Dancing In The Dark by Grundy  

Lonely Hill

Between his anger and his grief, Curufinwë didn’t speak more than three words to his brother the entire journey to Amon Ereb.

That was a new experience for Tyelko. He was well practiced at feuding with Moryo or being in some degree of disgrace with his older brothers, separately or jointly. But he had always been close to his youngest brothers, and was used to them looking up to him.

Curufinwë ignored Tyelko’s tentative overtures, keeping as much distance between them as he could contrive.

He forced himself to behave normally with their people, regardless whether they looked to him or Tyelko. He wouldn’t stoop to taking his pain or anger out on those who had done nothing to deserve it. He had been taught better. Besides, he owed it to them to lead them properly. That was his duty.

Duty and the damned Oath were all that was left to him now. Well, those and death. 

When the hill finally came in sight, Curufinwë was leading the column, leaving Tyelko to bring up the rear. That had been the order for the past week. He knew perfectly well Tyelko would have preferred to ride on ahead to escape the charged atmosphere. But angry as he was, Curufinwë wasn’t minded to let his idiot brother get caught in an ambush because he wasn’t thinking. It had happened before. He wasn’t having it again.

Tyelko’s right-hand, a fellow called Roquendil, had been shooting Curufinwë increasingly dire looks over the course of the march. Curufinwë suspected the man was trying to burn holes in his back with his eyes by the time he rode through the gates of the fortress.

Ambarussa was the one to greet them – not that Curufinwë had expected otherwise.

His brothers were observant enough to have worked out that he was angry at Tyelko. Knowing that, Moryo was unlikely to be in a hurry to come face to face with his older brother – he’d know perfectly well Tyelko would be looking to vent his temper and that he would present a tempting target. Moryo had the sense to stay away until Tyelko had settled – or at least until Tyelko had found some other way to work out his foul mood.

“What the hell happened to the two of you?” Ambarussa asked, stopping just out of arm’s reach.

Apparently his brothers were in no hurry to get too close to him, either.

“Ask our ass of a brother whose ring he’s wearing,” Curufinwë snapped.

“I will, whenever he gets here. Judging by the length of the column, that’s not going to be for another half an hour. Any other words of wisdom, oh clever one?”

“Only that there’d damn well better be a hot bath waiting for me inside.”

“I don’t know about waiting, but if you ask nicely, I imagine someone can arrange one. Your rooms are last on the left on the family level. Bathing room is shared. Moryo built for comfort, but not to the point of luxury.”

“Don’t let Tyelko in while I’m bathing or I’ll drown him.”

Ambarussa had nothing to say to that, although his man looked rather taken aback.

Curufinwë did not stomp on his way inside.

“Tercender, do you think you could arrange to slow my older older brother down?” he heard his little brother saying. “I have no idea what under the stars they’re fighting about, but it seems serious. I’ll have a word with Handelon also.”

Under any other circumstances, Curufinwë would have enquired how the former craftmaster of Aglon did, but lingering here risked having another clash with Tyelko. No one needed that right now, most of all him. He’d ask later. Or tomorrow.

Moryo was waiting for him at the top of the stairs with a towel and washcloth. Maybe he wouldn’t have to ask about the hot bath.

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret later, just go soak.”

Curufinwë decided not to read anything into the phrasing, though he strongly suspected there was a silent your head on the end of that sentence. He simply took the proffered – really more like thrust at him – bath implements and headed in the direction of the bathing room.

“And try not to think too hard in the bath,” Moryo called after him. “There will be time enough tomorrow to reorganize the whole place!”

Mercifully, no one disturbed him while he occupied the bathing room for several hours.

A man did on occasion need to cry without an audience.

---

Ambarussa waited a full twenty-four hours before cautiously asking what was plainly on both his and Moryo’s minds.

“Where’s Tyelpë?”

Curufinwë briefly debated not answering, but decided that would only make things more difficult for everyone.

“In Eglarest, I expect. That’s where he was sent, and I doubt he has any better idea where to go, given he’s barred from returning to Nargothrond.”

His younger brother blinked.

Unlike their elder brothers, Pityo had learned how to keep quiet. He did so until the silence stretched out uncomfortably, hoping Curufinwë would be the one to break it. When that didn’t happen, he finally spoke – but with the wariness one might use to approach an apparently dead orc.

“You’ve barely let Tyelpë out of your sight since Mithrim.”

Actually, since Losgar, but Pityo wouldn’t know that. He hadn’t come back to himself for several years after the burning of the ships. Alqualondë had been worrying enough, but after what happened to Telvo…

“You had to be persuaded by Maedhros to send him to Himring or Thargelion for visits. Yet you let him go wandering off to the Falas all on his own?”

“He’s far from on his own. Merilin took him, Gildor, and Gil-galad and a fairly large number of guards.”

Ambarussa paused until it was clear Curufinwë wasn’t about to say anything else.

“So this is what – some sort of noble sacrifice to keep him safe?”

Curufinwë flinched. The wording made him think on Ingo marching off to die. But he forced his voice to stay even.

“Something like that.”

Ambarussa sat patiently, but Curufinwë had nothing else he cared to say on the matter, so eventually the boy shrugged and left him to stew if that’s what he was set on doing. Curufinwë suspected he’d actually gone to pester Tyelko. But as long as no one was bothering him, he didn’t much care.

It was stupid and juvenile, but there was nothing in particular he had to do, so if he wanted to lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling, he damn well could.

He had no idea how long it was before Moryo brought him a tray.

“It’s dinner, before you ask. At least, I’m assuming you would ask.”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

Moryo hesitated, then sat down.

“Curvo.”

Wonderful. Ambarussa had tattled.

“I don’t need your sympathy. You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m feeling.”

His brother was not a father. He wasn’t even married.

Moryo’s mouth twisted, but he bit back whatever retort had initially sprung to mind. Curufinwë wasn’t sure whether to be surprised or annoyed that he didn’t just go.

“No, of course I don’t. But I know your priority, above all else, since we set foot in Beleriand, has been to keep Tyelperinquar safe. So if you’ve sent him to Círdan as Pityo said, you must reckon our situation is even more dire than I thought. If you don’t want to talk about the Tyelpë part, fine. But I’d better hear the rest of it, don’t you think? Unless you want me to get a tactical update from Tyelko?”

Curufinwë opened his mouth to snap at his brother, but then shut it again and nodded. Moryo did have a point. He sat up.

“Eat first,” his brother suggested before he could get a word in. “Then tell me.”

There was enough sense in that for him not to argue. At Moryo’s raised eyebrow, he even moved from the bed to the worktable without protest.

When he got to the telling, Curufinwë didn’t mention the Tyelko and Lúthien fiasco – he assumed Tyelko had already told the others what had provoked the unusual frost between them. But he did lay bare that Ingo had gone to what was almost certainly his death with the mortal, seeking a Silmaril.

Moryo wasn’t as dramatic about it as anyone else might have been, but his eyes did snap with anger when Curufinwë explained how Beren had come by that errand.

“Thingol’s as great a fool as ever. And of course he didn’t stop to consider what effect such a transparent attempt to kill the poor lad would have on anyone else. I wondered why we suddenly had so many Sindar willing to join us of late. And no, I don’t mean the ones you brought from Nargothrond. I mean the ones coming down from the north and from the plains. Some are going east, but a decent number have come here.”

Curufinwë raised an eyebrow, and was pleasantly surprised when Moryo rattled off the current tally of their followers. They had enough not only for the stronghold, but to expand the villages at the foot of the hill somewhat. He could work with that.

Moryo hesitated. Evidently there was some bad news as well.

“You needn’t hold anything back. I’m over wallowing.”

“I doubt anyone’s told you, but we’ve had word Irissë and her husband are dead. Some of those who used to look to them in Nan Elmoth came here also.”

“What? Is that why we weren’t challenged when we followed the Aros down when Aglon fell?”

“More than likely. I’m not sure Thingol found anyone to replace Eöl before everything fell apart. There’s a rumor they went in search of Turvo’s city –”

“Search?” Curufinwë repeated in confusion. “They should have no need to search - Irissë must know the location, seeing as she came to Nan Elmoth from there in the first place!”

“Maybe she wanted to go visit, then. Whatever happened, no one’s seen hide or hair of them since, and there’s no indication they made it to Turvo. Eöl’s folk who came here were sure that if they were with Turvo and alive but didn’t mean to return, they’d have sent word.”

Curufinwë swore.

“Does Artanis know?”

“Pityo does, so I see no reason not to assume she does also. He’s been known to ride out in the direction of Region from time to time.”

“You let him go that far on his own?” Curufinwë demanded in shock.

“Yes, Curvo, I’ve become a complete fool. Of course he’s not on his own! He’s never allowed to go out alone. His guard have their orders – and those orders include that he is not allowed to send them away, and he must be in their sight at all times.”

“Wouldn’t they know if he’s been meeting up with Artë, then?”

“I don’t think they need to be face to face for her to speak to him.”

“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” Moryo asked wryly.

“Years. Before everything went to hell in the north. She was stuck in Thingol’s kingdom when it happened, and while he might be happy to see the back of her, he’s not about to let her Celeborn leave.”

“Yes, well, when you’ve time, you could remedy that. Though you might need to get a bit closer to Thingol’s precious forest than Pityo does. But before you do, you’d best fill me in on the parts of Aglon to Nargothrond you couldn’t put in writing. You said plenty about what happened once you were at Ingo’s place, and him going off to get himself killed. But I know you well enough to know you won’t have told anyone all of Aglon.”

Curufinwë tried to protest, but Moryo cut him off.

“Ingo’s the only one you’d tell everything, and he wasn’t there when you got there. By the time he was, you were all thinking on more pressing matters.”

Curufinwë nodded, though he wasn’t in any great hurry.

“And I know better than to expect strategic thinking from Tyelko,” Moryo continued. “It’s down to the two of us to keep this place properly supplied and defended. I’m surprised you haven’t said anything yet about reorganizing personnel and material.”

“I expected you’d have that well in hand.”

“And you don’t want to review my work? That’s a first.”

“We could discuss it. Later. Has there been no word from Nelyo?”

“One thing at a time. If you prefer I keep talking, you could just say so. I can tell you about how it went at Helevorn – I couldn’t very well trust everything to messengers either. Leave what our dear eldest brother has afoot for tomorrow. Or next week.”

Curufinwë listened, and learned, and silently blessed his brother for giving him plenty to occupy his mind.

As Curufinwë had suspected, Moryo had slightly more warning of the Sudden Flame than the rest of them. Consequently, he had managed a more complete and more orderly evacuation – though not without its hitches, which of course he’d skimmed over in his messages.

Moryo had kept as close to the mountains as he dared as he made his way south, screening his people from anything that might surge through the Gap. But several orc incursions had come down from the mountains before he reached the region the dwarves controlled. He owed a debt to Gabilgathol for a counterattack that had relieved the rear of his column in the nick of time.

Between what Moryo had brought and what Ambarussa already had, the fortress was well supplied and well-armed. The Sindar he had mentioned had added to their numbers. Now with Ambarussa’s people, Moryo’s people, the Sindar, the newly arrived group from Nargothrond, plus the people Curufinwë had already sent ahead, the fortress was better staffed than it had ever been.

But with four of them now present, the reorganization Moryo mentioned was desperately needed so they used their people to best effect. They also needed to inventory everything – Moryo had for once been less concerned about keeping things organized than about getting everything he could away so it wouldn’t be left the Enemy’s use.

Having done something similar at Aglon, Curufinwë saw no grounds to complain. Besides, the inventory and reorganization would give him something to do.

Annoyingly, Moryo chased him to bed before he could get started on said reorganization. Against expectation, Curufinwë slept soundly.

In the morning, he found to his surprise that so long as he kept busy, it was in fact possible to carry on.

One day followed another followed another…

---

It was dark. And cold.

Daylight was a memory as distant now as Treelight. He’d forgotten nearly everything. The only thing that remained, aside from the faces of his nearest and dearest, so integral to his being that he would die before he would forget them, was the reason he was here.

He no longer even remembered where here was, only that it was a place he had once known. A place he had loved.

The voices had been whispering for some time from days to eternity that if he would just give up, he could save himself. He did not need to die. Not like this. Not like the others had.

There was a wolf. A wolf had taken them.

No, it wasn’t a wolf.

It was more than a wolf.

His fractured mind made it difficult to concentrate, but he was sure it was not a true wolf. It was something worse.

There had been a name for it once…

Sauron.

It had been Sauron. Or if it had not been Sauron, it had been working Sauron’s will.

The Enemy himself was not here, but his most trusted servant was.

Finderato’s most trusted servant had died. The latest casualty. He wasn’t sure how long ago the death had been, but it felt recent. Recent enough that he could still recall it in grisly clarity. But also long enough that Sauron – or possibly the thing that served Sauron – would be getting hungry again.

That must be why the whispers were so relentless.

More even than his death, Sauron wanted him to break.

To beg.

To grovel.

To give up all that remained of who he was.

To betray those dearest to him.

NO.

It would not happen.

When the whispers started again, he had an answer.

Why would you choose to die like this, sweet prince? What in these lost lands is worth dying for? All alone in the dark? Fallen son of a craven father, why do you do this?

LOVE.

Love? What is love? You cannot buy it, or sell it. You cannot eat it, or breathe it. It will not unbreak your bones, nor sop your blood from the floor.

Perhaps not, but it was worth it all the same.

You think this will make up for what you did to your own brother? For breaking faith with your beloved after you abandoned her? Do you think they could ever forgive you such betrayals?

He had wondered at first why it was always questions, but he had concluded that it was part of breaking his mind. Statements one could argue with. Questions, constant, insidious questions threw out a million little hooks for the mind to latch onto and destroy itself.

This is a debt owed. And love.

He did not tell the voices it was not his love. Beren was the one in love. But the voices did not need to know that. Keeping anything back was a small victory now.

He waited for the next question, but it didn’t come.

The voices had stopped, silenced by a terrifying snarl. The growl of a wolf sighting its prey.

No…that was wrong. Wolves hunted in packs, not alone. That was not a growl, it was a yowl. Frustration. Sauron was angry his chosen victim persisted when he expected him to break, that intimidation wasn’t working because there was nothing left to fear.

Death would release him from this prison.

“Go. Leave me.”

It took him a moment to recognize the voice.

It was so weak it was barely audible. It had been days since food, and Finrod knew better than to think about what the liquid they had been drinking was.

“You could still break free.”

If he was parched with thirst and nearly mad with hunger, it would be worse still for the boy.

“Save yourself. I am all but dead anyway. The werewolf is coming, and only you and I remain.”

Love.

“No. A promise is a promise.”

Indeed! And Findaráto Ingoldo was not the only one here to make a promise. We all did. Though in the end, it will be only mine that is kept…

He heard the smug satisfaction in Sauron’s voice, and the laughter he did not bother to suppress. It lashed against his spirit like fire.

What promise had Sauron made? If he had known, he could no longer remember.

He wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.

The sound of the wolf’s footfalls coming down into the dungeon was meant to sound like the footfalls of doom, he knew. And it was his death coming. But before he died…

The wolf entered, snarling, slobbering. Hungry.

“Farewell, King Felagund.”

Beren did not weep, but he was so desperate that Finrod could feel his thoughts, and they were nearly all of Lúthien, who had believed he could do what her father demanded.

Love.

“Farewell, my friend,” Finrod managed to say clearly. “But it will not be you who dies today.”

Finrod Sang. It was only a single note, but one note was enough when it was one of power, a note of breaking, of freedom. The chains holding him could not withstand it.

He threw himself at the wolf, meeting it as it sprang. He was as much a creature of tooth and claw as it was. It didn’t matter if he died, just as long as he took the wolf with him. Beren would live, and find Lúthien again.

Love…

---

Artanis barely stifled the scream.

The Girdle couldn’t keep the knowledge out. She would probably have been aware of Ingo’s end either way, but she felt the shaft of malice and knew Sauron had made certain she would feel her brother’s dying breath.

She bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood.