Dancing In The Dark by Grundy  

Swan Song

If Lúthien knew anything of how Finrod and Beren’s quest was proceeding, she did not share it. Not did she bring any news that might decide Curufinwë and Merilin on whether or not the party for the Falas should be off. Merilin was forced to content herself with news of her Iathrin kin.

Curufinwë grudgingly let himself be drawn with tales of what Artanis got up to, with or without Celeborn. He did not let the story-telling lull him into imagining that Lúthien daughter of Melian was harmless or helpless.

She seemed happy enough to remain where she was, for the time being at least. She showed no sign of wanting to go haring off after her mortal, which Curufinwë found both a puzzle and a relief. He had no idea how he would actually stop her from going anywhere, but he also didn’t want her doing anything foolishly fatal on his watch.

He quietly agreed with Thingol that Lúthien could do better than a mortal who would die in less than a long-year. More importantly, he did not think it a good plan to let the girl chase Beren and Ingo north. Her mother might be a maia and capable of holding the borders she’d set herself, but he did not expect that Lúthien battling Sauron and Morgoth herself could end well.

Curufinwë felt sure if his daughter came to harm, Thingol would find a way to blame anyone and everyone but himself. A pair of kinslayers known to have driven Finrod from Nargothrond with only the most loyal of his followers sounded like ideal candidates. There wasn’t much he and Tyelko could to improve relations with Doriath, but he was painfully aware things could get worse.

Had he known Lúthien intended to assist with Beren’s task, Curufinwë would have counselled his cousin and the mortal boy to wait, and to ready Nargothrond’s host. Lúthien and an army might have actually had a chance. Particularly if Finno brought Hithlum out to support them. Queen Melian might have also had something to say – or Sing – in the matter.

Curufinwë tried not to curse Thingol too much, even in the privacy of his own head.

He also did his best to be polite to the princess of the Sindar, despite her apparently insatiable curiosity. He would have wondered why she asked nearly as many questions as a young child, had Merilin not privately warned him that this was Lúthien’s first time beyond her mother’s protected borders. Everything outside of Doriath was new to her. What’s more, her father hadn’t encouraged anyone to talk much of lands beyond his borders lest she demand to go see them – particularly the lands held by the Noldor.

She would have roamed Nargothrond eagerly had she not desired nearly as fervently as Curufinwë to keep her presence from becoming general knowledge. Instead, she pumped all of them for information on any subject that caught her fancy.

She wanted to know about Nargothrond, Hithlum, Neverast, the Sea, the Falas, and even the lands on the far side of the sea that they’d left behind them. (Curufinwë briefly debated trying to convince her to accompany Merilin and the children, but quickly decided her presence might well make them more of a target.) The questions could go on for hours.

Tyelpë seemed relieved that she generally left him in peace aside from mealtimes. Curufinwë suspected he found her intimidating, but he was less sure if Lúthien had taken pity on the boy or if she simply found him too young and inexperienced to bother with. She’d quickly discovered that a question or two, generally about his craft but occasionally about his childhood in Aman, and then listening raptly until Tyelpë excused himself was more than enough.

She listened with more than just politeness to Tyelpë’s tales of both Aman and his former home in the north, but it was invariably Tyelko she pestered to tell her more once the boy escaped the calm of his workshop.

Curufinwë was just as happy to leave his brother to keep her amused while he finalized the plans for the evacuation. He and Merilin had agreed that if Lúthien showed any sign of alarm, or decided it was time for her to take a more active part in the Silmaril quest, that would be the signal for her to grab the children and make for the Falas.

Until then, they were quietly sending what they could ahead of them, each time instructing those moving the goods to remain in Eglarest, or if they would, settle elsewhere in Círdan’s domain. It wasn’t as though they could dispatch any great number of people that way, but each person they sent to relative safety was one less for Resto to worry about later.

Heeding Merilin’s advice, Curufinwë dropped the subject of Finduilas leaving. Let the girl think she had carried her point, and without her constantly reminding Resto of her intent to stay, and they might actually get her away as originally intended. Merilin was entirely of his mind that her staying might well prove fatal. But, as she remarked in exasperation, there was no convincing Resto that he might for once need to stand firm with his daughter.

He also used the time to prepare for the move to Amon Ereb. He traded messages with Moryo, mostly trying to determine the situation in the territory that lay between them, and made up the lists of who would be going.

He was pleased to discover that some of the folk of Nargothrond wanted to join them. Despite the rumors, there were people who preferred to follow leaders who made no bones about intending to fight. He took care to get Resto’s permission – not that it was difficult – for anyone he accepted. He didn’t want to sap the strength of Nargothrond. Resto might not intend to fight, but odds were sooner or later he would need to.

Among those interested he discovered a pleasant surprise, a Sindarin healer originally from Dorthonion. She had persuaded Tyelko to take her on. So determined was she to join them that she was primed to argue Curufinwë into overlooking the crippling injuries she had suffered in the Sudden Flame. Had she been a master of any other craft, Curufinwë would not have been persuadable.  But he could not afford to turn down a master healer. He’d have found a way to get her to his brother’s fortress even if she couldn’t walk at all. (Tyelko, well aware they had no masters left among their surviving healers, had been beyond amused watching the confrontation.)

Lúthien caught him one morning in his office, which was unusual. She’d listened to Tyelpë’s explanation of a project he was keen to start over breakfast, and he thought she’d gone on to picking Tyelko’s brain about Oromë and his hunt. That was a subject his brother could enthuse about for hours. So to find her knocking politely on his door and asking him for a short interview was  a surprise.

But he couldn’t turn her away without looking churlish, so he invited her in.

“I wished to speak with you about your son, Prince Curufin,” she began.

“Tyelpë?” he asked in astonishment. “What has he done?”

“No, no!” she laughed. “He is very polite. I don’t know how best to begin. It is… I am worried for him.”

Curufinwë raised an eyebrow.

She hesitated for a moment before trying anew.

“You know my mother is one of the ainur,” she said.

“I believe there are few in Beleriand unaware of that, my lady,” he replied, unsure where she was going.

“I am not wholly of her kind, but nor am I wholly an elf. I see more than my father’s kin. I do not know what Galadriel has told you of foresight as elves know it…”

“Mostly that it is not very pleasant,” Curufinwë snorted.

“That is sometimes true,” Lúthien said thoughtfully. “For Galadriel, perhaps even often. But regardless what ones sees, for good or ill, it is always a problem to know how much one can safely say about it. Revealing too much can be as perilous as sharing too little. But I think it is safe to tell you your family and mine are woven together, and not just for the short time here in cousin Finrod’s kingdom.”

“Woven together?” Curufinwë repeated in confusion.

“Indeed. And Celebrimbor…Tyelpë?” She waited for his nod. “I like it. The name is more musical even if it is not our tongue. He has a good heart. I fear it may one day be his undoing if it is not tempered with more practical knowledge of the world. It surprises me greatly, as you are of a very practical turn of mind.”

So far as Curufinwë could tell, she meant exactly as she said – she was concerned about his son. And he could understand well enough what she meant about practicality.

“If you mean he has been too sheltered, you are not the first to tell me so. Both my brothers and my cousin have voiced the concern that I have been too careful with him.”

To his surprise, Lúthien considered that gravely.

“Perhaps. From the best of intentions, I think. My father had similar intentions, yet one can be too careful.”

“I do not mean to interfere in my son’s choice of mate, much less set any prospective law-child an impossible task.”

She smiled.

“I do not think the danger lies there.”

Her eyes darkened slightly.

“If you are searching for a tactful to tell me I will not live to see his mate, I already knew my chances of a long and peaceful life were not good.”

“No,” she sighed. “Such dark thoughts are too much on your mind already. I only wanted to warn you. Tyelpë is a sweet boy. I would not see someone use that to hurt him. I am not sure when he will be in greatest peril, but I know I will not be at hand when he is.”

As far as he could tell, the vexation on her face was genuine. She would help if she was there, but she did not expect to be, so she was doing what she could.

“I thank you, my lady” Curufinwë said formally.

“I should go,” she said, rising. “I fear if I stay, I will say too much. The more I speak about it, the sharper the shadows become. I have not my mother’s skill from long practice at knowing when to share and when to be silent.”

Unlike most visitors, she took care to shut the door behind her quietly.

Curufinwë spent the rest of the day unsettled by the conversation, all the more so as he had so little time left in which to try to train Tyelpë to pay more attention to things outside his workshop.

He wondered if he should say anything to Merilin.

---

Curufinwë intensely regretted not departing more swiftly the moment he realized that Lúthien and Celegorm were carrying on an affair.

He’d known Tyelko was spending a lot of time with her. He’d known his brother was attracted to her, even. But he wouldn’t have imagined that even Tyelko would do something so phenomenally stupid as act on it.

He should have seen it sooner.  But he’d initially mistaken it for Tyelko playing games much as he had with Nimloth, a harmless flirtation that remained within the bounds of propriety. (Or at least within the bounds of Sindarin notions of propriety.) He had also trusted that as Lúthien was promised to Beren, nothing much could happen.

He discovered otherwise when he walked into his brother’s room late one afternoon to find them in the midst of what the Sindar euphemized joining.

He’d given the pair of them a scathing look, which turned utterly disdainful at Lúthien’s giggle, before walking out and slamming the door behind him. The sound of it was not quite loud enough to cover the sound of Tyelko bringing her to the height of her pleasure.

And to think she’d had him worrying about his son!

His older brother didn’t slink into their common room until late evening, well after dinner. Lúthien was nowhere in sight.

“It’s not what you think,” he began.

“Oh, that wasn’t you in the princess of the Sindar I walked in on earlier? Reassuring. You should probably warn her she has a double running about the place.”

Tyelko blushed.

“That was Lúthien,” he mumbled. “I mean, her and me – it’s not what you think.”

Curufinwë folded his arms and glared, hoping that if he’d ever in his life succeeded in channeling their father’s expression of thunderous outrage, it was now.

“We love each other,” Tyelko said quietly. “I think… I think she’s my mate.”

Curufinwë wasn’t sure whether to smack his brother’s head or his own. Maybe both would be a good compromise?

“Wonderful. Felicitations. Had you both overlooked the minor detail that she’s already promised? To the man our beloved cousin accompanied on an almost certainly doomed quest to retrieve a Silmaril from Morgoth’s Iron Crown?”

“Of course not! We haven’t forgotten Beren. Or Ingo!”

Where Curufinwë might have expected indignance at high volume, Tyelko was against all expectation quiet and unhappy, all but whispering.

“Oh, you thought the Sindar would somehow be so happy that she’s come to her senses about the mortal that they’d overlook that she couldn’t even wait until she heard certain news of their deaths before you leapt into her bed?”

Tyelko flushed.

“Or that they’d somehow forget that you’re one of the Ship-thieves? A kinslayer? I’m fairly sure Thingol isn’t the only one who would object to you laying a finger on his daughter, never mind any other body parts!”

He couldn’t ever remember seeing Tyelko look so abashed. But he wasn’t done yet.

“And that’s to say nothing of our people. Just how do you think your fellow Noldor will react to you making a mockery of Ingo’s sacrifice? Even those who still believe you had some good reason for helping foment that whisper campaign may well turn on you for this!”

“Would you stop channeling Atto and listen for one minute? Please?” Tyelko said miserably.

Curufinwë gestured politely, all sarcastic generosity.

“By all means. You have your one minute.”

“I love her. This is not just me amusing myself, or her amusing herself with me. I know you’re thinking about Nimloth, but that was just good fun, on both sides! I don’t know about her, not for sure, but I knew she wasn’t the one for me. Close – not surprising, given she’s Lúthien’s cousin – but not the one. This… It’s real, Curvo. You of all people should understand that.”

Curufinwë was silent for a moment, trying to decide if that was better or worse. He landed on worse. Considerably worse. He was thankful he’d already sent that healer on. They couldn’t afford to lose someone so good at such a desperately needed craft.

“We’re leaving,” Curufinwë said flatly. “As soon as possible. Start telling your people in the morning. I’m going to Resto at once to tell him we’re moving the schedule up and he’s sending the kids off immediately. I don’t care how real you think it is, I’m not going to watch you destroy what’s left of Ingo’s people and ours with this madness. Not to mention your lady love’s good name.”

“Madness? How? Beren is mortal. He’ll die in less than a long-year. If she and I marry after he’s dead, it would unite the Noldor and the Sindar. A true alliance! Is that not exactly what we need? What you and Maitimo have been trying to accomplish this entire time?”

“Oh, yes, you and Lúthien will surely unite us,” Curufinwë snapped. “Have you listened to one single word anyone who has ever dealt with Thingol has said about him? This won’t lead to an alliance. It may well provoke another kinslaying! Thingol tried to get Beren killed merely for being a Man, how do you think he’ll take his beloved daughter announcing she’s bound herself to you? And that’s assuming he only knows of the kinslaying in a general way, not the full tale of what you did at Alqualondë!”

Curufinwë was certain it would be an announcement on Lúthien’s part. He had seen enough of the Princess of Doriath by now to know that aside from her questionable taste in men, she was no fool. Having experienced how her father had treated her first (and presumably still current) intended, she would not go asking meekly for his blessing a second time. She would act, and force her father to deal with unalterable fact.

He also was certain that if Thingol knew that Tyelko had most definitely shed the blood of his kin – not in an abstract way, but killed his nephew, the son of his brother Olwë, and had a good go at Artanis as well – it would go badly. Remarkably badly. Possibly fatally badly.

What Lúthien’s mother would make of it all was a question Curufinwë didn’t feel himself equal to. And her reaction worried him considerably more than Thingol’s.

“It doesn’t matter if you make me leave,” Tyelko said fiercely. “She’s still the one.”

“And you’re still not binding yourself to her when she doesn’t know if Beren’s alive or dead,” Curufinwë told him furiously. “I mean it. If you don’t heed me in this, I’ll truss you up for Thingol myself and call it a peace offering.”

“You would never.”

“Try me.”

Tyelko started to frown, but got lost in confusion.

“You’re my brother,” he said quietly.

“Yes, and I’m looking out for you as best I can, no matter how difficult you’re making it,” Curufinwë snapped.

Tyelko blinked uncertainly, but finally nodded.

“Have it your way,” he said, a hint of northern chill in his voice. “But you may well make an enemy of my mate behaving this way.”

“She’s not your mate, and she’d best not be in the morning either.”

If she was, Curufinwë would find out how hard it was to summon Melian to deal with her daughter. He had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t be nearly so difficult as his brother might think. Assuming his brother was thinking at all.

Tyelko did not slam the door, but it did close very firmly behind him.

---

Curufinwë matched action to word with a speed that would have startled anyone who didn’t know him well.

His first stop was Merilin and Resto.

“We’re leaving,” he informed Resto. “As soon as possible. Our people will begin final preparations tomorrow. I mean to push them as hard as possible – if we can be gone in two days, so much the better.”

“But…what? Why?”

Resto’s earnest confusion spoke for them both.

Curufinwë didn’t want to admit to Tyelko’s stupidity, although he was painfully aware Merilin might well find out anyway. He hoped she would keep it to herself if she did.

“Tyelko has inadvertently brought matters to a head and we cannot remain any longer.”

He thought about adding ‘unless you want to deal with a scandal beyond anything any of us have seen before’, but decided that would only pique Resto’s curiosity. Besides, there was something in Merilin’s eye that gave away she at least suspected what was driving him.

If she’d had an idea what was going on and not told him…

“I take it you wish me to depart with the children as soon as practical also?” she sighed.

“Yes. Tyelpë will need a day or two to make ready, and I suspect Gildor will also.”

“I’d better get to packing then,” she said, rising. “I wasn’t expecting to leave so soon either. I’ll leave you two to it.”

Resto looked at him in utter bemusement.

“I don’t suppose you mean to tell me what Uncle Tyelko’s done?” he asked.

“No, other than to say it was foolish in the extreme, and I need to get him out of here before he makes it any worse.”

“Do I need to evacuate also?”

Curufinwë frowned.

“I don’t think you need to go as urgently as we do, but I wouldn’t leave it much longer, Artaresto.”

“Winter is coming on,” Resto pointed out worriedly.

“Yes, I know,” Curufinwë sighed. “We should have just enough time to get our people to Amon Ereb before the snows set in. For you… I’d say you can safely wait until spring, unless you see any sign that Ingo and Beren’s errand provoked our Enemy to something similar to the Sudden Flame. If you see any sign of that, go.”

“Let us pray not,” Resto said fervently. “I’ll plan for spring.”

Curufinwë was a bit concerned what the boy meant by ‘plan’ – the plans were all drawn up already. Granted a few needed a bit of refining of details, but on the whole all Resto needed to do was implement them. But he didn’t have time now to worry about the last king of Nargothrond vacillating or getting bright ideas.

“Make sure you keep a sharp northerly watch. And let me make one thing utterly clear – Gildor and Tyelpë both go to the Falas and they do not come back here under any circumstance. I’m writing Círdan to that effect, and Merilin will not only carry the message, she’ll repeat it verbally and emphasize it is not merely my idea. I don’t care what  your daughter says once I’m gone, that is what Ingo ordered, and given it’s likely to be his last wish, it’s what you’re bloody well going to do.”

Resto nodded, as wide-eyed as he’d been after Grandfather’s funeral.

“I promise, Uncle. I will not let you or Uncle Ingo down in this. But Findë –”

“If your daughter insists on playing the fool, I have no time left to fight her about it anymore. But tomorrow you are going to commit publicly to sending the boys away. In the Great Hall, where all can hear.”

“Is that truly necessary?”

“Yes. I want to be absolutely certain Finduilas isn’t going to talk you into something foolish when I’m leagues away. She can get round you in many things, but if you’ve committed to it in front of so many witnesses, even she can’t make you back down.”

“Glad to hear you think I’m so capable.”

“I think you’re perfectly capable. I just also think your daughter is very good at getting you to see things her way, and I can’t have her convincing you to countermand Ingo. Not when it might be the difference between the boys living or dying.”

“Is the situation really that earnest?”

“That’s the trouble, Artaresto,” he said tiredly. “We won’t know for certain until it’s too late.”

---

Curufinwë was more than a little irritated to discover in the morning that Lúthien was gone – as was Huan.

Tyelko didn’t have the grace to look the least bit sorry about either, much less his role in the whole mess.

“You told her we were leaving and that what – she should go tearing off after her other beloved?”

“No, I told her you demanded we separate until we knew Beren’s fate one way or the other. So she went to find out. As for Huan, I asked him to go with her to keep her safe, seeing as I can’t.”

“As much respect as I have for the hounds of Oromë, I don’t think Huan is going to win a fight against Morgoth. And that is where Ingo and Beren were heading.”

Tyelko started to speak, but thought better of it.

Curufinwë didn’t discover the other thing his ass of an older brother had sent with Lúthien, likely also on the theory it would keep her safe, until he was packing up his room after lunch.

He very nearly came to blows with his brother over the theft. For once he was not the least bit amenable to Tyelko’s theory of ‘borrowed without permission’.

“You had no right, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo! That knife wasn’t yours, it was a gift to me from the dwarves of Nogrod! Made by Telchar! Who is dead now, which makes it an insult if not an outrage to have given away one of his works – especially one that was not yours to give in the first place!”

“Lúthien said she had seen she would need a sharp knife, and it’s the sharpest knife I know!”

That was also when he noticed the silver ring his brother was wearing. Tyelko had been the only one of them to evade lessons in smithcraft aside from the making of arrowheads. Which meant Tyelko had dragged Tyelpë into his mess.

Curufinwë didn’t trust himself not to say anything truly unforgiveable to his brother, so he turned back to work his fury out on packing. It was just as well for both his temper and his possessions that there was nothing delicate or breakable still to handle.

Poor Tyelpë came to report himself ready to depart while an icy silence reigned. He was only too thankful to take refuge with Gildor and Finduilas when they went up to the Hall for dinner.

If Tyelpë had known the scene Curufinwë had already carefully arranged to play out with Resto, he probably would have skipped dinner entirely.

When Curufinwë left Nargothrond the next morning, it was in the cold certainty that his sons wanted nothing more to do with him – but also that they were on their way to Eglarest along with Gil-galad. All three boys were firmly in Merilin’s care, and Artaresto had sworn on Ingo’s crown they would not return.