Dancing In The Dark by Grundy  

The Best Laid Plans

Things moved briskly after that.

There were several tense days after Ingo had a magnificent argument with first Resto, then Gildor as both of them strenuously protested Ingo naming Resto king in his stead. Resto was outraged, Gildor somewhere between angry and sulking.

Curufinwë had expected Gildor’s reaction. Given his parents, it would have been far odder if he didn’t protest. What Curufinwë hadn’t seen coming was Resto’s Arafinwion sense of decency being so thoroughly outraged at Gildor being passed over for no apparent reason.

Both of them kept trying to re-open the subject, but Ingo blithely brushed off all further attempts to talk him into doing otherwise. He had already turned most of his attention to his private plans for what he, Beren, Edrahil, and whoever else was foolish enough to go with him would do once they left Nargothrond. Happily, he was as close-mouthed on the subject as Curufinwë could wish. The only detail he was willing to share was that he had fixed the date for his departure three weeks hence.

Curufinwë was minorly panicked by such a tight timeline.

Fortunately for his sanity, once Tyelko set to work the whispers took hold as fast as he could have hoped – and exploded overnight when Ingo announced in the Great Hall at dinner a week and a half after the initial argument with Resto that he intended to send Gildor, Finduilas, Celebrimbor, and Gil-galad to the Falas for their safety.

As far as Curufinwë knew, he hadn’t warned any of the kids before the anoouncement. Or anyone else.

Public reaction seemed evenly split between those who couldn’t believe the king would send the young princes away, those who muttered (with deplorable accuracy) that it hadn’t been his idea, and those who believed the all too plausible rumor that the king’s announcement was a prelude to the evacuation of all children.

The latter, which Tyelko surreptitiously boosted, was cause for outrage.

Everyone knew Nargothrond was still hidden and safe, as a large group of children on the road to Eglarest would not be. Tyelko had helpfully put into the mix (through intermediaries who had no idea he was using them) that birds and beasts in the service of the enemy would spot any such group from leagues away and carry word north to Morgoth or his lieutenant. At that point, it would matter little how large or well-armed an escort was with them.

For one jittery day, Curufinwë wondered if they’d actually pushed too far and sparked an outright panic.

“This was your idea, Daddikins,” Tyelko snapped at him in the privacy of their own rooms – happily while Tyelpë was off venting to Finduilas about the order to start winding up his projects so he could pack whatever he intended to take with him from his workshop.

“I know,” Curufinwë replied through gritted teeth.

That didn’t make things any easier.

Whatever Tyelko did to calm things slightly must have worked, because over the next few days the panic subsided into sullen discontent and barely concealed defiance. The mood was turning against Ingo, just as they’d wanted.

Unfortunately, it was also hardening against the idea of sending anyone to the Falas.

Certain younger members of the House of Finwë hoped to turn that to their advantage – which was to say Gildor and Finduilas. Especially Finduilas.

She burst into his study one evening, looking uncomfortably like Aunt Eärwen used to when Father had gone too far. Gildor was a step behind her, with an expression of deep discomfort that told Curufinwë he had tried to avert the confrontation. Having failed, the boy was now hoping to at least negotiate it down to something less damaging.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, either of you!”

Finduilas sounded as though they’d personally betrayed her to her death as she looked from him to Tyelko, but it was the hurt and confused look in Gildor’s eyes that bothered Curufinwë.

“Doing what?” Tyelko asked with a reasonable pretense of innocence.

“You know perfectly well what I mean,” she hissed. “I’m not stupid. I found out who’s been spreading those nasty rumors – and whose idea it was to pack us off to the Falas as if we’re cowards or liabilities!”

“I am the one you should rightly be talking to,” Curufinwë told her, keeping his tone determinedly pleasant. “And I am doing this because if your uncle will persist in going on this foolish venture, the safest thing for all four of you children is to be far from here. And the sooner, the better. You in particular, Findë, have seen precious little of the real world. I say that with approval, as it shows good sense on your parents’ part. It’s much less safe out there than here in Ingo’s cozy hidden halls or in Melian’s protected realm. Morgoth will kill Ingo if he goes with that love-struck mortal, but that won’t be the end of it. After his death, our Enemy will seek to destroy all Ingo built, this place first and foremost.”

“He can’t destroy what he can’t find,” Gildor protested before Finduilas could.

Curufinwë would have given a great deal to not need to say the next part, but when it came to the children’s safety – especially his children’s safety – he wasn’t about to pull his punches.

“Morgoth will have no difficulty finding Nargothrond,” he said slowly. “He will know exactly where it is. If Ingo doesn’t tell him, Beren will.”

Ingo might hold fast unto death, but he very much doubted the mortal could. A mortal mind would crumble under the agonizing weight of the Enemy’s full and inventive attention. And a mortal body couldn’t endure nearly as much as an elven one.

“They wouldn’t!” Finduilas snapped indignantly. “They’re good, honorable men, both of them! They would never betray us like that.”

“You know nothing at all of what it is to face Sauron or Morgoth, Findë,” Curufinwë replied softly. “And I pray to any Vala willing to listen to me you never learn. It is not that Ingo or Beren will want or intend to betray his kingdom, it’s that they will have no choice.”

“There is always a choice!”

“Is there?” Curufinwë asked. “You might wish to discuss the matter with my eldest brother. I know for a fact he still wakes screaming from time to time.”

All the fight didn’t go out of Finduilas, not yet, but he could see he’d shaken her with that. She’d never met Nelyo, only heard of him – the public version of him, the stalwart defender of the North orcs fled from. No one had ever spelled out for her what a wreck he’d been when Finno brought him back, or how many long and painful years it had taken to put him back together.

“Maedhros’ escape was through sheer luck. He was already broken and had no information left to yield. The Enemy was bored with him and no longer watching him closely. Ingo and Beren are a different matter entirely. They know where this stronghold is and how to safely approach it. That knowledge will be taken from them, one way or another. At which point, Morgoth will strike, and strike hard.”

“If he does, I will be here, defending our people!” she said defiantly.

“Fine words, young one. And a fine spirit to go with them. But I will not see you die to no purpose when it can be prevented,” Curufinwë sighed. “When Morgoth comes for Nargothrond, it will fall. Hate me for it if you will, but I have made it my business to ensure the lot of you are dispatched to the Falas well before that happens. If I had my way, every child in this kingdom would go with you, but even I can only do so much.”

“What a shame,” Finduilas sniffed disdainfully. “Why aren’t you turning your considerable talents against the Enemy, rather than your younger kin? Shouldn’t you be going with Uncle?”

“What do you imagine that would accomplish?” Curufinwë demanded in astonishment. “Is this the sort of strategy your father has been teaching you? It’s certainly not your mother’s doing, I know she has better sense! Even if Ingo and Beren manage to gain one of my father’s jewels, which I very much doubt they will, Beren is sworn to take it to Thingol. It helps Beren and your kinswoman Lúthien not at all if the Oath drives me to take the stone from him first.”

“You and your Oath!” she scoffed. “You have all the answers, don’t you?”

“There is no shame in admitting that I am older than you and somewhat more practiced at strategic thinking, young one,” Curufinwë sighed, forbearing to mention that he also knew considerably more than she did about the power and potency of the Oath. “Nor have I said you have to like being sent to the Falas. You only need to go.”

“So you can what? Steal Gildor’s kingdom?” Finduilas demanded indignantly. “I’ve heard the rumors, we all have! Don’t think I haven’t figured out who started them!”

Tyelko was startled by the venomous look she shot him. Curufinwë was rather amused, and would have applauded her thinking if she had actually managed to follow it all the way through to the why.

“I’m not stealing anything,” he snorted. “I certainly do not intend to be here when Morgoth comes calling, any more than I want you to be! And despite your outrage, this isn’t Gildor’s kingdom, it is Ingo’s.”

“Uncle Ingo, who you slandered-”

“Ingo judged it better to leave his kingdom in your father’s hands rather than Gildor’s,” Curufinwë continued levelly, “Which is the most sensible decision he’s taken in this whole sorry mess. I don’t see why you’re complaining when it makes you the Princess of Nargothrond, if only for a short while before you depart.”

Finduilas’ eyes narrowed before she whirled and stomped off in a huff.

“Now I know what it would have sounded like if you and Artë had ever fought when she was still a bratty little thing,” Tyelko chuckled. “Thank you, I needed a good laugh!”

Curufinwë only stopped himself from smacking his older brother because Gildor was still standing there, his expression thoughtful.

“She’s unlikely to forgive you for this,” Gildor said, his voice neutral.

It seemed the boy had learned a thing or two from Ingo after all.

“So long as she’s alive to hold the grudge, I will find it in myself to bear it,” he shrugged. “Why are you taking it so calmly?”

Gildor smirked.

“As you pointed out, Atto’s leaving cousin Resto in charge. I know perfectly well there’s no changing Atto’s mind, and there’s little chance of me swaying Resto.”

Curufinwë’s eyes narrowed. His parental senses were screaming that the boy had a plan.

“But someone else could?” he asked silkily. “Possibly Resto’s darling daughter, who has him wrapped quite firmly around her dainty little finger?”

Finduilas got around Resto even more easily than Irissë had danced around Uncle Nolo, largely because Uncle Nolo had possessed a far more functional backbone than Resto in the first place. (If he hadn’t, things with Father would never have escalated to the extent they did.)

“That might – might – result in Findë getting her way as to her remaining here,” Curufinwë continued. “I sincerely hope she doesn’t. I doubt it will prove a good thing for her should she contrive it. But I will make absolutely certain that doesn’t hold for you, Tyelpë, or little Gil. And I think you’ll find even Finduilas won’t be able to convince her father otherwise once I’m through reminding Resto what Ingo decreed before he left.”

“He hasn’t left yet!” Gildor protested, a spark of temper in his eyes.

“True, but he departs tomorrow, and I will still be here once he has,” Curufinwë shrugged. “I agreed to remain long enough to see Resto established and the plans Ingo recommended well in hand before we leave for Amon Ereb. So you may be sure it will be my word that carries the day when it comes to the rest of you, not hers.”

“I don’t know what makes you think you have the right to meddle in all this.”

“Being your elder kinsman, knowing more than you do about the way life works in Beleriand, and being a more senior prince in the House of Finwë.”

“And to think for a while you were my favorite uncle,” Gildor sighed.

“Careful, boy, you don’t have many of us left,” Tyelko cautioned. “How are you going to feel when we’re dead, knowing you’ve said such hurtful things?”

Gildor’s eyes went wide in shock. It was such an Ingo-like reaction that Curufinwë might have laughed had he not been able to feel how genuinely distressed his son was at the thought.

“Stop trying to scare the little ones! Will you ever grow out of that?” he demanded in exasperation.

“He’s of age,” Tyelko grumbled. “In fact, he’s older than Resto was when he arrived in Beleriand! So how was I supposed to know you still expect me to baby him? When are they old enough for ‘might as well face facts’? He’s coming up on three yeni!”

“Scram, Tyelko. Or I’ll let Artë know you’ve been telling her little darling orc stories.”

Tyelko decided wisdom was the better part of valor and retreated without further commentary.

“Grow out of scaring the little ones?” Gildor asked, eyebrow raised. His tone was still cool, but he was more curious than angry now.

“Long before any of us had ever seen an orc, Tyelko stumbled across some of the early accounts of them in our grandfather’s library. He was fond of scaring all the children younger than him. I’m told he started with our brother Moryo. I thought he’d stopped after he got told off for frightening Uncle Nolo’s youngest son badly enough that he insisted on sleeping in his parents’ bed for a week, but apparently he kept up the tradition with Artanis and Irissë. It’s one of the few times I’ve ever seen your grandfather truly angry.”

He had the impression Gildor was amused despite himself.

“Uncle Tyelko wasn’t telling orc stories this time, though, was he?” Gildor asked quietly, pinning him with one of those looks that were a cross between Ingo and Artë, demanding honesty.

Curufinwë sighed.

“Gildor, open your eyes and look around – seeing what is rather than what you want to be. Your father’s brothers are dead. Uncle Nolo is dead. His youngest son – the one Tyelko scared so badly – died a few hours after setting foot in Beleriand. No one knows what happened to his daughter. We like to suppose your Uncle Turvo and Great-Aunt Irimë are alive along with their children but the hard truth is we wouldn’t know otherwise unless an eagle deigned to share the news or Morgoth or Sauron lobbed their corpses at us. Your Uncle Finno lives, but on a knife edge, being slowly ground down under the weight of a crown he never wanted and the dawning realization that all we’ve really accomplished since arriving in Beleriand is prolong our defeat. I’ve lost one brother so far. If your father succeeds and the mortal brings back a Silmaril, I stand to lose a few more, because he’ll have proven that a stealth assault on Morgoth could succeed, and that Oath your best friend doesn’t believe in will not let us just sit around shoring up our lines of defense after such a demonstration. In truth, I don’t think any of us really expect to see Tirion again, Ingo included. Tyelko was being an ass about it, but he wasn’t wrong to imply that you’ll outlive us. I certainly hope you do, at least.”

“This is the true reason you want us to go to the Falas,” the boy said soberly. “You really meant it about expecting Morgoth will come for Nargothrond soon.”

“Very much. I don’t want any of you here for the end. It won’t be a good one.”

He had no idea whether or not the boy believed him, but he didn’t argue. The uncharacteristically somber look on his face implied that he was finally taking it all seriously.

“There won’t be any talking Findë out of staying,” Gildor observed. “I don’t think even I can manage it now.”

Curufinwë sighed again.

Were he speaking to Resto or Tyelko, he have said then she’d better start keeping one of those lovely Sindarin knives on her person to avoid being dragged to Angband still breathing, because from what he could tell, Morgoth was nearly as interested in toying with Arafinwions as he was with Fëanorions. (Finno at least had the dubious consolation of knowing he had annoyed Morgoth so much that the evil Vala just wanted him dead as swiftly yet painfully as possible.)

But he couldn’t very well say that to his son, who was barely holding it together at the dual blows of knowing Ingo was going to his death and that his remaining uncles would follow him to Namo’s halls sooner rather than later.

“Sometimes the best we can do is give it our all and hope it’s enough,” he said tiredly. “Come on. Let’s see if we can’t find you something I’m not supposed to encourage you youngsters to eat before dinner, and take some to Tyelpë, too. He’s no more pleased than you about the prospect of relocating.”

“You can encourage it just this once,” Gildor shrugged, accepting the arm Curufinwë draped around his shoulders. “You’re much more responsible about no sweets before meals than Atto’s ever been.”

“Figures,” Curufinwë sighed. “And here we thought he’d finally learned how to be firm when faced with adorable children.”

“Oh, he is,” Gildor replied with a grin. “For the first few minutes, at least.”