Dancing In The Dark by Grundy

But Not Broken

The next days were as strained as Curufinwë had expected.

Ingo, normally cheerful and pleasant to all, was not quite icy toward Merilin, but nor could he be called good-tempered in any honesty. Merilin, for her part, was still smoldering with anger at his foolishness in humoring Resto’s desire to stay at Tol Sirion.

Curufinwë privately shared her opinion. But he knew pushing Ingo about it would accomplish nothing. Nor did he see what there was to accomplish. The deed had been done – Resto was there for the duration, however long that might prove. He hoped for more than just Resto’s sake that it was a decent time. The longer Tol Sirion could hold, the longer the rest of them had to prepare for whatever came next.

It didn’t help that the atmosphere of Nargothrond itself was strained. Between the grief for those lost and the refugees trickling in from the north, it was beginning to sink in for everyone that the peace they had known for years was no more likely to return than their dead.

The fortress had received another shock when the wounded from the north arrived.

The worst-injured survivors from Dorthonion and the retreat to Tol Sirion had not been able to keep pace with Ingo’s main host. He hadn’t been willing to abandon them, but nor was he willing to slow the march – they’d needed to return as swiftly as possible. Ingo had left a few smaller detachments to shepherd them back as best they could. The hindmost group had been attacked from behind with heavy losses, but the other three made it safely to the stronghold.

When the largest group arrived, many of those gathered in the entrance hall to receive them were stunned into silence at sight of their injuries. Even a few of the healers were taken aback by the burns. Curufinwë suspected many of Ingo’s people were imagining how much more horrific the fate of the dead or those too badly injured to evacuate must have been.

There were a few minor blessings to be found. There were a number of healers among the refugees, even if quite a few of them were injured themselves – some nearly as badly as those they were trying to tend. Ango’s steward had also survived, or at least survived long enough to reach Sirion and turn over the census records she carried before expiring. It was cold comfort, but it meant they at least had many of the names of those lost, not merely their rough numbers.

Ingo’s halls echoed with songs of grief and laments for the dead – and with the sounds of those discovering alcohol was no cure for grief.

“Should I take some of our people north?” Tyelko asked quietly over breakfast at the end of the week. “Wouldn’t be much in the long run, but it might help Resto hold out a few months more. Or allow him come back alive and with some semblance of honor.”

“We can’t afford to waste people,” Curufinwë said bluntly. “It might all be over by the time you get there and you’d walk right into an ambush. Ingo was right not to yield the fortress uncontested, but he’d have done better to stay there himself. Resto’s not bloody-minded enough for the task.”

“And you think Ingo is?” Tyelko snorted. “Prince Sunshine Cheerful Son of Sweetness himself?”

“Ingo may be nicer than you or I, but he can only be pushed so far before he pushes back,” Curufinwë replied evenly. “I’ve yet to see Resto push anyone, ever. He can’t even stand up to his own kin. So I’m not holding my breath he’ll do much better with Morgoth’s hordes, no matter how upset he is about Ango. I’ll believe easily enough that he wants vengeance, but Ango never let him get enough experience to know what he’s about.”

“What a bloody mess,” Tyelko muttered, contemplating the wall with a scowl.

“Don’t go punching anything that’s not meant for it,” Curufinwë warned, having seen that look a time or two in his younger days. “That’s no example to be setting the children. They’re close enough to acting out as it is.”

Little Gil-galad was the best behaved of the four at the moment, mostly because so far as he was aware, things were finally returning to normal. His mother was there, his great-uncle was back, everyone assured him his father would return soon, and he had two new uncles and a new older cousin besides.

The older children, under no such illusions, were behaving acceptably in public, but behind the closed doors of the family wing they were barely keeping themselves together. Tyelpë was channeling most of his emotion into his work, but Gildor and Finduilas were at something of a loose end now that Ingo was back, with Tyelko and Curufinwë were on hand besides. Tyelko had been trying to keep them busy by drilling them on fighting skills and self-defense.

“Speaking of the kids, as none of them are around to overhear – shouldn’t we be teaching Tyelpë a bit more about the finer points of fighting? Ango’s not the only one who’s been overcareful with daddy’s little boy.”

Curufinwë did not point out that Tyelperinquar had a good deal more drive than Resto, not to mention a backbone. He wouldn’t hesitate to fight if a situation truly called for it. (He had no doubt his son would attempt to exhaust peaceful alternatives first, but once they were…) He also had a solid head on his shoulders and would make a decent tactician.

“I thought you were including him in your lessons with the other two.”

“He’s been missing as often as he’s been there. Keeps making ‘doing work for the armories’ his excuse.”

It might be an excuse, but it was also true – Tyelpë had been putting in long hours helping in the effort to replace weapons and armor lost in the north.

“Sounds to me like he’s quietly getting his own way,” Curufinwë smirked. “Still think he’s as pliable as Artaresto?”

“No, but I am worried he’s nearly as untrained.”

That Curufinwë found harder to argue, particularly if the lad had been skiving as often as he could – and given how clever Tyelpë was, that was probably fairly often.

He didn’t mean to throw any of the kids into the front lines, but at this point, there was no guarantee the front lines wouldn’t shift quickly and pop up somewhere no one had expected them. Every prince (or princess) of the Noldor needed to be able to defend themselves.

“I’ll have a word with him. He’ll be present at any lesson the other two take with you from now on. If he isn’t on time, you have my permission to go haul him out of wherever he is with a reminder.”

Tyelko grinned in anticipation, an expression that said Tyelpë would only need such a ‘reminder’ once.

Ingo chose that moment to stalk in, uncharacteristically grumpy.

“Still haven’t made it up with Merilin yet?” Tyelko demanded cheerfully.

“Out,” Curufinwë ordered his brother. “Go give Tyelpë the good news.”

“I could do with some good news too,” Ingo prompted him as the door closed slightly more firmly than necessary behind Tyelko.

“I told him he can make sure Tyelpë turns up for all the drills he’s putting Gildor and Findë through. It’ll do him good to sharpen up on how to handle himself in a fight.”

Ingo rolled his eyes and reached for the teapot.

“I’d tell you to leave the girl out of it, but I gather Merilin’s on your side on this one.”

“Of course she is, I’m on the side of good sense.”

“You always say that, even when you aren’t. I didn’t expect to find the two of you getting on so well.”

“If you feel it would improve matters, I can go tell her we’ve agreed you and she should be good friends again and I’ll take up being cranky with her in your stead.”

“She’s being unreasonable,” Ingo groused.

“She’s afraid she’s about to lose her mate, do you expect her take that with a smile?” Curufinwë replied, allowing a bit of reproof to creep in. “How pleasant would you be if Amarië had come along with us and some silly fool left her up north to work out a grudge with our Enemy she had little to no chance of making good on?”

“Amarië would never,” Ingo began, sounding scandalized.

“We’ll never know,” Curufinwë interrupted. “Seeing as she didn’t come. But indulge me – if she were at Tol Sirion this very moment?”

“I wouldn’t have left her there!”

“Fine, let’s imagine you hadn’t had the command? If someone else had been up north with her, and marched back down here to say she’d demanded the honor of holding Tol Sirion?”

“I’d go right up there myself,” Ingo snapped, throwing in a glare for good measure.

“Merilin isn’t free to do that, though, is she? You’re not about to let her, and even if you did, we both know Thingol would have his people intercept her. She wouldn’t make it past Brethil – if she even got that far.”

Ingo’s jaw shifted, but the glare was already starting to break.

“Not to mention,” Curufinwë continued mercilessly, “I suspect Amarië, had she happened to be there, would do a better job of holding the position. I’m certain she’d do better at recognizing when it’s time to retreat and blow it all up behind her.”

Ingo looked slightly reproachful now, the tension draining out of him.

“How under the stars…”

“She stood up to you, didn’t she?” Curufinwë said softly. “She picked her position, in retrospect a rather sensible one I might add, and she held to it. You, Ango, and Artë all failed to argue, cajole, or plead her out of it. Which is more backbone than Resto’s ever shown.”

“You’re both too harsh on him,” Ingo sighed.

“No, we’re both looking at him clear-eyed. Merilin loves him, so you may be sure her perspective isn’t tinged with any malice if you don’t trust mine. She took him for what he is – well meaning, kind, honorable, but not well-trained in the art of war, and not at all naturally inclined for it.”

“Does she? I’ve wondered,” Ingo mused, contemplating the pastry selection, or at least what was left of it after Tyelko had finished. “You’ve heard the story of their wedding?”

Curufinwë did not wince at the reminder the pair had been one of the spontaneous marriages resulting from the first delegation sent to Doriath.

“They’ve always seemed happy enough whenever I saw them,” he shrugged. “I can’t say for certain whether or not it was hasty. But I know Merilin well enough now to greatly doubt little Gilya would have happened if she thought herself ill-matched. Anyway, what’s brought all this on? You’re normally the optimist.”

“A bit too much tangling with the Enemy,” Ingo replied frankly. “And wondering if we might not have bitten off more than we can chew.”

“I know the feeling,” Curufinwë snorted. “I’m ready to go over plans for both defense and evacuation whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

“Not today,” Ingo said tiredly, taking a bite of one of the flaky spice pastries that had somehow acquired the nickname ‘snails’ among the folk of Nargothrond.

“Agreed. Today you’d do better to lick your figurative wounds and get some decent rest. It’s not helping anything for everyone to see you looking tired and on edge.”

“Any other orders?”

“Yes, make peace with Merilin. You two fuming at each other isn’t improving matters either. But do it tomorrow, after you’re rested. Try it as you are now and you’re liable to make everything worse.”

Ingo gave him a look and helped himself to another snail.

“Imagine what Thingol would say if he could hear you taking up in her defense.”

“I can imagine what he wouldn’t say,” Curufinwë sniffed. “Anything like ‘perhaps we should make common cause against our mutual enemy’.”

“Ah, the world’s sliding toward normal again. You’re back to being the pessimist.”

“The realist, you mean,” Curufinwë snorted. “Thingol likes us no better than he ever has or will. If you insist on being on the outs with someone, I recommend him. If it will help transfer your ire, he was only willing to part with Merilin, not Artanis, though she wanted to come.”

“Meaning he wasn’t minded to have Celeborn elsewhere knowing there was a chance of real fighting on his norther border,” Ingo shrugged. “I’d say I don’t blame him, but at the rate things are going, I’m never going to see them have children.”

Curufinwë privately doubted he was likely to see it either, but it wouldn’t help jolly Ingo out of his funk for him to say that, so he poured him another cup of tea instead.

“Thank you,” Ingo said gratefully.

“What’s really bothering you?” Curufinwë asked after a moment of watching him drink his tea as single-mindedly as though it were the only thing in the world that mattered. “There’s something more than just Merilin on your mind.”

Ingo sighed.

“It’s too early in the day to drink, and that conversation would go better over wine than tea.”

“All the more reason to have it out now. Clearly it’s festering.”

Curufinwë waited.

Eventually Ingo broke.

“I don’t know how often you wrote to Aiko…”

“Not very.”

“Right, well…” Ingo looked wretched, but pulled himself together. “He fell in love with a daughter of Men.”

Curufinwë blinked. He wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.

“He did what?”

“He met a girl, one of the house of Bëor-”

“Ingo, please. You know perfectly well I don’t know one group of Men from another. No extraneous details.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter much, but she’s the aunt of the Man who saved my life at Serech.”

“Right, daughter of Men of Dorthonion, who comes of a family worth the alliance you gave them. Continue.”

Ingo huffed a bit, but did as asked.

“Aiko met her some years ago, and the next thing I knew, he’s wanting to marry her.”

“Did he?” Curufinwë asked, wondering if the Arafinwions could possibly have concealed a marriage from the rest of the family.

Ingo looked wretched.

“No. He… well, I didn’t order him not to…”

“But you strongly advised?”

“Yes, wouldn’t you if one of your brothers meant to bind himself to someone who would die within a long-year?”

“Probably. But I’m not the eldest. No one puts much weight on my opinions outside of technical matters.”

The way Ingo flinched was telling.

“Did Aiko’s beloved survive the fall of Dorthonion?”

“I don’t know for certain. I doubt it.”

“You didn’t bother to find out?” Curufinwë asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aiko might not have married the girl, but even so...

“Before you tsk at me,” Ingo said morosely, “I don’t think that killed her. She was a venerable age as her people reckon it when last I saw her. If she was still alive at the time the flames came, she’d have been 94 or 95. Most Men die before that.”

Curufinwë waited.

“Also, she was not best pleased with me at our last meeting. It seemed better to keep my distance.”

“I can’t think why,” Curufinwë snorted. “You only prevented her marrying, and any chance of children. Hard to see why anyone, mortal or not, would have hard feelings over such a trifling matter.”

Now Ingo looked truly miserable.

“I know. You’re going to say they might as well have seized what happiness was to be had while it lasted.I see that now, but at the time…”

He shrugged helplessly.

“Done is done. I’d say don’t do it again, but I doubt it will come up,” Curufinwë sighed. “Artë and Resto are both safely married, and the younger generation don’t spend much time around Men. Let’s try to keep that way.”

“You’re a great comfort,” Ingo grumbled. “What are your plans? Do you mean to strike out for Moryo’s holiday house at once, or can I persuade you to stay on a bit longer?”

“We’ll stay as long as you like,” Curufinwë replied. “I can’t say I’m in any hurry to be cooped up with Tyelko and Moryo. I doubt Tyelko is either, come to that.”

“Yes, speaking of peace-”

“Very funny.”

“I was serious about you staying. Nargothrond is under-strength, and will be even if Resto manages to bring back everyone who stayed on at Tol Sirion.”

Knowing Ingo was already feeing wretched enough, Curufinwë didn’t point out the odds of that happening were only marginally better than the odds of the Noldor successfully storming Angband. Ingo had known what he was doing when he divided his forces.

“Good, because I was serious about staying as long as you want us – or as long as we can get away with it. The only problem will be working out how to keep from stepping on each other’s toes constantly. You’re king, and you’ve already trained Gildor as your heir, not to mention Findë is also more than capable of taking over with or without him. Tyelko and I are rather surplus to needs.”

At some point, either Uncle or Maitimo were likely to send them a written reminder of that and suggest they be elsewhere. But until they did…

“You left Tyelpë out.”

“I was assuming a competent master smith was not surplus to needs in any Noldorin stronghold still standing.”

“Fair,” Ingo sighed. “Shouldn’t that apply to you as well? Though I did try to leave as many key craftsmen here as I could manage without anyone getting insulted over it.”

“I’ve barely done anything in the craft since I arrived, I’ve mostly been making sure neither your boy nor mine did anything too foolish and keeping what peace there was to be had.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Why did no one ever warn us when were dreaming of running our own kingdoms how very tedious and annoying it is to be in charge?” Curufinwë mused.

“Grandfather probably would have if he’d had any idea what we were contemplating.”

“Maitimo and Finno might have mentioned. They had enough law and diplomacy and whatnot foisted on them to know.”

“I’ve a notion they were more adept at delegating than we suspected. Or did you really think they only learned that once they got here?”

Curufinwë wasn’t about to admit his best friend had a point.

“Enough. We need to be serious for half an hour, while neither your son nor my brother is underfoot, and work out who’s now responsible for what.”

“And maintain a united front when they complain vociferously later?”

“Something like that.”