I don’t think you need give up hope just yet. So long as Finno and Uncle Nolo are still in the field, the Enemy doesn’t have a free hand. Tol Sirion also has the river – more than just Nargothrond falls under Ulmo’s protection. Minas Tirith should hold, or at least be able to manage an orderly retreat.”

Finduilas rested her chin on her knees for a time, staring into the fire.

Curufinwë waited, sure there was at least one more question bothering her.

“What happened to Tyelpë’s mother?” she asked at last, still watching the fire rather than him.

“Nothing happened to her as far as I know,” Curufinwë replied. “She remained in Tirion when we left. I’ve every hope she’s in good health and as happy as she can be when her only child is over here.”

He only hoped she had no idea what was currently happening in Beleriand. This was the rare case where ignorance would truly be bliss.

“How could she bear to be parted from you for so long? If she loved you?”

The question was guileless, but echoed one he’d thrown at Silmë himself in the fight the night before they’d left.

“You could as easily ask how I could bear to leave without her,” Curufinwë pointed out, giving her Silmë’s answer. He’d scoffed then, but now he knew her justified. “Love is not forcing another to bend to your will. Were that the case, our Enemy in the North loves us better than all the other Valar put together.”

Finduilas made a rather rude sound, but at least now she was looking at him rather than the fire.

“It’s not really Silmë you’re wondering about, is it?” he asked, putting it together as he spoke. “You’re curious about Lótë.”

“Of course I am,” Finduilas frowned. “She’s the only grandparent I have left. At least, I hope she is. She might have faded without Grandfather and Atto. Do people fade, in Aman?”

“My grandmother seems to have managed something like it,” Curufinwë replied. “But that was under very different circumstances. Yours has far too much mettle to fade over this. I’d sooner lay odds on her waiting for Ango at the gates of Mandos to tell him off for being such a stubborn, hardheaded idiot.”

That got a small smile.

“You’ve shown more than a bit of her sort of backbone since we arrived.”

The smile grew somewhat.

“Chin up, little one. All’s not lost just yet. I’m not giving up hope you’ll meet your grandmother in Alqualondë. And neither should you.”

That got a fullblown smile, if still with a touch of grief.

“I suppose if you’re not ready to give up, having just seen what you thought was all the orcs in the world, I can’t either. Breakfast, Uncle?”

“Yes, we’d better. An empty stomach won’t improve anyone’s mood.”

---

Gildor arrived to glare at Finduilas, his hair still a mess, around the time Tyelpë was finishing up his ‘breakfast’ late that afternoon. Finduilas was lounging in front of the fire with Huan, chuckling at a story of one of Tyelpë’s experiments gone wrong.

“That was uncalled for,” Gildor said with greater dignity than Curufinwë would have expected from someone whose hair was sticking up in half a dozen different directions. It wasn’t quite the magnificence of Ingo’s bedhead, but it certainly came close.

“Says you,” Finduilas retorted, unrepentant. Next to her, Huan whuffed his agreement. “There’s still tea and apple pastries, but you might as well wait until dinner for anything more, it’s only another hour anyway.”

Gildor opened his mouth to complain, but closed it again at Curufinwë’s raised eyebrow.

“Eating and making sure you’re properly awake before saying whatever you currently think sounds clever would be a good plan,” Curufinwë advised lightly.

That got him the stinkeye, but Curufinwë had seen worse from his brothers. Gildor had nothing on Kano in sour mood.

“Shouldn’t you be checking on your people?” Gildor demanded.

“You’d sound so much more cutting if you didn’t still have pillow marks on your face,” Tyelko chuckled. “Seeing as you’re the last one awake, the rest of us have already had plenty of time for our chores.”

“Most of our people are still resting, too. The few who aren’t are craftspeople like healers or cooks, who won’t thank us for getting underfoot when they’re busy,” Curufinwë told him briskly, setting some of the aforementioned pastries in front of the boy. “Tomorrow will be time enough to worry about organizing the rest of them and trying to decide what to do next. Eat!”

He tried not to laugh as Gildor visibly considered a slightly more adult version of ‘you’re not the boss of me’ before realizing how ridiculous he’d sound.

“You’re also not going to be the prince of Nargothrond you want anyone to remember if you’re stupid from not sleeping and cranky from not eating,” Curufinwë continued as he poured Gildor a cup of tea. “You were left in charge. I’m sure Ingo thought you able for it. Part of being in charge means taking adequate care of yourself so that your people don’t have to pick up the slack or absorb your bad moods.”

“More to the point, boy, there’s no upside to not eating when there’s plenty of food,” Tyelko added. “If things get worse, there will be enough time to show off how well you do at not eating if we run short on rations. Nor is staying awake for days here going to change what’s happening up there. And I’m not minded to coddle your nonsense. The time for juvenile antics is over.”

Gildor stuck his tongue out, drawing a giggle from Finduilas. He glared at her, but everyone could tell it was half-hearted.

“He has a point,” she said, without any trace of apology. “And you weren’t listening when Uncle Curvo said it nicely.”

“Tyelko neglects to mention he also learned those lessons the hard way,” Curufinwë said smoothly. “Only he was in far worse temper before he was shouted at and made to both eat and sleep.”

Now it was his brother glaring at him. Curufinwë was tempted to blow him a kiss. He still owed him one for ‘Daddikins’ in front of the boy – and he knew better than to think that had been forgotten. Gildor just had better sense to bring it up at the moment.

“Learn from example,” Tyelko growled, equally annoyed with both of them. “From what this one says, you’ve already embarrassed yourself sufficiently.”

Both Gildor and Finduilas flushed, and he ducked his head to eat immediately.

“And no drinking contests,” Curufinwë added, looking to lighten the moment. “Even if it does sound like the pair of you may be an even match.”

Huan barked sharply, having seen the results of too many of those over the years.

“Please, I have some sense,” Gildor sniffed.

Finduilas pounced at once.

“So you’ll be staying inside?” she asked.

“Someone has to go out – we should at least scout the seaward side, in case there’s anyone coming down from Nevrast,” Gildor replied.

“Someone doesn’t have to mean you,” she said sharply. “Uncle Tyelko could lead a patrol just as well.”

Probably better, but Curufinwë wasn’t about to say it.

“And let our people think I’m a coward?” Gildor protested indignantly.

“And let them think you have sense enough to use all the tools at your disposal,” Tyelko snorted. “You’re Ingo’s heir. With multiple brothers both older and younger, not to mention a nephew, I’m expendable.”

By the alarmed look on their faces, both young ones thought otherwise.

“Unpleasant as it is to consider, he’s correct,” Curufinwë put in. “Not to mention, it’s as well for you to have your people see him accepting you as ruler than to believe there’s any clash of authority.”

The politics threatened to get thorny enough if Ingo didn’t come back, no sense making it any harder than it had to be.

“Assuming, of course, you intend to do as you see fit rather than keep everyone inside as Ingo ordered?” Curufinwë finished.

“We should send some small groups out,” Gildor said firmly. “More west than north. If we’re careful about using the alternate gates – the ones meant for going out, not in, we should be able to screen our movements well enough. If we hunker down within the walls and don’t send anyone out, all of Mithrim could be fleeing down the western coast and we wouldn’t know it until Círdan sent us word that they’d either arrived or been destroyed in detail.”

Curufinwë had to admit that was a fair point. He frowned as he weighed the possibilities.

“How does news come in now that you’ve sealed the gates?”

“Birds,” Finduilas answered. “There are ways for them to get in to a few of the watchposts – but only ones we already know and trust. Most will be coming from Doriath and Brethil, but the Falas can get word to us if there’s need. But we relied on post from Mithrim and Hithlum, not birds.”

Another thing they hadn’t thought carefully enough about, during the peace. But crying about it now was of no use.

“If the two of you believe the scouts can get out and back in again without compromising your security, it is sense to make sure we’re not missing anything to the west. You speak of our allies, but I worry about our Enemy.”

“I’m less concerned about that,” Gildor said, waving what remained of his pastry dismissively. “They’d have to have either routed Uncle Nolo and his people entirely, or gone all the way around and come down the coast. We’d hear about the former one way or another. As for the latter, I don’t see Morgoth wanting to waste his armies that way. A few good waves and they’d all be gone.”

“I’m not quite so ready to discount ‘routed them entirely’,” Curufinwë replied grimly. “But as you said – better to have eyes and ears abroad to know. If your path to the Falas is about to be cut off, you’ll want to know about it before it happens, not after.”

“What do we do if that happens?” Tyelpë asked nervously.

He clearly didn’t relish the idea of another headlong retreat.

Gildor and Finduilas traded a troubled look.

“In that case, I suppose if it’s no longer safe to stay put, we’d have no choice but to follow the Narog down to Sirion and hope Ulmo likes us well enough to see us to the Sea,” Gildor said slowly.

“I don’t think Uncle Finrod thought it would come to that,” Finduilas added softly. “But if we’re so thoroughly cut off to the west, throwing ourselves on Uncle Elu’s mercy wouldn’t be any use, would it? They’d be just as beleaguered.”

“Atto never said anything about running to Doriath,” Gildor said firmly. “It’s impractical. You know as well as I do the Noldor wouldn’t be welcome there, and if things are dire enough to abandon Nargothrond, they’d be bad enough that we’d need to stick together, not split our people up. Follow the river down to the Sea, and if the marshes aren’t protection enough, Lord Círdan and his people should be able to evacuate us to the Isle of Balar.”

“Maps?” Curufinwë demanded.

Gildor started to get up, but Finduilas froze him in place with a pointed glare before stepping over to one of the cabinets herself to come up with a serviceable map while he dutifully finished eating.

Looking at the map, Curufinwë judged it to be slightly shorter than the trek his people had just completed. The drawback was that there would be no one at hand protecting their flank or rear if they had to take that route – at least his people had had the comfort of knowing Doriath was there. They might not come out to help, but their presence had still been a bulwark.

“You’d better draw up your plans now,” he advised. “I can tell you what we learned the hard way. Though you’d have Tyelpë with you in any case.”

That got three startled looks.

“But, Atto-”

“If things come to such a pass that Ingo’s kingdom has to run, Tyelperinquar, they will be dire enough that your uncles and I are unlikely to survive. I have no intention of allowing you to throw your life away in a hopeless cause. If they evacuate, you’ll go with them.”