Dancing In The Dark by Grundy  

Beg, Borrow, or Steal

“Ingo, please. For the love of all that’s holy, don’t do this!”

Findarato looked at his closest cousin in surprise. He’d never heard Curvo beg before, at least not as an adult, but he realized with shock that was exactly what this was.

They’d been discussing the situation with Beren for some time now. While he had to admit Curvo had logic, reason, and probability all on his side, there was no good way around the uncomfortable heart of the matter. He didn’t particularly want to do it, but he could see no way around it.

“Curvo, I thought you of all people would understand that I have no choice – I promised Barahir that should ever he or his kin need aid, I would not fail them. The boy is Barahir’s son. If it wasn’t plain enough in his face, he carries the ring I gave his father as a token of my pledge. I am bound to help him!”

“You know as well as I do he hasn’t the least chance of success, with or without you. You could still refuse – you swore by no power, you promised only.”

Findarato laughed mirthlessly.

“You would have me held up to the world for a liar, Curvo? A faithless coward who would not repay so profound a debt? Barahir saved my life!”

“Do you suppose he saved it only for you to throw it away in a hopeless cause?” his cousin shot back. “And his son’s into the bargain? He shielded you at no small cost in the hope that you would turn the tide, if not that day, then someday  in the future. This is far from what he expected! Better forsworn than dead, Ingo. No good can come of going near Atto’s jewels. For either of you! If Morgoth does not kill you…”

Curvo was unable to finish the sentence, but the mute misery in his eyes said what he could not force from his mouth: we would.

Findarato sighed.

He did not like to believe his cousins would do such a thing. Then again, given what he had seen of the consequences of their Oath thus far, he also did not wish to put it to the test…

“Curvo, if you would have me break my word – and that is exactly what you are counseling, nay pleading for me to do – why do you not break yours? It has been my observation that your Oath has been a burden to you almost from the day you swore it, so why not simply forsake it?”

He had not thought it possible for the misery to deepen, yet it did.

“Do you not think I would if I could?” Curvo demanded, and Finderato winced to hear the mental howl that accompanied his words, for the pain behind it was immense – and it was not new, but a hurt that had long been festering. “In our folly, we swore not only by Manwë and Varda, but by the One himself. How are we to be released, pray, when not even the echo of our lamentation reaches the Valar now? Do you suppose the One will hear and acknowledge us when they will not?”

Curvo dropped into the chair by the fireplace, his head in his hands.

“Ingo, if I could but tell you even the half of it – between the Oath and the Doom, there is nothing for us here but disgrace and death, with the promise of Darkness Everlasting to follow. If my father truly believed his fine words, I rejoice for him. He at least died with some hope they might be fulfilled. The rest of us will not be so fortunate. If they sing of us even a hundred years from now, it will not be any song I would wish to hear. Never mind what they will say by world’s end! We will never regain the blasted stones, though we mar or destroy all that we touch trying. Yet we cannot not try – the Oath eats at us. And the Doom turns all to ash, for as long as it holds we can do no good that the world might remember!”

Finderato inhaled sharply, for he had not had the least suspicion that his cousin harbored such thoughts. Curvo had always seemed so calm, coolly planning how best to proceed against the Enemy, calculating odds and forming strategies. Yet from his words, and the cast of his mind, he believed it all hopeless. How long had it been so?

In his cousin’s anguish, Finderato finally understood why it was that Curvo had come to Nargothrond of all places.

“You wanted Tyelpë to stay here,” he said softly.

Curvo nodded, looking startlingly like an animal caught in a trap.

“Him, and any of my people who want to remain. There’s no point in us taking any but the warriors to Amon Ereb when we go. Tyelko and I cannot remain much longer in your kingdom. Enough of our people wish to revenge their losses on the Enemy – the restless ones can’t stay quietly tucked away for much longer. Nor can we. My eldest brother has already given us longer than I expected as it is. But sooner or later we must make our way to Carnistir’s stronghold, to regroup while we still can and plan how best to proceed against Morgoth.”

Finderato sighed, knowing only too well how that was likely to work out, with Moryo and Tyelko cooped up in one place and both in foul moods to begin with. Curvo could deal with either one well enough separately, but put together, he’d sooner or later be forced to pick a side, and the fights would only escalate once he did.

“The longer I keep Tyelpë with me, the greater the chance that he will also find himself caught between the Oath and the Doom, whether he is foolish enough to commit himself to the Oath or not,” Curvo said, his voice scarce more than a whisper.  “I thought many times before to send him away, but where? Uncle would not have welcomed him gladly, nor Finno. To send him to my brothers would have been no better than keeping him with me.”

“Your options have narrowed in any case now, with Uncle dead, Finno so beleaguered, and your brothers split between Himring and Amon Ereb.”

“Indeed. Cirdan might take him, however grudgingly, but the Falathrim would be cold to him, and he would likely try to return to me. And that I cannot have.”

“But you know he will wish to stay with you,” Finderato began, only to break off in distress as he understood what his cousin intended. “Oh, Curvo.”

His cousin had never been any easier on himself than on any who followed him.

“Better alive hating me than dead still adoring his atto,” Curvo said tonelessly, attempting to be stoic, clearly trying to master himself. He might have succeeded with someone who didn’t know him so well.

“Please, Ingo – send the children away if you are set on holding your word to this mortal. I cannot predict the workings of the trap. But I know that it is one, and I would not have the young ones harmed by it. Please.”

“Which children?” Finderato asked cautiously, for it had already occurred to him that it might be wise to send Resto and Merilin’s boy to Cirdan. He would be safer on the shores of the Sea, with the power and protection of Ulmo directly at hand. That at least would not fail.

“All of them,” Curvo replied morosely, without looking up from the floor.

“All the children in my kingdom?” Finderato asked in astonishment, for as far as he could tell, the extraordinary request was genuine. “How am I to justify such a decree? The folk of Nargothrond would happily see me go on my mad quest alone were I to order it!”

Curvo swallowed hard.

“If you cannot send them all away, at least send away your boy and Artaresto’s children. They are your kin, and so in the greatest danger.”

And if they would go, Tyelpë would go also, for he is very fond of them, Finderato caught the furtive thought. Though he could not hold it against Curvo. His plans usually had layers to them, and this was one he would surely sacrifice everything for. And if Tyelpë were one of several, Círdan couldn’t object.

“Treason of kin unto kin, and fear of treason,” Finderato repeated quietly, picking up on the worry easily. “Curvo, that might be true, if the Doom is as ironclad as you believe it to be –”

Curvo’s laugh was not at all amused, and struck Ingo almost as an echo of the Doomsman, though so far as he knew Namo had never been heard to laugh.

“Ingo, I cannot tell you how it is I know, but it is not merely that I suspect or believe it so. I have already experienced the truth of it. I have seen what ought to have been simple decency come to ruin in fulfillment of to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well.  And despite the horror of it, I could only be thankful that it was not worse still.”

Curvo looked haunted, so much so that Finderato had not the heart to question him further which of their kin had suffered for whatever action Curvo had meant well. They have lost enough now that it might have been any of them, even their uncle.  He privately offered thanks to the Valar that Artë was still under Melian’s direct protection, as safe as anyone could be in Endorë.

Finderato frowned.

Curvo’s logic had always been impeccable, so for him to have overlooked such a detail spoke as much to his mental state as anything he had said (or thought) this evening. But he could not allow Curvo to continue on his appointed path without pointing it out…

“Curvo,” he began softly. “If all you begin well is doomed, how can the children be safe if I send them away at your behest? Are they not already ensnared?”

He had never before hoped so fervently Curvo would be proved wrong about anything. His son…

“How can anything as unnatural as separating children from their parents so their parents can go to their deaths calmer in their minds possibly be classed as beginning well?” Curvo demanded sardonically.  “And before you ask, yes, I count both of us in that. You’re merely getting a head start on me running off north with this besotted fool of a mortal boy. I won’t be far behind you, or my brothers either. Besides, what I suspect will be necessary to induce Tyelpë to break with me cannot possibly be considered well, from beginning to end.”

“The children will not wish to go, and I can give them no good reason why they should,” Findarato pointed out.

“Your Gildor and Resto’s Finduilas may be grown, but little Artanáro is practically a babe in arms yet,” Curvo replied, waving away the concern. “Merilin would go with him to the Falas were you to send him, but a child so young needs kin about him, as many as can be. Surely that should be excuse enough, if you need one beyond the simple expedient of wanting all of them further from harm. You are, after all, not merely a father or elder kinsman but their king and have the power to command them to go.”

“They should be safe enough here,” Finderato protested. “We are still well hidden! And I can hardly send Gildor away - he is my regent and my heir. Should I fall, he will be needed here.”

“Thus far you are well hidden,” Curvo corrected quietly. “You have already told me you thought the time to leave was nearly upon you. With the Siege broken, how much longer can Ulmo hide you? I do not much like your odds, or Turvo’s, if he’s still alive – and there can only be so many places he could conceal so large a number as he took with him. If he hasn’t fallen already, his days are numbered. I have no way to convey any warning to him. Though I doubt very much he would hear it as such from me even if I did, not even for his daughter’s sake. But you were kind enough to not abandon our old friendship completely as you should have. I would see your son safe as well as my own. And your niece and nephew as well. So please, Ingo, heed me when I tell you that as your regent and heir, Gildor is in greater danger than any save yourself.”

“You are in a dark mood tonight,” Finderato sighed, going to the sideboard and pouring two glasses of wine. “Come, take heart, Curvo. All is not lost.”

He handed one to his cousin, which Curvo accepted morosely.

“No, not yet, but we have been promised by no less than the Judge himself that it will be,” Curufinwë said flatly. “You know as well as I do there’s no way around it. Not for our generation. It was our choice to defy the Valar, for which we now face the consequences foretold us. We put it off as long as we could, but I don’t think it needs foresight anymore to recognize the time of payment is upon us. But it is possible there might be mercy for the children. They did no wrong. We may still be able to protect them. Send them to Círdan while we still can. While there is still time to get them safely clear of our downfall.”

Finderato was unconvinced that all was as hopeless as Curvo was making it out to be. But he could not find it in his heart to argue, for the more Curvo spoke, the more he feared his cousin’s sanity was hanging by a thread, and a fragile one at that.

“How should they be all that much safer at the Falas than they would be here?” he asked, weighing the proposal in earnest for the first time. “If we are all in such danger, Cirdan is every bit as exposed if not more so.”

“Cirdan is a ship master,” Curvo replied, watching the deep red liquid in his glass intently as he swirled it. “Not so different from his kin in Alqualondë, really. Ere he loses all, he and his people will take to the sea. I suspect they will retreat to Balar – or perhaps there are islands still further out we Noldor know nothing of. If there are, so much the better. I would not fault the Falathrim not telling us of them. It would not surprise me to learn that Cirdan has already secretly prepared at least one refuge against such a need. I would have, in his place. There they would be safe, for unless Morgoth defeated Ulmo and all his maiar he could not follow, nor send his creatures to harry them. Any such haven will be the last redoubt for the elves of Beleriand.”

“But you do not think us safe,” Finderato mused. “Well hidden as Nargothrond may be.”

Curvo sighed.

“You are safe now, Ingo,” he replied patiently. “But you are not Turvo, who severed all contact with kith and kin to protect the secret of his hiding place and allows none to leave who know the way hence save Manwë’s eagles. With the leaguer against Morgoth broken, and his orcs and other creatures free to roam Beleriand unchecked, how much longer can you remain secure? How many more years, or perhaps only months, do you think your secret can be kept, even were you to hold all who know the way here within your walls – which we both know you are too kind-hearted to do?”

“Our safety is not in secrecy or concealment alone, for Ulmo protects us also,” Finderato pointed out.

“That is true while the Narog flows,” Curufinwë agreed. “We have seen the Enemy ruin lands and make rivers run dry. When it comes down to only your walls and swords against his creatures, how then will you fare?”

“We have not been troubled by orcs all that much more since the Sudden Flame,” Finderato murmured, trying to convince himself that Curvo was wrong, though the growing pit in his stomach suggested otherwise. Logic or foresight, his cousin was speaking truth – little though either of them liked it.

“Because Doriath is as yet unconquered,” Curvo snorted. “Sooner or later, he will move against them, and I do not expect Thingol’s maia wife can stand alone against Morgoth and Sauron indefinitely. Do not make the mistake of underestimating the malice and cunning of our Enemy’s lieutenant, Ingo. And do not delude yourself – with only Hithlum and Himring still left in the north, and Hithlum only just at that, Doriath’s days are numbered. As are those of your kingdom. The day you hear of their fall is the hour of your own doom.”

“No,” Finderato said softly, closing his eyes against the sudden knowledge of what would be, no longer merely a shadowy future but a certainty that nearly stunned him. But he knew even as he did that there was no shrinking from it now that it was upon him. “My doom is already appointed. My word I gave to Barahir son of Bregor. I will keep it, though it means I go to darkness and death with his son.”

This was what Ulmo had been saving him for all along. He could only hope Turvo might serve some kinder purpose.

“Then name Artaresto your regent and give him what counsel you may before you go,” Curvo snapped. “Ideally, tell him that it is time to go! And make safe what you can before you depart – the children first and foremost! Do not allow the destruction to be total, Ingoldo!”

Finderato knew perfectly well that the bite in his cousin’s tone was born primarily of grief, not anger – and what anger there might be was not at him.

There was a perfunctory knock on the door, followed almost immediately by Gildor entering.

“Atto,” he began, only to break off in surprise as he realized Findarato was not alone. “I apologize, I did not realize-”

“It is all right, dear one, Uncle Curvo does not mind,” Finderato assured him, sure that the look on Curvo’s face had nothing to do with his son. Not only had they grown close these past few years, Curvo had always doted upon Gildor on his rare visits, and even made a point to be at Nargothrond for the boy’s coming of age.

“I will come back later,” Gildor replied with rueful bow of his silvery head, already backing out of the room. “Apologies, Uncle. I did not mean to interrupt your conversation. But as long as you are here, please, talk some sense into Atto if you can manage it. He listens to you.”