Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

He’s not sure how long he’s been here, with nothing but his memories for company. It’s far too dark here, in the deepest parts of Angband, for him to have anything like Rana and Vasa or even the stars to help him keep time.

He probably doesn’t want to know, anyway. It’s been long since time had any particular meaning for him. He’s under no illusion why he’s been left his memories – now that his body is so broken that it can no longer register pain, what else is left for Bauglir and his creature Gorthaur to torment him with?

Those memories that might have been a comfort to him are gone, buried so deep he cannot call them up anymore. He does not remember his mother’s face or voice, the songs she had once sung, or even the touch of her hand. Home is gone, as is Doriath, for while he knew that he had been there in his youth, but he cannot recall it, bound up with his mother as it was. It is as if it has all been sponged away, leaving him conscious only of the empty spaces where it ought to have been.

But there are so many other memories, all lovingly left completely intact to remind him of how unworthy of his kin he is, how badly he has failed those dearest to him.

He tried not to whimper as it hit him all over again.

He must keep quiet if he was to remain unnoticed.

---

He was exhausted, utterly spent with the effort to regain some degree of mastery of his hroä.

The longer Gorthaur had worn him like a puppet, the harder it had become to free himself for even a moment. Of late, he has not been able to beat back his tormentor’s will for more than a second or two. For a while, he had been able to force the reunion of fëa and hroä whilst at work in the forge – he had even been able to manage one last work of his own before that too had been taken from him.

Calaliltië was the last thing he would ever make, he had known that even as he had set the name on the blade and put what light and hope he still had to offer into the letters. She will find it someday. Bauglir may twist the Music, but he cannot unmake it entirely.  Even if the Dark One kills her as he has laughingly promised to do, that sword will still play its part in his downfall. The last tengwar on it are a prayer that it do Belegurth as much damage as his grandfather’s Ringil had and more.

But satisfying as that knowledge had been – and it had been sweet, for he had felt Gorthaur’s rage at being unable to hinder him – he wished he had saved some last reserve for the final struggle. He should have seen this coming.

Bauglir’s right hand was using his body to attack his own kin.

His little nephew Eärendil dangled over the edge of the city wall in his hands, yet it was as if he watched it through someone else’s eyes. The boy looked more confused than frightened, certain that his beloved uncle would never let him fall – and indeed, had it been his uncle in control, the child would be in no danger.

But his uncle is a weak, broken thing no longer even close to a match for the dread maia.

The best he can manage is to make his body stumble, react slower than it should, clumsy and unwieldy, as if the puppet’s strings had tangled. That does him no good now, not with his nephew about to be dashed on the rocks as once his father had been, and Itarillë’s panicked screams ringing in his ears.

And then – PAIN.

Gorthaur’s control faltered in his surprise, only a split second, but that was all Lomion needed, all that was required to throw Eärendil to safety, to turn to face Tuor.

After that, any hope of affecting the outcome of the fight was gone forever, for Lomion’s fëa was utterly flattened by the maia’s fury at being both injured and thwarted.

Lomion did not know why Gorthaur or Bauglir should wish the child dead, but it must be for some purpose beyond merely hurting him – they were far too angry for that to be their only goal.

He could feel every blow Tuor landed on his hroä, for Gorthaur’s wrath has if anything only increased. If he cannot kill Itarillë and Eärendil, he will make Lomion pay in blood and misery for that small victory. Gradually, the pain began to lessen, and Lomion understood it was a sign his hroä was weakening, that it could not be long now before the end. He rejoiced at the thought.

He did not think Tuor actually needed to push him, when it came to it. Even animated by the savage will of Gorthaur, an elven body could sustain only so much damage before it would no longer respond. He stumbled, and fell.

As the ground rushed toward him, he felt no fear, only relief.

That was when a veritable tidal wave of malice burst over him.

You think, little fool, that I will allow you to die so easily? It does not end here.

That was the last thing he knew before pain exploded throughout his battered hroä as it met the rocks.

His final coherent thought before the darkness took him was that ada had been right.

---

The next thing he knew, he was being drawn into a vast hall. It was not a part of Angband he recognized, but that signified nothing. He had seen little of Morgoth’s stronghold beyond the inside of the cell where he was kept.

The odd light was off-putting, as was the utter lack of feeling in his body. It seemed Gorthaur had finally overestimated the limits of what he could subject a prisoner to. As broken as he knew himself to be, there should have been pain beyond measure. But he felt nothing – not even the air around him, or the floor below him.

That is, he felt nothing physical. It turned out that he could still feel emotions, for when the Dark Vala suddenly appeared before him and called him by name in a voice that seemed to come from the very depths of Arda, he felt utter and total terror.

Why could he not have died? What foul and unnatural art had Gorthaur used to prevent his fëa fleeing a body so broken? They had been promised that beyond death was at least a hope of mercy and rebirth, and reunion with their kin. Now he had not even that to cling to anymore.

He did not expect it to avail him much, but with nothing left to lose – dignity, pride, and hope were all gone – he fled. He dashed franticly past his captor and let instinct guide him away from the light, down into the deepest, darkest part of the fortress.

Bauglir may boast, but for all his power, he has not forgotten Ungoliant. He feared the dark as much as any of the Children.

Voices called after Lomion, but he recognized their kind – more maiar. They might not be as terrible as Gorthaur – in truth, he did not think any but Bauglir himself could be as terrible as Gorthaur – but he did not wish to find out.

He stopped running only when the deep tunnel he followed dead ended in a darkness so profound he could not even see his hand in front of his face.

And in that comforting concealment, he curled up and silently wept for all that he had lost.

---

For a time, he thought himself safe. He was hidden away, deeper than even orcs would venture without their masters driving them with chain or whip.

Several times he heard voices – sometimes they even contrived to sound fair, as though he would be fooled that the Belain or their loyal servants would ever venture here. Once there was a voice of an elleth whispering to him, bringing with it the memory of stars and trees. He had nearly answered before he remembered that it was one of Gorthaur’s favorite sports to set new captives against older, more damaged ones, the better to toy with them.

He had curled up, rocking himself in the dark. He might have cast through his mind for memories of his mother, but she was the one thing the Enemy had not succeeded in using against him.

Even his One had been turned into a weapon to wound him with, one more tool to break him.

---

“Do you never think about marriage?” Itarillë asked.

They were laying in the grass by one of the more distant streams, almost as far from the city as they could get while still within Tumladen. He had been swimming earlier, but his cousin found the water too chilly and would only dip her feet or wade occasionally.

“Sometimes,” Lomion answered. “It does not seem an immediate concern, though.”

She hissed in exaperation.

“It might be if you would ever wake up to the idea that Rosalmiel is not the only nis in the city who is interested in you, merely the most forward!”

“She is not that forward,” he protested weakly, feeling oddly as though he ought to defend her handmaiden’s honor.

“Yet you are as awkward as an adolescent whenever she tries to flirt with you,” Itarillë sniffed. “If it is not that you consider her too bold-”

“I do not,” Lomion replied firmly, wishing to nip this idea in the bud. “But not having grown up among the Noldor as you did, I am never entirely certain what is acceptable and what is too encouraging. The ways of my father’s people are different, and I do not wish to give false hope, or embarrass your father by behaving in a way that might seem to your people as if I were merely toying with the ladies.”

Itarillë’s pout was magnificent.

“You are so certain that none of the nissi here are for you?” she said in disappointment. “There are elleth among us also, if you would not take a Noldorin bride…”

“It is not that I object to the idea of any of the nissi,” he began soothingly, but his cousin pounced on the hint with the glee of a cat who has finally caught a particularly troublesome mouse.

“You have someone in mind,” she cried, sounding as delighted as if a wedding were imminent.

He covered his face. She was going to be impossible about this, he just knew it.

“It is nothing,” he tried, knowing she was unlikely to be put off.

“Oh? How did you meet this nothing of yours? And where? Do you think she waits for you, though you have been hidden away here and unable to give her any sign?”

He tried silence, but it didn’t last long, for she showed every sign of waiting him out – or worse, for the look on her face gave away that she was considering tickling him until he surrendered the information.

 “I have not met her yet, in point of fact.”

Itarillë’s brows rose toward the heavens.

“Now you have to tell me all,” she said expectantly. “That is far too intriguing – it would be downright mean to hold back!”

He sighed.

“It is a bit embarrassing, really. You’ve heard how mothers may have special insight into the fate of their newborn children?”

She nodded.

“Of course. Several of our kin were given amilessë tercenyë.”

“Ammë did not bestow on me a name of foresight, thank Elbereth for small mercies, but apparently she did have a vision on the day I was born.”

Itarillë looked to be on tenterhooks.

“She told not only my father, but her cousin who had been with her for the birth, that I would marry Galadriel’s daughter.”

Itarillë convulsed with laughter for a moment before she realized he was serious.

“You are not joking?” she spluttered. “But Aunt Artanis – I mean Galadriel? Begetting a child? It seems of all things unlikely.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t know, I think if Morgoth were ever defeated, she might.”

She glanced at him keenly.

“You are not so fanciful as to think that just because your mother said it when you were newly born it must be so.”

Lomion dropped his eyes to the ground for a few moments before answering. Itarillë would not laugh again if he confessed the truth, would she?

“I have also dreamt of her from time to time,” he admitted.

She was all astonishment.

“Truly? What does she look like, this daughter of Artanis and Celeborn?”

The sun, he thought but did not say.

“More Vanyarin or Lindarin than Sindarin,” he replied wryly. “Her hair will be a match for yours easily, and her complexion is definitely from the Amanyar, not the Moriquendi. Anyone might recognize she is Galadriel’s by her height and her expressions, but oddly enough, her face puts me in mind of another.”

“Oh?”

“You are not to laugh, but if I did not know her to be of the Eldar, I would think her kin to Tuor.”

Itarillë’s cheeks darkened slightly at that, but she did not rise to the perceived bait.

“In truth,” Lomion told her, “I find the dreams rather reassuring.”

“How so?” she asked. “For you know as well as I that she has not yet been begotten, which means you can have no hope of marriage for many years yet.”

“That may be true,” Lomion said with a smile, “but that I know her to be my mate with such certainty gives me hope that we will survive beyond leaving Gondolin, and live to see the Enemy defeated.”

Itarillë’s look at that was radiant.

---

Gorthaur had found that memory. Found it, seen the face of Galadriel’s shining daughter, and recognized her for who and what she was.

He had laughed long, and Lomion had known utter dread at the sound.

“Oh, foolish little elf. She will never be yours. This I promise you. It does not matter if it takes an age or more – I will find her and deliver her to my master, and he will destroy her. Congratulations, Maeglin Eölion, you have killed your own mate, just as your father before you. Your refusal to speak when commanded has sealed her fate.”

He had been sifting through his captive’s memories long by that point, poking, prodding, using what he could to cause pain, fear, and doubt.

And ever again, the question was repeated.

“Where is Turukano’s city, slave?”

At first he had focused on the ‘slave’, objecting fiercely that he was no one’s slave, least of all Bauglir’s. He had understood at once how to keep the location hidden. He had locked away all memories of his mother, burying them so deep in his fëa that to reach for them would not just break him, but kill him. Death would be his insurance.

For he had trod the Hidden Way in her company, and had been there but once only in accordance with his uncle’s law. It mattered not that to hide away all knowledge of his mother meant to erase his childhood completely, and most of his youth. His life now began in Gondolin, when Itarillë first smiled at him in delight and offered to show him the city while their parents spoke of what would become of his family now.

---

The memories left to him may be painful, but being alone with his thoughts was no better. It occurred to him when he had not been in the dark very long that it was possible that he had become an orc.

No one knew how exactly they had been made, after all – but his father’s people had known full well that they had been elves in the beginning, taken and turned into a mockery of what they had once been, driven to every form of cruelty and depravity by the will of their master.

Once the question had formed in his mind, he had been relieved to not be able to see himself. He did not know what he would do if he discovered that his pale Sindarin skin had turned grey-brown and mottled as that of the glamhoth. He had no doubt that after his long fall, his face was mutilated enough.

At least he has managed not to be sent out to kill or kidnap his own kind. By hiding himself, he has at least done that much. One less orc to threaten his people. He had no choice but to remain where he was. He may have a will of his own again, but he knew that would be true only so long as Gorthaur and Belegurth did not find him.

He would have prayed for death had he thought it would do any good. But he understood now that with the Doom of the Noldor, even that was hopeless. The Valar would have no pity on a half-Noldo maybe-orc.

---

Far above, in the hall Maeglin had fled from when he first arrived, Nienna took counsel with her brother, who feared that Maeglin Irission would never depart his Halls, for two Ages later he had yet to understand that he was within them

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Once Tindomiel had left, taking all three of her kinsmen with her, both the living and the dead, the lord of Mandos frowned.

It did not require the foresight of a Vala to know she would return.

This had not been her first visit. But previously she had contented herself with simply exploring, and occasionally engaging the fëar of the dead in conversation if they would. She had never done any harm – actually, most of the souls in his care seemed better for speaking with her.

He had not expected that she would be so bold as to attempt to remove one of them – though once she had proposed it, he had known it was within her power.

The source of that power still puzzled him. Her kin put it down to an inheritance from Luthien, but the flavor of it had nothing of his kinswoman Melian. Knowing as he did that Tindomiel had come into being in the world of California, he supposed her power was in some way tied to that strange place.

That Tindomiel had taken Ambarato Aikanaro with her was something of a relief. Namo would have returned him to life – and his brother with him – yeni ago. It had been the child’s own choice to refuse, a choice the vala was bound to respect, no matter that it affected more than just Ambarato himself.

He had every hope that Angarato would desire a swift return to living now that his stubborn younger brother had been removed from the Halls – and eventually his son, law-daughter and granddaughter would follow.

Namo had been bound to respect Ambarato’s choice. Ambarato’s strong-willed grandniece had not offered him any choice, she had simply acted.

Oddly, the Judge was certain that the youngest son of Arafinwë would not return to the Halls. He would discover enough to anchor his fëa to life with something to focus on other than his longing for the adaneth who should have been his mate.

The lord of Mandos had been far more reluctant to allow the second soul to be removed from his keeping, but Tindomiel understood what hazard she took upon herself with him, and thought it worthwhile all the same. Not that he had held any real expectation she would change her mind – the half-elven were tenacious, and in Namo’s experience, seemed to reckon danger differently than the rest of Arda. Tindomiel might not be as extreme as her sister, but she was peredhel.

He only hoped the girl did not intend to continue removing fëar on future trips – the Arafinwions were one thing, but the vast majority of the souls in his care remained there because they were not yet ready to return to life.

But she might be useful in a different way…

Mandos moved through his Halls in thought – though in truth, very few of the Children would have perceived it as moving. He did not dare draw too close to the place one particular soul had chosen to secret itself away. His longstanding problem Child.

Curufinwë Fëanaro, obdurate as he might be, had been the simplest of puzzles compared to Maeglin Lomion.

The boy had entered the Halls broken and terrified, and Namo had realized too late that his voice reminded the young one much too powerfully of the only other Vala he had ever encountered. Nor were the maiar of the Halls any less distressing to the boy after what Mairon had done to him.

Maeglin had fled his presence, and if he recognized any approach by maia or vala, he would retreat further still into the deepest parts of the Halls. Even Nienna’s gentle voice and unobstrusive attempt to draw him out only frightened him the more.

Namo had never before encountered a soul that sought to hide itself away completely, much less one that did not understand that all pain and torment of the mortal lands was now in their past. The vast majority of Melkor’s victims experienced death as a release. He had discovered to his disgust that even those poor souls who had been begotten as orc looked forward with hope and excitement to an existence better than the one death had ended.

The eldest of their kind had much to answer for, the state of Maeglin Lomion’s fëa not the least.

Maeglin had sought the darkest parts of the halls, normally scarcely inhabited – and even then, generally only briefly by the fëar of recently arrived former orcs. But they rarely lingered long, moving swiftly toward different parts of the Halls, drawn to light and company. They had no reason to return once they discovered that light no longer hurt them and the souls of their kindred did not recoil or react with fear or hate at their approach as they would have in life.

Indeed, the sojourn of former orcs in his realm was by now quite predictable, and aside from the time when they had to come to terms with whatever dark deeds they had done at their master’s bidding, as a rule quite happy. He always felt a deep satisfaction whenever he was able to release one of them, and found their joy at the prospect of new life brought him joy also.

The Children who had not ever had to endure life as orc-kind never ventured here. They found it disturbing, even frightening. Total darkness was not something they had ever known, for Varda’s stars had been created long before the Quendi awoke at Cuiviénen.

To this one battered, broken soul, that darkness was comfort – for it was solitude and concealment, the closest to safety he was capable of imagining anymore. But the Child would never heal if he remained there, nor be able to return to his kin as he ought.

Indeed, his family already were disturbed by his absence. Those within the Halls had been most upset not to be able to discover anything of him as time wore on. It had been quite uncomfortable by the end of the Second Age, with not only Maeglin’s parents, but all of his uncles, his grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-uncle demanding to know where he was. (Under any other circumstances, Thingol and Nolofinwë agreeing on anything would have been amusing, as they still cordially detested each other.)

But while it was possible that they might have been able to bring him out of his hiding place were Namo to tell them, he felt it was much more likely the boy would only flee again – and if his kin failed to draw him out, the problem would be worse than ever. He had already failed once in an attempt to bring Maeglin out of hiding.

He had hoped that perhaps the Broideress might be able to help – for Míriel Þerindë was the only one of her people to have returned to life but not to the living. She dwelt with Vairë, and knew of the fate of Indis’ great-grandson. She had agreed to speak to Maeglin, if he would hear her.

Yet even she found the darkness overpowering. Though she pressed on as bravely as her son or once husband could have, she had been able to come only close enough for Maeglin to hear her voice as a whisper from far away. That whisper had frightened him anew, and he had curled more tightly in on himself – if he had still had a hroä, the Children would have recognized his posture as the fetal position.

After that, Namo could not trust that a small herd of relatives, however well meaning, would be any help to the child. Nor did he think Maeglin would believe they were kin – after all that had been wrought on him in Angband, he was more likely to think even the voice of his own mother only another cruel trick.

“Each fëa must heal in its own way, and in its own time,” Namo told Finwë and Thingol sternly when he could avoid their questions no longer.

He suspected that the Nolofinwions subsequently remaining stubbornly in the Halls long after they might have returned to life was some oblique form of protest.

He had finally persuaded Nolofinwë to have pity on his wife Anairë, and to think on the fact that the time was approaching when the last of his surviving elven descendants would arrive from Endórë. Turukano’s wife Elenwë had been restored to life at the beginning of the Third Age, and his father’s departure made him restless – to the point that his older brother and sister had both told him bluntly that while they had reasons to stay, he did not. The prospect of the imminent arrival of his grandson’s son and grandchildren had been enough incentive for Turukano to finally give in.

His siblings kept their vigil. But Tindomiel, while too refreshingly honest to truly be termed ‘devious’, had multiple goals on this last visit – and Namo, had he not needed to focus on sternness to impress on her the seriousness of removing a son of Fëanor from the Halls, would have commended her thinking in bringing Nolofinwë’s youngest son with her that his older brothers might see him.

Only Findekano had spoken with him, but that would likely be enough. Namo had every hope he would soon be rid of Arakano. Findekano would consent to leave once he knew that Nelyafinwë would also be permitted to return – assurance Namo could not yet give with certainty, but had not much longer to wait on. A mortal lifetime fast rushing to a close was but a short time…

Irissë would leave if he son did. Again, it came back to the problem of Maeglin.

Tindomiel might be just the person to solve it. Unlike other Eldar, she could bring light with her to the parts of the Halls where Maeglin hid – light, and warmth, and the sound of something that was clearly not Angband, for her fëa sang of things Melkor and his creatures had not known and even Mairon had never dreamed. The light of another sun, the girl had called it the first time they met, when Namo had been trying to puzzle out her Music.

That, he had since come to realize, was not all of it, but it was explanation enough.

After three ages of Arda, a few years should have made no difference one way or the other, yet having finally found a real prospect for healing Maeglin, the lord of Mandos found himself nearly as impatient as a Child when Tindomiel did not swiftly return.

He did grudgingly admit that Vairë had a point when she said that Tindomiel’s kin were unlikely to let her go roaming again so quickly after having brought back Morifinwë and Ambarato. (Very grudgingly. Her amusement was wholly uncalled for.)

But when next he heard Tindomiel entering the Halls, he was prepared.

He led her a merry chase. What precisely she was chasing, Tindomiel did not know, but she knew there was something interesting, and she was curious by nature, so she followed.

It helped that there was something of a resonance between her fëa and Maeglin’s – although Namo suspected it would have been stronger between Maeglin and Anariel. (For some reason, the part of his own spirit that was his wife’s echoed with mirth at that observation. He thought it quite unfair that she would not explain.)

He finally left Tindomiel not far from where Maeglin hid. She held what looked like a ball of sunlight in her right hand – he appreciated her cleverness in redirecting just the smallest bit of the light from other parts of the Halls to where she needed it.

She was sensitive enough to know she was drawing close to another elf, and to call out.

“Hello?”

No answer, not that Namo had expected there would be one.

Tindomiel frowned.

“Who are you? Why are you down here all alone in the dark?”

Maeglin still kept silent, but he listened. Namo himself kept a safe distance, determined not to spook the child.

“I don’t know why you’re stashed away all by yourself, but I know you’re not Fëanor, so you can’t have done anything bad enough to deserve solitary.”

The silence continued, but it was an interested silence.

“And I know that because I’ve visited him.”

She not only visited her grandmother’s half-uncle, she grilled, mocked, and teased him mercilessly – and had consequently learned enough Quenya, Vanyarin, and even Valarin curses that if Fëanaro were ever permitted to leave the Halls, his law-sister Anairë would likely have his guts for garters.

Namo thought it odd that angry as the girl made him, Fëanaro seemed more cheerful after each visit.

“You don’t have to stay down here, you know.”

Motion!

For the first time in an Age, Maeglin had moved. Had he been Tindomiel, Namo would have pumped his fist in the air.

A sigh – but Tindomiel’s.

“You can stay if you want, I guess. I’m not going to make you do anything. But you’d probably feel better if you would move somewhere more normal. You should go up where it’s not so dark.”

Tindomiel’s choice of ‘down’ and ‘up’ to describe the different regions of the Halls was not in any sense physically accurate, but as normal directions didn’t really apply, they would do.

“There are lots of other elves here you could talk to. If there’s someone you don’t want to see, you can avoid them. There’s so many Evair and Lainin that it’s not hard to stay away from the Golodhrim if they still scare you.”

It helped that the girl had instinctively switched to an older Sindarin, the dialect of Doriath. Maeglin seemed to relax the more of it he heard, for it was the language of his youth.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way here again. But I’ll leave something for you to follow if you decide you want to come out later.”

Tindomiel pressed her hand to the nearest wall, and it glowed green – with her finger pointing the way to the lighter part of the Halls.

She stopped several times to repeat the gesture as she retraced her steps, unaware it was not necessary, for Maeglin was following. Silently, and at a safe distance, but following.

The last time she stopped, it wasn’t a handprint she left, but words and arrows pointing the directions to the areas where the Unwilling and the ones who had been orcs tended to congregate.

Then she made her way toward her own kin, to make her somewhat delayed visit.

If Namo had hoped that Maeglin would begin to interact with other elves, he was disappointed, for the young one once again found a place to hide away – but this time, a light, airy chamber where he could hear others moving around, and from whence he sometimes observed them with signs of something that might be curiosity.

Maeglin did not always cross paths with Tindomiel when she visited over the next decade or so, but it happened more often than not, something seemingly drawing him to her. Each time he came a little closer.

If Maeglin spoke to anyone, it would be her, Namo realized.

And then something new occurred to him. Perhaps this soul, after all that had been done to him at the hands of a vala and a maia, could not heal within the Halls.

It was something he had never considered before, but then, what had befallen Maeglin had also never occurred before. Others before him had been tortured, and had their will overpowered by Melkor or Mairon, but never before had one of them taken possession of the hröa of a Child, leaving the fëa intact but vanquished and powerless – or deceived a Child at the moment of death into believing he was not dying.

It required some thought before Namo understood how to handle this most delicate of cases, but at last he hit on a plan.

He could not return the boy to life in the usual way. That would most likely do further harm, for the presence of Irmo and his maiar would only throw him into panic, and even if they were to call some of his kin to his side, he would not trust their reality.

No, this had to be handled very carefully, for it would require Maeglin himself to make the decision to leave.

The next time Tindomiel visited, when Maeglin lingered expectantly in the spacious atrium that Tindomiel usually used as her entrance and exit, Namo was waiting also. (There was no particular reason for Tindomiel’s preferred ‘door’– she could come and go as she pleased, but seemed to feel it more polite to use a public area. Namo was grateful that she had never attempted to enter through the gate the Rehoused were led through to leave the Halls on their return to life.)

Maeglin looked so wistfully at her as she passed through on the way to visit the Arafinwions – still in the hopes of persuading Finduilas that no one held anything against her at all – that Namo was certain of what he would do.

When Tindomiel returned, calling cheerful greetings to some of the dead she recognized, and left the Halls from her usual spot, Mandos held her door open after she departed – but only for one fëa.

Maeglin was the only one who could see the sunlight, hear the birds, and almost feel the breeze. Namo waited. It was only when he finally, with a sigh, made himself obvious to undo the work of constructing that gate – for his power over his walls was not quite the same as Tindomiel’s, and while preserving her work was no great matter, undoing it took some concentration – that Maeglin, with an air of desperation, darted past him and into his new life.

As he rebuilt his wall – with the sudden foresight that Tindomiel would likely not be visiting again for some time – Namo, for the first time in many years, smiled.

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Maeglin glanced out from his hideaway, wary as ever of being seen.

As exposed as he might feel here, he had no real cause to regret following the girl with the light. Whoever she had been, she was neither orc nor thrall. Following her had led him to a wide, spacious hall, with other elves coming and going.

As astonishing as it had been to see them, it had also been far too many people for him. After so long alone, he could no more imagine being surrounded by so many than he could imagine himself flying. He did not understand how they were there, much less how the fortress of the Enemy could be so light and fair, even if by some unforeseen chance Belegurth had at long last been defeated. Would the Belain not have ripped it down, and freed all the prisoners?

In a state of confusion, he had found a place to hide himself, a small anteroom that seemed to be long unused, from which he could observe others. Thus far, he had managed to remain unseen himself, but he was not certain how much longer such luck could last. Careless confidence in his safety had been his undoing once before, and Ondolindë with him.

If anyone actually looked for him, he would not be able to avoid notice. Occasionally the thought frightened him, but not enough to go back into the dark. Not without need. Maybe not at all. He’d only managed it the first time because he’d been so terrified that it had seemed better than the alternative. Besides, he told himself sternly whenever he had worried himself too badly on the subject, who would think to look for him?

He was not sure how long he had been there. Not as long as he had been in the dark. That much he felt to be true. But he had no way to mark the passing of time here anymore than he’d had in the darkness. At times he simply enjoyed the space and the light. But more often he peered out from the narrow windows, observing the other elves, trying to work out who they were, and what this place was.

Most of them looked like his father’s people, a few of them more Evair, a very few Noldor. He might have been able to tell more had he been able to pluck up the courage to speak with any of them, but he did not trust himself that far. If they spoke among themselves, it was not loud enough for him to hear.

He had seen the girl with the light several times since she led him here. She came and went freely enough, though she was the only one who seemed to use the door that opened when she wished it. He wasn’t sure if that meant she was one of the kindred of Melian or if there was something else at work that the door appeared for her alone.

Once or twice, at quiet times when there were no others about, he had tried to examine the door. It was almost like the days before he’d been taken, when he could think and work. But he’d had no luck – when the girl with the light was not present, neither was her door. As far as he had been able to discover, that stretch of wall was no different than any other. To find out more, he’d have to talk to the girl.

He had attempted more than once to work up the nerve to approach her, for she clearly knew more about this place than he did, but what would he say? Even in his head, he could imagine no way to introduce himself that would go well. Who would wish to speak with the betrayer of Gondolin, a prince of the Noldor who had been unable to live up to Prince Maedhros’ fine example?

He did not deceive himself that he would be known as anything else. Sauron and Belegurth would have been only too happy to reveal his weakness. They had destroyed everything else, why leave his reputation intact? Probably even Itarillë hated him now. (He had to believe Tuor had kept her and Eärendil alive. Not there was much Maeglin could do to him if he hadn’t – the mortal must be long dead by now.)

Whoever the girl was, she was well-liked. The elves he observed were always pleased to see her and speak with her. That was the other reason he had not tried to approach her – as far as he could tell, there was no reasonable chance he would be able to manage it unobserved. Too many others looked eagerly for her appearance, and sought to claim a few moments of her attention.

If she refused to converse with him when it was just the two of them, he felt he could bear it, but not the shame of public scorn and the revelation that he had been concealing himself among more worthy folk. He would surely be ostracized, and it would be no more than he deserved.

He had all but given up hope in that quarter when it happened.

The girl with the light had come again, though he did not think it had been very long since her last visit. But this time was different.

She left – but her door did not close properly behind her as it usually did. It remained open. The other elves in the hall seemed content to go about their business, almost as though they did not even notice it. None of them so much as glanced at it.

Maeglin could not restrain himself. Not when he could see sunlight – real sunlight, not the weaker, filtered version that was the closest thing to it that existed here – beyond that arch, and hear birds singing. He was drawn irresistibly to the door, like iron filings to a magnet.

Birdsong was a sound he had not heard since he was captured. If the birds had still sung in Ondolindë when he returned as Sauron’s prisoner, he had no longer been able to hear them. Nor, he realized as he came closer – moving more swiftly as he did, suddenly fearing the door would close before he could reach it – had he noticed things like the blue of the sky or the warmth of the sun.

He nearly fled back to his hiding place when the Balan appeared. Whichever of the Powers it was, it could not be Belegurth, he reasoned. The elves here now were not the miserable, damaged creatures they had been when the Enemy ruled here.

Even so, he was frightened. Melian would have been one thing – and he suddenly very much wanted to find her. She might understand what had happened, and perhaps she might be able to help him. But this one was entirely unknown to him.

Maeglin had a choice to make.

Had he stopped to think about it, the sensible decision would doubtless have been to go back to his sanctuary, to wait patiently for another opportunity. The girl with the light came often enough that this would surely not be the last time she forgot to seal her door properly. The next time he might be quicker.

But his feet, and perhaps something deep in his fëa, gave him no time for logical thought. They carried him over the threshold before his mind could muster logical arguments. It was a form of flight – hasty, without any courage whatsoever in it. But it was also a flash of hope, not unlike the first time he’d seen the girl with the light.

He made it just in time – he landed in an undignified heap, his confused and weakened legs giving out, leaving him sprawled just outside very solid walls.

The door was gone.

He looked around in bemusement. He was no part of Beleriand that he knew. Even allowing that there must have been enough time for the land to heal, it was nothing like he pictured the country anywhere near Angband to be.

That was when it hit him.

He could feel again.

Whatever spell Sauron had placed on him at the end in Ondolindë had broken now that he was no longer within the Enemy’s fortress. He felt the ground beneath him, the air around him, and the sun on his face. He could smell the fresh, sweet fragrance of the grass, and hear the chatter of not just birds but animals and insects nearby.

It was all so alive.

To his surprise, Maeglin found himself weeping.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, sobbing with sheer relief at finally feeling himself a part of the world again. These were not the elegant, artistic tears he’d seen occasionally in masques in his uncle’s hall , but ugly, shuddering sobs that felt like all the feelings he’d been holding back all this time needed to come out now that he knew he was no longer in danger.

He wept so long that his tears began to panic him. He hadn’t cried like this even after his parents had died. Surely there could only be so many tears to shed? How much could a grown elf cry? Eventually, the unexpected storm of emotion tapered off, and after a few moments more to pull himself together, he thought he should move.

He should try to make his way to his kin.

With Gondolin gone, that meant Doriath, assuming it yet stood. Though if the Enemy had been defeated, it might well have a new name now. He had to believe that Menegroth had endured, but with no Enemy in the north, it would have no need for the Girdle. It would no longer be the Fenced Land, but the Free Land.

His breakdown – which, oddly, he felt the better for – meant he had lost sight of the girl, had she still been visible when he first passed out of her door.

Maeglin looked around, more curious about his surroundings now that he was starting to feel some confidence that he was safe and well.

After so long in darkness, and then in a hall where all color seemed muted, everything around him was impossibly bright. It was a green country as far as the eye could see, with gently rolling hills giving way to groves of trees in the distance. He could make out no sign of other elves, but the wall at his back carried on to the horizon in both directions. He thought it ran north and south, or very close to it, but he might not have oriented himself correctly.

Perhaps this was the Ered Mithrin? Or had he been carried far enough that it could be the Ered Luin? How big were the caverns of Angband?

He had no way to know. He would have to pick a direction and walk, and trust he would either find some clue as to where he was or cross paths with others who could tell him more.

Where to go?

He looked around again, and his eyes were drawn back to the trees.

Trees! There had been a few carefully tended stands in Tumladen, but nothing like the groves in the distance. That was enough to decide him. He wanted to be among trees again.

He looked down, belatedly wondering about his clothing. He hadn’t thought about it once all this time. It could not be the armor he had been wearing when he fell from the walls of the city – he didn’t believe anything he had worn then would have survived the landing. He’d probably been lucky if he’d had even rags left by the time his unconscious body came to rest.

He found that he was garbed in a loose tunic of a soothing gray, thankfully something simple as his father’s people preferred rather than the more complicated garments of the Noldor. His feet were bare, letting him feel the grass and the dirt, but he was wearing leggings, sturdy but soft.

He wondered when they had been given to him, not to mention by who, and why he couldn’t recall it. Sauron certainly wouldn’t have troubled about leaving him naked. Sauron had enjoyed leaving him naked.

He pushed the memories away. He might have voluntarily locked away much of the better parts of his life in his failed bid to protect his cousins and their city, but that was no reason he had to dwell on the worst part. (He often told himself that, and sometimes it even worked.)

There was sunshine here, and he could see trees. He focused on that, letting them fill his mind, crowding out everything else that threatened to undo his fragile balance. Then he set out for the nearest grove.

He reached the trees just before sunset, which was as well given that his legs were exhausted. He hadn’t moved so much since Gondolin. He touched the nearest leaves with shaking hands.

These trees were a variety he had never seen before, with silver-grey bark and golden flowers, and they were fond of elves. He could feel that he would be safe among them.

He found one with branches large enough for even one kin to both Nolofinwë and Thingol, and the height to show for it, to make himself comfortable, and curled up.  Though he had meant to watch the stars, he was so exhausted that he fell asleep almost at once, soothed by the gentle kiss of starlight on his face.

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Maeglin woke the next morning feeling more alive than he had since he was first captured.

Even without eating the night before or any immediate prospect of breakfast, he was full of energy, and oddly cheerful considering he was surely one of the worst regarded elves in Beleriand. (Gorthaur had been only too pleased to make sure the rest of the city knew that their prince had betrayed them; he doubted even Itarillë would take his part after that.)

Maybe it was the fine weather, or maybe what might have been the best night’s sleep he could remember. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in years beyond count he was free. Whatever the reason, and he didn’t care to worry about it, he was happy. What was more, he felt no fear for the first time since he had come to Ondolindë. He had all but forgotten what that was like.

He let the trees guide him to a nearby stream, where he drank his fill of the crisp, cool water. Unlike the northern streams he remembered – only those within Tumladen itself had been safe by the end – it was untainted by even a memory of evil.

Was this what Ennor was meant to have been?

He took the time to bathe, savoring the feel of clean water on his skin nearly as much as he had the taste of it when drinking. When he finished, he did his best to finger-comb his damp hair before pulling it back from his face.

Looking at his reflection in the water, he found that between the simple grey clothing and the hair, his kin or his friends would still recognize him. But any who had known only Prince Lomion, Lord of the House of the Mole would likely pass him by without a second glance.

That suited him well enough. He might in time earn forgiveness, but he knew better than to think it would be immediate, or that all he encountered would welcome him as they once might have. Nor did he feel himself equal to the anger many Ondolindrim must no doubt feel toward him. It would be hard enough to face his kin; the rest would have to wait.

He set out walking again, with no particular destination in mind. Now that he was among the trees, he felt no urgency about his slightly hazy goal of discovering some news of his kin.

He enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair, and the wholesome countryside around him. He listened to the trees and the birds. Once, he even trusted himself enough to sing – though only very quietly, and not for very long.

The passage of the sun told him he had been underway for several hours when he stumbled onto other elves.

The golden-flowered trees had slowly given way to other varieties, nearly all unfamiliar to him. A few were still in blossom, but most already had early fruit developing.  Scattered in among them were berry bushes, laden with ripe berries. He counted three or four different varieties, and wished he knew whether they were safe to eat.

He heard the voices well before he saw them.

There were two of them, nis and ner. They were speaking Quenya, the nis with a slight trace of the lisp he recalled from his one encounter with his mother’s Fëanorion cousins, the ner in an accent almost exactly that of his mother’s brothers.

The pair were berrying – him with a discerning eye, her rather more casually, with nearly as many berries going into her mouth as into her basket.

He nearly sat down in shock when he realized he had found the girl with the light. Out here, by daylight, she looked more like any other elf, though he would argue a bit prettier than most – until he looked at her eyes. Those still gave away that she was something out of the ordinary.

“You said you wanted to try some new idea you had,” the girl was saying.

Her companion frowned in response.

“Yes, but it will have to wait,” he sighed. “If I’d known we were going to be out this long, I would have planned better and packed more supplies. Working out here, I could experiment without commentary.”

“You’re allowed to just say ‘yes’,” the girl pointed out cheerfully, popping another ripe berry into her mouth. “I don’t need justification for it.”

“Sorry. Too much older brother,” the ner shrugged with a faint blush. “Older older brother.”

“I knew which one you meant,” she replied wryly. “At least he’s paying attention now?”

“Only because he’s afraid of what else our cousins will say if he doesn’t,” the ner grumbled. “And of looking shabby by comparison. How would it look if they take me on trips or spend time with me and he doesn’t?”

“It might be a little bit that. But I think he really does feel badly about it,” she assured him. “He wouldn’t be pestering you this much if he didn’t.”

“In that case, I hope he finds the happy medium between ‘ignoring me’ and ‘being too involved’ sometime soon,” the ner replied, setting his full basket to one side and reaching for an empty one. “If he keeps it up much longer, I’m asking Atto to remind him I have a father and don’t need another one.”

There was a pause, as he pondered whether the berries on the bush in front of him were to his liking before beginning to fill the new basket, judging each berry with care before picking it.  

“So you don’t want to go there next?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst idea,” the ner sighed, with a slight grimace. “We didn’t bring enough with us to stay out here more than another week or so without starting to look a bit ragged.”

She shrugged.

“If you really don’t want, I can always slip in, grab some more stuff, and pop right back.”

“No, let’s try behaving ourselves for a little while longer. Is there any chance you can persuade Aryo to come with us next time?”

“Probably,” the girl agreed cheerfully. “He’s generally up for anything interesting. If I’d thought about it, we could have brought him along on this trip. He’s not the one I really have to persuade, though. That’d be your mother. Honestly, I’m starting to think Grandpa was telling the truth about her being the reason you didn’t get to visit more often.”

“You’re Mother’s favorite,” the ner shrugged. “If you look pitiful and tell her how badly you hoped your Uncle Aryo would come with us, she’ll cave.”

“Only if your father doesn’t snicker too much while I’m looking pitiful,” she pointed out with a laugh. “Though I guess I could always appeal for backup. If there were two granddaughters asking your mother…”

The ner smirked.

“See? If you just apply yourself-”

She groaned and threw a smashed berry at him.

“Definitely too much older brother! You’re starting to sound like him.”

The ner laughed and caught the berry, popping it into his mouth.

“Just remember, as with so many other things you later deplored, it was your idea!”

The girl with the light wrinkled her nose, but before she could retort, someone else interrupted.

“Here, we filled our basket!”

Two more girls joined the pair, but aside from their first words, they preferred a different language.

He had to listen carefully for a bit before the words began to make sense. It seemed to be one of the Lindarin dialects, but it was not the speech of the Iathrim or even the Mithrim. It sounded more akin to what he knew of Falathrin – but Falathrin as it might sound if the elves of the Falas had borrowed a good many words from his mother’s people.

He hoped the apparent blending of languages betokened his father’s people and his mother’s getting along better these days.

“Are you going to make jam here, or are we hauling all this back to the city?”

The speaker was one of the newcomers, the question directed toward the two Maeglin had spotted first.

Between his looks and his language, Maeglin guessed the lone male in the group to be one of the Noldor. He thought for a moment he was looking upon his uncle Findekano. But a closer look proved this elf was too young and too untroubled to be Findekano, who had suffered a terrible death in battle.

Maeglin stuffed that memory back down. He wanted to enjoy his good mood a little while longer, not have it shattered by memories of the uncle he might have gone to live with had the course of the battle in the north run slightly differently being slaughtered.

“If we do jam here, Airo can experiment without anyone else butting in,” the girl with the light responded.

“No one would butt in, Tinwë,” the male responded patiently. “But they would feel the need to comment constantly, which is why it would be nicer to work out here.”

“That’s pretty much what butting in means,” she muttered, more for his ears that for the others.

“But I don’t have any of the supplies I’d need,” he continued, taking no notice. “So there’s no choice, really. We’ll have to take it back. I can probably do what I want if you’ll run interference for me. You’re good at that.”

There was a derisive snort from the girl with the light – and now Maeglin had a name for her. Tinwë. It suited her.

“If no one actually butts in, it’s because I told them off last time. I’d like to think I made an impression. But you can make jam here if you like. I’m pretty sure I have everything you’ll need. You owe Golden Flower’s steward two jars of anything you deem a success in return for his telling me what all that would be so I could pack it for you while Tas and Cali threw their stuff together.”

“Only two? And he didn’t tell anyone? How did you manage that?” one of the other ellith asked in astonishment.

There was a pause.

“Um, I may have threatened to make a certain incident public?” Tinwë offered evasively.

“You’re going to share, right?”

The elleth speaking had hair a shade of red he’d previously seen only on Prince Maedhros.

“No. You’d only misuse the knowledge,” Tinwë scoffed. “If you want dirt, you’ll have to dig it up yourself. And once you do, I suggest you not waste it on trivial stuff.”

The small party had clearly been gathering from the bushes for some time now, and had several full baskets full of deep blue berries already. The baskets the younger two girls had brought were not berries. Some contained what looked to be seed pods of some sort, others a fruit he did not recognize.

Maeglin kept out of sight – at least, he thought he was out of sight – and was debating whether or not he should introduce himself when the decision was taken out of his hands by one of the girls noticing him.

“Hello!” the redheaded girl exclaimed in surprise. “Where did you come from?”

“I…”

“Go easy on him,” the other girl suggested with a pointed nod.

He wasn’t sure what she meant, and regarded her warily.

Her hair was a shade somewhere between Itarillë’s gold and the lightest of browns. Her eyes were kind, but even so, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I came from that direction,” he said softly, trying his best to speak simply. He had little hope that he could match their words.

“What…” the girl with the light, the one they’d called Tinwë, stopped short at the sight of him. “Oh!”

He could see her more vividly now that they were standing face to face in the sunlight. He wasn’t sure what to make of her hair, but her eyes were nearly as blue as the sky above them. He blinked, and looked away before it could become awkward. It wasn’t good manners anywhere he knew of to stare at someone you’d only just met.

“I know you, don’t I?” she asked with a slight frown.

He shook his head.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I thought… At least, I feel like I should know you. I’m Tindomiel.”

He realized Tinwë must be a familiar name, which meant he had no right to use it – though interestingly, it sounded more Noldorin than Sindarin, rather at odds with her ease with Falathrin. Her full name was also apt – a morning star, a sign of hope. She certainly had been to him.

“I would certainly remember had we been introduced, my lady,” he assured her quietly.

It wasn’t entirely honest – they may not have been introduced, but it’s not as if he’s never seen her before either – but it wasn’t a lie, either.

His words were still not quite right judging by the expressions of the others, but Tindomiel’s eyes widened slightly. When she spoke again, it was in Doriathrin – entirely free of any Noldorin accent. She was more of a puzzle than ever.

“Where are you bound?”

“I am not sure,” he replied, relieved at no longer needing to attempt the unfamiliar dialect. “This country is new to me.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be,” she replied wryly. “This is my kinswoman Tasariel, and her sister Califiriel, of the House of the Golden Flower. And that’s my cousin Anairon.”

Maeglin had to suppress a start at the casual mention of Laurefindil’s house. Had more of the Ondolindrim than he had hoped survived? Either way, he had expected to have more time before he encountered any of them.

The two girls smiled at him, their eyes curious. He was sure they were too young to have known Ondolindë – while he might not be clear how much time had passed since the city fell, he was certain it was more than the years of this pair, who were not yet of age. Anairon he guessed to be somewhat younger than himself. The other man wore an expression that suggested he understood little more than the names now that they had switched dialects.

Maeglin, for his part, tried not to slip into rudeness by looking at any of them overly closely. He wondered who the parents of the two Golden Flowers might be. If they were Laurefindil’s own daughters – and Tasariel’s face certainly had more than a touch of resemblance even if her hair was nothing like – then it seemed he had been mistaken in his belief about where his older cousin’s heart lay. (Add that to the list, a sardonic voice whispered quietly.)

He also made sure to school his reaction to the male’s name, with its similarity to the name of the grandmother in the West he had never met. A grandmother who was probably ashamed of him, if she knew of him at all. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t.

At least he still had the faint hope that Tindomiel was of his father’s people. How else would she know their tongue?

“Are you newly returned?” Anairon asked.

Unlike Tindomiel, he did not speak Doriathrin, but continued in the Falathrin dialect.

Now that he looked at him properly, Maeglin had to suppress a shiver, for Anairon could easily pass for Findekano’s younger brother. He resembled him even more than King Turukano had.

Maeglin nodded, understanding they must have somehow recognized that he was coming from what had once been Angband.

“Have you eaten yet?” Tindomiel asked. “We were just about to stop for lunch. If you’re hungry, you could join us.”

“I would be most grateful,” Maeglin replied politely.

“No need to stand on formality,” she told him with a smile. “Company manners aren’t required out here, and we’re a pretty informal lot when left to our own devices.”

She ignored a snort from Anairon’s direction, beckoning to Maeglin with a smile. He found himself smiling back on pure reflex.

“Come on.”

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Tindomiel led the way to a pleasant little dell several minutes’ walk away. A mix of taller fruit trees and birches kept it pleasantly shaded from the full midday sun. The ground sloped gently down to a small stream that burbled cheerfully. It was as idyllic a spot as he could have wished for his first meal in freedom.  

Four packs were scattered around under the trees, most likely marking where their owners had slept the night before if Maeglin had to guess. A large blanket had been draped over a convenient branch to air.

Tindomiel pulled it down, and with Tasariel’s help stretched it out on an even patch of ground. Then she dug through one of the packs, eventually coming up with a set of simple wooden plates and cups. Anairon was not idle – as soon as the girls had the blanket down, he began setting out food. Califiriel continued down to the stream to retrieve several bottles, where they had been left in the water to keep cool.

“You are the steward?” Maeglin asked Anairon tentatively. He could not match the Falathrin dialect, not yet at least, but he did his best to speak clearly enough for the other man to understand.

While he knew their names, he was keen to find out more about who they were and whence they came. He hoped he might do that without having to answer much about himself – and if he were very lucky, perhaps he might hear some news of his kin into the bargain.

Tasariel found the question hilarious, dissolving into giggles. But Tindomiel didn’t seem to think it odd.

“Actually, he’s a prince,” she told him with a smile.

“Says the princess,” Anairon muttered in Noldorin.

Tindomiel would have continued as though she hadn’t heard him, but Maeglin looked from one to the other in bemusement. She sighed and explained.

“He just happens to be amazingly good at cooking. It’s his craft. So it’s kind of silly for the rest of us to get in the way when it comes to the food. He gives new meaning to the phrase ‘eat like a prince’ – you’ve heard it before, right?”

Maeglin had, though in his experience it had generally been used in moments of great exasperation by either his cousin or his great-aunt while insisting he’d been in his workshop too long, it was time to take a break, and they would not take no for an answer. He doubted that was what she meant, though.

“We’re grateful Tindomiel doesn’t try to cook very often,” Tasariel added mischievously, saving him trying to decide how to respond. “I mean, unless you like peanut butter and sardine sandwiches…”

Maeglin had no idea what peanut butter was.  He knew sardines were a type of salt-water fish, but they were little more than a word to him, unavailable in land-locked and isolated Ondolindë.

“That is not a tasteful combination?” he said uncertainly.

Tindomiel looked mildly annoyed at being the butt of the joke as the other two girls laughingly assured him it was most definitely not.

“Tinu is the only one who eats it,” Tasariel explained with a snicker. “Or doesn’t think it’s disgusting! We can’t tell if it’s that she likes the combination of Lindarin and California, or if her tastebuds are just wrong. Though we suspect the latter – her sister thinks it every bit as odd as everyone else!”

“Says the person who likes that revolting Vanyarin cauliflower mess,” Tindomiel grumbled. “Whatever I got from the Vanyar, I’m happy to say wasn’t their tastebuds.”

“Grandfather’s cauliflower casserole is delicious,” Tasariel retorted with some heat. “How you can turn up your nose at it with some of what you eat…”

“Surely each of us have some favored dish most others do not care for,” Maeglin offered, hoping to keep the peace. He could not stand a quarrel just now, even if he was not a party to it. He would also prefer not to see Tindomiel upset.

He had concluded that she must be a child of mixed parentage, just as he was himself. Lindarin and Vanyarin, perhaps?

He was greatly puzzled by California, though. The beginning sounded Noldorin. He had noticed it shared a root with one of the girls’ names. But he was unable to place the full name. If he was understanding it correctly, it was a Noldorin name, signifying a bright northern land. He’d never heard of it. Perhaps it was someplace in Aman?

“Yes, Tinwë just has more of them than most people,” Califiriel said mildly, pre-empting any further quarrel between her sister and their friend. “If you spend enough time with her, you’ll learn.”

“You’d need yeni to learn them all,” Tasariel muttered, unwilling to give over so easily. “Especially since she keeps adding to the list...”

“That’s everything,” Anairon broke in. “That is, unless any of you have something more squirreled away you haven’t told me about?”

His glance made it plain the words were directly only to the girls, but Maeglin still felt rather embarrassed to be coming as an empty-handed guest.

The other man had set out a variety of cured meats, cheeses, relishes, a small crock of butter, and two loaves of bread. Two of the bottles Califiriel had brought from the stream looked to be water, while the color of the liquids in the other two left Maeglin unsure whether they were wine or fruit juice. Juice he might try, but wine was out of the question – he wanted to keep a clear head.

It didn’t look much like a prince’s table – or a princess’s, for that matter. His uncle would have insisted on far more, even for a simple picnic. Itarillë might have accepted it as a first course, but the lack of dessert would have been disastrous, tantamount to deprivation in her eyes.

But Maeglin found the simplicity of it comforting. He wasn’t sure why. Good, hearty food, simple though it might be, was far more appealing to him at the moment than any of the elaborate dishes that had featured in his uncle’s hall.

The girls sat around the blanket. There did not appear to be any set places or order, nor did they direct him as to where he should take a place. So with nothing indicating he should not, Maeglin dared to seat himself between Tindomiel and Califiriel. He waited politely for the girls to serve themselves first, as had been the etiquette in Ondolindë.

“Dig in,” Tindomiel told him wryly, switching back to Doriathrin. “It’s just us having a normal lunch, not a tea party in Tirion. When there’s no proper grownups around, anything more restrained than ‘you snooze, you lose’ counts as good manners.”

Maeglin nearly laughed at the gentle dig at Noldorin formality. Fortunately, he noticed Anairon rolling his eyes in time to catch himself. The other man might not have understood the words, but he clearly grasped the sentiment. And if the girls had not been merely jesting, Anairon was a prince of the Noldor. Perhaps Maeglin shouldn’t have wanted to laugh anyway – he was also a prince of the Noldor, for all the good it had ever done him.

He would have liked to speak, but he had done as Tindomiel suggested and was enjoying the taste of his first meal in freedom far too deeply to talk. In fact, he rather thought another round of weeping might be a possibility, embarrassing as that would prove in front of folk he had only just met. He had forgotten what a joy eating could be.

He doubted he would have been able to keep up with the conversation and concentrate the food at the same time in his present frame of mind, even if the dialect had been familiar to him. So he focused instead on the almost too thick slice of ham Tasariel had cut for him when he would only have served himself a much thinner one, the slightly salty tang of the cheese, and the hearty rustic bread.

It was not until he had finished – long before the other four, who he realized with a start were all younger than him, though they were confidently out alone without so much as a bow or sword in sight – did he try to rejoin their conversation, or think of asking any questions.

He wasn’t entirely sure how to begin. If he asked about their origins or families, it would invite similar inquiries about his – and he didn’t want to confess to them that he was someone they wouldn’t have welcomed had they known who he was.

He cast his mind back to what they had been doing when they noticed him.

“You are here to collect berries?” he asked, hoping that would draw some information from them without opening him to questions he would rather put off. He chose to speak in Noldorin, as that seemed to be a language all four knew, even if it was not the two younger girls’ first preference.

“Mostly berries, but we’ve also got some herbs and spices…” Tindomiel grinned. “We’re not actually after anything in particular. It’s not like we were sent, so we’re making it up as we go. Anything really to keep us busy and away from our elders while things cool down.”

“Cool down?” Maeglin replied in confusion.

The weather was perfectly pleasant. Though it did not seem to be high summer yet, it was already as warm as the hottest days of the year in Ondolindë.  

“Yeah…”

Tindomiel was an adult, and too mature to scuff in the dirt with her foot or fidget as an elfling might have. But her face was quite expressive. It conveyed clearly that there had been some misdeed, and that he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to explain everything to a person they had only just met.

“It wasn’t anything terrible,” she said reluctantly.

Maeglin could barely keep from laughing. He’d heard that before. Whenever Itarillë said it, it generally had been terrible. At least, it had been terrible by the standards of polite Noldorin society. (He wasn’t sure she could actually do anything truly terrible, and suspected the same applied to Tindomiel.)

Tindomiel sighed, taking his reaction for skepticism.

“It really wasn’t. My parents won’t care and my grandparents will get over it,” she assured him. “The grandparents who would care in the first place, anyway. It was just the better part of wisdom to give them time for the getting over part without me and Airo underfoot.”

A snort from Anairon’s direction suggested that he either disagreed with her logic, or possibly that it would take considerably longer than Tinomiel was implying for their elders’ outrage at whatever she had done to die down.

“I’ll grant you that clearing out was probably a good idea, but Mother won’t get over it that quickly if she finds out,” Anairon told her. “And really, it’s more like when she finds out. You know Linyaríma is one of her good friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tindomiel sighed. “But do you really think that prat is going to tell his grandmother what happened to him? He’d have to come up with a plausible excuse for why we did it. No one would believe it was for no reason, not even Linyaríma! All right, she might believe I would, maybe, but not you. And I don’t think your mother would buy any story he’d invent. She won’t have the slightest sympathy if she finds out what really happened. Your dad definitely won’t. Especially since it’s not the first time...”

Maeglin couldn’t miss the resentment in her last words.

“Not the first time he was an ass, or not the first time we cut him down to size for it?” Anairon asked absently, most of his attention on the multi-level sandwich he was constructing.

“Either. Both,” Tindomiel answered with an irritated wave of her hand. “Anyway, I don’t want to go back for a while, because even if your parents haven’t heard about it, I’d rather not run into Mr. Poop. Because if I do…”

“You’re going to slip and call him that at court one of these days,” Tasariel snickered. “I really hope it happens sometime when we’re there to watch. I’d like to see his face.”

“It would serve him right,” Tindomiel sniffed disdainfully. “So would anything else I’d do if I have to deal with him again any time soon.”

Anairon looked slightly alarmed at that.

“What did this ‘Mr. Poop’ do?” Maeglin asked in some bemusement.

“Unfortunately, he’s properly ‘Lord Poop’,” Anairon sighed. “More’s the pity. We’d have a lot less trouble from him otherwise. He likes to spread rumors, the kind that put him on far more intimate terms with certain ladies than he really is. It’s become a habit with him – a very annoying one.”

His tone suggested he didn’t disagree with Tindomiel’s general approach to the problem, only to how far she might carry it without a moderating influence.

“I don’t see why he does it,” Tindomiel grumped. “It’s not like it’s going to accomplish anything. Even if half the city assumed that rubbish was true, and I don’t think many of them do, it wouldn’t make any difference to what I think about him. And that’s what counts. Ada’s not about to make me marry a ner I can’t stand based on some stupid whisper campaign. Or even suggest I take him seriously.”

Maeglin frowned at that. He’d been on the wrong end of a rumor or two in Ondolindë.

He also wasn’t so dim that he couldn’t add Anairon’s comment earlier about Tindomiel being a princess to Lord Poop and work out that someone was trying to insinuate himself into the royal family. That too was a problem he’d seen before, though directed at Itarillë rather than himself. He’d chased more than one persistent unwanted would-be suitor away for her. He would be more than happy to do Tindomiel the same service.

He shook off that sundream before he could get himself into trouble. In the first place, she already had Anairon, who should be well able for it. More importantly, Maeglin knew he was hardly better than the noble youth Tindomiel spoke of so disdainfully. He was sure that neither Prince Anairon nor Princess Tindomiel should be associating with the traitor of Ondolindë. He could only hope the pair would deal more leniently with him than they had with Lord Poop whenever they found out.

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After the meal, Maeglin was mentally prepared to move on. Or at least, he was close to convincing himself that was true.

No matter how drawn he might be to the girl with the light, remaining with her and her companions was begging for trouble. He doubted Princess Tindomiel’s parents, whoever they might be, would be pleased if she returned home with Maeglin Lomion in tow. The prince of Ondolindë might have been an acceptable friend for their daughter – and he tried to be firm in his own mind that it could be only friend. The disgraced traitor would not be.

But the four young elves showed no sign of rushing back to their self-assigned task.

“If you’re in no particular hurry, you’re welcome to stick around,” Tindomiel told him as they lazed about, talking of everything and nothing in a way that reminded him painfully of afternoons with Itarillë, when they would slip away from their duties and find a corner of the valley where they could be themselves, with no audience.

“Anairon’s going to make jam,” Tasariel added brightly. “Which leaves the rest of us with nothing much to do.”

“If you get in my way, I’ll find something for you to do,” Anairon promised.

“Who said anything about being in the way?” Tasariel asked. “We’re going to sit, watch, and hand you whatever you tell us you need when you say you need it until it’s time to either bottle or eat the results.”

“Or both,” Tindomiel offered hopefully. “Both is good. Fresh jam would be a treat.”

“Glad to hear it,” Anairon replied, with the air of a craftsman who had previously suffered unwelcome interruptions. He seemed to be looking at Tasariel in particular. “I’m going to set up.”

Tindomiel snickered.

“So, where are you heading?” she asked as Anairon stood up. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get rid of you! You’re still welcome to stay. We’re good company, really.”

The winsome smile that accompanied her words would have had elves with far firmer resolve than he currently possessed wavering. It was just as well, for Maeglin had been tamping down his rising panic. Where he meant to go was a natural question for anyone to ask. But as he knew neither where he was at the moment in relation to the rest of Beleriand nor what options currently existed for where he might go, he had no ready answer.

“To my family, once I discover where they are to be found,” he said slowly, hoping it would be an acceptable reply.

“We could help,” Califiriel offered.

In face she was very different, but in manner the girl was so like Laurefindil it was almost uncanny.

“Yeah,” Tasariel agreed readily. “Who exactly did you mean by ‘family’?”

Maeglin thought for a moment. His parents were dead. He had never known any of his grandparents – his mother’s mother was on the far side of the Sea; her father and both his father’s parents were also dead. He didn’t know yet if Itarillë lived – he dearly hoped she did, but so many of his hopes had come to naught. Which left only one option…

“My great-aunt and uncle,” he replied. “Melian and Thingol.”

The girls brightened at once, which told him that as he’d suspected, the king and queen of Doriath were still well-known to all. Nor had his companions made the connection between Melian and Thingol and Maeglin. Perhaps they thought he was some other grandnephew. Or perhaps they simply didn’t know much of Thingol’s family tree. Then again, with all of them fluent in Noldorin, it was just possible they weren’t aware that Maeglin Lomion would be kin to Thingol. His uncle had never much cared to hear about his Sindarin kin.

“That’s easy enough,” Tindomiel told him. “We can take you to Neldoreth once Anairon’s done. Which means tomorrow, really – he’ll be at it most of the afternoon, and anything he bottles will need to cool before we can pack it. But Neldoreth’s only a couple days from here. Well, a couple days if we’re trying to make time. We don’t have to, though. We can take it easy. You probably aren’t used to walking much yet. So probably three or four days?”

He inclined his head.

“I thank you. It is a very kind offer. But I would not wish to take you out of your way.”

“Given that we’re pretty much just inventing stuff to do until I’m not in the doghouse anymore, taking you to Neldoreth isn’t out of our way,” Tindomiel snorted. “Besides, I’m not in trouble with those grandparents. Neldoreth is just as good as out here.”

Maeglin frowned.

“What have dogs to do with the matter?” he asked in some confusion.

“Sorry, that was a California idiom,” Tindomiel replied, looking slightly abashed. “I’m not as bad as my sister, but sometimes I forget what doesn’t translate well. And that’s one Anairon’s used to hearing.”

A mutter from one of the younger girls indicated that Anairon was used to hearing it because it was so frequently applicable.

“It’s another way of saying ‘in trouble’ or ‘in bad odor’,” Tindomiel concluded blithely as though she hadn’t heard the aside.

“Ah,” he said, despite not understanding in the least the reasoning behind the idiom. “But not in Neldoreth?”

“Not in the least,” she assured him. “The Lindarin kin will all think the whole thing’s hilarious when I tell them. If I tell them.”

It sounded as if she didn’t plan to do so. He wondered why not, given that she believed they would find it amusing.

“The Lindarin kin will likely encourage you to do worse,” Tasariel grinned. “Thingol is still in favor of avoiding the Noldor to the greatest degree possible. He’ll be all for you pranking annoying stuck-up Noldorin lordlings, even before he finds out they’re annoying stuck-up Noldorin lordlings with ideas about marriage.”

Given his experiences with the Noldor and their curse, Maeglin couldn’t say his great-uncle was wrong to think so. He just hoped Thingol didn’t count him as Noldorin these days.

“Yeah, you’d think he’d have mellowed by now,” Tindomiel shrugged. “But either way, it’s going to be fine. We’re bringing someone back - that means everyone will be in a good mood!”

“Let it never be said you’re not down for a party,” Califiriel said wistfully.

“You talk like you’re not coming,” Tindomiel said, her voice filling with disappointment.

“Atto gave us a month free from tutoring, not the entire summer,” Tasariel shrugged. “We’ve been out here for most of that already. So as much fun as it would be to go visiting while King Thingol is in a festive mood, we’ll have to pass on pain of not being allowed out again before Yestarë. There wouldn’t be enough time for us to go to Neldoreth for more than a few minutes and still be back home when we’re meant to be.”

“You could still come. Your dad won’t fuss that much over an extra day or two, will he? Even if he does, I bet your grandparents would spring you,” Tindomiel protested. “Your grandmother does that whole ‘you’re being too strict with her, darling’ thing to your dad that my mother gets from her mother and grandparents.”

“Your Lindarin grandparents are the only ones who think your parents are too strict with you,” Anairon pointed out. He was passing by, his hands full of what looked like cooking implements. “Everyone else thinks they aren’t strict enough, even Aunt Irimë. So I wouldn’t count on her getting those two off restriction for deliberately doing something they knew they shouldn’t. You’re being a bad influence again.”

Tindomiel pointedly declined to dignify that with a response.

“Anyway,” she told Maeglin, “Anairon and I can take you to Neldoreth no problem. If you don’t mind a minor detour, we’ll take Tas and Cali home first. But if you’d rather go straight there, they can make their way home on their own. It’s not like it’s all that far, like a day if they take the road.”

Maeglin gathered that this group didn’t usually bother with the road, but in this case, the girls would be responsible and do so.

“Yep. Up to you,” Tasariel agreed cheerfully, getting up to relieve Anairon of some of what he was carrying before he could drop anything. “Where do you want this?”

Anairon pointed to an area not far from the stream that looked like it had already served as a firepit once, and the two of them began to set up – though not without some mild bickering.

“Peacekeeping duty calls,” Califiriel sighed after a few moments of watching her sister in no way keep to her stated intention of staying out of the way. “Do you think someday she’ll learn to let him work without distraction?”

“Eventually? Maybe?” Tindomiel offered with a shrug. “But probably not today.”

Califiriel’s expression as she went to intervene suggested this was a regular occurrence.

“Are they not young to travel on their own?” Maeglin asked, watching the two girls.

He couldn’t be sure, so much of his memory was a blank, but he felt even his father’s people would find two girls of their age travelling on their own shocking.

“This is only a couple days from home for them,” she shrugged. “They’re technically still underage, but Anairon and I ranged further than this on our own even before we came of age, in pretty much all directions. So they have a solid argument for why it would be really unfair if they weren’t allowed. If you’re not feeling up to the city yet, their father would probably rather we let them make their own way back than take them with us. And the road passes pretty close to where we’ll be tomorrow or the day after, so it’s not like they’ll be on their own all that long.”

“You know Laurefindil well?”

The question slipped out before he could think better of it.

Tindomiel grinned.

“I’ve known him my whole life. Even before Tas and Cali were begotten. Though he spent most of his time back then riding herd on my older sister. I was too young and untroublesome to need anywhere near as much watching as Anariel.”

Maeglin suspected that Tindomiel had not been quite as ‘untroublesome’ as she was claiming. He’d never yet known a princess who could say such a thing with any honesty. Happily, he also couldn’t imagine it was anything to worry about.

More interesting to him was that the other two girls were indeed Laurefindil’s daughters. He’d been wrong about so much…

Tindomiel must have caught his quizzical look as he glanced over at them.

She hesitated a moment.

“Their mothers were daughters of Men,” she said quietly enough that her voice would not carry beyond him.

Maeglin had no idea what to say to that. He would certainly not have guessed that Laurefindil would take an interest in a daughter of Men, let alone two of them.

“We don’t usually talk about it much,” Tindomiel continued. “Willow and Tara are both dead, they died in the war. I just thought you should know. Like, to avoid confusion and…”

Her hands fluttered about in the air, apparently trying to cover everything from ‘awkwardness’ to ‘gaping in astonishment when you see them together’.

“You needn’t tell me anything considered private,” Maeglin told her quickly. “I do not wish to intrude.”

He could not help but wonder how recent the war was. He felt as though it could not have been long before he first saw Tindomiel, when she had brought the light. She must have been one of the first to brave the deepest tunnels – though he could not think what commander would have let a girl scarcely more than a child do such a thing.

“Don’t be silly,” the girl in question snorted. “It would only be intruding if you didn’t know Laurefindil. Besides, it’s not like a good chunk of New Gondolin isn’t aware. The Golden Flowers and Fountains all do, for a start. Pretty sure the Wings do, too, and most of the Hammers. And probably Heavenly Arch and Pillar and Snow. Oh, and the Trees and Swallows. Not sure about the rest of the houses.”

Maeglin decided not to point out that she’d named nearly every house save his own (assuming it still existed), the King’s, and Salgant’s. More of the city must have survived than he had thought. From the sound of it, the only house he could imagine not being in on the knowledge was the house of the Harp. But as open and friendly as Laurefindil was, even them not knowing seemed unlikely.

Not only was he thrown by the nonchalant mention of a new Ondolindë, he felt somewhat nervous that she’d been able to pick up that he knew Laurefindil by more than just reputation. So he tried to shift the conversation onto safer paths.

“You said he ‘rode herd’ on your sister?”

She laughed.

“Yeah, he’s the second most effective authority figure in the not terribly large constellation of people my sister actually listens to.”

Maeglin blinked.

While he knew that as a lord of Ondolindë, Laurefindil could command at need, he was generally easy-going and good-tempered. Hardly the type of person Maeglin would have described as an authority figure, let alone the second most effective he knew. (He was not actually sure what his personal ranking would be, having never really considered it before. But if asked to pick someone from the city he wouldn’t openly disobey, his uncle would definitely be the first one that came to mind. Laurefindil wouldn’t even be among the first five.)

“If Laurefindil is only second, who is the most effective?”

“Thranduil, if you can believe it,” Tindomiel laughed. “Most people don’t! But he’s the only person we know of who’s ever made her do something she really didn’t want to do.”

Maeglin didn’t actually know who Thranduil was. But he was reluctant to tell Tindomiel her assumption that he would recognize the name was incorrect. She spoke as if he ought to know the name. Perhaps he should.

“That being?”

“Sent her home and made her stay there.”

Tindomiel’s grin indicated this was far more of a feat than it sounded.

“I guess it was really a group effort between Ada, Nana, Glorfindel, Gildor, and our brothers on the staying part,” she continued. “But the sending her home was all Thranduil. Although there might have been a little bit of aiding and abetting from Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya. Even they thought she should take some time off to recover before her next near-death experience, but still… It was pretty impressive.”

Getting Tindomiel talking about her youth, her sister, their brothers, and their home Imladris was worryingly simple. He hoped she wasn’t this open with everyone – it would make her an easy target for any with evil intent.

He had to remind himself firmly that Gorthaur and Belegurth were gone. They had to be – if they weren’t, it would be unthinkable for this group to be out alone and undefended. But it was hard to stifle the inner voice reminding him that the Noldor had thought their Enemy vanquished before.

He should have stopped her. It was taking advantage to let her run on so. But he was reluctant to interrupt. It wasn’t just her easy acceptance of him, or even the many anecdotes she had of the home she loved. He liked listening to her.

More than that, there was something about Tindomiel that was just reassuring. She radiated a confidence that everything was all right. It was a bit like sitting by a fireplace on a winter day. It was probably why so many of the elves he had seen had been so eager to talk to her.

He had a sinking feeling that it made him a fool, but he was just as happy to bask in her presence as any of them.

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Tindomiel glanced at Maeglin from time to time as they prepared dinner. For all they’d known each other less than a day, he worked with her as easily as if they’d known each other for years. It was surprisingly comfortable.

Given the choice of helping her or staying with Anairon, Tasariel, and Califiriel all afternoon, he’d picked her immediately, not that she blamed him in the least.

Tas meant well, but she often ended up straining Anairon’s patience by trying to anticipate him while he was working – which generally went badly when he was trying something new and improvising as he went.

Tindomiel had given up worrying about it several years ago, after Grandma Anairë suggested she let the pair work it out between them. (Apparently, she’d had to do something similar with Grandpa Nolo when they were young, hard as that was to picture.) Cali would keep them from quarreling too badly – probably. But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be tense moments.

In other words, avoiding the three of them at the moment was a really good decision for someone newly returned.

She’d only appreciated in retrospect how lucky she’d been with Uncle Moryo and Uncle Aiko – especially Uncle Aiko. He’d been a bit out of it for a few days, and slightly overwhelmed when they first arrived in Gondolin, but otherwise fine. He’d held up alright under his cousins picking back up where they’d left off with family quarrels, and even managed to play peacekeeper for a bit. By the time they’d reached Tirion, he had been eager to see everything and everyone, especially his family.

When Uncle Gil-galad had returned a few years later, despite generally being deemed ‘ready’, he was uneasy with large crowds and had trouble with anything to do with fire – candles, cookfires or campfires, fireworks… He’d even been nervous about the fireplaces for the first few months. (Fortunately, there wasn’t much need for fires in Tirion. He’d gone there first, curious to meet his grandmother and find Elrond – who he’d firmly expected to find in Noldorin territory.) He’d gotten better, but it had taken time, effort, and her father being both healerish and tactful for several years.

After that experience, Tindomiel had been less inclined to argue that her actions with Uncle Aiko and Uncle Moryo hadn’t been a little precipitous and maybe should have been thought out a bit better. She was more cautious these days, not that she’d brought anyone else out of the Halls. She mostly just visited and tried to convince relatives to return. Occasionally she walked someone to Namo, but she let him handle the actual returning part, and Estë supervise the newly returned until she and Irmo deemed them ready to leave Lórien.

The ‘convince them’ tactic had worked with Uncle Aryo – at least she was claiming it had, really he’d probably made up his mind as soon as he’d heard he had a younger brother, which was technically still her doing – and Gil-galad and his parents. But it had stalled with the rest of the Noldorin relatives. She’s been trying really hard with Finduilas, the holdout she felt like she could do something about.

Maeglin’s chosen route – well south of the usual road to Gondolin or Tirion from Lorien – didn’t sound to her like someone who felt himself ready to face more than a few people at a time, even if they had let him leave Lorien. It was also a bit worrying that he’d chosen to depart before he’d settled into life well enough to remember the geography. Irmo and Estë were usually much more vigilant about that. Having elves wandering around without any idea where they were was something they usually tried to avoid. (She wondered from time to time what had happened when the first elves returned to make them so vigilant on that particular point.)

She didn’t know enough about Maeglin yet to know whether his current quietness was normal, a side effect of him being newly returned, shyness, or something else altogether.  Gramma Itarillë didn’t talk about him very often, on the grounds that it was too painful a subject. The only things she had said were all emphatic about not giving any credence to the ‘slurs’ and ‘vile rumors’ that had prevailed in Ennor. It was actually best not to get her started on that subject. (Unfortunately for her, Anariel was going to have no way around it – their great-grandmother was so proud of her for being the only one not taken in.)

Regardless of whether his lack of conversation was normal or not, Maeglin was a soothing presence.

He had confessed immediately to not recognizing any of the fruits, grains, or greens that they were gathering. Not that she had expected he would – this area wasn’t very similar in climate to Doriath or original Gondolin as far as she knew. So she’d had to tell and show him what to look for.

He only needed to have her explain anything once. He listened intently, paying attention to her words, but taking in her actions and anything she was trying to demonstrate or point out as well. It was nice to have someone treat her as a competent instructor anywhere outside of the Academy or the Lambengolmor. Aside from Anairon, Tas, and Cali, few people did. It was one of the occupational hazards of being one of the youngest in the entire extended family.

She told him to leave the berries for her – there shouldn’t be any varieties hazardous to elves growing here, but better safe than sorry. She didn’t want him getting stomach cramps or the runs when he was fresh from Lorien. Besides, she would recognize which ones were ripe enough to pick more readily than someone who hadn’t seen them before.

But the greens and grains were easy enough to teach him. There were no ‘false friends’ to worry about here. Once Maeglin knew what to look for, he worked efficiently enough that gathering everything they needed for dinner took only a third of the time she would have needed on her own.

“You don’t have to help cook dinner, you can just hang out if you want,” she offered as they brought everything back. “I don’t mind. At least, I don’t as long as you talk so I don’t feel like I’m boring you.”

She smiled, hoping that would keep the comment from sounding like criticism. Maybe he was the silent type – although she felt like that wasn’t likely.

“No, I want to,” he replied. “It’s…nice to focus on something.”

She suspected he meant ‘something this simple’. All of her older siblings had said similar things after the Ring War, even Arwen. Maeglin seemed to be at ease with camp cooking, demonstrating the sort of competence only achieved by practice, so she supposed there might also be an element of comfort in doing familiar things as well.

“And I am curious to see what you will make of all this,” Maeglin added, with a smile so fleeting she might have missed it had she not been looking directly at him. It was there just long enough to reassure her that he did still smile.

“I really am not as terrible a cook as they made it sound,” she said with a sigh. “I’m just not allowed to experiment and expect anyone else to eat the results.”

“Fair enough,” he replied. “If it helps, I have also had experiments not turn out as expected. It’s just that in my case, no one had to eat the end product.”

She stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing at the unexpected humor. The smile that yielded from Maeglin was wider and lasted longer.

“I assume these greens should be rinsed?” he continued, his tone almost identical to the one Anairon used whenever he’d just said something utterly ridiculous at a moment when she absolutely could not get caught laughing out loud. (Generally at court in Tirion, where it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to try to make each other lose their composure during long, tedious public events. Without getting caught at it by their elders, of course. Getting caught lost the game, regardless of whether the other person had reacted.)

She nodded, and put water on to boil for the grain.

“I didn’t think to ask – is there anything you don’t like? To eat, I mean? We pooled what we had already for lunch, and we’ll probably do more of the same for lunch tomorrow. Breakfast is usually simple, and since Anairon’s making jam, toast and jam is kind of a no-brainer. But we usually hunt or gather as we go for dinner. No hunting tonight, obviously, but maybe tomorrow...”

Maeglin looked thoughtful.

“I do not know if any of what we have here will not be to my taste. I am fond of mushrooms if they are to be found, and I prefer to avoid asparagus if possible.”

“Very possible,” Tindomiel replied with a grin. “Seeing as I’ve never noticed any growing around here. That should make it pretty easy to avoid. We probably won’t have any luck with mushrooms, though – it’s the wrong season for them. The edible ones between here and Neldoreth are mostly autumn varieties, not late spring.”

Most Noldor didn’t like mushrooms, so it was good to know that he would happily eat them if they stumbled across any. Anairon had learned a variety of ways to prepare them, but more out of a desire to not have any gaps in his culinary capabilities than from any true liking for them.

“I will live,” Maeglin nodded.

Tindomiel reflected that he’d fit right in with her branch of the family when it came to the humor and sarcasm.

“So, tell me about you?” she suggested. “I mean, besides that you like mushrooms and can’t stand asparagus?”

He blinked.

“I… do not do well with broad open-ended questions,” he offered, sounding slightly uncertain. “Was there something in particular you wished to know?”

Tindomiel grinned.

“Favorite color? Hobbies? Person you can’t stand? I don’t know, pick a random fact and go. This isn’t an interrogation, just getting to know you. You can ask me questions too, but it’s no fair you asking if you’re not answering any yourself.”

She grinned to take any potential sting out of the words, and to her relief, Maeglin smiled and did as she asked. She was even more amused when he confessed the person he couldn’t stand – Salgant was her least favorite Lord of Gondolin, too. (Although in fairness, it wasn’t entirely his own fault. The steward of the Harp was downright obnoxious, detested by her, Tas, Cali, and Anairon alike.)

---

Dinner was downright merry that night. Anairon had succeeded in making jam – well, in making the jam he had in mind. None of them had been in any doubt that there would be jam in some form. Most of it had been packed away, to take to either Gondolin or Neldoreth, but one jar was left out for breakfast the next morning.

Though he’d warmed up to her, Tindomiel noticed that in the presence of the others he still seemed hesitant. He preferred to listen while they talked, and seemed almost surprised that Tas and Cali made efforts to include him in the conversation. Happily, they had enough sense to exempt him from the gentle (and also not so gentle) ribbing that cropped up occasionally.

Later that evening, after Maeglin had dropped off to sleep – and Tindomiel had touched his mind ever so gently to be sure it was true sleep, not feigned – the four cousins gathered at the edge of the dell for an impromptu council.

They made sure to keep to whispers or osanwë, not that Tindomiel thought he was likely to wake easily. He was far too exhausted.

“Tinwë, did you have something to do with this?”

It was Anairon who asked, but the looks on Tas and Cali said they’d been wondering the same thing. Now that Tindomiel thought about it, it was possible the girls had talked to him earlier during his jam making project time to be sure it would be him who brought it up first.

“No. I only brought people back once. And when I did, I was completely upfront about that being the plan. You were all there for it, so you should remember. I’d have said something to you if I was going to do it again!”

“It was a reasonable question,” Tas said, slightly defensively. “You did just visit the Halls right before he showed up.”

She didn’t say ‘and he’s not quite right’ but she didn’t have to – they’d all seen enough newly returned elves by now to know something was off with this one.

“I went to say hi to Finduilas and Uncle Ango, and see if there was any change there,” Tindomiel shrugged. “Which unfortunately there wasn’t. But I’ve never even seen him in the Halls. Like, at all. Nobody has. I have no idea where he’s been hiding, much less why he ended up all the way out here instead of on the way to Tirion. I would have thought he’d try to find Grandma Anairë first, or Aunt Alwë.”

All four of them glanced over to where Maeglin was sleeping. Tindomiel knew she was the only one who would use the description ‘like the dead’. But it was accurate – and odd. The newly returned occasionally slept slightly more than usual, but they were usually well rested, or Estë wouldn’t let them out of Lorien.

But Maeglin had been bone weary by the time they’d made noises about calling it a night – and they’d only done that for his benefit. Even Tas, the one among them who was most Mannish in her natural rhythms and consequently needed the most sleep, wasn’t anywhere near tired yet.

“I hope Namo told his parents,” she added.

“I hope Namo gave him a head start first,” Anairon muttered. “I don’t think my sister showing up would improve the evening. Or be all that restful for him, either.”

“Chicken,” Tindomiel retorted – but quietly.

She wasn’t entirely sure any of them were prepared for a surprise dose of Aunt Irissë. (If it happened, she might actually run away. Or better yet, take Aunt Irissë straight to Grandmother and then run away. She was pretty sure she and Anairon could be excused a sudden trip to Formenos if Grandma Anairë was focused on her daughter…and unlike other relatives, Uncle Moryo wouldn’t make fun of them for fleeing.)

Anairon only raised an eyebrow.

She sighed.

“Look, we’ll keep an eye on him. He wants to see Grandmother Melian – so we take him to Neldoreth. If there’s anything serious going on, she’ll know what to do.”

Anairon frowned, but he knew as well as she did that a maia related to Estë was far more competent than either of them to diagnose anything that might be amiss with Maeglin.

“Fine. But we’ll pass close enough to the Gondolin road that Tas and Cali won’t have far to go on their own. And maybe he’ll change his mind when he realizes how close we are to the city.”

Tindomiel didn’t feel like that was very likely, but she didn’t think it was worth provoking an argument. It took them less than a day out of their way compared to the most direct route. She didn’t see what difference half a day could make.

“Deal.”

She glanced at Maeglin.

“We should probably all get some sleep. It’ll be easier to keep an eye on him if we’re well rested ourselves.”

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Maeglin wondered if he should take it as a good sign that the first thing he saw when he awoke his second day travelling with his new companions was Tindomiel lit by the morning sun. She was laughing at something Anairon had said, though Maeglin had not woken fully in time to catch it.

There were certainly worse ways to start one’s day.

Her smile broadened to include him once she noticed his eyes focused on her.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she grinned.

“Good day, morning star,” he replied, unable to resist smiling in return.

He almost missed what she was saying because he was firmly telling himself not to get used to this.

“-once they wake up, anyway. Tas sleeps sounder than anyone I know.”

Tindomiel gestured toward the younger girls, both still asleep.

Ah. That explained why she had not been taking any care to be particularly quiet.

“So you can take your time with breakfast,” Tindomiel concluded. “It’ll probably be another hour at least. Plus time for them to eat, and all of us to pack up.”

“Yes, packing up takes so long,” Anairon said mildly in Noldorin, handing Maeglin fresh bread, and what must have been the eggs of some wild bird. “Jam is just there. Have as much as you like, if Tas complains later, tell her she shouldn't have slept in.”

“Thank you,” Maeglin said politely.

“Packing might be a whole ten minutes,” Anairon continued to Tindomiel, “Particularly if you and Tas can’t agree on the approved Sindarin method of stowing a bedroll.”

“Lindarin,” Maeglin and Tindomiel corrected in unison.

“That only happened once,” Tindomiel sniffed. “She knows how to do it now. Not that it much matters today, no one but us is going to see how she stowed it. We won’t make the road today, so we’ll camp at least once more before they head for home and we turn for Neldoreth.”

Anairon merely rolled his eyes and turned to clean his cooking equipment. Seeing that there were two leaf-wrapped packets close to the ashes of the fire, Maeglin concluded he had already made enough for Laurefindiel whenever they woke.

Califiriel joined them while he was still eating, but Tasariel had to be prodded into waking half an hour later by Tindomiel, who was eager to be off. Tasariel elected to eat as they went rather than have everyone else wait for her – though she looked mainly at Tindomiel as she said it.

Maeglin was certain he was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what. With a group of friends like these, it could easily be that there was a prior incident he was unaware of. He tried to reassure himself it was likely nothing more than that. And even if it was, what of it? They weren’t orcs. And the girl with the light would hardly be in league with the Enemy…

He found it easy to overlook it once they were underway. While the girls assured him they were making good progress, by his standards they were moving at an easy pace, at times barely more than a slow amble. His uncle would have had a fit at their definition of ‘good progress’. Though his great-uncle Thingol would probably laugh rather merrily...

The scenery was of less interest to him than his companions, but he still could see no good way to ask more about them without inviting the same sort of questions himself – or making it obvious that he did not wish to answer them.

He compromised by asking Califiriel – the calmer of Laurefindil’s daughters – about her studies, as the girls had mentioned tutoring. That got both her and her sister talking, and it didn’t take very long for them to segue from their studies to the city and its people in general. So it was that Maeglin learned to his immense confusion that all the Lords of Gondolin were alive and well.

He didn’t see how that could be. Not unless the reports that had come through before Sauron had gone hunting for Idril and Eärendil had been inaccurate – or perhaps deliberately false? Could it have been a ruse to panic his cousin into premature flight? He could not see how so many of the Ondolimdrim escaping alive was reasonable, though. He knew full well the forces that had been arrayed against them.

Fortunately, his quiet was interpreted not as confusion but as interest coupled with inability to contribute anything to the conversation, to the point that Anairon finally hinted gently that they were being rude.

It was nearly time for lunch by then. Anairon had sandwiches at the ready, and all three girls passed around nuts, berries, and other small things with the promise that dinner would be heartier.

“We don’t want to have to stop long at midday, so simple food like this means we either stop briefly or can eat while we walk,” Anairon explained.

“If you are asking my preference, I am happy to eat as we go,” Maeglin responded. “What will we do for dinner?”

“Not sure yet – it all depends on how the hunt goes. We’re just coming to the edge of forest here, and we’ll be cutting through. So Tindomiel and I will hunt this evening.”

The other man didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

“I could hunt in your place,” Maeglin offered. “That is, if anyone is willing to lend me a bow.”

“Of course, if you wish,” Anairon nodded at once.

Maeglin suspected from his reaction that he was either not a natural hunter or simply one of those elves who disliked the hunt – though clearly he did not object to using the results.

Tindomiel frowned.

“You don’t have to,” she began.

Maeglin waved that off.

“I want to be of assistance,” he assured her. “You have all been more than generous, and I do not wish to be the only one not contributing. I assure you I am capable.”

“Ok,” she said, still sounding slightly dubious.

He did not press her about it until that evening, when the pair of them, bows in hand, had gone some slight distance from the camp the others were setting up.

“You did not wish me to hunt?” he asked. “Were you concerned for your safety? Or did you not trust my skill would be sufficient to actually bring anything back?”

She sighed.

“It was less anything about you than that Anairon’s being a butt,” she explained. “He’s fine with a bow. Really! It’s just getting him to actually believe that. Whenever it’s anyone but just us, he’ll seize any excuse to get out of it.”

Maeglin got the distinct impression this was not the first outing they’d had a ‘guest’ make such an offer.

“It’s not his fault, really,” Tindomiel said after a moment, scuffing at the ground unhappily as though the dirt were somehow at fault for her kinsman’s lack of confidence.

“He expects a lot from himself,” she added. “Too much, sometimes.”

“I understand,” Maeglin told her.

Both their bows sang as one, for they had startled a pair of rabbits.

Tindomiel’s skill was plain enough, for she hit hers even more neatly than he did his. He supposed it was luck they hadn’t both aimed for the same one – the arrows might well have met in the air.

“Not bad,” she grinned. “Let’s see if we can’t find another rabbit or two, or maybe a bird.”

If they had stumbled onto rabbits this quickly, he suspected her plan would prove little trouble.

“Keeping to rabbits would doubtless simplify things for the cook,” he offered.

“Good point. We’re straining Anairon’s patience enough already. Rabbits it is.”

If we’re quiet, it will be easier, she added. I really shouldn’t have been making so much noise.

Her mental voice was much like her physical voice, but somehow more soothing – as if someone had pressed a cool compress to his mind.

He nodded, and with both of them moving silently, it was only a few minutes more before they doubled their haul.

“Right, you can talk again now!” Tindomiel chirped. “This was so quick we’ll have time to bathe before dinner instead of after.”

They returned to find Anairon presiding over a campsite which was fully set, a fire crackling cheerfully, and neither of the two younger girls in sight.

“Good hunting,” Anairon nodded approvingly. “And faster back than I thought you’d be. Could each of you prep one rabbit for the spit and I’ll do two? Use this to stuff it.”

This looked like a mash of wild garlic, berries, and herbs. Though it was nothing he had seen before, Maeglin was not inclined to argue. Thus far, Tindomiel’s assessment of her kinsman’s cooking skills had not been overblown, and it sounded as if the two of them traveled often enough that he had plenty of experience in camp cooking.

Maeglin set to his task at once. While he suspected he had done this more often than Tindomiel, she was not as at sea as his cousin or her ladies would have been if presented with a fresh killed rabbit. But neither of them could match Anairon for speed – he had his brace ready for the fire not long after Maeglin got his onto a spit, and some minutes before Tindomiel pronounced hers ‘ready for roastin!’

“Do you need us to do anything else?” Tindomiel asked.

Anairon shook his head.

“No, you can go bathe now if you like. I have to wait on the girls – there was watercress in the stream, but no groundnut around, so Cali wanted to look for spring beauty instead.”

At Maeglin’s inquiring glance, he explained.

“The roots are edible, and will roast quickly enough to be done about the same time as the rabbits. At least, they will if she doesn’t take too long finding them.”

Tindomiel hesitated.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Anairon waved them toward the stream he had mentioned. It was broad, and while it started shallow, further out it looked deep enough for even Turukáno to submerge fully if he so chose.

“You’ll be just as happy without me and my Noldorin prudishness,” Anairon said wryly. “Besides which, we don’t have a spare towel. If he bathes now, he can use mine and then hang it near the fire so it dries before I bathe after dinner. And there’s no sense in me bathing until after I’m done cooking anyway.”

“Good point,” Tindomiel agreed, digging through her pack to pull out her towel.

Anairon was a step ahead of her, and handed his to Maeglin before turning back to mind the spits.

Maeglin followed Tindomiel down to the stream. He hesitated only a moment before concluding that Anairon’s mention of ‘Noldorin prudishness’ meant he didn’t bathe in mixed company as a rule, but Tindomiel did.

She noticed his quizzical expression as they reached the water.

“Anairon was raised strictly Noldorin,” she explained as she shucked her clothing. “So he’s not used to stripping off in front of people outside his immediate family.”

“But you are all travelling together,” Maeglin said uncertainly, wondering what the prevailing etiquette was. “And it does not sound as if this is the first time.”

“Yeah, it took some getting used to on his part,” Tindomiel snickered. “You should have seen his face the first time he was sent to get Cali, Tas, and me when we were sea-bathing! He’s lightened up a lot since. He doesn’t mind when it’s just us, but I guess it’s not surprising he’s turned shy in front of someone else. Oh, also, we let his mother assume that he bathes separately from the rest of us when we’re out and about like this, so whatever you do, don’t say anything to her about it. Or in front of her!”

Maeglin thought it rather unlikely he’d have any chance to do so. But it did seem it would not shock or disturb Tindomiel if he bathed as he would have among his father’s people rather than according to the mores of Ondolindë.

“I would not get anyone into trouble if it can be helped,” he assured her, piling his clothes neatly, and wondering if it might not be sensible to wash them as well.

“I know. But you might not have realized until too late that you shouldn’t say anything, so better a warning now than all of us – probably including you – hearing about it at length later. I’m not sure if you’d be expected to know better or not.”

Tindomiel paused, considering, before plunging into the water.

“Either way, better to just avoid the topic entirely,” she decided when she surfaced.

“What of the Laurefindiel?” he asked, following more sedately.

The water was crisp, but nowhere near as cold as the waters than came down from the Echoriad. He found it quite pleasant.

“Their dad knows,” TIndomiel laughed. “Ennor these days is not much like Tirion in the Years of the Trees, so he doesn’t expect them to be super Noldorin about nudity. It just wasn’t going to happen. I mean, even Ada and Grandmother are used to it, and they’re like the last Noldor-raised Noldor, or sorta Noldor, standing.”

He wasn’t sure he’d entirely understood that. Oh, the words individually made sense, but…

“Sorta Noldor?”

“Yeah,” Tindomiel sighed.

He tried not to watch too closely as she soaked down her magnificent hair.

“It’s complicated. But Grandmother’s the one who taught us Noldorin in the first place, so clearly she sees herself as one of the Noldor at least sometimes…”

Maeglin, only too keenly aware of what that was like, nodded before focusing more on washing himself than on conversation. He hoped that would serve as the reason for not following up with the logical questions. Normally he would have wanted to know more. Who is your father? Who is your grandmother? But normally he would not have felt any reticence about asking.

If Tindomiel saw anything odd in his silence, she did not comment. She seemed just as happy to relax in the water as he was  – happy enough that both of them lingered until Califiriel and Tasariel joined them with a warning from Anairon that dinner was nearly ready.

Tindomiel pulled herself out of the water with a sigh and said she’d go help if they would make sure Maeglin didn’t fall asleep in the water. He was a bit indignant at that – after several good nights’ sleep, and only an easy walk during the days, he wasn’t as tired as that!

But he made sure to keep his reaction to himself, and to keep his conversation with the younger girls pleasant and innocuous. Tasariel loved gossip as much as any of Rillë’s ladies ever had, and it didn’t take much prompting for her to tell him everything currently interesting to the Golden Flowers (and, from the sounds of it, the Fountains as well.)

By the time Califiriel reminded them that they should all get out of the water before dinner went cold, he probably could have ventured an opinion on Ecthelion’s latest flute composition, the romantic prospects of the Golden Flower’s steward (still inexplicably unattached, though not for lack of nissi and neri trying), and whether celandine or buttercup would prove the most popular shade for Tarnin Austa next month.

He had managed with some difficulty to control his reaction to learning that particular holiday was imminent. With any luck, by then he would be far from the city.  He covered it by busying himself with his clothes – he made to wash them, but Califiriel intervened.

“You need to let Anairon’s towel dry,” she pointed out. “If you wash your clothes now, either you’ll be eating wearing wet clothes or naked. Not that Anairon couldn’t use some practice getting over some of his hang-ups…”

“Better idea,” Tasariel suggested. “Wait until tomorrow. I’ll leave you my towel when we head for home. Then you won't need to borrow and you’ll have something to wear while you wait for your clothes to dry. Or you can just walk around naked. Anairon will be less weird about it if it’s just you guys and Tinu.”

Maeglin had to agree that her logic was sound.

Dinner was delicious, and the company just as good. The more Maeglin thought about it, the less he could see how he could possibly tear himself away from his companions. He ought to, he knew. But he didn’t want to. This was the most pleasant, untroubled evening he could remember since… Well, that he could remember. There was none of the tension of Ondolindë, or the misery that came when he had been under the dominion of Sauron and Morgoth. If there had been better days in his childhood, they were lost to him.

He was still musing on this after the meal had ended when it occurred to him that all four of his friends – if he dared call them that – seemed to be urging him to sleep. Perhaps he was unduly suspicious, but after his last experience of trusting too much in his safety, he couldn’t help it. But there was no harm in playing along, he decided. He could lay down as though he were following their advice and feign sleep but stay alert. Like as not he’d swiftly discover that he was more tired than he realized, and his friends were doing no more than looking out for him.

But no matter how it turned out, he’d be able to look back on this as a good day.

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Maeglin lay quietly, not quite asleep.

He had been wrong to suspect his friends. Not long after he had made himself comfortable in his borrowed sleep roll, Califiriel had suggested to her sister that they should follow his fine example. When Tasariel wasn’t inclined to do so, Califiriel had pointed out with a tone of suppressed triumph that at least he had the good sense not to argue when it was pointed out how tired he looked. Tasariel hadn’t exactly gone meekly to bed after that – meek was a word Maeglin suspected didn’t often apply to her –  but she had gone.

He was torn – on the one hand, he felt a sense of camaraderie with this unlikely little group. He’d never had a close friend other than Rillë before. He wasn’t sure such friendships had actually been possible in Ondolindë, where he was a prince of the city with Rillë and Laurefindil his only equals by Noldorin lights. And he had never been quite sure how far he could trust Laurefindil, who was not only of an older generation but whose first loyalty was to Turukáno…

On the other hand, he had a disagreeable sense of impending doom. The last time he’d ignored common sense when it tried to tell him something was a bad idea, it had ended with him being dragged bodily to Angband. (Things had gotten considerably worse after that.) Common sense was currently rather emphatic that staying any longer with this group was courting trouble.

He’d been trying to argue with common sense – after all, they were to part with the two younger girls on the morrow, and he, Anairon, and Tindomiel would turn their steps toward Thingol’s realm. How badly could things go if Aunt Melian was present to supervise? Common sense, unfortunately, had the tart rejoinder that she wasn’t with them yet. Anything might happen before she was.

He was still trying to sort through it in his own head when it registered that there was a hushed conversation going on between Tindomiel and Anairon as Laurefindil’s daughters slept – and that it was about him.

“I still say we ought to go to the city with them,” Anairon said.

“No,” Tindomiel hissed. “He doesn’t want to, and I don’t see why he’d change his mind. I’m not going to unsettle him by suggesting it. Don’t bring it up again.”

“He likes you. If you ask him to come, I doubt he’ll say no,” Anairon pointed out. “It would be the sensible thing to do. You know as well as I do that if it comes out there’s something wrong with him, you’ll be blamed. Even we thought you had something to do with it at first, so what do you suppose everyone else is going to think?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Tindomiel shot back as fiercely as one could in a whisper. “It’s not a crime to not be ready for the city yet. And if we take him there and he’s overwhelmed, then what? We’d definitely be blamed for that – deservedly!”

“Tinwë,” Anairon sighed. “You know as well as I do something’s not right. The longer you put it off, the worse trouble you’re going to end up in. We should take him to Turukano – he’s nearest, let him decide how to handle it.”

Ice crept down Maeglin’s spine.

His uncle’s justice had killed his father. The last thing he wanted was to survive Angband only to be executed for his betrayal. Though it would be the perfect ending to his tale of shame – perhaps Gorthaur had intended it so all along.

And if it would rebound onto the girl with the light, if she would share in his shame… Would the king have her executed as well? She’d been nothing but kind. Even now she was defending him. He couldn’t allow her to put herself at risk.

Maeglin crept out of the borrowed sleeping roll as quietly as he could – and he was very good at quiet when he put his mind to it. He was already far enough into the forest not to hear the reaction when Tindomiel realized they’d been overheard.

---

Tindomiel swore extensively in both modern Sindarin and California when it proved that Maeglin had moved quickly enough to not be easily found.

“You had to talk about it out loud, didn’t you?” she asked in exasperation. “He wouldn’t have heard us if you’d had the sense to use osanwë. Nienna only knows what he’s thinking now.”

“Sorry,” Anairon muttered, shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to frighten him. But this goes right back to what I was saying – he’s not all right, and he needs help now. I don’t think Estë and Irmo released him, I think he just went for some reason. He shouldn’t be wandering around on his own, or even with just us! If you won’t ask Melian to look in on him, then we should take him to my brother. He may not be your favorite grandfather, and definitely not my favorite brother, but at least he would know what’s normal for Maeglin and might have some idea of how to help!”

“Not Grandpa Turukano,” Tindomiel corrected sharply. “Gramma Itarillë. She knew him better than anyone. If there’s anybody in Gondolin he trusts and would talk to, it’s her.”

She added silently and only to Anairon I don’t understand why he didn’t ask about her, but there must be a reason. He was specific, he wanted Grandmother Melian!

“Potayto, patahto,” Tasariel snorted impatiently. “It doesn’t matter right now either way, so argue about it later. How are we going to find him in the dark? You two geniuses would have to spook him on a moonless night.”

She and Cali had woken at Tindomiel’s cursing, and quickly realized the situation.

“Each of us pick a direction and go,” Tindomiel said, ignoring the implication that she was part of the screw-up. “Meet back here in half an hour, no more. If we don’t find him that way, I’ll yell for Grandmother Melian and deal with all that comes with her help.”

“I’ll go back the way we came,” Anairon decided. “I doubt he’d backtrack, but we should check anyway. Though if I find him, I’m going to call for you, Tinwë. I doubt he’ll want to talk to me.”

He was most likely to talk to you even before this, Anairon added silently to Tindomiel alone. You’re the one he’s spent the most time with. So you’d better be the one to find him, or he may really panic. Given he’s already unsettled enough to go charging off into a completely unknown forest by himself with nothing but the clothes on his back…

Tindomiel gave him a wry look at using osanwë now, and shot back a not quite verbal response about horses and barn doors.

“That’s fine,” she added out loud. “Actually, that might be a good idea in general.”

She turned to Tasariel and Califiriel.

“You don’t have to get within eyesight of him, if you think you’ve found him, let me know and I’ll come talk to him. He can’t have gotten so far that I won’t hear you.”

“I should hope not, considering you could hear us from Tirion,” Tasariel snorted.

“Which way are you going?” Califiriel asked.

“I’ll go in the direction of Neldoreth,” Tindomiel replied after a few seconds to consider. “I think that’s the way he probably went – he was pretty set on finding Grandmother Melian. I don’t know why, but it was important. I don’t think he’ll give up on it easily.”

“Not Thingol?” Califiriel asked. “Thingol’s the king.”

“Yeah, but Melian’s the maia,” Tindomiel pointed out. “She’s who I’d say if I were in trouble, too.”

Actually, she was the one pretty much anyone in the Lindarin branch of the family except maybe Anariel would say if they had to pick one of the two. And Anariel was the exception only because she hadn’t met their maiarin grandmother yet. (She also wasn’t really in the habit of asking for help.)

The Laurefindiel nodded.

“I’ll take the road to the city,” Tasariel said. “It’s not that far from here, and once you’re on it, there’s not much to hide you. If he went that way, I’ll see him even if he has more of a head start than you two thought.”

It also had the virtue of being the least likely direction Maeglin would have chosen.

That left Califiriel to pick a heading more or less halfway between the way they’d come and the way they suspected Maeglin was now going, which was worth checking only in case he had tried to be more devious than any of them seriously thought him capable of at the moment.

“Half an hour,” Tindomiel repeated firmly to the others. “If anyone finds him, let the rest of us know. Osanwë if you can, find a bird to carry the message if you can’t.”

Three nods confirmed it, then the four of them scattered.

Tindomiel barely walked out of sight of the clearing they’d meant to overnight in before she did as Anairon had doubtless expected her to do anyway – reached out to the trees and other living creatures around her, urgently seeking news of Maeglin.

He was indeed making for Neldoreth, and moving more briskly than expected. Unfortunately for his plan of getting away from them, there was no good way for any normal elf to outdistance her. Particularly not when every nocturnal bird and animal in the area was curious about who he was and what he was doing. The birds, always sympathetic to one of Melian’s line, were more than willing to share. One owl had a very clear view of him from a branch at elf height…

She picked up her foot, and when she put it down, she was within sight of him.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to talk him out of whatever state of agitation he was in that made him run in the first place.

---

“Maeglin, wait. Please?”

He froze at the voice behind him.

Not only did he not know how Tindomiel had managed to catch up with him, she somehow knew his name, though he had never said it.

He had managed to avoid giving any name. He would have given his names if asked, he wouldn’t have lied. He wasn’t dishonest. But they had not asked so he hadn’t volunteered it. He had thought they hadn’t noticed.

He turned to face her, filled with a queasy mixture of shame and fear. She was picking her way carefully between the trees. With no moon, there was only starlight to guide her.

“How long have you known?” he asked softly in Iathrin as she drew close enough to make out her face. “And how?”

She blinked in apparent surprise.

“It didn’t take long,” she replied. “I mean, I didn’t recognize you instantly, but I knew you looked familiar. After that it was just figuring out why and putting the right name to the face. I’ve seen your portrait in your uncle’s house, and your grandparents have one too. Even if I hadn’t, I’d have to be blind to miss how much you look like Anairon and his brothers.”

“Anairon?” he asked blankly.

“Please don’t pretend, I know you noticed the resemblance too,” she said reproachfully.

He hesitated, uncertain what to say.

Of course he’d seen it, how could he not?

But he’d had no way to know their shared looks meant they were kin. Nor had he wanted to ask. He had no wish to see the disgust that would cross the younger elf’s face at the mention of the Prince of the Mole.

“He’s your uncle,” she explained somewhat awkwardly. “Your mother’s youngest brother, begotten after your grandfather returned.”

He realized with some surprise that he hadn’t been the only one holding back information. Though he couldn’t find it in him to resent her for it.

He was bemused by the mention of his grandfather, however. Nolofinwë was dead. He knew that beyond doubt. He’d been the one to wash and dress what remained of him for burial.

Why were the worst memories so clear when he’d lost nearly all the best ones?

“But…” he began, his head spinning as he tried to focus on the easier part of what she’d said. “The others-”

“They know who you are.”

Tindomiel said it as gently as she could while leaving no room for doubt.

“They were worried, that’s all,” she continued. “To be honest, so am I. No one’s been able to find out so much as a whisper of you for the last two Ages. Your parents are probably still harassing Namo about it right now. Your mother’s more than a little scary on the subject.”

She drew closer, but gingerly.

Not, he realized with a start, out of fear. She wasn’t afraid. Her confidence was unrattled.

No, she was concerned for him and giving him space – as one might a skittish animal in the forest. She would let him run if he truly wanted to. But knowing he had the option reassured him just enough to stay where he was.

“My mother?” he asked, trying again in vain to recall her face.

Surely now that he no longer needed to hide anything, it should have come back? Had he destroyed his memory forever? The sacrifice would have been worth it had it only saved the city, but to have given up so much to no purpose...

She frowned.

“Yes, didn’t you ever try to find her?”

“Find her where?” he asked.

He might not remember much else about her, but he still knew that she had died. There was no finding the dead.

“In the Halls,” she said, as if it were perfectly obvious.

She was close enough now that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted.

“The Halls?” he repeated in confusion.

Nothing was making sense.

At her slightly bemused nod, his racing thoughts came to a sudden and wrenching halt.

“You mean.. I was in Mandos?”

To his horror, he realized his voice had spanned multiple octaves, in no way concealing his shock. He’d thought his head was spinning before, but to hear he had actually been safe, beyond Belegurth and Gorthaur…

He had died.

Fool, you knew he was a liar, yet you believed him, was his first thought, followed immediately by an almost piteous I had no strength left to resist, let alone to question.

“Yes,” she replied, her surprise nearly the equal of his own. “Where did you think you were?”

He just gaped at her, incapable of reply. It was taking everything he had just to stay on his feet in the face of such a world-altering revelation.

When he did not answer, she reached tentatively for his hand, taking it in hers when he made no attempt to evade it. Her fingers interlaced with his, warm and indisputably real. It helped – the touch anchored him to the world. Without it he’d have either fallen to the ground or possibly floated right away.

Then he felt the gentle pressure of her mind against his. He nearly panicked. But Tindomiel was not insistent, not forcing, nothing like the Enemy had been – though he had the fleeting sense that she could be, had that been what she wanted. As kind as she was, the hint of power was there.

But she didn’t wield it against him. She was asking, seeking to understand, to help. And he was too tired and confused to fight, much less explain why his mind was no place someone like her should be poking around.

She found the answer easily. He couldn’t have hidden it had he wanted to, not in his current state.

“Angband?” she gasped in shock. “This whole time?”

Her eyes were huge.

“It was you,” she whispered in horror. “That was you hiding down there in the dark.”

He abruptly found himself with an armful of elleth, as Tindomiel apparently felt unable to express herself adequately any other way.

He felt her shock, sympathy, comfort, support, regret that she had not done more, along with a fierce determination that he would be just fine now. She was going to make sure of it – and that sense of power he had gotten from her made him suspect she was an invaluable ally. Her spirit wrapped around his, a warmth as tangible and heartening as a fire.

For a moment, despite it being midnight and moonless, the world danced with light.

“Until you saved me,” he said quietly.

“All I did was try to get you to come out of that dark place,” she murmured. “It was nothing.”

“No,” he told her as firmly as he could when he was almost choking on his emotions. “It was everything.”

Without her intervention, he might well have remained there for all time, firmly and foolishly convinced he was still the prisoner of Belegurth and Gorthaur. He didn’t understand how a girl who was very much alive could have done what she did – were not the Halls of Awaiting for the dead?  But he was grateful beyond words that she had.

She still looked miserable, when she of all people shouldn’t – she had done more than anyone to help him, possibly more than anyone else could have done. So despite worrying that it was probably a bad idea, he kissed her.

When his lips met hers, there was little passion in it. It was gentle, and nearly chaste. And yet – it was enough to make him want more. (Common sense was screaming about terrible ideas. But given that he hadn’t listened to it yet, now did not seem the time to start.)

Tindomiel’s surprised little ‘oh’ echoed through his entire being, completely drowning out common sense, or possibly blasting it hard enough that it landed several kingdoms away.

She blinked at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time.

And then she kissed him.

The sound of enjoyment she made when he deepened the kiss very nearly undid him.

Had either one of them been raised among other Lindarin elves their own age, it was possible nothing more would have come of it – that night, at least. They would have already learned the self-control to not be carried away.

But Maeglin had spent the later years of his youth in a Noldorin city where he had been uncertain about the prevailing etiquette governing what was acceptable between the unmarried who wished to remain so. He had lacked any adult kin he trusted enough to ask for guidance. Tindomiel had been several hundred years younger than the youngest elves in Imladris unrelated to her, and spent much of her time since arriving in Aman among the Noldor. Neither of them had any experience to speak of.

Then again, it might not have mattered. Even elves older and more experienced than them had been known to forget themselves when they encountered the mate intended for them by the One.

Maeglin had enough of a lingering sense of unworthiness that he was not the first one to reach for bare flesh, but once Tindomiel’s hands crept beneath his tunic, he gave up any pretense of resisting his instincts.

He was still adjusting to the bliss of feeling her wrapped around him when she moaned the Name in the midst of her pleasure. It wasn’t something he had to even think about.

“Eru,” he murmured in answer, blessing and prayer in one, and surrendered his soul, unworthy as it might be, to bind with hers.

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Tindomiel woke slowly, in a state of satisfaction she’d never experienced before. Of course, she was also a little sore in places she’d never been sore before – or generally aware of, really – but she felt like on balance it was an acceptable trade.

Maeglin was still asleep, and she didn’t feel any urge to wake him. Her husband.

Boy was that going to be fun to explain to their entire (mutual) extended family. Not to mention her big sister, who was doubtless going to laugh her behind off about Tindomiel being the one to complicate the family tree like this after all her comments over the years about the weirdness of it all.

She wasn’t sorry, even if she did see the considerable irony in her being the one to marry a cousin several generations removed. Nor would Anariel be the only one whose reaction she was going to have to deal with. She was pretty sure she would never hear the end of it from certain other people.

Her brothers, for example. They’ve ragged on Anariel for years about almost accidentally marrying Legolas before she’d known the do’s and don’ts of elven sex. Tindomiel was in no hurry to find out what they would have to say about their baby sister actually getting married to a guy she’d known for all of two days. Particularly when they found out her mate was the elf who had still regularly been at the center of debates between them and Anariel when she’d last seen the three of them…

She did have at least one minor point in her favor. She was pretty sure she’d known Maeglin longer than Aunt Irissë had known Uncle Eöl. In Grandmother’s telling, that hadn’t even been a whole day’s acquaintance. (And Grandmother should know, if even half the stories she’s heard about the two of them since arriving in Aman were accurate. She was betting there’d been a highly interesting confab in Doriath or Nan Elmoth at some point after Aunt Irissë and Uncle Eöl’s honeymoon. Unfortunately, the people most likely to tell her the truth about that were in Mandos or still in Ennor.) So at least she’s not the record holder for quickest marriage in the family.

Also, she needed to figure out what to call Maeglin’s parents now that Aunt and Uncle might be a little bit odd…

She briefly reached out to Anariel, thinking to share the joke, before she thought better of it and waved off before her sister could strengthen the connection to the point of picking out of her mind what had happened.

Her older siblings were all more than a bit overprotective, and she somehow doubted her being officially a grownup for the past thirty years would make any difference on that front – in their minds, the adverb was likely to be ‘technically’, not ‘officially’.

Contacting her sister out of the blue to announce she’d just shacked up with her favorite sword-maker might well lead to Anariel showing up sooner than expected, shovel in hand. (Ribcage hats were out of the question. Tindomiel would put her foot down on that. There was zero doubt in her mind that her mate was traumatized enough without adding any of the more graphic Scooby-style threats into the mix.) Thankfully, her brothers were unlikely to say anything horrifying by elven standards. Didn’t mean they’d be pleased about their new brother-in-law, though.

She did somewhat regret not being able to tell Arwen, but there was no way to tell her without going through Anariel. The only one she’d ever been able to reach from this side of the Sea was the sister she’d been made from.

Better to get the rest of the family on-side first. Later. After she’d enjoyed her honeymoon.

For elves, it was a fairly literal concept. Newlyweds didn’t bother with anyone but each other for the first month or so of their marriage as they bonded. And while the Noldor might play coy about it, the Lindar were perfectly frank about the fact that for most couples, there was generally a good deal of sex in that time.

At least, the Lindar of Ennor were. She wasn’t sure about the Lindar of Aman. It hadn’t really come up any of the times she’d been in Alqualondë. Nor had she ever been to any elven weddings, now that she stopped to think about it.

She was starting to feel like there had been some gaps in her education. But Lindar or Noldor, no one could reasonably expect her to be anywhere but where she was – wrapped up in her new husband.

She rather liked his looks. He took after his mother’s side in face – no one could miss he was a Nolofinwion. His hair was dark, of a shade that wouldn’t stand out among either the Noldor or the Lindar. (At least, it wouldn’t unless you noticed that his braids were an old Iathrin style that no one in Middle Earth had used by the late Third Age. She only recognized it because a few people in Neldoreth still wore it on occasion.) She also liked his shoulders, slightly broader than most elves.

She brushed a stray strand of hair back from his face. He looked younger and much more at ease asleep than she’d yet seen him while he was awake. Though she supposed it was possible that once he had recovered properly from his death – clearly he hadn’t yet, given he hadn’t even understood until yesterday that he had died in the first place – he might look that way all the time.

At some point, she was going to have some choice words for her grumpy uncle Namo about this whole mess. She had thought she’d already said all that needed to be said on the subject of leaving a fëa alone with no other contact for yeni after stumbling onto Uncle Butthead, but apparently she was going to have to repeat that lesson. Perhaps somewhat more forcefully this time…

Not his fault.

Maeglin opened one eye lazily, and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

“Oh?” she asked archly, doing her best not to be distracted. “How is it not his fault? You were in his Halls. That means you were his responsibility. Yet somehow going on three Ages later, you were still completely isolated. That’s super unhealthy for elves and other normally living things.”

“I didn’t know he was Namo,” Maeglin said simply. “Had he insisted on speaking to me, or tried to bring me out of where I had hidden myself, it would only have made things worse.”

It wasn’t just words.

She wasn’t sure if he hadn’t tried to hide it or just didn’t know how to yet, but she could feel the gut-churning terror that had been his instant reaction to his one encounter with the Doomsman. It was the sort of thing that her Sunnydale-forged instincts would normally react to by running as fast and hard as she could to get away from, screaming her head off for Anariel while she was at it. That not being an option at the moment, she settled for burying her face in his neck and holding him tighter, letting the touch reassure them both.

She felt through their new-formed bond that Maeglin knew that she had no good answer and that she was disgruntled about it. She could feel his chuckle through her chest.

“Still telling him off at some point,” she grumbled. “He could have tried saying something rather than just counting on me doing the right thing without having any clue what was going on.”

“You did though,” Maeglin pointed out, planting a remarkably distracting kiss on the edge of her lips. “So clearly he was right to think you would.”

Beloved.

The word was almost shy, as though he worried she might reject it.

“Of course I worry,” he snorted. “Aman or not, your parents will hardly be thrilled to discover you’ve bound yourself to Maeglin Lomion, betrayer of Gondolin.”

“That’s quite the conclusion you’re jumping to there, buster,” she replied, poking his ribs for emphasis. “First, you don’t know my parents - yet. We’re going to fix that at some point in the near future, by the way. But if you did know them, you’d know their reaction to all this is more likely to be surprise at which daughter just announced her marriage to you. Make sure to look for the suppressed startles when I introduce you.”

That got the purest astonishment she’d ever felt from anyone, Anairon included.

Then again, maybe it was just that she didn’t feel Anairon’s astonishment as vividly…

“Secondly, I should double check that you’re really sure about going to Neldoreth. Because once we’re there, we’ll probably be there for a while. Thingol is going to be absolutely, positively, over the top ridiculous about this marriage.”

“Uncle Thingol? Why should he object?”

Maeglin paused, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully.

“Is it because you’re Noldorin? Is he that adamantly against Mother’s people even now?”

Tindomiel had to work not to laugh. She hadn’t realized until this moment that he wouldn’t have any context for her. But if he hadn’t known he was in the Halls, he would have been completely out of the gossip loop…

“Thingol isn’t going to object,” she told him. “He’s going to be ridiculous because he’ll be crowing about my excellent taste in choosing you rather than one of the Noldor like everyone was expecting but very politely not grumbling about out loud in my hearing.”

“I am also a prince of the Noldor,” Maeglin pointed out with a small smile.

“Hush,” she snorted. “If you know Thingol, you know perfectly well he’ll ignore that completely. As far as he’s concerned, I have just married one of his younger kin. This might actually catapult me, however briefly, to favorite granddaughter status until Anariel arrives.”

“Granddaughter?”

No, that was the purest astonishment - followed almost immediately by minor annoyance that she was finding such amusement in all this.

“My father is the son of Luthien’s granddaughter Elwing.”

Maeglin had no coherent response to the news that his mate was a descendant of Luthien. Seeing how startled he was, she decided that the other half of her father’s parentage was best left until later. They were already severely straining ‘one shocking thing at a time’ as it was.

When he could speak, he managed to splutter, “you might have told me when I said I was seeking my great-uncle!”

“I didn’t want to dump too much new information on you at once,” she said penitently. “We’re not supposed to overwhelm the newly returned – even the ones who returned the usual way. Which you very much did not. So not overwhelming you was really more important than usual, even if we didn’t know it at the time.”

“You’re enough to overwhelm nearly anyone,” he murmured.

“I’m enough to overwhelm anyone?” Tindomiel laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m the quiet, mild-mannered one of my parents’ children.”

“Indeed, lucky me,” Maeglin agreed, with a kiss that put an end to talking for a while.

---

When coherent speech and thought became possible again, Tindomiel discovered someone – almost definitely Anairon – had been kind enough to leave some small snacks discreetly at the edge of the clearing. Crackers, what must be the last of the cheese, nuts, and jam thumbprints were all stacked neatly on top of a folded sleep roll.

She smiled, although she was pretty sure she owed her best friend the mother of all apologies. Anairon was the one who did pretty much all the worrying for both of them under normal circumstances. He might well have had a nervous breakdown at the thought of how he was going to explain this to anyone.

She returned to the subject of Neldoreth as she and Maeglin gratefully nibbled at the eats.

“Is that truly where you wanted to go?” she asked. “We can still do that if you want, but if there’s somewhere else you would rather be now that you know you’re in Aman and I can probably tell you where anyone you want to see is…”

“It is less that I want to be in Neldoreth than that I need Aunt Melian’s aid,” Maeglin said slowly. “I… am not entirely well. My memory is damaged.”

He seemed almost ashamed to admit it.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but it might help?” Tindomiel offered hesitantly. “Was it Sauron or Morgoth that did it?”

Her new husband blushed.

“No,” he replied so quietly she almost missed it. “I did.”

Her confusion was plain enough that he needed no words to know he had to explain.

“When I was…taken,” he told her haltingly, “I knew he would want to know the way to the city. It was the only thing I had of any possible value to him. He did not need to know about our defenses, not when he had already proved he had more than enough to overwhelm us, regardless of what we might once have believed made us secure. He only needed to know where the city was. I suppose the protection of Ulmo my uncle trusted in was still sufficient at that point he could not discover it independently. But with a man of the city foolish enough to have wandered beyond the limits of that protection…”

He loathed himself for his stupidity, she realized, their new bond making it easy for her to pick out what he would not have put into words, not even to her. He was so ashamed of it that he couldn’t bring himself to speak it aloud. He had known the instant he was captured what the price of his overconfidence would be – the city, the people who looked to him, and the closest kin he had left.

“I tried to kill myself,” he continued miserably, “but too late. The orc commander made certain his prize would be delivered to his master alive, if not quite pristine. He knew what sort of reward there would be, and that was even without knowing I was not merely an elf of Ondolindë, but its prince.”

She could see Sauron laughing in his memory, absolutely delighted to have not just anyone, but Turgon’s nephew – Nolofinwë’s only grandson. She shut her mind against any further detail, certain she did not want to know. She’d overheard enough from Anariel about how torture worked not to want to see it happen to anyone she cared about. Especially not when she couldn’t do a damn thing to even the score. Knowing Sauron was already defeated didn’t help in the slightest. She suddenly got why Anariel was so cranky about not getting to fight him first…

She was also starting to understand her sister’s running list of reasons to hit Morgoth as hard as she could. Given that Tindomiel wasn’t a Slayer, she didn’t have much hope of doing serious damage, but she’d quite like to take a swing or two herself.

“Out of sheer desperation, I thought if I didn’t know where the city was, that might be enough to protect it. It wouldn’t matter if I was killed, just so long as the city was safe.”

Maeglin gulped.

“I walled the memories away, locked them up so tight I couldn’t reach them anymore. But I excised more than I meant to – I lost everything about my mother as well.”

And when he said ‘everything’, she realized with a sick feeling, he meant it. He couldn’t even call to mind her face or her voice anymore. He’d obliterated most of his childhood.

It was just as well there’d been no surprise Aunt Irissë so far. That would have gone remarkably badly. Tindomiel wasn’t sure if her mate’s mother could match Anariel for raw fury, but she wasn’t particularly keen to find out. And while some of them had long fuses to go with it, she had yet to meet a Finwion who didn’t have a temper.

“And you think Grandmother Melian will be able to help,” Tindomiel concluded.

She felt like keeping Maeglin talking about the major trauma of his previous life was not the best choice at the moment. He didn’t seem to be finding it cathartic in any way if the waves of self-loathing, shame, and fear were anything to judge by.

“Which is probably right,” she continued bracingly. “I’d go to her first, too, if I were you. Fortunately, we don’t have to go. We’ll get her to come to us.”

GRANDMOTHER!

Melian was there even before she’d finished the word, before Maeglin could ask what she meant.

“Are you well, my little jewelbird?”

Tindomiel had never heard such concern from her maiarin grandmother before, but then again, she had never called for her that urgently either. (And given that the birds would not have reported anything out of the ordinary...) She had the impression she was being looked over very carefully for any possible injury even as the area was being checked for threats on multiple levels.

Melian abruptly relaxed, beaming at them.

“Oh, you married, you darlings!” she exclaimed, before adding reproachfully, “Tinu, you worried me.”

“Sorry, but it’s important, Grandmother,” Tindomiel replied unrepentantly. “We need help.”

Melian waited expectantly, but her attention now focused on Maeglin.

“His memory,” Tindomiel added, hoping that prompt would be enough that he wouldn’t have to explain it a second time.

“Yes, you’ve snarled it up terribly, chickadee.”

Tindomiel’s train of thought came to an unscheduled emergency stop and nearly derailed at learning her mate was ‘chickadee’ the same way she was ‘jewelbird’.

Melian returned her attention to her granddaughter.

“But you should be able to fix this, darling – no need to yell for me as if something dreadful was happening.”

“I can?” Tindomiel blinked in astonishment.

There was a fleeting sense of reproach from Melian.

Of course you can.

Maybe that logic made sense if she thought of it as Maeglin having locked the memories. After all, she was the Key. And he’d said that himself, hadn’t he?

“If you are nervous, I can help,” Melian added. “But you are his mate. It would be better and probably more deftly done if you are the one to attend to it.”

You will know before I will if any damage is being done in the undoing, she added pointedly.

No pressure then, Tindomiel shot back acidly.

“I have every confidence in you, jewelbird,” Melian said.

“So do I,” Maeglin added warmly.

Tindomiel shot him a grateful look before she frowned and tentatively reached for the sides of his face. True, she was feeling her way more with her fëa than with her hands, but she was following instinct, much as she had the first time she’d tried using the power of the Key. And maybe that made it less weird for Maeglin.

Whatever he had done was effective enough to have held before both Sauron and Morgoth, and not broken even when Sauron had been possessing his body.

Oh, Mairon could have undone it at that point, Melian sniffed. No doubt he found it more amusing not to. My little sunbird should have hit him harder when she had the chance.

Tindomiel wasn’t sure when Anariel had gotten to hit him, because she was pretty sure her sister would have mentioned it. She also forbore to mention that Anariel would agree completely with Melian whenever she found out. And then need to find something else to hit until hitting Morgoth was an option…

There.

It wasn’t just that he’d locked away memories of his mother.  That he’d had to do, for she was tightly tied to his memories of coming to Gondolin in the first place. But he’d also protected the memories of his father to a large extent, preserving his childhood where Sauron couldn’t touch it, couldn’t use it against him. Though curiously, that had still left enough for him to remember Thingol and Melian…

He could only hide so much yet remain functional, Melian pointed out, speaking only to her granddaughter. Particularly if it touched on matters he discussed with people he knew in Ondolindë. But much of his early life was easy to hide – few in the Noldorin city wished to hear anything of it, and almost none that his parents were happy together. On the whole, it is surprisingly effective for being Sung in haste and desperation.

Tindomiel was far from certain about what she was doing, but she directed the power of the Key to the spot she’d found, and to another place where she could feel an unnatural tension, unlocking whatever they hid gently. And one more location as well. She did notice there was a slight hum to it that she could almost call music…

“Much better, yes, chickadee?” Melian said, ruffling Maeglin’s hair. “Now you are free to meet your mate with an open mind as is natural. I am very happy for you both. You should come to visit before long. I have missed my jewelbird these past seasons, and Elu is always so pleased to see you children joyful.”

Maeglin, too busy remembering his Ammë for the first time in three Ages, didn’t so much as nod.

“It won’t be right away,” Tindomiel said, stalling for time.

She had no idea what the plan was now, if there even was a plan.

“Perhaps after your parents have given their blessing?” Melian suggested. “That should be enough time, I think. If you do not need me any longer, I will go. I would not have appreciated a visitor when Elu and I were bonding.”

As usual with Melian, she matched action to word rapidly enough that she was gone before her grandchildren could manage a goodbye.

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Tindomiel smiled as she drowsed against Maeglin’s chest. Since Melian’s departure, they had passed the day in a haze of intense talk interspersed with lovemaking. They’d had a few more snacks in between, just enough to keep them going.

She had never felt so simultaneously tired and energized in her life.

Among other things, she’d been trying to catch her mate up on all the history he’d missed, starting with everything else that had gone on in Beleriand after the Nirnaeth. (And a few things before, actually. Gondolin hadn’t exactly kept up with the news.) They hadn’t gotten as far as the War of Wrath yet, because he had so many questions.

Actually, they weren’t even to the Second Kinslaying, which she considered slightly more important. She was hoping they’d get to that soon – she thought it was kind of important to explain her immediate family, seeing at they were now his in-laws.

Maeglin had things to tell her too, things history hadn’t bothered to record, like meeting his extended family right before the Nirnaeth, and how if things had gone just slightly differently, he might have returned with Fingon to Hithlum. And now that he could remember it, he had tons of stories to tell about his youth in Nan Elmoth and visits to Doriath. She would listen to as many of those as he wanted, given that not only did it seem to be helping him, his whole fëa lit up when he talked about it.

She roused when she heard Anairon’s tentative Are you two decent?

“By Noldorin standards, not in the least,” she replied aloud with a grin he wouldn’t see but was probably imagining from her tone. “If you meant are we singing marriage song, no, not right now. But be warned, there is still full nudity.”

She deliberately went with one of the politest Noldorin euphemisms. She was surprised Anairon had disturbed them at all and didn’t want to make the moment any more awkward than she knew it already was for him.

She would have put clothes on if she had any idea where most of them had ended up.

“I come bearing food,” Anairon announced, setting down a fragrant stew in two bread bowls. “I thought you might be ready for it by now.”

“And if we weren’t?” Tindomiel asked impishly.

“Then I would have resorted to stronger measures than asking nicely,” Anairon replied, a hint more of his father showing than usual. “The pair of you haven’t eaten a proper meal in over a week.”

And he really ought to be eating more often than usual right now, he added reproachfully to Tindomiel. Those little things I’ve been bringing are not adequate for someone newly returned. Your timing is atrocious!

“Not one of your better jokes,” Tindomiel snorted, though her stomach was growling at the scent wafting up from the bowls. By the looks of it, he’d gone hunting at least once – and as usual been perfectly fine once he wasn’t worried about an audience. “But thanks.”

“Good, seeing as I wasn’t joking,” Anairon said drily. “I call it wedding stew, by the way. I didn’t have everything I’d need to make the traditional wedding soup, and improvising only goes so far.”

Tindomiel was stuck on the ‘over a week’ part, and gearing up to protest as soon as she could martial any sensible argument. She hadn’t been paying attention to the time, but she was sure it hadn’t been that long.

“He’s probably correct,” Maeglin pre-empted her gently. “It would not be unusual. We thank you, kinsman.”

Tindomiel blinked, more at her mate’s easy agreement with Anairon’s preposterous timeline than at him tactfully calling Anairon ‘kinsmen’ to save himself the knotty problem of whether to address the other man as ‘uncle’ or ‘cousin’.

“But…”

She had no real standard to judge by, having not known any elven couples getting married. Glorfindel and Ecthelion’s engagement was still an informal understanding only, and looked set to remain so until Tas and Cali came of age. They hadn’t figured out yet whether it was Glorfindel or Ecthelion being old-fashioned, but somebody definitely was, to general frustration on the part of both the Laurefindiel and their grandparents. (And possibly Ecthelion’s parents as well, but Tindomiel didn’t know them well enough to be privy to their thoughts on the matter.)

The only weddings she’d ever attended had all been back in Ennor. First had been Willow and Tara’s and Xander and Anya’s – all Men, not elves, and Men of California at that. There had also been Arwen and Estel’s wedding, of course, but that had been very much a Mannish ceremony, not an elven one, and a couple that weren’t both elves. Plus the circumstances of their wedding hadn’t allowed for a proper honeymoon, what with a city and kingdom to rebuild…

Actually, now that she was experiencing the elven version of newly married for herself, Tindomiel really had to wonder how Estel had been able to keep up. She wasn’t so sheltered that she didn’t know there were certain physiological differences between elves and Men, and Estel hadn’t exactly been a spring chicken by the time of the wedding. (Unlike the rest of their siblings, Arwen had waited until marriage – Gramma Anairë would definitely approve. So her older sister had probably been a little more enthusiastic than most… Why was she only realizing this now that there was an inconvenient ocean between her and her sisters?)

“Oh,” she said weakly. “Um, sorry?”

Maeglin didn’t laugh out loud, but his amusement echoed in her fëa.

Anairon looked as he usually did whenever she’d accidentally gotten them both in trouble – a mixture of resigned and exasperated. Usually her comeback would be ‘I didn’t do it on purpose!’ but that seemed a little wrong under the circumstances.

Say it if you wish. I know you do not mean you regret your actions, Maeglin offered. It may set him more at ease.

She didn’t regret a darn thing, as it happened. But she wasn’t going to say it even so.

“Anyway,” Anairon said firmly, leaving no space for any attempt at explanation on her part. “Tas and Cali went home as originally planned, the day after you married.”

“So everyone knows?” Tindomiel asked, not sure whether she should be aghast or relieved that someone else had already spilled the beans.

“Unless things went wrong, no one knows,” Anairon corrected at once. “We agreed that if asked, they would say only that you were heading for Neldoreth when last they saw you.”

Tindomiel couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up.

That statement was technically true, yet leaving out so much that it was going to result in Tas and Cali getting quite the lecture from Ecthelion whenever the full truth came to light. But neither her Gondolin grandparents nor Glorfindel and Ecthelion would see through it. Even Aunt Irimë was unlikely to spot the omission if she happened to be in town.

After all, neither ‘she ran into Maeglin’ nor ‘she married him’ would seem like reasonable possibilities to pretty much anyone.

“Are you sure?” Maeglin asked, adding carefully, “I do not mean to impugn her, but Tasariel seems to me unlikely to keep such interesting news to herself indefinitely.”

Tindomiel could feel his concern that he was about to spark a quarrel, and silently reassured him.

“Tas won’t say anything,” Anairon said wryly. “I can’t blame you not trusting her discretion. But you can trust her self-interest. The explanation that would be required if she let this news slip is so involved and would land her in sufficient trouble that it’s far better for her to keep silent. I’m sure she’s looking forward to the reaction when the news comes out. But I’m also sure she would prefer her role in that event to be ‘gleeful bystander’, not ‘person everyone is looking to for answers’. She’ll be quite happy to leave that to Tinwë.”

“Reasonable,” Maeglin chuckled.

“You’ll be right there with me,” Tindomiel pointed out slightly grumpily. She wouldn’t have entirely minded the initial fuss happening without her.

I was not the one who said the Name first, Maeglin retorted privately. But he wouldn’t be telling anyone else that. It was something of a leap of faith for him to say it even to her, and she shot him a smile and a wave of affection.

I’ll tell them, she sighed. Because otherwise everyone will assume. The Noldor, anyway – they’re weird about women.

That he wholeheartedly agreed with.

At least I know I won’t have to admit it to my older brothers for some time, Tindomiel added.

She tried not to shudder at the thought of how that would go. She was betting the twins would try to do mental gymnastics to somehow make it his doing rather than hers. It was safe to say they were not fans of Maeglin, and finding out their least favorite lord of Gondolin had married their baby sister so quickly was unlikely to improve their opinion of him.

I will be at your side when you do, Maeglin assured her, with a look that sent interesting tingles down her spine.

Anairon cleared his throat loudly.

“Should I leave you two?” he asked uncertainly, looking prepared to cover his eyes if necessary.

“No, you can stick around a little while longer,” Tindomiel replied. “We can behave. And even if we couldn’t, I’d give you enough warning to run away.”

She ignored Anairon’s snort of ultimate skepticism – and tried not to be annoyed at her mate’s silent laughter at it.

“If Tas and Cali went home, then it’s really up to Maeglin where we go. There’s still Neldoreth, but there’s also Ondolindë, Tirion, Imlanthiriath…”

“Um, Tinwë,” Anairon broke in carefully, cutting off a list that would have gotten considerably longer given all her relatives. “I don’t think the pair of you are ready to travel any distance yet.”

He sounded halfway apologetic but surprisingly firm. It was rare for him to take charge, but Tindomiel had seen it just often enough to recognize it.

“I’m sure you’d make it to Ondolindë, it’s not even a full day once you’re on the road. Neldoreth you can manage, if you take it in stages - and I imagine your grandparents will throw a party. Elwë will probably be rather smug at getting to host your wedding, even after the fact. But there’s no way you would reach Tirion, much less get into the city, without sparking an outright scandal. I doubt you’d make it to your parents’ house either – just because you can keep off the roads doesn’t mean there won’t be people around.”

And before you suggest travelling your way, he added silently, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not only is it probably best not to dump that on him just yet, you’re not exactly clear-headed right now. I don’t want to find out what it looks like if your way goes wrong!

“I fear he is right, beloved,” Maeglin told her after a moment’s thought. He hadn’t heard Anairon’s mental addendum, but apparently the verbal part made sense enough for him. “I’m sure we can behave well enough for polite company for a few hours. Beyond that…”

Yes, ok, so her best friend might have a point – Tindomiel was starting to understand the reasoning behind leaving newlyweds to themselves for the first month. Having to ‘behave’ for very long would get annoying fairly quickly. Actually, now that she thought about it, ‘behaving’ by Noldorin standards was probably outright impossible.

“Did you want to go to Ondolindë, though?” she asked Maeglin skeptically.

Even if he hadn’t said so, she got the distinct impression he was in no hurry to see Turukano again. Not that she blamed him, given what she knew about his arrival in original Gondolin. Good thing most of the family had already had a go at Turukano about that. (He was still due a reckoning with Anariel, though.)

“I would not mind seeing Rillë again,” he replied.

She thought, but did not say, that Itarillë was one person out of tens of thousands. Her pick would have been Neldoreth. Even Grandpa Thingol would save the ridiculousness until they felt like company. Actually, he’d probably shoo everyone else away for them.

“Besides, did you not tell me all twelve houses were rebuilt?” Maeglin continued thoughtfully. “Unless my own House believe me a traitor as the folk of Ennor do, I think we could trust them to keep visitors at bay for the next few weeks.”

“They’re probably the people most firmly convinced in your innocence,” Tindomiel replied.

Any variant of the “vile calumny” she had learned in Ennor of what happened to Gondolin was fighting words as far as the Moles were concerned. Given that the king and princess of the city held similar views, newcomers arriving from the Hither Shores had a bit of a learning curve on the subject.

“They’ll definitely guard your privacy once you reach them,” Anairon nodded. “But how do you mean to get into the city unnoticed?”

Tindomiel chuckled.

“That part should be fairly easy,” she said.

“You can’t just barge into the House of the Mole, or even get into the city your way,” Anairon protested, throwing caution on that subject to the wind and drawing a curious raised eyebrow from Maeglin. “That would raise too many questions you don’t want to answer publicly.”

“Not what I had in mind,” she grinned. “I was just going to ask if Maeglin could borrow your cloak.”

“Why – oh.”

Anairon knew well enough how her mind worked to have grasped the plan.

“Oh what?” Maeglin asked in confusion, looking from one to the other.

“Tinwë means to time your arrival so you arrive at the city in the evening, ideally after dark,” Anairon said with a resigned sigh. “It’s still early enough in the year to be cool at night, at least by Tirion standards, which is what I’m used to. So it won’t look at all odd if you have your cloak on and hood up when arriving. Unless the gate guards get a good look at your face, they’ll assume you’re me and that Tinwë and I are trying to get into the city without attracting attention. Probably think we’re trying to avoid getting in trouble for something – which I suppose is halfway accurate. As long as it’s not Harps or Hammers on the gate, they’ll let you in without any bother.”

“Why would the Harps and Hammers-” Maeglin began.

“The Harps would rat me out because Salgant thinks we need to be on a tighter leash,” Tindomiel sniffed, gesturing at herself and Anairon. “And the Hammers would enjoy watching us get in trouble.”

Maeglin frowned. That sounded odd to him.

“Which wouldn’t be the case if someone hadn’t pranked Rog and his deputy last time we were there…” Anairon muttered.

Or perhaps not so odd. Maeglin had to stifle a laugh. He hoped Rog wouldn’t hold back merely because Tindomiel was his mate. He suspected a prank war between the two of them would be quite entertaining.

“I didn’t know then that I was going to need to sneak into the city the next time, did I?” Tindomiel asked reasonably. “But they’re unlikely to be on watch duty right now. And I don’t think the Harps would be either, shouldn’t it be Pillar or Swallow? Anyway, even if it is them, they’d wait until the end of their watch to tattle – it’s not like they’re going to detain me, is it? So we’d get in either way.”

“Let’s hope so,” Anairon said, his tone suggesting that might be more optimism than sound analysis on Tindomiel’s part.

“Then we just go straight to the Mole,” Tindomiel concluded. “It’s brilliant. And if the Moles will keep everyone else away…”

“They will,” Maeglin said confidently.

“Then we’re set,” Tindomiel beamed.

“At least until your grandparents find out you’re in town and where you are,” Anairon sighed. “Which they will.”

“Hush,” she said firmly, before Maeglin could ask. “What are you going to do while we’re sneaking in the southwest gate? Are you going around to a different gate?”

“No,” Anairon snorted. “I’m heading home, to break the news to Mother and Father that they should pack for a trip to Turukano’s city.”

“You’re going to tell them?” Tindomiel gasped.

“I’m going to tell them Lomion’s back,” Anairon replied. “At which point you will likely hear Mother’s reaction all the way from Ondolindë. The pair of you can explain the rest for yourselves, thank you very much.”

“Chicken,” Tindomiel murmured.

“I’m now firmly convinced poultry are more sensible than you are,” Anairon sniffed. “They definitely have better self-preservation instincts.”

Maeglin hadn’t a clue what poultry had to do with anything, but it seemed he could look forward to spending the night – and quite a few nights thereafter – in his own house, in an actual bed, with his mate, undisturbed. That was more than enough for him.

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Anairon headed out not long after their conversation about who was going where, leaving not only his cloak, but a spare set of clothes behind on the grounds that the grey tunic Maeglin had been wearing would stand out too much.

Though he didn’t depart without a firm injunction to both of them to actually get up and moving, not just talk about it.It left Maeglin with the distinct impression he didn’t expect that they would, or that if they did, he would be the motivator.

Tindomiel watched him go with a shake of her lovely head.

“It’s almost like he doesn’t trust us,” she sighed.

“It’s almost like he knows you,” Maeglin pointed out wryly, hauling her to her feet. “Though I suppose it is fair if he does not trust me, as he has only known me a few days.”

She pouted for a few seconds, but then started looking for her tunic. Given that neither of them had been paying much attention to where anything landed when the clothes came off, finding everything took a little while.

He appreciated that Tindomiel focused on finding her clothes and didn’t take the opportunity to distract him. He also needed to locate his own clothing. The tunic he might need only to pack in Tindomiel’s bag – another small kindness courtesy of Anairon – but he was taller than his kinsman, so if he didn’t find his own leggings, they’d certainly draw the attention of the guards.

Only when they were both dressed again and ready to set out did Maeglin bring up the question on his mind.

“When Anairon said ‘your way’,” he began carefully, “what exactly did he mean?”

For a fleeting moment, Tindomiel reminded him of little Eärendil, who had a habit of chewing on his lip when he’d been naughty. Though he supposed his nephew was likely not so little anymore – he would have to ask about him at some point. But that might be a better question for Rillë.

She finally looked around carefully, and he had the impression she was listening for anyone else in the vicinity before she answered.

“Did it not occur to you to wonder how I caught up with you?” she asked.

In all truth, he hadn’t paid it any mind. He’d had other things on his mind at the time. And since. Nor was he terribly bothered that she had.

“Only now that you mention it,” he replied honestly.

She followed his thought easily, and he marveled afresh that he could bring such a smile to her face.

“Right, well, now that I have mentioned it…”

He determinedly linked his arm through hers and put one foot in front of the other. If they didn’t make a start now, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. They could speak while walking just as easily.

“It is curious. Are you perhaps a champion runner?”

Tindomiel shook her head, this time looking amused.

“Nope, I leave the athletics to my older sister and our brothers. I’m the academic one.”

She frowned.

“Maybe it’s easier if I show than tell,” she said. “We can shorten the journey a bit, if you’re willing?

He nodded cautiously.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he was agreeing to, but he trusted Tindomiel. She tightened her grip on his arm, and he felt that she expected nothing more for him to keep walking.

He could see no reason not to, so he did – and the world blurred with the next step, taking on a greenish tinge before reforming in the oddest way. When his vision cleared, he realized they had gone from deep in the forest to just at its edge. He saw the road up ahead, and a much larger city than he had expected off in the distance.

He looked at her. He didn’t even need to ask the question.

It’s a thing I can do. It’s a long story, and it starts in California – which is a tale in its own right. I will tell you the full story, including California, sometime when we don’t have to worry about other people interrupting. But the abridged version is that I can move like maiar do, if I need to. Or want to.

He considered this. It was not as odd in one of Aunt Melian’s descendants as it would have been in other elves. And it was understandable that she wasn’t eager to explain it to all and sundry. Particularly if she was the only one even among her siblings with this extraordinary ability.

“Yeah, it’s just me,” she said wryly. “Which is probably just as well. Most of our family are going to think Anariel’s enough as it is once she gets here.”

It also explained how she was able to wander in and out of Mandos at will – if she was as one of the maiar where those walls were concerned, they wouldn’t bar her.

“And this is how you visit Mandos?” he asked.

She nodded.

This made it somewhat puzzling in retrospect how he had managed to follow her out, if she hadn’t been opening a door so much as doing what she had just demonstrated. There should have been no door for him.

“I still got in trouble the first time,” she confessed. “I mean, my parents said it was for bringing dead relatives back from the Halls without asking, but really it was for going there without telling any grownups what I was planning in the first place.”

“That is why your friends believed you would be blamed for my presence,” he realized.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Because of the other time. But don’t worry, even if they had been right, it would have been only me in trouble, not you. Everyone would have assumed I found you and dragged you out.”

“There was no dragging, but it is reasonably close to the truth,” he shrugged. “I followed you out. At least, I thought I did.”

She frowned when he explained.

“I wonder if Uncle Namo has finally figured out how to be sneaky,” she mused. “I was definitely only taking me in and out this trip.”

“I do not think Namo is inclined to be sneaky,” he said. “Not that I can say I know him.”

“So telling him off,” she muttered.

“There is no reason to,” he said firmly. “My situation was not of his making.”

She glared at him, but was unable to put any real fierceness in it, not when they both knew the one she really wanted to tell off was Sauron. He caught a swiftly tamped down thought about hoping Anariel had at least gotten to hit him once.

“Anyway. We should walk normally from here,” she said. “I don’t mind telling you about the Key thing, but I’m not explaining it to all of Gondolin. The Hammers keep a close enough eye on me as it is. Can you imagine if they knew the walls of Mandos are no big deal?”

Maeglin had to work not to laugh at the thought of how bothered Rog and his people would be to know walls couldn’t keep their opponent out.

“You can’t tell them!” she cautioned him urgently as they made their way beyond the last of the trees.

“I won’t,” he assured her. “I shall only enjoy the thought every so often.”

Like anytime he saw Rog – who would no doubt be puzzled what his former apprentice found so amusing.

“I only prank them the old-fashioned way,” she added.

“Of course,” Maeglin replied. “It would be no challenge otherwise. I will not encourage you to use your unfair advantage. But I will from time to time laugh quietly at the idea that you could.”

And occasionally not so quietly. Now, for example, when none of the Hammers were around to hear.

Tindomiel grinned.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh,” she said. “You should do it more often. It’s nice.”

“I hope to have more opportunities to do so,” he admitted.

He hadn’t been all that merry even in Ondolindë, having only a few kin he trusted well enough to jest with.

“I’ll make certain of it,” she assured him.

“Should we be sending word to your parents?” he asked. “I do not see any good way to contact mine…”

“Yeah, your parents were still in the Halls last I heard,” she replied thoughtfully. “Although I doubt they’ll stay much longer once your mom knows you’ve left. I kind of feel like Uncle Namo will probably tell her pretty quickly, if only to get some peace and quiet.”

Maeglin brightened at the idea of seeing his parents – and having them share in his joy.

“It will be good to see Ammë and Ada again,” he told her. “Whenever that may be. What of your parents?”

She shrugged.

“They generally find out fairly quickly whenever I’m accused of mischief, so they’ll probably turn up in Gondolin before long. Especially if Grandmother is in Tirion whenever Anairon gets back. He can manage to leave information out talking to his parents, but she’ll sniff it out in a heartbeat.”

“Grandmother is Aunt Galadriel?” Maeglin asked.

He was trying to keep the many relatives she had told him about so far in order, and remember who was related to her how. It was a bit intimidating to realize he’d yet to hear them all.

Tindomiel nodded.

“I don’t know what she’ll think. I mean, she’s not going to be disturbed or anything. Surprised, maybe. I bet Grandfather – Uncle Celeborn to you, I guess? – will be happy when he finds out. But he’s still in Ennor, so that won’t be anytime soon.”

She deflated slightly at that, and he could feel both frustration and worry for those of her family still on the far side of the Sea.

“I believe you said he has much to do keeping an eye on your sister and brothers,” Maeglin offered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I look forward to meeting them, and to seeing Uncle again. If what you say of your sister is true, I’m sure he will have much to tell us of her doings.”

She leaned into him, and he could feel her appreciation for the tangible support.

“You keep worrying about what everyone will think, but Anariel’s totally going to approve. It may take a little while to bring the twins around. But don’t worry, with Anariel on our side, they won’t have much choice.”

“What of your parents?” he asked quietly.

That was his real worry. No matter what she said, both her parents had known him only as the traitor of Gondolin, a man who had desired the cousin who had been as a sister to him. He didn’t know about her father, for they hadn’t talked much about him yet, but to the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, he was certain such aberrant behavior would be reprehensible.

“They’re going to love you,” she assured him. “And honestly, even if you had done all the things the histories claimed, Ada would still give you a chance. Actually, it might be good if he turns up before you have to see your uncle.”

He was in no hurry to meet Turukano again, and was grateful Tindomiel seemed to be steering as clear of the subject as possible. She’d accepted that it was Rillë he wanted to see. Though he would also be glad to see Aunt Irimë, if she should happen to be there. He rather doubted she would be. She’d been angry enough about him being kept in Ondolindë – and having no choice but to remain there herself – that he did not see her spending much time in the new version of the city now that she had the freedom to go where she would.

“How so?” he asked.

“Everyone already knows about him behaving badly and having your father killed,” she began tentatively. “Ada was…very unhappy when he found out.”

“Even believing my father had killed my mother?” Maeglin asked, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Tindomiel responded with the air of someone approaching an apparently dead orc.

“He did, actually, but not the way Turukano thought,” she told him carefully. “I don’t know what you called them back then, but Anariel started calling them ‘knives of last resort’ when we learned about them?”

“Close enough,” Maeglin shrugged.

They had always made him uneasy, and luckily he’d never had occasion to carry one – though in retrospect, departing Nan Elmoth without one had been foolish. He himself had been naive to travel the north road so lightly armed, and he wasn’t sure if it was luck or something more sinister that had let him reach Gondolin safely. His father had surely judged them necessary for the road.

“But Ada would not have drawn one without need. He was very cautious with them.”

His father was the one who had taught him how to prepare and safely handle them – caution and respect had been the words he used.

“I’m sure he was,” Tindomiel sighed. “But he wasn’t the one who drew it.”

“My uncle?” Maeglin asked in trepidation.

Ammë wouldn’t have touched them, so that really only left his uncle – the only other one in the room.

“It turns out playing with knives after an evening of drowning your sorrows in wine is a terrible idea,” Tindomiel said quietly. “It was only a small cut, but apparently that’s all it took.”

Maeglin felt sick. The poisons used for such weapons killed swiftly, but not painlessly.

“But he said Ada killed Ammë,” he protested. “If Uncle held the knife…”

“Would you watch me die from one of those poisons?” she asked softly.

NO.

The answer was instinctive and immediate.

“Neither did your father,” Tindomiel explained. “But to Turukano…”

“He believed Ada would kill his own mate and child for no good reason?” Maeglin asked in shock.

“Child?” Tindomiel squeaked. “Your mother was…”

“My sister was begotten only a few months before,” he said quietly.

His mother he had been able to mourn openly. His sister, who he had barely known, had not been mentioned by anyone, so he had concluded it was best not to bring her up, lest her death be used to stain his father’s name still further.

Tindomiel looked so horrified that he worried.

“Right…” Tindomiel breathed. “In that case, I take it back, Turukano is in even more trouble when everyone finds out. And Ada may be less calm this time. He doesn’t take well to people being cruel to children.”

Maeglin sensed that had to do with her father’s history, but they hadn’t gotten to that yet.

“He was able to excuse normal kinslaying but this will be too much?” he asked in confusion.

“I don’t think he excused it exactly,” she said slowly. “He was plenty angry with Turukano about killing your father. He understood that what happened to your mother was an unfortunate accident. But your father was a deliberate choice.”

“Would he not have done the same to a kinslayer, as Uncle proclaimed Ada to be?” Maeglin asked.

She shook her head.

“No. Both my parents were raised with kinslaying being something you do not do. Even at the worst of the Third Age, the most I think Ada would have done was have a kinslayer confined. He didn’t entirely approve of what was done with the three who abandoned Eluréd and Elurín in the woods, and those jerks weren’t executed, just denied further aid or protection.”

“Eluréd and Elurín?”

Maeglin was confused.

Tindomiel sighed.

“Grandsons of Lúthien,” she explained. “Sorry, we haven’t talked about the Second Kinslaying yet. Lúthien’s son, law-daughter, and grandsons were all killed.”

“The grandsons were…young?”

She nodded sadly.

“They were only toddlers. Followers of Celegorm took them into the woods and abandoned them. By the time Uncle Ambarussa found them, one was dead and the other dying.”

Maeglin was appalled to learn that elves could stoop to such orcishness.

“What had Uncle Tyelko to say to this?” he demanded.

The uncle he had known would have been livid. Had he changed so much?

“He couldn’t actually say much, on account of being dead already. He was killed inside Menegroth by Grandfather Dior’s wife Nimloth.”

“Aunt Nimmy killed Uncle Tyelko?”

Maeglin would have been less surprised had she told him the sun now occasionally rose in the west and set in the east.

“Yeah…there’s backstory,” Tindomiel sighed.

She didn’t sound terribly enthused about it, nor did he blame her.

“I’m not sure I want to hear it,” Maeglin admitted.

“Yes, I suppose it’s one thing to learn as history, and another to have dumped on you about people you already know,” she reflected.

“But if you talk to everyone in the Halls,” Maeglin began.

“I’m warming up to Uncle Celegorm,” she admitted. “Not so much as I’m ready to start using his nickname just yet. But he does have his good points beyond just Huan.”

“I didn’t meet Huan,” Maeglin admitted.

“I have,” she grinned. “He hangs out in the Halls. I guess Uncle Namo didn’t think he’d be any help to you. I wonder why Celegorm never asked him to look for you?”

“A very large dog would not have been very reassuring,” Maeglin told her. “Though I suppose it would have been difficult to hide myself any better.”

“Huan’s persistent,” Tindomiel said. “He might have just waited you out. I mean, sooner or later you’d have to admit the big goof was friendly.”

“You describe him much as I would describe Uncle Tyelko,” Maeglin couldn’t resist pointing out.

It seemed to him awkward enough to have to deal with Uncle without his mate being at odds with other kinsmen. Perhaps in addition to her explaining all that he’d missed, he might be able to convince her a few things she thought she knew looked different from the other side of history.

“Relax, he’s doing his best to prove your point,” Tindomiel sighed. “And Uncle Moryo isn’t so bad. I suppose I’ll even have to make peace with Curufin eventually.”

She was in no particular hurry. Maeglin wondered what Uncle Curvo could have done to warrant such dislike.

“I hope so,” he said tentatively. “He was very kind to me.”

Tindomiel’s only answer when she recovered from being utterly boggled by that statement – which took considerably longer than he would have thought – was to suggest it was time to put his hood up.

“We’re getting close enough that the gate guards might spot that you’re not Anairon,” she pointed out.

Maeglin knew that wasn’t untrue, but at the same time, he recognized she was determinedly avoiding the subject of Uncle Curvo.

The sky was only just beginning to darken, but the breeze picking up meant that it might well be cool enough to justify a hood – even if he actually found the air pleasant.

“The point is not whether or not you like the weather, it’s that Anairon wouldn’t,” Tindomiel reminded him patiently. “He’s used to Tirion. Which is way warmer than anywhere you’ve been, and has no real winter to speak of.”

He obediently pulled the hood on – though not as far as it could go. He preferred to be able to see where he was.

Tindomiel seemed to find that adequate for the time being, and cheerfully announced that they had at least another hour of walking, so they might as well pick back up with the history.

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When they drew close enough to the city, Tindomiel was relieved to spot that it was Swallows on the gate, and ones she didn’t know on sight – she only knew what house they were from by their colors. She and Maeglin should get past them with no trouble at all. At least, as long as they didn’t realize a few things…

“Pull your hood as far forward as you can,” she instructed Maeglin quietly. “I don’t think any of them know Anairon that well, but just in case…”

“No, but they may know me on sight,” he snorted. “Even if they do not, will they not find it suspicious that Anairon would have his hood up?”

Tindomiel rolled her eyes and tugged his hood further forward herself.

“You’re seriously underestimating what a hothouse flower he can be,” she said. “I dragged him up north to Formenos one winter. We got stuck in a snowstorm on the way and had to make camp to wait it out. You should have heard the commentary.”

She could tell that Maeglin was thinking that if such a pleasantly crisp evening warranted all this, he was curious how Anairon had held up in snow.

“I take it he’s warier of letting you plan winter excursions now?” Maeglin asked.

“He’s in no hurry to repeat the experience,” she giggled. “Not to mention, was almost impossible to pry out of the house until spring. Fortunately, Gramma Nerdanel had the fires going and everything we needed for smores when we finally got there.”

Then she realized that Maeglin had no idea what smores were, and she couldn’t very well explain it now.

Later, she promised. Also, you should probably not talk until we’re safely into the city. Appearance-wise you’ll do for anyone who doesn’t know Anairon well enough to notice you’re a few inches taller than you should be, but your voices don’t sound much alike. And your accents definitely don’t.

The chuckle that came from the depths of the hood was close enough to Anairon in a relaxed mood that she saw the gate guards take notice.

“Good evening! What might you two scamps be up to this time?” one of them asked, sounding more curious than suspicious.

“Decided at the last minute that this was a better idea than Neldoreth,” she answered cheerfully. “We’re going to surprise my grandmothers.”

She knew Maeglin was fighting not to laugh at that. But it had the virtue of being entirely true – her grandmothers were definitely going to be surprised. Just hopefully not tonight.

“As long as you’re not about to make more trouble with Lord Rog,” another guard snorted.  “Off with you –hang about too long and you’ll lose your chance at surprising anyone.”

“Mind you don’t go by way of the House of the Hammer,” the first guard added.

“Did Rog tell the whole city?” Tindomiel asked, half keeping up the charade but half in earnest.

“No, he only told a few people,” the member of the trio who had been silent until then told her. “But they told a few people, and then they told a few people…”

“So it might be an exaggeration to say the whole city knows,” the first guard concluded. “But not by much.”

Tindomiel sighed.

“Best behavior this time,” she assured them. “Have a quiet evening!”

“You as well, Princess,” came the reply

She linked her arm through Maeglin’s, and marched briskly up the street, as she would if she were on her way to the House of the Wing or the King’s House. She felt him start to demur after they passed the fourth cross-street.

I realize this city is not a copy of the one I knew, if nothing else it is much larger and more spread out. But unless they rearranged everything, the Mole should be that way, he protested.

No, you’re right, she agreed. Most of the houses are in more or less the same positions they were in the city you knew. But if we turn in that direction too soon and the guards are still watching to make sure I’m going nowhere near the Hammer…

Given their words, she suspected it was likely at least one of them would be keeping an eye on her, if only to have an inside track on gossip.

Maeglin nodded his understanding. They continued until the road had curved around so that the guards could no longer see them. Only then did Tindomiel turn right, toward the Mole. She didn’t know the way exactly – it was one of the Houses she’d never been to, as she’d had no reason to go. But she knew the location in a vague way since it was near the Hammer. So she was confident she could get them fairly close.

“The streets are not what they were, but which house is in what quarter does not look so very different. I believe I can do better than ‘fairly close’,” Maeglin murmured.

“Go for it,” she told him. The quicker we get there, the quicker you can stop hiding your face.

He took the lead, and picked up the pace considerably.

Is it that bad? she asked in concern.

It is annoying. But the longer we are out and about, the more likely it becomes that we run into someone who will not be fooled by a hood. It is one thing to tell my people of our circumstances once we are already within the walls of the Mole, it’s another to be found out on the streets. Half the city would know by midnight.

“It’s only just gone dinner time,” Tindomiel pointed out cheerfully. Anyone hearing her would think Anairon was grumpy because she’d dawdled on the road and made them later than he’d intended. Midnight is enough time for the whole city to hear.

That drew another chuckle, making her grin.

She was puzzled when Maeglin stopped by a gate – she wasn’t expecting it and nearly tripped them both.

“This can’t be it, can it?” she asked in confusion.

It looked nothing like the entrance to a House.

“It isn’t. The main entrance should be somewhere on the north side,” Maeglin replied.  

“I don’t know if we can get in here, not unless you were wanting me to do something,” Tindomiel said, evaluating the decorative but still solidly built gate. “It looks like they don’t leave this open after dusk.”

“I hope they don’t leave it open at all,” he replied quietly. “Unless the House is laid out very differently than it was in Beleriand, this should be the gate to my private garden. I don’t believe your talent will be needed.”

Tindomiel did her best to cover her surprise.

Even now, she hadn’t been thinking of him as a person who would have a private garden. She had seen that the gates at Fëanor’s house somehow recognized her and her father, despite neither of them being begotten or foreseen at the time the gates had been made. So it did make sense that Maeglin did not expect any trouble getting in.

The second the gate closed behind them, he whipped the hood off his head with a sigh of relief.

“I don’t like not being able to see,” he said.

She could think of several reasons for that, none of them pleasant.

“You should have told me sooner,” she exclaimed, trying not to be furious with herself for not considering that without needing to be told. “I would have thought of another way.”

Maeglin took her hand and led her around a hedge that had clearly been designed to protect the privacy of the garden. Anyone passing the gate would see only that.

“Your way worked. You didn’t do it to distress me. And I trust you.”

“Then next time tell me if I’m asking you to do something that makes you uncomfortable,” she said, trying not to sound cranky about it.

“I will,” he replied simply, kissing her hand for good measure before coaxing her toward the house.

Only then did she look around, taking in the garden. It was well-tended, and had been designed with care. It was very soothing. If this was what the Moles had done for a prince no one had seen or heard of since the day he died…

“We didn’t have these in Ondolindë,” Maeglin said, sounding delighted as he examined a brightly colored epiphyte growing on a dwarf orange tree.

His mind was filled with echoes of Menegroth.

“No, and I bet they only get away with it here because this garden is so sheltered,” Tindomiel replied, wondering where they’d found it – it didn’t look like anything from Valimar or Tirion. Either it was straight from Yavanna, or someone had traded with some of the Avarin settlements further south that generally tried to keep clear of the Noldor. “They do have winter here. Not as fierce as Formenos, but still cold enough to get freezes now and again.”

“It looks like they add a glasshouse on this section of the terrace when the weather turns cold,” he observed. “Look, there and there, you can see where the supports will slide in, and the panes of glass.”

She wouldn’t have noticed it had he not pointed it out.

“So you like it?” she asked, hoping for the Moles’ sake the answer was a resounding ‘yes’.

“Very much,” he replied, still looking around. “My garden in Ondolindë was far more basic. The flowers that would bloom in spring or summer without needing over much assistance on my part, and a few herbs that had a wholesome scent. There is much more here. Though I imagine they also have more time to spend on both the design and the doing now.”

As he wrapped an arm around her, she heard the thought he hadn’t voiced – in Ondolindë, he would not have cared for such bright colors, or have welcomed anyone who knew how to care for them into the space that was one of the few places in the city that was truly his own.

“I know how to take care of some of these,” she said. “I learned a little about gardening in Imladris.”

She shared some thoughts of Tara’s garden, and found to her amusement that he was most interested in the edibles. She couldn’t resist sharing the infamous Glorfindel hot pepper story – and thoroughly enjoyed his reaction.

She was almost surprised no one came out to investigate who was laughing so hard in the Prince’s private garden.

Maeglin was still smiling as he led her across the small terrace and through the double doors into what proved to be an office. The way his face lit up told her that this too must be an improved version.

“The office here, and the workshop through there,” he explained, his head whipping back and forth as though they might change places. “It’s better laid out than before. I hadn’t realized when I first designed the house that so many people would have a claim on my time…and it was too late by the time I had recognized my mistake. There was neither the space nor the material to rebuild without good reason.”

He preferred not to be disturbed while truly working – meaning in his workshop. Design work or paperwork could be interrupted with far less risk of consequences. Whoever the architect of the rebuilt House of the Mole was had known his habits well.

Tindomiel was a bit surprised when he turned them toward the workshop, though.

“You can’t be thinking of starting a project now,” she protested, mentally putting forth several far more interesting suggestions.

“A project, no. But there is something we are both in need of, and I would make them myself.”

Before she could protest, he gently stroked her forefinger.

“Oh,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Rings are easy.”

She blinked.

“Right, there’s some more history you missed, and some of it is still fairly recent – don’t say anything about making rings to people other than me until I catch you up on it,” she sighed.

Even with Gramma Idril and presumably a decent chunk of the city in his corner, the last thing she wanted was anyone getting spooked by the words Maeglin and rings in the same sentence.

“I doubt I’ll be struck by the urge to make rings for anyone else,” he shrugged. “I’m doing it now only because it would be better to have them before we encounter anyone else.”

Tindomiel couldn’t argue with that. If nothing else, rings on fingers might make it unnecessary to explain any further…

“Do you need me to do anything?” she asked.

Maeglin shook his head.

“No, I’m sure I can find everything I need.”

She caught that he was tactfully trying to avoid saying that unless she knew more of the craft than he thought, the process would go much faster without her assistance.

With nothing else to do, she looked around the workroom curiously. Anariel and the twins both had at least basic proficiency in several crafts, but they’d only ever used shared space in Imladris’ workshops and forge. She knew Uncle Butthead had a workshop of his own, but no one was allowed in it, so this was the first private workspace she’d seen. She wondered if it was fairly standard, or if each master had their own quirks in how they organized their space.

Maeglin poked into a few drawers and cabinets, but appeared satisfied and unsurprised by their contents. He began assembling materials and tools.

“How long will you need?” she asked.

“Not long,” Maeglin said confidently. “The designs I have in mind are not complex.”

Tindomiel knew well enough when to stay out of the way – and realized it would be best to keep herself occupied so she wouldn’t be tempted to distract him while he worked. Even if Maeglin would likely be more patient with distractions than her siblings, she was pretty sure ring making involved sharp tools and possibly hot things as well. She didn’t want her new husband injured!

Retreating to the office, she found an account of the building of the original city, and brought it out to the workshop with her before settling into a chair she judged to be clear enough of the active work area to be safe.

She lost track of time, so she had no idea how many long had actually passed before Maeglin presented her with an elegant gold band that incorporated a smooth grey gemstone. (Though she had a feeling other people might have quibbled with ‘not long’. It had still been sunlight out when he started, but from what she could see through the windows now, sunset had been some time ago.)

She looked quizzically at him, trying to identify the stone.

“Sapphire,” he explained. “As moles can also be grey. I was thinking we might change the house color, unless you prefer black? I only chose it to annoy Egalmoth, really. I think most of the House will be just as pleased not to wear it anymore.”

“Grey is a good color,” she agreed.

She grinned as he slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

He held his hand up so she could see that his was similar in style as far as the band went, but with a green stone instead of grey.

“Do you approve?” he asked.

It was the most anxious she’d heard him since they had arrived.

“Of course,” she assured him with a smile, taking his hand. “They’re perfect.”

Tindomiel admired the matching rings on their intertwined fingers for a moment before embracing him, with a kiss for good measure.

Now that all necessary formalities had been observed and they had privacy… She knew Maeglin was thinking along similar lines, and was reaching for his tunic to get it out of the way when there was a deliberate cough from somewhere behind him.

“I don’t know who you two are or how you got in here, but this is Prince Lomion’s private workshop.”

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Enerdhil did his best to compose himself.

After thinking it over he had kept quiet the previous evening. It was unlikely anyone would stumble onto the prince and princess before the next afternoon at the soonest, so he had felt it safe to allow himself the night to consider how best to approach the situation.

He had sent notes inviting both Elemmakil and Mastacarmë to break their fast with him in his office. After careful thought, he had concluded his initial impulse to lay the matter before the two of them and bring others in on the secret only if they deemed it needful was correct.

The head cook was the only one he trusted to produce things that would actually induce either of the newlyweds to remember to eat. The prince could forget food for days when he was absorbed in his work, and Princess Tindomiel had been known to vanish into the library for nearly as long if someone didn’t remind her about meals. Combine that with the behavior of most newly mated pairs, and it was not hard to imagine one or both of them suffering ill effects from not eating.

Elemmakil also had to be told. If word got out, it would fall to the captain of the guard to handle the resulting mess and protect their prince’s privacy. Elemmakil had always been utterly loyal to first Princess Irissë and then Prince Lomion. He had fallen in the War of Wrath guarding Princess Itarillë’s grandsons, a task he had taken on with the logic that it was what the prince would have wished. His discretion was assured.

Enerdhil didn’t need to worry about the food, Mastacarmë would see to that. He only had to concern himself with how best to break the news – and hope the reaction was not so loud that anyone else came to see what the fuss was about.

Elemmakil arrived first, frowning when he saw only two chairs on the visitor’s side of the worktable that served Enerdhil as a desk on the rare occasions he had need of one.

“Who’s done what now?” he asked suspiciously. “You wouldn’t have demanded I be here this early if it was good news.”

“Patience,” Enerdhil replied. “I’d rather tell it only the once.”

Elemmakil’s expression suggested this in no way improved his expectations.

Fortunately for Enerdhil’s peace of mind, the head cook bustled in only a moment later, bearing a laden tray.

“Fresh herb bread, preserves for those who feel butter is not enough, and baked eggs,” he announced, setting out the dishes as he spoke.

The look Elemmakil shot Mastacarmë suggested the dig about the preserves was aimed at him, but Enerdhil was too happy to see his breakfast favorite to worry about it.

“Thank you, Mastacarmë,” Enerdhil said before Elemmakil could reply.

“I take it you are about to enlighten me about last night’s mystery tray?” the cook asked shrewdly.

Enerdhil suspected the man had deliberately timed the question for the moment he had his mouth full.

“Mystery tray?” Elemmakil asked, his attention shifting from the bread he had been doctoring with not only butter but peach preserves.

“Oh yes,” Mastacarmë nodded, “our good acting steward here came down to the kitchen yesterday evening and requested a tray be made by me personally, with some of the prince’s favorites. Oddly, he would not say who it was for…”

Elemmakil’s head swiveled to Enerdhil at once.

“The prince has returned?” he demanded.

Mastacarmë looked expectantly to him as well.

“Yes,” Enerdhil said, trying not to show his relief. Perhaps this would be simpler than he had thought.

“And you have not announced this to the House because…”

Elemmakil trailed off, not that Enerdhil could blame him.

The first part of his news was obvious enough to anyone who knew the prince’s foibles. The request last night had plainly been sufficient in itself for Mastacarmë to suspect. It was lucky most of the rest of the kitchen staff were either too young to have known Prince Lomion, or not familiar enough with his particular tastes to spot what Mastacarmë had.

But the second part he would defy anyone to guess.

“The prince is not yet equal to receiving visitors, much less any public appearance,” Enerdhil began, trying for a tactful approach.

“Why?” Elemmakil demanded. “Surely he realizes we are still his loyal people, if he has come here?”

“It has nothing whatsoever to do with him doubting any of us,” Enerdhil assured him.

“Then why?”

“Captain, if you would only let the poor man get a word in edgewise, he might tell you,” Mastacarmë suggested.

“The prince is newly wed,” Enerdhil said carefully.

“Who is the lucky lady?” Mastacarmë asked.

“Or man,” Elemmakil said pointedly.

“If you believe the prince’s interest lay in that direction, you did not pay very close attention,” Mastacarmë snorted.

Enerdhil wondered if perhaps this had been a mistake. He hadn’t known there to be any prior disagreement, but it seemed these two would take any opportunity to snipe at each other…

“Princess Tindomiel,” he said, before Elemmakil could fire back and took quiet glee in the sudden fish impression Elemmakil did.

“The young princess of the Wing?” Elemmakil spluttered.

“If they are married, I believe that would make her Princess of the Mole,” Mastacarmë pointed out.

His tone was one of satisfaction. Enerdhil hoped it was more for the idea of the Mole have a princess or for Prince Lomion having found his mate than simply having scored a point on Elemmakil, but didn’t dare ask.

“Princess of the Wing or Princess of the Mole, it will be a scandal,” Elemmakil retorted. “There was enough talk about how sudden his mother’s marriage was, now he shows up with no one having heard so much as a whisper of him since the day the city fell, wed? That his bride is Princess Tindomiel only makes it worse! She is barely of age!”

“I think those who esteem the prince would surely be pleased for him?” Enerdhil protested before Mastacarmë could get what threatened to be a far more heated word in. Though even as he said it, he had a sinking feeling Elemmakil might be correct.

Their prince could not have been more than a few days from Lórien when he met Princess Tindomiel. There had been more than a few rumors about his parents’ marriage without him being so impetuous in his own, much less with the young princess.

“It will revive all the worst of the calumny and gossip,” Elemmakil predicted dourly. “About both himself and his father.”

“Did we not learn that much of what we thought we knew of his father in Beleriand was misplaced assumptions if not scurrilous falsehood?” Mastacarmë demanded. “The king himself admitted that he jumped to conclusions at the time of Princess Irissë’s death, and he has owned to his mistake.”

There was a stubborn set to Elemmakil’s jaw.

“It could become awkward,” Enerdhil suggested gently, “should anyone give overmuch weight to old rumors. Particularly those of us who know Prince Lomion best.”

“You have shared before all that you learned among Thingol’s folk,” Elemmakil said to Mastacarmë with a sigh. “But that does not mean all the city thinks as you do – and I assure you not all the city is convinced he did not knowingly betray us. It would have been better for both of them had they done things properly. It is unlikely her parents would have denied permission.”

He turned to Enerdhil.

“As you are telling us in confidence, I take it the rest of the city has no idea?”

“I do not believe anyone is aware that the prince has returned, much less that he is wed,” Enerdhil said. “Even Mastacarmë did not guess that part. I myself might not have known had I not found them in the prince’s workshop.”

Mastacarmë chuckled.

“Someone must have seen them coming in,” Elemmakil snorted. “Even if he wasn’t recognized, the entire city knows her. Which means it can’t be all that long before her family wonder why our new princess is not in the Wing or the King’s House as she ought to be.”

“Let us cross that bridge if we come to it,” Enerdhil suggested. “For now, our task is to protect their privacy for as long as we can.”

Elemmakil raised an eyebrow.

“How long before they are ready to receive the king and queen or Princess Itarillë and Prince Tuor at least?” he asked.

“Three weeks, I believe,” Enerdhil replied, trying not to wince.

In the face of Elemmakil’s skepticism, he was beginning to think it would be more difficult than he had perhaps foolishly hoped. But they had to at least try.

“He has the worst sense of timing,” Elemmakil groaned. “The Gates of Summer is next month. The prince was shy at the best of times, yet the pair of them will be emerging from their honeymoon just in time that it will be their first appearance.”

“Enough with the doom and gloom, captain,” Mastacarmë said briskly. “The prince has returned. The prince has wed. We must deal with the facts as they are, not as we might wish them to be. The timing is immaterial.  It is no help to imagine it would somehow have been better had it been Nost-na-Lothion approaching rather than the Gates of Summer, or that it would somehow be less difficult had the prince wed one of Thingol’s people.”

“He did, in point of fact,” Elemmakil pointed out rather waspishly. “She may not have the look of Lúthien, but Princess Tindomiel is very much one of his descendants all the same.”

“Yes, thank you, Elemmakil,” Enerdhil sighed. “But as to the task at hand?”

Elemmakil frowned.

“You have changed the rota so no one has cause to enter the prince’s rooms, or his office?” he asked.

Enerdhil nodded.

“That should suffice for now. But even if the outer rooms are not much used, they should still be cleaned. I suppose you and I will have to split that chore.”

“There is no one else who can be trusted to keep quiet?” Enerdhil protested.

He would sacrifice his own time if it was truly necessary, but he had not expected it would be.

“Trusted, yes, but it would be remarked on if that responsibility is suddenly shifted to someone not on the current roster without explanation,” Elemmakil shrugged. “Better that you and I split it. It may set a few people thinking, but as both of us do check the rooms regularly as part of our duties it’s doubtful they’ll hit on the truth. And we can’t be leaned on or persuaded to let something slip over a drink the way most others might.”

“My assignment is plain enough,” Mastacarmë said. “Keep the two newlyweds fed. It’s just as well I spent that time in Neldoreth. Though I wonder…”

Enerdhil waited, and for a wonder Elemmakil had no tart comment.

“Do you suppose I could get away with enquiring of the cooks of the Wing or the Golden Flower about the Princess’ tastes?”

“Not the house of the King?” Enerdhil asked in surprise.

“No, that would draw the queen’s attention,” Mastacarmë explained. “I am not such a pessimist as our noble captain, but he does have a point that the princess’ family will sooner or later notice she is not where they expected. No need to have Queen Elenwë already looking in this direction. I am on good terms with the cook of the Wing, and I believe she could invite the cook from the Golden Flower without it attracting much notice.”

“How would you explain your sudden interest to them?” Elemmakil wanted to know.

“We are the only house who have not yet hosted the princess or her father on any of their visits,” Mastacarmë shrugged. “The Hammer has actually dined with them half a dozen times, once at a festival! I will say that if asked, and let anyone inquiring conclude that we are feeling slighted and angling to extend an invitation to the princess for the upcoming festival. What’s more, I would be surprised indeed if we did not have allies in the Golden Flower.”

At his surprised look, Mastacarmë gave Elemmakil a smug grin.

“Do you really suppose the princess could have married without her dear cousins knowing of it? Particularly when they were with her as recently as the week before last?”

Elemmakil swore quietly.

“Lord Laurefindil is entirely too indulgent with those two scamps.”

“He’s hardly the only one,” Enerdhil laughed.

“Yes, I’m not sure how strict you think he can be with them when the king spoils them as badly as any grandparent could,” Mastacarmë snorted. “I wonder if I might contrive a word or two with them? They would know better than most what the princess likes. And you can be certain they’re as eager as we are to keep this secret, if only so they do not have to explain themselves to the king.”

“I suspect they’ll be doing that no matter how long we manage to cover,” Enerdhil said drily. “King Turukano may be indulgent with his young cousins, but he’s no fool. And he knows as well as anyone else when they returned and who they were travelling with before they did.”

“Indeed. Did you have any further thoughts for me?” Mastacarmë asked. “If not, I should be getting back to the kitchen. I’ve a hearty breakfast for two to prepare – and I suppose you’ll be collecting it again?”

“The kitchens will notice if Enerdhil is suddenly collecting trays twice a day,” Elemmakil pointed out with a frown. “The three of us should switch off so it is less obvious that something has changed.”

To Enerdhil’s surprise, Mastacarmë agreed.

“True – and any gossip in the kitchens would spread through the house if not the city like dragonfire. Collect the breakfast tray, but I will take dinner up myself. If I plate it just so, my staff should think I’m trying out new courses on myself again.”

The cook paused at the door before opening it.

“All the same, I will be very surprised if we manage to keep this between the three of us until our prince and princess are ready to rejoin the world.”

“We can but try our best,” Elemmakil said resignedly.

“And console ourselves that should we fail, it’s not us that will be called on to explain to the king and queen,” Enerdhil added.

“There is that,” Elemmakil nodded as Mastacarmë departed. “Though it is not much comfort.”

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Tindomiel traced an idle spiral on Maeglin’s chest as she wound up her explanation of why he should be cautious about making rings for several years. She’d accidentally done the explanation backwards, starting with the recent bits, and compressed the Third Age parts as much as possible so he wouldn’t have time to fret much about her sister or brothers. (And also so she didn’t have to talk about Arwen and Estel. They could get to that later.)

He’d taken the Second Age parts better than she’d expected, to her surprise. He had to remind her that he had never actually met Celebrimbor.

“I met his father only the once, just before the battle…” he trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the name that had been given to it.

“The Nirnaeth Anoediad,” she prompted.

“Yes,” he nodded. “We just called it ‘the battle’. I met Ammë’s cousins the evening before. My uncle Findekano hosted a dinner for his kin. It was the only time I met him.”

His mood turned somber, so she hastened to assure him that while Findekano had not returned yet, that was only because he was being stubborn.

“He’s not coming back without Grandpa Maitimo,” she explained. “Otherwise he could have been wandering around Tirion an Age ago. Maybe even longer.”

Maeglin frowned.

“I do not understand. How can Uncle Maedhros be your grandfather when Uncle Findekano is only ‘uncle’?”

She knew he was turning over the puzzle in his mind, and trying valiantly to make it fit. He was aware Maedhros and Fingon had been wed but childless at the Nirnaeth – at least, childless so far as anyone had mentioned in his hearing – and it wasn’t as if they could have had children after…

“Grandpa Maitimo and Grandfather Makalaurë raised my dad,” she explained.  

He didn’t need to be told that made them grandfathers in the Sindarin sense, and that some Noldor would dispute the term.

She decided to explain later that in this case it was actually the other way around, with Thingol the one who did his best to ignore the relationship entirely and even Grandfather not entirely pleased about having to acknowledge it. None of the Tirion relatives were about to make the argument that Nerdanel didn’t have peredhil grandchildren.

“But what became of your grandparents?” he asked. “Did something happen to Queen Elwing?”

Tindomiel sighed, wondering how much to tell him. She’d been hoping to avoid the Third Kinslaying a little longer. He’d been fairly upset after hearing about the Second.

“Gramma had Lúthien’s Silmaril,” she explained.

Maeglin paled.

“They killed her?” he asked worriedly.

Tindomiel shook her head.

“No, she jumped off a cliff with it so they couldn’t have it,” she told him with a smirk. “But then the Valar said she couldn’t return to Ennor. And my grandfathers weren’t going to leave Ada and Uncle Elros to fend for themselves, they were only six.”

Maeglin’s scowl reminded her a lot of Anariel’s when she’d first heard that it was the Valar’s idea that Elwing and Eärendil couldn’t go back.

“Yeah, they have odd ideas,” she said before he could get too worked up. “We should go visit Gramma Elwing once we’re okay to go out without scandalizing the Noldor.”

That got both a smile and a slight snicker.

“She could come here,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” Tindomiel said dubiously. She could tell him later she’d never known Elwing to go anywhere Noldorin.  She also decided now wasn’t the time to point out that they had enough family to deal with right here in the city.

“Not today,” Maeglin assured her, with a quick peck on the tip of her nose as he rolled out of bed.

Now it was her turn to frown.

“Where are you going?”

“Anardil did remind us to eat,” he replied. “I cannot see him bringing anything in here, but I would be surprised indeed if there weren’t something in the outer room…”

Tindomiel reflected that he must be fairly sure Enerdhil wasn’t out there right now if he hadn’t bothered putting on anything.

“We did eat,” she protested. “Not that long ago.”

Maeglin reappeared, bearing a laden tray, and grinning.

“I believe ‘not that long ago’ may have been yesterday,” he told her. “And if that tray was put together with me in mind, this one must be for you – I don’t recognize half of it.”

Tindomiel sat up with a sigh, though now that there was food, her stomach was grumbling. Any reluctance was quickly burned off in the face of chocolate fondue.

“I take back any complaints, Enerdhil is a genius,” she informed her surprised mate.

She wrapped a sheet around herself as she joined him at the table – whoever had designed Maeglin’s rooms had known him well enough to know if there wasn’t a table for him to write on, at some point he’d end up spilling ink on the bed.

“Modesty?” he teased.

“Keeping warm!” she shot back.

The nights were still cool, and while the sun was shining in the window, the light suggested it was still early enough in the morning that they’d have needed more than just the sun to warm the room. He might be used to a chilly northern climate, but she wasn’t. Even in winter, the rooms in Imladris had been warm.

“I could do that,” he offered.

“You’re the one who said we should be eating,” she reminded him, but did not protest when he pulled her onto his lap.

“We will eat. Then we will find other ways to keep you warm,” he replied.

She could sense more of his attention was on the tray right now than on further sexytimes fun, so she took one of the skewers and dipped a slice of mango into the chocolate.

“You said this tray was for you?” Maeglin prompted, copying her actions cautiously, substituting an apple for the mango.

“Unless Grandfather neglected to mention something awfully important, they didn’t have chocolate in Beleriand,” she said.

“Chocolate?” Maeglin asked, eying his chocolate coated apple slice curiously.

“Try it, it’s good,” she urged him, turning her head so she’d not just feel but see his reaction.

Judging by the surprised smile, he found chocolate as delicious as she could hope.

“More than just good,” he replied blissfully.

She grinned, and dunked a chunk of orange for him.

“Where does this chocolate come from that we didn’t have it?”

“California,” Tindomiel said. “Tasariel and Califiriel’s mother Tara brought it to Arda, and sent it West when she realized Imladris wasn’t a good place for it to grow. Auntie Yavanna loved the plant. Everyone else loved the end result.”

She knew he would ask before he said the words. She could feel the curiosity – and also the concern. But it wasn’t as if this was something she could hide from him, or wanted to. He already knew about the Key, or at least the good part of it.

“Where is California? And why do you speak as if it is not part of Arda?”

Tindomiel took a deep breath and tried not to feel guilty that she was dumping this on someone barely out of the Halls. Then again, Uncle Moryo had heard it and been just fine. Maeglin had been in no way as out of it as Uncle Aiko when he first returned...

“California isn’t part of Arda,” she said firmly. “It’s another world, with Powers of its own looking after it, and its own history and problems.”

“But…”

“Hold the questions until I’ve given you the short version, it really will make sense. Well, some sense. Parts of it are still pretty stupid.”

Maeglin nodded, and she tried not to grin at his expression as he cautiously dipped a pretzel into the chocolate.

“So it’s all a bit hazy how Nana and Anariel got there – Nana was being hunted by orcs crossing the mountains, and she had baby Anariel with her, that part’s clear, but it’s not clear who or what ripped a hole between dimensions so when Nana took what she thought was an escape aided by the Valar she landed in a whole ‘nother world.”

“If she is Galadriel’s daughter and wed to a grandson of Lúthien, it does not seem very unclear who would wish your mother or her children harm,” Maeglin pointed out quietly.

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” Tindomiel agreed. “Pretty sure Anariel’s leading theory is Morgoth and Sauron, but it’s not like anyone can prove it, because Sauron wasn’t dumb enough to say something like ‘oh hey, shame you made it back after I dumped you and your mom in another world’ when Anariel was pounding on his gates to make chicken noises at him with an army behind her.”

Further discussion of California had to wait, as that sentence ended up requiring a lengthy explanation, not to mention reassurance that Anariel had definitely survived the experience, Sauron not so much, and as far as anyone else could tell, her sister’s main regret about that particular battle was not having gotten to physically hit him at any point. Tindomiel decided to leave ‘she’s probably planning for Morgoth even now because she wants to hit him even more’ for another day.

Then she had to spend time covering major differences between California and Arda before she could get to explaining what she’d really meant to get to.

“But I do not understand how they thought the air and water being poisoned was a good trade for getting places faster,” Maeglin protested some time later, around the time Tindomiel discovered to her disappointment that the mango was all gone. (The chocolate, happily was not. She wasn’t sure whether to thank Enerdhil or the kitchens, but this chocolate pot was definitely bigger than what one would normally serve for two.)

“How about we come back to that later?” she suggested gently. “We haven’t even gotten to the important parts yet.”

“Turning everything into something like the environs of Angband seems important,” Maeglin protested.

When she thought about it in that light, it did seem less like ‘just humans’ and more ‘maybe I need to have a conversation with Anariel about how long she thinks Morgoth was in California-Earth.’ But this was still not the time.

“We can talk about it more later?” she suggested gently. “But I want to tell you the rest about California now, before we get…sidetracked. And there are some bits slightly more important to you and me.”

He nodded reluctantly, only slightly mollified.

“California didn’t have orcs, but it did have vampires,” she told him.

Morgoth had vampires also.

Maeglin had spoken mentally as his mouth was full – and also because he wasn’t trying to interrupt, just to make sure she knew.

“I think they were different? You’d have to ask Anariel, she’d know if anyone would.”

She had his full attention now.

“The Men in this other world weren’t strong enough to fight vampires directly, so thousands of years before the time my mother and sister were drawn there, a group of them did a ritual to give enough power and strength to one person to fight them – the Vampire Slayer.”

Maeglin was so quietly horrified it made her wonder if maybe Beleriand had a few cautionary tales she hadn’t heard.

“The Slayer is always female, and usually young – they’re called when they’re teenagers. Most don’t see twenty.”

“What has this to do with your mother and sister?” Maeglin asked, and while she could hear the worry in his tone, it was nothing to what she could feel in his fëa. He knew she wouldn’t be telling him about this if it didn’t relate to her family.

“Somehow Anariel ended up as the Slayer, even though we’re peredhil,” Tindomiel said quietly. “Not that she knew about the peredhil thing at that point. So she started fighting vampires, demons, and all that because she didn’t really have a choice.”

Being able to feel someone else’s stomach drop with dread was if anything even more off-putting than your own doing it.

“But she lives,” Maeglin said, sounding slightly faint. “You have mentioned her several times. So she lives?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” she reassured him. “Anariel’s not very good at doing the expected. She did actually die once, but between saying no to mortality and Xander knowing CPR, she got better.”

She mentally filled in CPR, and was curious to note that while the word was new to him, the concept was not.

Maeglin was still very disturbed, though his mind was roiled enough that she couldn’t pick out exactly why.

“You have mentioned your mother and sister in California,” he said suddenly. “But where do you come into it? Your father remained in Arda, but you speak of California as a place you knew.”

Tindomiel would have smiled had he not sounded so unnerved.

“That’s the part I’ve been trying to get to,” she sighed. “So, Nana and Anariel in California, Anariel the Slayer, and in addition to Xander, she had a good friend Willow. Willow’s mate was Tara, and Xander’s mate was Anya – remember that part, kinda important but not the point right now. Anyway, there was something like Morgoth in California, but definitely not actually Morgoth, called Glory. She was from another world, one like Angband but that’s all there was, and she was so terrible she got booted. She wanted to get back, and to do that, she needed something called the Key.”

“But that’s you,” Maeglin protested, his worry level skyrocketing.

“Yes, but it wasn’t then,” she explained. “The Key was…I don’t know, pure energy or something at that point. The group protecting it realized Glory was coming for them, so they decided to give it to the Slayer to guard. But they wanted to know she’d really protect it, with her life if need be. For some reason they thought ‘this hellgoddess will end the world if you don’t keep it safe’ wasn’t motivation enough, even though that really would do it for most people. So they made her a kid sister and channeled the Key into me. And didn’t actually tell anybody they’d done it. They made Nana and Anariel think I’d always been there.”

She left out ‘and really mind-twisty for me, because I didn’t know either’, because Maeglin had more or less shut down. He was quiet long enough to worry her. Maybe she’d made a mistake, and put too much on him too soon. But it felt dishonest not to explain, given how her California origins and being the Key had made her who she was.

Just when she was about to demand Maeglin say something – anything, really – he spoke.

“How did they find out? And how did they explain all this to your father?”

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The light was not as bright as she had expected.

Nor was her memory as crisp.

Where was she – and why?

It took some time before she concluded that she was alive.

That was good.

At least, she thought it was.

No, that wasn’t right.

Or was it?

If it was good, why had it taken so long before she’d agreed to it? She remembered that much.

And why did her brain feel so sluggish? This was worse than waking up after a night of too much wine. Everything felt heavy and wrong.

It took a considerable while longer lying still trying to remember anything before even her name came back to her.

Irissë. She was Irissë. And…

She bolted upright as swiftly as if she’d been stabbed, but properly.

Where was her husband? And her daughter?

There was nothing in the room other than her and the bed she’d woken up in. It was unnerving to be the only thing she could see that looked a natural color. Everything else was an off-putting monochrome.

She sprang out of bed – and immediately regretted it, as her legs weren’t stable enough to hold her yet. Not that she let that stop her. It didn’t matter if she wobbled alarmingly just so long as she kept moving.

Door. There was a door, she needed to get to it. Whatever was beyond it had to be better than this.

Unfortunately, it was not just her legs that weren’t steady yet. She was about as coordinated as a drunkard. Not that it had usually been her imbibing to the point of staggering around…

Instead of reaching the door, she crashed into the wall next to it. She’d have cursed a blue streak had her tongue only been up to it.

Peace, child!

She relaxed for a moment. She knew that voice.

But where did she know it from? Why was her head responding as if it was full of pudding instead of brain?

Be still, please, impetuous one? You will do yourself damage. Most are less eager to move, let alone to move at top speed.

“Esssë…”

She growled in frustration as the word came out a sibilant hiss, her mouth not cooperating properly with her on the harder consonant yet.

Irissë slid to the ground in a graceless heap that probably looked even more undignified than she felt, given that she had just realized she was naked as a newborn.

Newly returned, not newly born, my dear, Estë chuckled. If you would but grant yourself a bit longer to accustom yourself to being whole again, you will find that this body responds just as the one you remember did.

It would not. Not when she was the only one in it. She remembered that, too.

We cannot create a body for one who was not yet born. The fëa of one so young has no memory of its hroä to guide us, Estë explained gently. You and your mate must remedy that yourselves. But not before you are able to walk or speak!

The last was a command, one Irissë realized she had little chance of evading with any success. In her current state, any attempt to join with her husband would likely result in injury to one or both of them.

He has more sense than you do, Estë sniffed. Or perhaps more patience? He is only just now contemplating rising and moving to the morning room rather than the restoration room.

Irissë kept her reflexive response even more private than she would have had it been Artë saying that. She suspected that it would not be a good start to her second life to get in trouble for rudeness to one of the Valier. But she couldn’t keep herself entirely silent…

Others have found their return more upsetting, Estë assured her. Making rude sounds like a young one is not worth fussing over. Though if you can discover from your kinswoman precisely why it is called a raspberry I would be grateful. I cannot say I see any connection to the fruit.

Irissë didn’t either – in her youth, that particular noise had been known as a hoot, not a fruit.

She also wasn’t sure which kinswoman she was meant to be asking. Artë, maybe? Or perhaps it was something her husband’s people said? He’d had enough younger cousins…

It took two tries – and resting in between – but she eventually managed to get herself upright again. Her legs were still not as stable as they should have been, but at least they held. This time she also noticed that there had been clothing set out for her at the foot of the bed.

Fortunately, no one was present to see her blush.

Moving slower and more deliberately than before, she managed to reach the bed without any more disasters, and sat down while she tried to sort out the suddenly fiendish task of putting a simple tunic on.

It is easier when you are not trying to think of so much at once, Estë suggested tactfully.

Given how much was usually in her head, she would need to get back in the habit of controlling her body with lots of thoughts bouncing around. Might as well start as she meant to go on. And speaking of thoughts…

ARTË.

!!! was the instant response, followed by a wash of excitement and joy.

The way her head threatened to split in two indicated that attempting osanwë across an unknown distance might not have been the best idea. (Who knew that dying had so much in common with overindulging?) But she could think of no one better to catch her up on what was going on. What had been going on. All of it. She’d be around here somewhere. That part Irissë was certain of.

Irissë Nolofinwiel, Estë sighed in exasperation. Even your cousin Ingoldo waited a day or two before trying such tricks.

“Ingo follows rules,” she snorted, trying out speech with better success this time. Not that anyone told me there was a rule in the first place.

Most do not need to be told. You are setting a new standard for haste, Estë told her. Her tone was as gentle as ever, but Irissë got the distinct impression she’d managed to annoy the second most even-tempered Valië.

She wasn’t sure if that was an achievement or an embarrassment. Possibly both. Another thing to ask Artë about.

I think you may be ready to move on, dear one. But slowly this time? There is no need to rush. Your mate is not going anywhere without you.

Irissë obliged, doing a rough approximation of the walk she remembered costing her so much time and effort to learn for court occasions in Tirion. The door opened easily, which was just as well, for she felt even a small puppy could probably overpower her at the moment.

Slow and dignified was forgotten the second she caught sight of Eöl in the room beyond. It was as well he was sitting, for she flew at him so quickly she would have knocked him over if he were half as unsteady on his feet as she was on hers.

As it was, they ended up in a tight tangle of limbs, uncaring what Estë or her maiar might think of such a wild embrace.

“Beloved,” he murmured, kissing her with an urgency that revealed he had been as anxious about her as she was about him. “Are you well?”

“I think so,” she replied. “You?”

“Well enough now that I have seen you with waking eyes,” he assured her. “You were not as long as I was led to expect.”

“Patience was never my strong suit,” she shrugged.

“The little one…” he said hesitantly, his hand hovering over where their daughter should have been.

“Didn’t Estë explain it to you?” she asked.

He found the answer in her mind easily enough.

Not yet, my dears. Estë was firm. Neither of you are ready. It is necessary to rest and settle into your own bodies before you attempt to create a new one. Unless you wish the little one to be less strong than she should be?

How maddening!

“We can be sensible for a little while, my love,” Eöl whispered, his hand caressing her hair.

Particularly as she did not say we might not join, only that we should not beget…

She grinned. There were worse ways to ease back into living.

“I knew there was a reason I married you.”

­---

Anairon breathed a sigh of relief when he sighted the outskirts of Tirion. He’d dawdled as much as he’d dared on the way home, successfully drawing out the journey to be twice as long as it normally would have taken. But he’d also worried the entire time that he might encounter friends or other kin who would ask where Tinwë was.

He had fewer illusions about his capabilities than his best friend. While he treasured her confidence in him, he also knew himself to be hopeless at what she called ‘stretching the truth’.

In the highly unlikely case their situations had been reversed, Tindomiel would have had no difficulty whatsoever covering for him. She could stretch the truth to breaking point if the occasion called for it, and with a straight face that even Galadriel occasionally was taken in by. She called it a lingering benefit of California. It was a pity she couldn’t lend him that talent for a few days.

He’d been lucky so far, or possibly enjoyed a subtle assist from Queen Melian. She’d done similar things once or twice before, and she didn’t always say anything about it. The last time, they’d only found out well after. He would have to ask her later if she’d been helping, and work out a suitable gesture of thanks if she had. Maybe some flowers from a different region that might draw birds not normally found in Neldoreth?

What he wanted – what he really needed, in point of fact – was his brother. If he could explain everything to Aryo, once his older brother finished laughing himself silly, he’d help nudge Atto and Ammë into taking a trip to their older brother’s city without any particular reason given for why they should. He was good at things like that. And while he liked Itarillë well enough, Tindomiel was his favorite niece. (Entirely aside from being young enough to be ‘more interesting’ according to Aryo, without Tinwë, he would likely still be in Mandos along with their sister and oldest brother.)

He might be close enough now…

Anairon offered a silent prayer to any Vala that cared to look out for their adventurous niece and tried to narrow his thought to only one person.

Aryo?

His brother’s mind rippled with curiosity as to why he was coming back sooner than expected, and alone. It didn’t take him long to pick up that Anairon was hoping for him to save the day, even if he couldn’t tell why. He was intensely curious.

Anairon was far too wary of their cousin Galadriel and Uncle Ara, not to mention cousin Ingo and his children if they happened to be around, to share anything more than his need for assistance until they were face to face. (Gildor wouldn’t tell anyone, but the others definitely would.)

I’ll meet you in the stable block. Lucky for you there’s other mysteries to solve today, so neither Atto nor Uncle will be paying much attention.

That didn’t sound terribly encouraging to Anairon, but if it meant he might not have to explain himself or Tindomiel to his parents, he was perfectly happy to go with the flow as she would put it.

He had no trouble slipping into the palace complex the back way – something he’d gone eighty odd years of his life without needing to do, but been doing regularly since the week Tindomiel first arrived in Tirion. (She’d snuck out her first full day there, though perhaps it wasn’t accurate to call it ‘sneaking’ when she’d walked right out the front gates. She’d dragged him out three days later ‘to explore’. Both of them had been hauled back by the Inglorions to explain themselves to their parents.)

Then he made his way to the stable block.

“Whatever it is can’t be too bad, you’re in one piece. I don’t see so much as a bruise, and nothing’s on fire,” his brother greeted him in relief, only to sober at his expression. “Hey, seriously – you’re all right. Tinwë is too, yes?”

Aryo’s arms wrapped reassuringly around him.

“You’re worried stiff. Relax! Whatever she’s done this time can’t be as bad as the Fearsome Foursome as kids, I promise.”

She got married, Anarion offered quietly.

There was a split second in which his brother just blinked at him in surprise.

Then he burst out laughing.

“I think we told you both too many stories about Irissë,” he gasped, thumping Anairon’s back enthusiastically. “Oh, this is going to be brilliant!”

Anairon didn’t share that opinion, but he knew better than to say it.

“And honestly, you picked a fantastic moment to be hiding something like this. Artanis is trying to sneak off without being noticed, so of course everyone wants to know why and what she’s up to! Now that you’ve told me about this, I suspect we have inside information.”

His brother looked downright smug.

“Yes, that would make sense,” Anairon nodded. “If she’s trying to get to Gondolin, it will be easier to get everyone else to go.”

“Gondolin?” Aryo asked. “Why Gondolin?”

“It was closest,” Anarion explained hastily.

He hesitated. That wasn’t a very good reason, and they both knew it.

…also she married Lomion?

Aryo was afflicted by a sudden coughing fit. When he was able to speak again, he wheezed, “definitely too many Irissë stories.”

He frowned, and steered his little brother toward the main house.

Though that might also give Artanis other motives.

What he meant by that, Anairon wasn’t sure.

“Come on, let’s go join the fun.”

Anairon wasn’t sure how this was fun, but he didn’t have much choice but to go along unless he wanted to try to manage on his own, which he knew was a terrible plan.

Inside, he found their parents and aunt and uncle doing their sterling best to get Galadriel to slow down and give them information she didn’t wish to divulge.

Just go with it for now, Aryo advised. Follow my lead.

“Nerwen, what is the great hurry?” Aunt Eärwen asked. “Goodness, even Tinwë is calmer when she sets off on one of her expeditions!”

Happily, Galadriel didn’t so much as bat an eye at the sight of Anairon. He tried not to let his relief show. Between his brother and his cousin, he might just accomplish what he was meant to do.

“Emmë, really. You are all behaving as though I proposed another trip to Beleriand rather than a ramble through the woods.”

“Only because it’s such a sudden whim, darling,” Aunt Eärwen sighed. “And because I can’t see what brought it on. You said only yesterday you meant wait for Nerdanel and Moryo to return before going on to Alqualondë with them, and now you’re charging off westward all on your own.”

“Are you certain there’s nothing you wish to tell us, Artë?” his mother asked.

Anairon stopped to admire the tactics. Uncle Ara was letting his wife and law-sister do all the questioning – and probably listening quietly in case Galadriel let anything slip. He resolved to be careful in case they switched targets.

They won’t as long as you let her continue to make such a commotion, his brother advised silently. We just sit back and wait for the right moment.

Anairon leaned against his brother and watched their parents and aunt and uncle continue to not quite hinder Galadriel while asking her questions almost non-stop. He couldn’t help the conclusion that Tinwë would have done better.

It occurred to him that he was starting to think more like her to even notice that.

---

Arakano was enjoying himself immensely.

It had been fun enough already when he realized Artanis was trying to sneak out but woefully out of practice at it. With no elders around for the past couple Ages, she’d gotten used to being able to come and go as she pleased without any questions in Endorë.

Having Anairon come home with the reason why and helping him keep that secret while maneuvering his parents – and even better, Artë’s parents – into inviting themselves along for the trip seemed only fair payback, given as next youngest aside from Ambarussa, there had been frequent instances of him taking the fall for both her and his sister’s childhood misdeeds.

He was pleased to see that Anairon was watching and learning. He really liked having a little brother. It was a pleasant change to be the elder sibling. With any luck, his baby brother would be better able to keep up with Tinwë in the mischief stakes after this. Assuming, of course, she was still up for mischief as often.

His younger cousin, on the other hand, was quietly furious with him.

They were hunting. She had volunteered. Naturally, he had suspected she was trying to give the rest of the party the slip, so he immediately offered to help. Their parents had all been so enthusiastic she’d had no graceful way to decline. She’d been outmaneuvered and she knew it.

His mother had suggested adding Anairon to the party, but he’d managed to talk his way around that. (Hopefully swiftly enough that no one had noticed how close poor Airo was to outright panic at the thought, which he suspected was for once was less about lack of confidence than about not wanting to be around Artë while she was both hacked off and armed.) He’d gone with an excuse about making a competition of it, and his little brother not having enough experience for it to be a fair contest.

Granted, the pair of them hunting alone wasn’t without danger. Artë been proficient with a bow before the Exile. He suspected she’d gotten better since. From all accounts, the Sindar were excellent archers. Given how much time she’d spent among them, it would be odd indeed if she hadn’t picked up a thing or two. Perhaps Ammë had scented it and thought sending the baby of the family with them would be enough to prevent bloodshed.

He was trusting that kinslaying was still a line Artë wouldn’t cross unprovoked. A non-fatal arrow wouldn’t be too bad. Though if he did end up in Mandos again, at least he’d have a good story to tell Finno… not to mention bragging rights. She hadn’t actually killed Tyelko. It would be something of an achievement to be such an annoyance that she followed all the way through on him.

He wasn’t surprised that she waited until they were well away from everyone else before she confronted him. She no more wanted anyone overhearing then he did.

“All right, Arakano, what’s your angle?” she hissed. “It wasn’t Anairon who wanted everyone else along on this expedition.”

“Oh, it was, in point of fact,” he snickered, leaning against a tree and doing his best to look far more relaxed than he felt. “But he’s sensible enough to realize he’s not as devious as the rest of us, and definitely nowhere near the level of your darling granddaughter, so he asked for help. Something I notice you haven’t done.”

“I am not in need of assistance,” she sniffed disdainfully. “I also did not intend to have an entourage!”

She frowned, eyes narrowing as she considered him. He braced himself mentally.

“What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.

“What are you up to?” he countered.

“I’ll come clean if you will,” he added after waiting a beat. “Especially since I suspect we’re not actually working against each other.”

Her raised eyebrow led him to reconsider – but very privately. He might be her older cousin, but she had a lot more lived time. He wasn’t going to hand her any more advantages than she already enjoyed.

“You first,” she said at last.

He briefly considered insisting that she promise to hold up her end, but decided that was a step too far. He didn’t actually want to get shot if he could avoid it.

“Lomion’s back,” he told her.

“Ah,” she said. “That makes sense.”

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Irissë’s back,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Nienna help us all,” he muttered. It made perfect sense now that he thought about it. But no one else would be expecting it. “And of course you’re the first one she told. What are the two of you up to now?”

“We’re not children anymore,” she reminded him sharply.

“No, you’re grown and used to doing as you please with no supervision, which means so much more scope for trouble,” he agreed cheerfully.

He didn’t try to dodge when she socked him in the arm.

“Ow!”

“That didn’t hurt.”

“It did, actually, but I’ll live.”

“Since Anairon was sent on to Tirion, I take it that means Tinu is waiting Gondolin with Maeglin?”

“I certainly hope so.”

His cousin frowned.

“Odd of her to send someone else with the news. Usually she prefers to see the reaction herself.” Her focus sharpened almost unnervingly, and Arakano made sure he had the other part well under wraps. “Is this another case of her bringing someone out of the Halls?”

“You’d have to ask Anairon that,” he replied. “Though I doubt he’ll admit to it if she did.”

“He won’t mean to,” she corrected with a sigh. “I’m not sure how he’s still so terrible at keeping things quiet after years hanging around Tinu…”

“He’s getting better,” Arakano protested indignantly. “And it’s not as if he had much practice. It was just him most of his childhood!”

“Not so much better that he’d have managed this without your help,” she pointed out equably. “But you are right, it was just him. Turukano’s an ass.”

It might have been coincidence that they startled a bird just then, though given how swiftly she brought it down, he thought it was probably for the best. He couldn’t help feeling that the hapless creature wasn’t who she really wanted to shoot.

“You’re cleaning, I assume?” she prompted him.

He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, of course I’ll do the dirty work, Artanis. Some things never change.”

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Maeglin smiled to himself as he watched Tindomiel out of the corner of his eye. Not that he thought he was ever likely to not want to look at her, but he doubted even most other newlyweds were so fascinated by the sight of their sleeping mate.

There had been a brief period when he’d been alarmed by how often she needed to sleep – it spoke of her being either considerably younger than she claimed or not in good health. That had lasted until she caught his unease and explained that the peredhil inherited Mannish characteristics more or less at random, and this was hers. She didn’t sleep as long or as deeply as Rillë had claimed Tuor did, so now that he’d accustomed himself to it, he was no longer as worried.

He found it sweet that she often smiled or even giggled in her sleep. Whatever dream paths she walked were as a rule happy ones.

He couldn’t say the same for his, particularly since she’d told him about California. He’d been disturbed enough at the idea that elves could be torn from Arda, but he’d been too relieved at the time that her father had accepted Tindomiel immediately when she came ‘home’ with her mother and sister, and that he himself hadn’t been treated similarly by Gorthaur to think any further on it. (The thought of being torn out of the world was even more terrifying than being made into an orc. At least orcs could die and eventually be reborn. But what happened to an elf removed from the circles of the world entirely?)

That had lasted until he’d seen the memory of her sister Anariel in his mate’s mind. Tindomiel had meant only to show him her sister’s mannish ears – it had been part of her explanation about her sleep habits – but that one glimpse had been enough for him to recognize who she was.

Ammë’s foresight had proved accurate, after a fashion. Tindomiel was a descendant of Galadriel. He’d already known that, and rationalized that perhaps Ammë had simply been mistaken. But the girl Ammë had seen, the one who had occasionally danced in his dreams in Ondolindë and been a ray of hope when all seemed dark did exist, though she was not his and never would be – not that he would have wished it so even a day after marrying Tindomiel.

It seemed she had the sword he had made for her. Unlikely as it seemed, despite the Ages between them, the fall of the City, and the Sea taking Beleriand , Calaliltië had still found its way to her. Tindomiel had mentioned it, with emphasis on it being her favorite. He wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or not, even if his mate was convinced it meant Anariel would definitely approve of him.

But Gorthaur had also been right, and Maeglin had a sickening feeling he had done exactly as he’d threatened.

She lived. That was something at least. Judging by other things Tindomiel had said about her sister, it might well be Anariel’s own doing that she had survived to return unlooked for. He took some quiet satisfaction in the thought of how enraged Gorthaur must have been to discover she lived, even before she showed up with an army.

He had resolved that Tindomiel should never know.  He would never allow her to be hurt, and certainly not with the thought that she was somehow a second choice, much less the knowledge that all that her sister and mother had gone through was his fault – and he was certain that it was. Had he only been stronger, they would have remained safely among elves, and never seen the strange world of California. Or had he been less foolish and not strayed beyond the protection of the city borders in the first place…

He would have to ask Rillë to keep the secret as well. She wouldn’t have made the connection yet, he had never showed her what his foreseen mate looked like. He didn’t think it would be difficult, the trouble would be finding a time to warn her when he could be sure they would not be overheard.

He wasn’t sure he could admit the full truth to her either. Certainly not the part where it was his fault Tindomiel’s sister and mother had been targeted by Gorthaur. Even if Rillë somehow didn’t think badly of him for allowing Eärendil to come so close to harm, he didn’t see how she could forgive him endangering ladies he’d never even met. And even if she did, there was still Aunt Galadriel… his wife’s grandmother.

His family had been a complicated enough tangle before this.

He very much wished he could speak with one of his uncles – the ones still in the Halls, that was. He rather doubted King Turukano would be much help. He needed someone who might have words of advice or at least comfort for him. That not being possible, he had to settle for keeping his mind occupied while his mate slept.

He considered his latest work with a critical eye. He hoped it would not meet with opposition. He’d find out soon enough, he supposed.

He jumped when Tindomiel’s arms slipped around his shoulders.

“What are you up to?” she asked teasingly.

“I was planning while you were dreaming,” he replied.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she offered.

A quick brush against her mind proved that was a California saying. He was slightly puzzled why exchanging money for thoughts was a custom there, particularly since if what she had told him of California Men was correct, they did not have osanwë. Perhaps that made the sharing of thoughts more valuable? He would save the question to ask later. So far even apparently simple curiosity about that strange world had been met with lengthy explanations, many of which had been disturbing.

“I thought I should request Anardil’s assistance so we might proceed with the change of house color,” he explained. “Unless, of course, you wanted to emerge from our first month garbed in black?”

Her peal of laughter at the thought of what she mentally termed ‘going Goth’ seemed to indicate he had guessed correctly that she didn’t wear black often. He decided that he would ask what a Goth was later as well. It did not seem to relate to Morgoth…

“I probably have one or two black and silver dresses in storage from Minas Tirith,” she giggled. “We all wore Gondorian colors for my nephew’s naming ceremony. I saved mine because Arwen did the embroidery, even if I don’t wear it much. Besides, I usually prefer Lindarin styles, and they’re Mannish.”

He filed that away, relieved to hear she found natural colors more to her tastes than some of the outlandish fashions of his mother’s people. He wondered if they still wore so many impossibly bright shades.

“Yep,” Tindomiel said cheerfully. “But it’s less out of place here. New Gondolin may be less tropical than Tirion, but there’s still a lot more colorful plants and birds around. Oh, and frogs. Which I thought would be poisonous when we first got here…”

“Poison frogs?” he asked curiously, unable to help himself.

Tindomiel obligingly explained about the frogs in a southern region of California that some tribes had used in much the same way Ada’s people had used orcbane, or Belegurth’s beads – except that they used darts or arrows rather than knives.

“What a strange world,” he murmured.

“You sound like my grandfathers,” she snickered.

He suspected from the slight pause that she’d had a specific grandfather in mind. But she circled back to the original topic before he could say anything.

“How is Enerdhil supposed to explain suddenly needing color samples, though?” she asked, scanning the note he had written to leave in the outer room to be collected the next time food was brought. “You won’t want to pick a new color without seeing what it looks like first, not when everyone’s going to need to wear it regularly, including us. And it would be best to see how any color you like looks in fabrics you won’t mind wearing.”

“He’s creative, he’ll come up with something,” Maeglin shrugged. “Unless things have changed a great deal, he rarely lacks for inspiration. Though he usually uses it for his work with jewels.”

She brightened at that, and he was pleased to see her eyes flick to her ring before she answered. It was always so hard to tell if he had struck the right balance with jewelry, and that one was the most important piece he had ever made.

“True. Though I bet the gossip goes into overdrive anyway. It’s the wrong season for grey. Everyone’s after summer colors right now.”

“We might pick multiple shades – a lighter one for summer, and a darker for winter?” he suggested.

For some reason the idea of ‘shades of grey’ made her giggle to herself as well, but she agreed, and he amended his instructions for Anardil accordingly before allowing Tindomiel free rein with her ideas on how to spend the afternoon.

---

Enerdhil repressed a sigh.

Two and a half weeks had passed relatively uneventfully, but he and his co-conspirators were starting to feel the pressure, all the more so as against all expectation the newlyweds had showed no sign yet of being anywhere near ready to receive visitors or appear in public. He rather doubted they’d emerge in time for the upcoming holiday.

He, Elemmakil, and Mastacarmë had fallen into the habit of taking either breakfast or a light dinner together daily, the better to compare notes.

“The Wing’s cook had been asking Fountain some odd questions, or so my young friends in the Golden Flower tell me,” Mastacarmë told them. “It seems I paid a bit too much attention to the princess’ tastes, and not enough to her father’s. Happily, I don’t believe his suspicions have reached Princess Itarillë’s ears.”

Enerdhil wasn’t inclined to complain. While the trays left in the prince’s rooms weren’t emptied quite as often as he would have preferred, the pair were at least eating regularly. That meant Mastacarmë’s measures were a success in his book.

“Yet,” Elemmakil added, helping himself to a savory roll.

“Ever the optimist,” Mastacarmë snorted, pushing the spread intended for that particular roll towards him. “I covered by asking about Princess Celebrían’s favorite dishes. That has thrown Wing into some confusion. I have every hope that will be the end of it.”

As well it might. Princess Tindomiel visited the city more frequently than either of her parents. Her mother seemed to share her mother’s preference for Sindarin lands. Consequently, it was likely none of the Houses had much experience cooking for her.  

“Then there is this,” Enerdhil said, laying his latest instructions on the table between them. “It seems our new lady has some changes in mind.”

Elemmakil grabbed the paper, and read through it swiftly.

“Good,” he said decidedly. “I’ve never much cared for wearing black. And I am relieved to hear the lad is finally ready to stop mourning.”

“Good?” Mastacarmë demanded. “How are we to explain the change to other houses?”

“By not explaining it until it becomes necessary,” Enerdhil said firmly. “It’s not as if we can reveal it before it is known that the prince is back, much less that there is now a princess. Besides, I suspect a good portion of the city will find it fitting – grey is the color of the returned, after all.”

“Exactly,” Elemmakil agreed. “In the meantime, we prepare, and keep the preparations quiet. It’s not as if a good portion of the House doesn’t suspect something by now.”

Enerdhil pinched the bridge of his nose. Their secret was not quite so secret as they’d hoped, but thus far their luck had held – any gossip had been kept quiet, and safely confined within the house.

The kitchen staff more than just suspected. Mastacarmë had discovered he wasn’t the only one working on expanding his repertoire with flavors known to be favored by Prince Lomion. His staff must have deduced from the trays that there was someone secluded with the prince, but so far no one had guessed the identity of their new princess. Happily, the assistant cooks were taking their cue from their master. If anything, they might be raising suspicions at how tight-lipped they had become when not in the kitchens.

Enerdhil and Elemmakil had both also found several of those who would normally be on the cleaning duty rota by now lingering by the princes’ rooms and sent them on their way.

“Do you really expect Lord Egalmoth will let you borrow any of his horde of samples on nothing more than curiosity?” the cook asked skeptically. “Have you been at the wine already so early in the day?”

“You handle your staff, leave me to handle Lord Egalmoth,” Enerdhil retorted before Elemmakil could add anything.

“I wish you luck,” Elemmakil muttered. “Though on the bright side, I suppose he’d be the last to suspect your request has anything to do with the prince.”

All three men shared a chuckle, knowing how deeply the Lord of the Heavenly Arch detested their prince’s choice of house color – and all the more since Princess Itarillë had not-so-innocently let slip several decades back that it had been inspired by him in the first place. (That was not the only subtle prank Prince Lomion had pulled on him, but it was the most lasting one.)

Then Enerdhil poured himself a whiskey, because Elemmakil was right, dealing with Lord Egalmoth was going to be a complete and total headache. It was almost enough to make him wish Aranwë back.

---

Irissë giggled at her mate’s minor frustration as they looked around for their clothes.

Not that she minded nudity – she’d found life among Thingol’s people quite refreshing on that score – but they were more or less aiming for Noldorin areas, and that meant someone would be bothered if they were spotted wandering around without anything on. (And unlike in Beleriand, ‘tell her mother’ was a possibility here.)

“I thought you knew these lands,” Eöl snorted, extricating himself from the thicket of honeysuckle.  

Her attempt to distract hadn’t entirely succeeded, but they were now both in a better frame of mind. Not to mention, now smelled absolutely delightful.

“I do,” she replied, retrieving her tunic. “But they’ve changed somewhat. It has been three Ages. Estë said so. Things are bound to be a bit different than I remember.”

“She also said we ought to wait for one of our kin to come guide us,” Eöl pointed out. “You might have had whoever you wanted. She also offered to have someone instruct you if you wouldn’t wait.”

Maddeningly, his tunic hadn’t ended up nearly as far away as hers had, even though she had paid far less attention when she pulled it off of him. Or had hers come off before they reached the shade of the honeysuckle?

“It would have taken too long,” she told him as she pulled it on. “And I sort of recognize this region. It’s just not somewhere I spent much time even before the Darkening. I may not know where we are in detail, but I know in a general way.”

“Does that mean you know where you’re going or not?” he sighed.

“There are no orcs here,” she reminded him. “Or wolves. Or…”

“Yes, I know. I’m not worried on that score. But I would just as soon not spend several weeks wandering around until you get your bearings. It doesn’t matter if you want to see your kin first rather than mine, but we ought to head for one or the other. There is our daughter to think of...”

“How could I forget? But you can stop worrying, we’re almost there,” Irissë replied soothingly, with a kiss for good measure.

“Where?”

“I’m not sure.”

She felt his mild exasperation, and headed the next question off before he could say the words.

“I may not know where exactly there is, but I do know Artë’s coming to meet us. And we’re only a day or two from where she is, so we’re almost there.”

“Just Galadriel?” he asked in puzzlement.

Irissë frowned.

“I’m not sure about that either,” she admitted. “She didn’t say anything about Celeborn, but then again, I didn’t ask either. Maybe she didn’t think it was necessary. After all, we know he wasn’t in the Halls. So why would she be here without him?”

Eöl nodded, though she knew he wasn’t entirely convinced. But he was willing to let the matter drop, at least until they met up with Artë.

He was probably as curious as she was to hear what Artë and Celeborn had been up to all this time. The most recent news they’d had was from Oropher. At least, most recent they knew to be accurate. (She hadn’t thought it tactful to try to drag gossip about her grandfather out of young Tindomiel on the few occasions they’d met.)

Anyway, there was no question that Artë had to be the first one to hear the joyous news – and that there was no one better to help them find out where Lomion was.

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Galadriel smiled, more to herself than to either of her cousins.

Aryo’s irritating insistence on dragging half the family along on what was meant to have been a private trip had prevented her slipping away quietly to meet up with Irissë as she’d originally intended. She had been unsurprised to find she hadn’t gotten a moment alone since they left Tirion. Someone was always with her. And not only was it Aryo’s doing she had all of them along in the first place, he’d volunteered to go hunting with her every evening.

She’d resigned herself to the group being along for the journey, since she knew perfectly well there was little she could do about it. She might snipe at her cousins, but it was clear her older cousin had every intention of sticking around for whatever he thought was going on, and she couldn’t very well order her parents  to go away.

But she’d at least found a way to make Aryo sweat. After the first evening, she’d invited Anairon to join them on the evening hunts. She knew she wasn’t about to do anything terrible to her younger cousin, but his big brother didn’t.

Their parents thought it was sweet that she was including her baby cousin. Aryo had been looking daggers at her whenever he thought Anairon wasn’t paying attention. (Given how thrilled the boy was to be spending time with them, that was rarer than Aryo had evidently expected. She felt a bit guilty on that score, as she’d had the impression he found her intimidating and was happy to avoid her save in her granddaughter’s company.) She’d been enjoying watching Aryo squirm almost as much as she was enjoying her time with her youngest cousin.

Besides, bringing him along on the hunt was doing Anairon some good.

At some point he was bound to be called on to demonstrate his skills to someone other than Tindomiel, the only person she knew had regularly seen him hunt before now. Tinu swore he was competent so long as he thought nobody was watching, and had been doing what she could for some years to build his confidence.

“Calm your mind, Airo,” she reminded him quietly. “Not only will your shot be steadier, the animal is less likely to spook. They pick up on your agitation and react to it.”

She had taught a daughter and several grandchildren to hunt, so giving her young cousin pointers was no trouble at all. (Particularly not when it also got back at his older brother in a way Aryo could not complain about without getting grief from both their parents.) Besides, she didn’t much want to explain to Irissë how under the stars they’d all let her baby brother come of age without being able to fend for himself outside the boundaries of Tirion.

She thought Anairon was coming along nicely. All he really needed was practice and encouragement.

His arrow flew true, a better shot even than the one the previous evening that had brought down a turkey – both times managed despite her and Aryo watching. Aryo had the grace to look impressed rather than startled this evening.

“I never got a deer before!” Anairon exclaimed, as surprised by his own success as his brother.

“I expect it will be the first of many,” she told him proudly, ruffling his hair. “You know the principles, so it’s more a matter of practice than anything else – you should start insisting to Tinu that she let you take your turn more often when the two of you are off on your adventures.”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. The more you do it, the better you’ll get – and the surer you’ll be of yourself. You might even surprise her.”

Anairon nodded, taking her words as seriously as if she’d been sharing foresight rather than simple common sense. A not entirely muffled snort from Aryo’s direction indicated what he thought, but he knew better than to say anything to risk his brother’s newfound and still tentative confidence.

“Aryo will do the cleaning,” Galadriel added magnanimously, suppressing a laugh at the filthy glare that got her in return. She’d managed to stick him with it every night so far. “Though you ought to observe how he does it. We should start you practicing soon. Perhaps on the way home? I know you and Tinu don’t go after deer often as it’s usually just the two of you. But for larger parties like this, you will find even a large bird may not suffice.”

“No time like the present,” Aryo suggested, managing to keep his voice pleasant.

“Don’t be silly,” she retorted. “He’s already done very well for one day.”

Anairon blushed, and his brother subsided.

She knew the boy was concealing something to do with her granddaughter, but so far, he was doing an excellent job of keeping it under wraps. She more than halfway suspected Tindomiel had bent the stricture on not bringing anyone out of the Halls. She was tempted to tell Anairon how proud she was of him keeping it quiet – no easy task with both their fathers at hand.

She’d have to choose her moment, but someone ought to say it. Her aunt wouldn’t consider this a positive development, but she suspected her uncle would take a view of the matter more in line with hers. He just wouldn’t be able to say so.

“Wait until you tell your father,” she added to Anairon in a burst of inspiration.

That would be something Uncle could openly express paternal pride in.  

You are the living end, Aryo informed her.

What? You think your father won’t be excited at his accomplishment? I bet you were just as pleased the first time you got a deer!

He shot her a sideways glare, but began explaining to his brother the key points of field dressing a deer as he worked. The interesting shade Anairon was turning strongly hinted that even with the birds and small game animals, it was Tinu who handled this particular chore.

This time Aryo’s look held a tinge of reproach.

I just don’t understand how he can be so squeamish about this, when he’s perfectly fine working with meat in a kitchen or a camp! she told him.

Fair, but you’d better say something - he’s not just turning green, he’s also fretting that he’s not living up to expectations.

Really, expectations were half the problem.

“You’re doing well,” she told Anairon encouragingly. “You’ve held on to your lunch, which is more than Elrohir did the first time he observed the process.”

She felt minorly guilty that she might be damaging her grandson’s dignity sharing that tidbit, but on the whole she thought it for the best. Tinu’s many stories of her older siblings had left Anairon the impression they were all something out of songs. Elrohir was certainly old enough to understand, should he ever hear about it.

Also, the twins had been in their late teens the first time Celeborn had demonstrated this skill for them. But she saw no need to tell her little cousin that part.

Anairon sighed in relief that he hadn’t somehow embarrassed himself. He was much more at ease once the last of the organs had been removed, and was not shy about helping to butcher once the cleaning was done. In fact, he took charge of that with a confidence Galadriel knew she wouldn’t have matched at that age. She wondered if she ought to mention that to Uncle as well.

“We can do steaks tonight, but pack some of it in salt and spices to season for tomorrow while we walk,” Anairon suggested. “I have enough in my pack, I think.”

“You’re the cook,” she and Aryo replied in unison.

She almost laughed, because her older cousin looked as annoyed as if she’d done it on purpose. Anairon giggled, though, and started cutting sprigs of herbs to wrap up with the meat so it would begin to flavor as they carried back to their camp.

He had nearly finished when she finally heard what she’d been waiting for.

---

Irissë was all but dragging Eöl along in her wake. For someone who had been impatient to get somewhere yesterday, he was barely keeping up now.

His mental laugh at her impatience echoed in her head.

Come on, they’re just up ahead!

Yes, and they’re not going anywhere, he replied.

I haven’t seen Artë in three Ages! she retorted.

Thirty seconds more or less is unlikely to make much difference, he pointed out.

She gave up trying to talk sense into him and hurried on. He could keep up or catch up.

She burst into the clearing, startling a boy who was just picking up what could only be the results of a successful hunt – she could see what remained of a deer carcass set carefully to one side, where birds, insects, and small meat-eaters could make good use of it.

“Here you are at last!” she exclaimed, grinning at Artë.

“You took your time! Here I was afraid you’d show up too early,” Artanis replied with a smile.

The two of them embraced, a separation that had never been meant to last so long finally over, and that was all that was needed for Artë to know.

You might have told me, was her only comment. I wish you both joy.

I wasn’t going to share such news over distance, Irissë said unrepentantly. You never know who might overhear!

“True enough,” Artë agreed, turning to Eöl with a smile. “Well met, kinsman. It has been too long.”

It was only as Eöl nodded at her cousin that Irissë noticed who else was there.

“Aryo! I wasn’t expecting you.”

She gave him a fierce hug, pleased that the first brother she encountered was one she wanted to see.

“Yes, someone’s been keeping secrets,” her brother said blithely, with a glare at Artë, who mentally blew him a kiss.

Irissë supposed she felt bound to behave in front of the youngest one present. Setting good examples and all that…

“And who is this?” she asked, focusing on the boy.

“Our little brother Anairon,” Aryo answered.

Irissë was startled only for a moment, recovering much quicker than Anairon.

He was begotten when your father returned, Artanis explained. A bit of wordless osanwë conveyed that he’d been a surprise to her, too – and added an undertone of be careful with him!

“Good for Ammë and Atto,” she declared, seizing her baby brother and planting a kiss on each cheek. “And good for you, too, little brother – I hope you took advantage of having our parents all to yourself.”

It was hard not to laugh at how taken aback he was.

You took that better than I expected, Artë told her.

What, you thought I’d object to not being the youngest? she snorted. I think it will be nice for my daughter to have an uncle who’s not Ages older than her!

Eöl dissolved into quiet laughter. Aryo gave her a suspicious look, having missed what she’d said to Artë.

Irissë kept one arm firmly around her baby brother. It was going to be such fun to be a big sister, even if she was running a bit late. It would have been better to be there when he was little. But she couldn’t return without knowing where her son was…

“I always wanted a younger sibling,” she said happily. “And now I finally have one! He looks like me, too, doesn’t he?”

She grinned as she considered his looks. Turvo and Aryo took after Ammë, but like her and Finno, her baby brother had his looks from Atto.

“What about you, Artë? Any surprise baby siblings?”

Artanis rolled her eyes, but fondly – and indicated silently that she remained the youngest child of her parents.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be the baby long,” Irissë added to Anairon quietly, guiding his hand to her belly. “There, say hi.”

It was adorable how quickly he went from startled to entranced. Artanis looked almost as charmed by it as Irissë felt. She brushed aside the pang of regret that none of her brothers had been there to meet her first child at this age.

“She’s dreaming,” Anairon said quietly, sounding awestruck.

I don’t think he’s ever been around such a young one, Artanis said with the quality to her mental voice that meant she was speaking to Irissë alone. I’d say he’s going to be as excited about her as Gildor was about Celebrían.

“She?” Aryo asked, bemused. “You don’t mean to say…?”

“Yes, you’re an uncle,” Artanis confirmed. “Again. You get to be around for this one, though.”

“You didn’t waste any time, did you?” Aryo snorted, his tone entirely at odds with his expression. Poor boy hadn’t gotten to see more than a few years of Rillë, and nothing at all of Lomion.

Her daughter was going to be so spoiled by uncles.

“I wanted my daughter back as soon as possible! It’s just a shame Finno is still being so stubborn, fussing about the wording of what Namo says. He was upset at missing Lomion – I think they had a few hours right before the end and that was it – and now he’s missing this one, too.”

The suddenly sharp glances from both her older brother and Artanis were slightly worrying. The unease rolling off her baby brother was downright unnerving, and she wrapped both arms protectively around him.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded of the others while doing her best to soothe Anairon.

Nothing was going to hurt him while she was around!

“She was in Gondolin too?” Artanis demanded, her voice hard.

“Yes,” Eöl confirmed, his tone nearly matching hers.

“We talked about this,” she reminded her mate firmly. “I will settle my stupid brother. That goes for you too, Artë!”

“You may need to do that sooner rather than later,” Artë said, sounding like she was working very hard not to grit her teeth.

Why? she asked.

She could feel her cousin was absolutely livid with Turvo, and wondered what else he’d done. There was more to it than just being angry about what had happened to her and her daughter. But she was certain this was not a conversation to have in front of her baby brother.

“Before you decide him even worse than he actually is, I don’t believe he knew,” Eöl told Artanis. “Though I will quite happily watch whatever dire fate you have in mind for him.”

So long as it falls short of kinslaying, he added silently.

She didn’t look mollified in the least.

I’ll explain later, when Anairon’s not around, Artanis told them both. He’s already been caught in the fallout of Turvo’s messes once. It’s hardly fair to compound it. Nor is he the only young one Turvo’s been careless with.

If that didn’t raise a slew of questions…

Eöl took her free hand.

We can be patient, he said quietly. This is not a matter to involve your young brother in.

“Am I allowed to greet your younger brother, or is he all yours?” he added aloud.

Irissë made a production of sighing theatrically.

“I suppose you may,” she said, loosening her hold, but not letting go entirely.

“Well met, brother,” Eöl said, proffering his hand in the Lindarin fashion.

Irissë was pleased to discover she didn’t have to prompt Anairon on how to respond, and if the smile he gave her mate was tentative, she got the feeling it was more from shyness and surprise than from any uncertainty about Eöl or his people. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Her mate turned to her other brother. Unlike Anairon, this was not a first meeting. They had met in the Halls.

“Good to see you among the living,” Aryo said, clasping hands in his turn. “Particularly as we could use a hand with this one!”

Eöl raised an eyebrow and turned to regard Anairon thoughtfully.

“He’s just a bit sheltered is all,” Artë said, sounding more defensive than Irissë would have expected.

I’ll explain that later too.

“Well of course he is!” Irissë exclaimed.

She could only imagine what his childhood would have been like with the rest of them in the Halls…

“He’s getting much better,” Artë added reassuringly. “Not that he could really help it when he and Tinu spend so much time together. Speaking of which…”

She turned her attention to Anairon.

“When were you planning to tell the rest of us that she and Maeglin are in Gondolin? That is where they are, is it not?”

Anairon managed to look calm, but Irissë could feel he was suddenly a bundle of nerves.

“They had better be,” he muttered.

“Aren’t you the sweet boy, trying to surprise everyone?” Irissë asked rhetorically, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“I suppose I should warn them we’re coming,” Artë said. “Particularly as I suspect Tinu wasn’t expecting quite so many of us. Though I’m surprised she hasn’t checked in or tried to hurry Anairon along. Normally she’d be impatient to see everyone’s reaction...”

Artë’s eyes widened in sudden surprise, and her jaw dropped.

---

Arakano watched his little brother look frantically from their cousin to their sister, then visibly decide that between the two, he’d take his chances with his sister. He ducked behind Irissë and her husband.

Not that Arakano entirely blamed him – in Anairon’s shoes, he’d been looking to have someone standing between him and Artanis, too. Preferably someone she wouldn’t try to go through.

“What under the stars?” Irissë asked in confusion. “Anairon, sweetie, what did you do that Artë’s so shocked? You can tell me, I won’t be upset, promise. Whatever it was, I’ve probably done worse.”

“While that’s definitely a true statement, he didn’t do anything,” Arakano said, deciding to toss his brother a lifeline. “Your son, however…”

Artë startled them all by bursting out laughing.

He blinked. That was not the reaction he’d been expecting – nor had Anairon, judging by his astonished expression.

“What’s so hilarious?” Eöl asked in confusion.

“Only that Anairon’s finally managed to catch up to the rest of us in keeping things quiet,” she burbled merrily. “Well done, little one! I think I’m prouder of you for this than for the deer!”

Eöl’s eyes brightened as he looked from Anairon to the wrapped meat ready to carry back, and Arakano reckoned they might have just found the ideal mentor for him.

“What does this have to do with Lomion?” Irissë asked urgently “Aryo said he did something!”

Her husband sobered somewhat at that, as well he might given he was probably the person present who knew the least about what was going on.

“The reason only Anairon is with us,” Artë managed to calm down enough to say, “is that Tindomiel is newly married. And if I don’t miss my guess, to Maeglin?”

She looked to Anairon for confirmation, and he nodded cautiously, still not quite trusting that amusement would be her only reaction.

“Tindomiel?” Irissë repeated in astonishment.

Arakano didn’t miss her sudden sharp look, or Artanis’ subtle shake of the head in answer. There was something more going on that neither of them was going to admit to in front of others. Unfortunately, his odds of getting them to share were probably less than a snowball’s chance in Tirion.

“It seems some things run in the family,” Eöl chuckled. “Though I imagine Uncle will be considerably better pleased about them.”

It took Arakano a minute to realize he meant Thingol.

“Yes, but that’s just as well. Tindomiel’s parents aren’t on the far side of Alatairë,” Irissë snorted. “I at least knew I wouldn’t have to explain myself to Ammë right away. But Artë’s poor granddaughter is going to have to face her parents at once. If your uncle will be on her side, so much the better.”

Arakano couldn’t help the snicker.

At Irissë’s questioning look, it turned into full blown laughter.

“Yes, well,” Artanis said gently. “Put your mind at ease on that score. While Elrond and Celebrían may be surprised, they’re unlikely to be anything worse than that. But I’m afraid your day of reckoning has arrived. That laughing dolphin there had the brilliant idea to bring your parents and mine on this outing.”

“Ammë’s here?” his sister demanded, looking around as if she expected her mother to emerge from the trees any second.

“Here in the sense of being a quarter hour hike away,” Anairon clarified. “And it wasn’t Aryo’s fault. I was supposed to bring everyone to Gondolin. Just not too quickly… and we weren’t expecting you.”

He looked a bit worried, but Arakano could have told him there was no need. Irissë was delighted to no longer be the youngest and throwing herself into big sisterhood with the same enthusiasm she applied to everything else she did. No one would be able to do anything to him in her presence. (Artanis included, not that she seemed inclined now that she’d realized the full scope of what he’d pulled off.)

“Oh, you darling,” Irissë cooed, taking Anairon’s arm. “Come on, let’s go find Ammë and Atto. Don’t worry about the meat, Eöl and Aryo can carry it. How far is it to Gondolin from here? And why couldn’t Turvo come up with a new name for his new city? Has he really gotten that boring in his old age?”

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There had been times in her youth when Irissë had wondered in frustration if her mother loved the daughter she actually had, rather than the proper princess she seemed to want so badly. Then there had been times in Beleriand where she had wondered how she’d ever face her mother – even with the cold comfort of knowing it could be worse. Her hands were clean, at least, even if she knew her mother would find her behavior and probably her marriage mortifying.

But any doubts or fears Irissë had ever had about her mother were blasted into oblivion by the sound Anairë let out when she caught sight of her wayward daughter. It was somewhere between a scream and a sob, not that Irissë had time to analyze it.

She had never in her life seen her mother, thoroughly a creature of Tirion society, move as fast as she did when she somehow managed to cross the dozen or so rangar between where she had been standing by the campfire and where they had emerged from the forest in less than a second to wrap her arms around her daughter as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Anairon seemed just as startled, which was remarkable considering he must have been around when both Turvo and Aryo returned.

“My baby,” her mother murmured against her hair.

“Hi Ammë,” she said quietly, feeling as if the words were somehow inadequate in the face of her mother’s storm of emotion.

If the tears dropping onto her neck were any indication, she hadn’t said the right thing.

Don’t be ridiculous, her mother said firmly. There is no right thing to say when you are finally alive again.

Her emphasis on alive hovered somewhere between prayer and disbelief.

That might be true, but Irissë’s plans after seeing her child back among the living revolved more around punching her brother than hugging the boy so tightly that she might send him back to Mandos for lack of breath. She didn’t expect tears to feature. Well, unless they were Turvo’s.

Her mother’s hold loosened just enough that she could breathe comfortably again.

I may not understand how your mind works any more than I ever did, but that does not make me less than overjoyed to have you back at last.

That touched her – and more, gave her a glimpse of something she felt like she had not been able to see before. Ammë hadn’t been the only one not understanding.

A larger set of arms wrapped around them both – and a comforting warmth to her fëa that she had missed desperately most of her time in Beleriand.

“Atto!”

“How are you, my little jewel?”

Ok, maybe she was going to cry.

The last time she’d heard her father say those words – the ones he’d always used to ask how she was or what she’d been up to, no matter if it had been five minutes or five weeks since he’d last seen her – was in Mithrim, not long before Turvo had convinced her to come with him to his new hidden kingdom.

“Very well indeed, Atto,” she replied, dashing the tears away from her eyes.

More than just well, Artë prompted her silently, a reminder that it was better to share the news than have everyone work it out for themselves.

“This is my husband,” she announced, reaching for Eöl, who had hung back while her parents welcomed her.

Her father nodded at her mate before offering a hand in Lindarin fashion as they would have in Beleriand.

“Oh, no,” her mother said fretfully. “Darling, could you not have had Estë warn us? I haven’t so much as single stone with me to give him!”

Irissë was thankful Artë clapped a hand over her own mouth to hold back laughter, because if Artë laughed, she would too. And that would be the end of any semblance of serious conversation for a while.

“Ana, dear, I don’t think anyone is much fussed about ceremony at this late date. Certainly not your daughter or anyone married to her.”

Thank the stars for Aunt Eärwen. (If Auntie didn’t know herself that both her daughter and her niece were dangerously close to one of those rounds of giggles that were impossible to stop, Uncle would have told her.)

“Welcome, kinsman,” Uncle Ara added, stepping in to shake hands also. “I regret I was too late to meet you in Beleriand, but I have heard of you from my daughter and my wife’s kin in Neldoreth.”

Irissë felt her mate relax, though he did also privately point out that he had no idea what to call a man who was simultaneously the husband of his younger cousin and his wife’s uncle.

He’s also Celeborn’s father-in-law, she added helpfully.

“Well met, kinsman,” Eöl replied.

You are going to tell them, yes? he added silently.

There wasn’t much choice, really. Even if Uncle hadn’t caught their conversation, she doubted it would take him long to notice.

Much as she had with her little brother, she moved her mother’s hand down to her belly, directing her attention to their sleeping daughter.

“Oh!”

Her mother’s tone was as filled with wonder as though there had never been a child in the world before. And here she’d expected a lecture about propriety and waiting a respectable length of time!

“Oh, darling,” Ammë cooed. “When does she come into the light?”

“Next Midsummer at the latest,” Eöl answered for her, as Irissë had been rendered uncharacteristically silent by her mother’s reaction.

“Where do you intend to have the birth?” Atto asked, sounding hopeful.

“Tirion!” she announced firmly.

They hadn’t discussed it, but she wanted her daughter born among her family, with her mother and aunts there. She’d only had Artë for Lomion’s birth, and while she had been deeply thankful for her cousin’s presence, it hadn’t been enough. She glaced toward Artë apologetically.

It’s all right, I felt the same, Artë said quietly. I wanted Emmë and your mother and our aunts and my grandmothers.

Irissë would have squeezed her hand in sympathy had she been able to reach, but she was still firmly held between her parents, with Eöl just beyond her. It suddenly struck her she hadn’t ever met Artë’s daughter, or Ingo’s boy.

Thank you, Artë smiled. You’ll see Celebrían soon enough, given your child just married hers. I should drop a hint to her that she and Elrond ought to join us. That is, assuming Melian hasn’t already beaten me to it…

“Why would Celebrían need to join the party?” Atto asked in confusion, catching the echo of Artë’s thought.

The shared thought that darted back and forth between her and Artë was so lightning quick that not even Uncle could follow it.

“I think I’ve already announced enough shocking things for one day, don’t you?” Irissë grinned.

“Oh, very well,” Artë shrugged. “Maeglin has returned also, which is why we’ve all been maneuvered into a trip to Gondolin.”

Judging by the expressions on both Atto and Uncle, they already knew what had happened in Ondolindë to end with both her and Eöl dead. While she might have enjoyed getting Turvo in as much trouble as he deserved, she found she wasn’t entirely sorry to not have to tell it.

“Just as well we’re all here, then, isn’t it?” Atto sighed.

“Why under the stars would he go to Turvo’s city?” Aunt Eärwen asked.

“I would have thought he would come to us, or go to Neldoreth to Eöl’s parents,” Ammë added, sounding equally puzzled.

“Anairon, darling, it’s only fair you tell this part,” Irissë suggested. “You did very well keeping it quiet!”

You are so mean, Aryo informed her flatly.

Hush, it’s good for him, Artë said.

Both of you, Aryo amended.

“Gondolin was the only hope of avoiding scandal,” Anairon said, more to his shoes than anyone in particular, “given he and Tinwë married two days after he happened on us in the berry groves.”

The ensuing chaos of parental reaction was delightful, right down to Atto’s blend of exasperation, disappointment, and pride as he deplored her being back among the living less than a week and already setting her baby brother an absolutely terrible example.

---

Anairon was enjoying the quiet calm of the cookfire.

He had thought he had some idea of what his sister was like from the stories he’d heard, but somehow they’d still fallen short of the reality.

Irissë positively reveled in the uproar his admission of Tinwë’s marriage had caused. But she’d also kept it all whirling around her, allowing him to quietly retrieve the venison from Aryo and Eöl and get on with making dinner.

He’d been surprised when Eöl was the first to join him.

“You certainly know what you’re about.”

Anairon was too busy rubbing down the meat to jump as he otherwise might have.

“I may not be much good at getting the meat, but I’m all right at the preparation,” he shrugged. “Could you pass me the spit please?”

“You’re good enough, I’d say. If I understood your brother correctly, you were the one who shot the deer, were you not?”

Anairon hadn’t had the chance to tell his parents about that, and tried not to be too obviously pleased that someone recognized his achievement.

“Chin up, lad, you’ll get your chance to shine. Aredhel’s enjoying herself, and when they wind down with her and Galadriel, they’ll all be ready for food – and to ask where it came from.”

Anairon found that interpretation rather heartening. He had little idea what to think of his new law-brother. Eöl had died back in the First Age, so Tinwë didn’t know much about him. (And as she’d remarked in annoyance more than once during the time they’d been avoiding Turukano while all grounded together, the grandfather who would be most help finding out more was on the inconvenient side of the Sea.)

“Anything I can do to lend a hand?” Eöl asked. “I think it’s safer if we both stay out of the way for a bit.”

“If you’ll help me get the meat over the fire?” Anairon asked.

He was fairly sure he could manage it himself if he really had to, but moving the laden spit into position over the fire would go easier with two, particularly as this was somewhat different in both weight and balance than the birds or small game he was more used to working with.

“Of course,” Eöl nodded.

Anairon found that having someone helping who had definitely done this before eased the process considerably.

“Now what?”

Anairon nodded toward the packs.

“I’ll what we have on hand to make a sauce from the drippings. I know there’s wine, and probably vinegar, and there should be more dried herbs.”

“I am at your disposal,” Eöl said with a smile.

Anairon set him to chopping herbs while he went for wild garlic, and noted when he came back that while the older man was doing a fine job of it, he was also keeping a watchful eye on Irissë.

“How did you meet, really?” he asked, fighting a blush as he realized he’d spoken rather abruptly.

To his relief, that forwardness got only a laugh.

“What did you hear?”

“Galadriel said Irissë got lost and stumbled across you, and that was that.”

“She edited a bit,” Eöl chuckled. “You sister was indeed lost, but it was I who stumbled across her – while she was bathing.”

Anairon suspected he already knew enough of Irissë to imagine how things had gone from there.

“I suggested that she might be more comfortable using the bathing room in my house than a lake filled with fresh snowmelt. Things… escalated after dinner.”

“At least that means she can’t give Tinwë a hard time,” Anairon sighed.

“Don’t worry, she wouldn’t,” Eöl told him with a fond laugh. “The only one she wants to give a hard time is your older brother.”

“Aryo?” Anairon asked in confusion.

“Your older older brother,” Eöl clarified.

“Oh. Him. That’s all right,” Anairon decided.

Someone owed Turukano a hard time, and their parents’ last effort at it had been as much a penance to him and Tindomiel as it had been to the offender. He wasn’t sure if their sister could do a better job of it, but he didn’t mind finding out.

“Care to tell me about it, lad?”

He looked up to find that Eöl looked rather amused at how fiercely he was whipping the liquid ingredients for the basting sauce, and tried not to blush.

“It sounds as if there’s a bit more there than just him having deprived you of an older sister and a niece you didn’t know about,” Eöl observed.

“He did stupid things that hurt other people besides you and Irissë and Maeglin,” Anairon admitted. “And the baby…what’s her name?”

“I don’t know about your people, but mine generally do not give names so early. We prefer to be sure the name is fitting. Your sister is fond of teasing me about how it took me twelve years to settle on Maeglin for our son. If she doesn’t bring it up at some point this evening, it will definitely be mentioned in the next few days.”

Anairon didn’t know when babies were named, as aside from Tasariel and Califriel, he was the youngest on either side of his extended family. But what Eöl said sounded sensible enough – except for the twelve years part. That seemed a little extreme.

“Well, you’ve had practice,” he said. “So maybe this time will go quicker?”

That got a chuckle from Eöl.

“Let us hope,” he said. “But as to your brother?”

“He’s not my favorite brother,” Anairon admitted. “Tinwë’s more or less ok with him, which is good I guess, since he’s one of her grandfathers. But she gets mad at him too sometimes. Part of what he did hurt her sister. Anariel almost got killed balrog hunting, you know. I’m not sure if Tinwë knows the whole story, but I heard Laurefindil telling Ammë and Atto about it not long after they arrived.”

There was a sound from Eöl that might have been a smothered cough.

“These would be Celeborn’s grandchildren, yes?”

“Oh! Yes, Celeborn is your kinsman, too, isn’t he?” Anairon exclaimed.

He should have remembered that part. But Eöl’s dark hair and eyes set him apart from the rest of Thingol’s kin, even if the lines of his face were similar. Anairon tried to remember if he’d met Eöl’s parents on one of his visits to Neldoreth. He must have, Tindomiel had introduced him to everyone. But there had been so many people new to him it was hard to keep track…

“Indeed. Is he not part of this expedition?”

Anairon shook his head.

“He’s still in Endorë with Tinwë’s older sisters and brothers,” he explained. “Galadriel says they couldn’t be trusted without adult supervision. I’m not sure why, if Anariel can kill dragons and balrogs I don’t see what there is to worry about.”

Eöl laughed.

“If she’s much like Lúthien – and it rather sounds that way – there’s a good deal to worry about if there’s no one about to tell her when she has a bad idea. Ah, well, I’ll just have to wait to catch up with Celeborn.”

Aryo came stomping over at that point.

“She’s enjoying this as much as if she’d planned it,” he announced, waving in the direction of their sister before flopping down by the cookfire. “I’ll turn.”

“She is,” Eöl agreed, though the look in his eyes was far fonder. “Though I think part of the enjoyment is knowing that Maeglin is safe, and from the sound of it, well matched.”

They both looked at Anairon.

“They get along very well,” he said, unsure what else they expected him to say.

“Tinwë’s not as wild as Irissë or Artë, and definitely not in the same class as her older sister,” Aryo told Eöl.

“She’s a scholar, not a warrior,” Anairon added, picking up from his brother that Eöl was looking to hear more about her. “She’s the youngest ever inducted into the Lambengolmor – the language scholars’ guild. She managed it even younger than our uncle.”

He decided it was better not to mention Uncle Fëanáro by name. Quite a few of the Sindar had strong opinions about him.

Eöl seemed to relax.

“I imagine I’ll find out soon enough. Now, suppose you lads tell me a bit about yourselves while they’re still fussing?”

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It took quite a while before her family settled enough to sit down around the fire to eat.

Irissë was torn between sitting with Artë and making sure her little brother was at her side. Eöl’s silent chuckle didn’t offer much help – but he did leave enough space between them for someone else to sit. That saved her having to make a choice. Artë settled in on her right, with Uncle Ara beyond her. So Irissë maneuvered Anairon between her and Eöl.

She would have liked to have a heart-to-heart with Artë – she had so many questions – but she knew better than to attempt that with their parents all present.

They’re unlikely to let us alone, Artë informed her wryly.

That’s what happens when you get caught trying to sneak out, Aryo informed them smugly.

She understood perfectly well why her brother would enjoy the situation, but it wasn’t like Artanis to be so careless.

“Children,” Uncle said mildly.

“Manners,” Ammë added reflexively.

They might not be in Tirion – not yet, at least – but Irissë felt right at home, and all the more so when she tucked into the plate handed her. This was no camp cooking!

“This is delicious!” she exclaimed. “Atto, did you bring Cook with you?”

“I did not,” her father replied, a smile playing at his lips.

“Darling, did you not tell your sister about your craft yet?” Ammë asked, a note of pride in her voice.

Irissë was startled at the realization that her words were directed to Anairon. This was as fine as anything served at feasts in grandfather’s hall! And her baby brother had made it?

“I do not believe he did,” Eöl replied as she turned to her baby brother in astonishment.

“Nor,” Eöl continued, “did he have a chance to tell everyone that he not only prepared the meat, it is his own harvest.”

“Yonya! The deer was your doing?”

Atto was as surprised as she was, and she took the opportunity to ruffle her brother’s hair and poke him subtly to make him sit up straight instead of ducking bashfully.

Be proud of yourself! she told him. Atto certainly is!

“From start to finish,” Eöl confirmed. “We came across them just as they were wrapping the meat to carry back.”

“Not entirely from start to finish,” Aryo put in.

“Showing him how to clean doesn’t count, it was still his,” Artë snorted. “Stop spoiling Anairon’s moment.”

Irissë had to stifle a laugh at the reproving look their mother turned on her older brother.

“Aryo, dear, you must set your younger siblings a better example. Particularly as we both know your sister is not the best model for Anairon.”

There were coughs that sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter from both Atto and Uncle, and Aunt Eärwen smiled.

“Well done, lad,” Uncle said, smoothly staving off any further protests – hers included. “Though I think it should be someone else’s turn to hunt tomorrow – it seems a bit unfair to ask you to bring in the meat and cook it.”

Irissë was certain the straightening of her brother’s back wasn’t her imagination.

Don’t worry, sweetie. Once we’re all settled, Eöl can take you out to practice whenever you wish. He’s taught enough younger kin to be very good at it. And you won’t be the first one who isn’t terribly interested in hunting.

She felt her mate’s silent assent – and that he thought it would be a good way to get to know the boy better without anyone else trying to speak for him.

Anairon brightened, and began to explain to everyone about the rest of the meal, for the meat was but the first course.  Irissë thought it very impressive, and told him so several times – and was delighted when he began to quiz her, at first tentatively and then with more confidence about her likes and dislikes.

She would not mind at all if tomorrow’s meals were designed with her in mind – and told Artanis quite firmly to shush with the laughter, silent or otherwise. Maybe Artë was used to this, seeing as she’d gotten to be around the baby for the last few decades, but she wasn’t!

It was probably strategic on his part that Uncle waited until dessert – when Irissë was dying to know how her brother had managed such a perfectly frothy berry foam out here without the full compliment of kitchen tools to work with – to ask what Irissë intended to do when they reached Gondolin.

“See Lomion, of course,” she replied immediately. “And Tindomiel!”

She was quite sure Uncle didn’t want to hear ‘and punch my idiot brother for mucking everything up’. Also, she wasn’t sure quite how much damage she wanted to inflict on Turukano. It would depend in large part on what Lomion had to say. So she focused on her excitement to meet her son’s mate properly.

She’d seen the girl a time or two in the Halls, of course, but she hadn’t paid overly much attention then.

“Celebrían and Elrond will join us before we reach the city,” Artë added, neatly diverting her father from inquiring further. “So I imagine between the lot of us, we can work out some small ceremony to quell any gossip and see to it that no one’s reputation suffers permanent damage.”

“It is surprising that Tinwe would be so impulsive,” Ammë murmured. “She might have had a proper wedding wherever she chose.”

Irissë noticed Artë was not the only one who smiled or outright snickered. Not entirely out of character for her new daughter-in-law, then?

“Yes, the girl that finally succeeded in flying has never before surprised us all,” Atto said drily. “Also, Turvo may want some say in this ceremony, being as it’s his city. Perhaps you should defer your plotting until he and Elenwë are present.”

“Flying?” Irissë demanded in delight, electing to ignore the part about her brother having any say entirely. It was her son and Artë’s granddaughter. Elenwë she might allow, for Irissë was fond of her law-sister, but her idiot brother got no say in it whatsoever. Anyway, flying was much more interesting. There was a story there!

“Yes,” Artë said smugly. “As it turns out, elves can in fact fly if they approach the problem properly. Tinu and Anairon proved that quite convincingly.”

The glint in Artanis’ eye suggested that while she was proud of her granddaughter and younger cousin, she also wanted another crack at the approach they’d taken with Ambarussa – particularly now that there was proof flight could be achieved.

After that nothing would do but for Irissë hear the story, even though everyone assured her and Eöl that they really should hear it from Aunt Eärwen’s parents, seeing as it had been their boat that returned the flyers and their ingenious devices to shore.

---

Artanis waited until their parents had dropped off to sleep before slipping away. Irissë waited a short interval before following. With everyone else asleep, they might actually get a chance to talk. No one would bother them as long as Eöl remained among those at the campsite.

It only took a few moments before she found her heart-sister lounging on a low tree branch far enough away from the camp that they wouldn’t wake anyone talking.

We should speak silently, Irissë warned. Just because your father is asleep now…

Not all of what they would speak of was for anyone else. Perhaps their own mates, but no one else.

We are of one mind in Turvo having no say, Artë told her. But do not make a thing of it with Atto. Elrond will probably make the case better than either of us could. Assuming, of course, Elenwë and Idril let Turvo get a word in edgewise in the first place.

Irissë couldn’t help the laughter at that – though she did also wonder why Elrond would be so against it.

He has his reasons, among them your brother maligning your mate for so many years, Artanis assured her.

Irissë raised an eyebrow, and let Artë fill her in on what her brother had told the world about her death and her mate. She’d known about the execution, of course – Eöl had tried to spare her the knowledge, but she’d caught him fairly quickly because it made no sense at all that he would leave their son in Turgon’s keeping – but not what excuse he’d given for it.

She didn’t see at all how her idiot brother had ever thought he’d get away with that tale, even if he’d believed it himself. But she supposed he’d thrown in just enough truth to muddy the waters – it would not have been acceptable to either her or her husband that Maeglin remain in Ondolindë unless it was by his own will. (And Eöl probably would have refused to allow him the choice until he came of age.)

That would have been bad enough on its own, but it seemed that her brother had compounded it by deliberately needling Maitimo about Finno’s death – and she couldn’t imagine that had endeared him to either of them. She could tell Artë was holding back something more about that part, but perhaps that needed more privacy. Or perhaps Artë was, as usual, choosing her moment carefully.

What of Celeborn? Irissë asked urgently.

She hadn’t been able to account for his absence.

He stayed behind when we sailed – someone had to mind our older grandchildren. Tindomiel sailed with us, but the others did not.

It was easy enough for someone who had known her as well as Irissë did to see the shadow of pain and loss behind the light and joy associated with her grandchildren.

“Tell me of your Arwen?”

This, at least, they could speak about aloud.

The tale that spilled from Artë’s lips was not only of Arwen, but also of Lúthien, for the one was impossible to understand without the other. Irissë felt the pain of not only the grandniece she would never meet, but also the loss of Lúthien, who had been so much at the heart of her family.

“How long, Artë?” she asked at last, when she’d had time to absorb the enormity of it all. “And how could you leave before she did?”

“There was no choice,” Artanis whispered. “To stay was to fade. We’ll speak of the rings another day. There’s more grief bound up with that tale. For now, I’ll say only that neither Elrond nor I had the option to stay, greatly though we desired it. We might not have lasted long enough to see her depart – worse, we might have hastened it with grief. As to how long…she can have no more than another hundred years, I think. Blessing of Numenor or not, Men do not live so long.”

Foremost in Artë’s mind was the thought that at least the remaining three children had already chosen their fates – she could lose only the one to mortality. And they would be a comfort to each other when the day of grief inevitably arrived.

Which, of course, brought them neatly to the granddaughter Irissë was most curious about.

And the littlest one? What happened?

Tindomiel might be one of Artë’s line, but she was not the bride Irissë had foreseen for her son. Nor had the girl she had seen been so small as the glimpses of her in Artë’s memories.

Sauron happened, Artanis told her grimly, opening her mind to let Irissë see the threat grown to deadly grudge that had long stood between her and the fallen maia – and the promise that he would destroy her child. The promise had been all the more fearsome given what had happened to her brothers. Artë’s mind shied away from Ingo’s fate even now, three Ages after his return.

Sauron had not succeeded, nor had he destroyed her granddaughter, but it was clear that Anariel was no longer the girl she had seen, the future she and Artë had both awaited. California had changed her.

You never told me this before! Irissë exclaimed. You might have mentioned it when we were in Doriath!

Melian’s protection would have made it impossible for Sauron to eavesdrop – and had she known, Irissë would not have pressed Artanis so about a child. She had cherished hopes of their children growing up together. It had seemed only natural in light of that vision…

There was a sudden hesitancy in Artanis’ mind, something Irissë had never before encountered. They trusted one another with everything. It cost her not to draw back, hurt by this sudden chill just when she was ready to apologize wholeheartedly for the unknowing harm.

It is not a chill, Artanis told her. It is… there are things that touch more than just myself. And even here, I have kept silent about them. Celeborn alone knows all of it.

Here meant Aman. Artanis was still keeping secrets?

Artanis hesitated a moment more before offering her hand. Whatever it was she had withheld, not even Uncle knew of it.

Now it was Irissë who hesitated. A secret so long held, what if she inadvertently revealed it?

You will not, Artanis said wryly. Though I am not sure anyone would believe you even if you did. I promise I will not be angry with you in any case.

With that fascinating inducement, she took Artë’s hand. She gasped when the full dimensions of the threat – and all that her dearest friend had hidden for the sake of protecting others – were revealed.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at Artanis, who had carried all this so very long.

“Oh, Artë,” she gasped, opening her arms.

She held her cousin while she wept, understanding that it was not just tears falling, but years of tension,  finally being able to tell someone who understood in a way even Celeborn could not. And witnessing Artë’s pain, she renewed the vow of vengeance in her heart – no longer was it just for her son she would see Sauron unmade.

---

Arakano tried not to swear when he awoke at sunrise to find both his sister and Galadriel missing.

“Relax, lad, they won’t have run off.”

He looked up to find his law-brother watching him from the comfort of his sleep roll. By the looks of it, he’d slept alone.

“That easily read, am I?” he asked ruefully.

“The thought was plain on your face,” Eöl chuckled. “But I am assured that Elrond and Celebrían are currently travelling without stopping to join us, so I doubt very much Aredhel and Galadriel would go running off on their own. Aredhel is far too curious to see Galadriel’s daughter and Lúthien’s grandson.”

“You worry too much, Aryo,” Anairon yawned.

His little brother’s hair was in magnificent disarray from having pulled his blanket close about his head overnight, but he was awake enough to start gathering things for breakfast. In a matter of moments, he was passing both of them bread and setting small crocks of butter and jam where they could both reach before plunking himself back down.

“Irissë won’t go far without Eöl, will she?” Anairon asked practically. “So they’re around somewhere.”

No, that was true. He’d forgotten about that. Irissë wasn’t flighty enough to risk her daughter’s health to hurry on ahead, much less run off to do whatever she and Artanis had originally intended.

“They have several Ages to catch up on,” Eöl said equably. “We haven’t seen Galadriel since Oropher’s wedding. We should probably be grateful they took themselves far enough away not to keep the rest of us awake.”

The half of the Fearsome Foursome in question chose that moment to come sashaying out of the trees, laughing as merrily as children. Though as children, if Arakano had heard them laughing like that, he’d have asked what they were plotting…

“We brought some things for breakfast, and possibly lunch,” Irissë announced cheerfully.

Galadriel set down the fruit she’d been carrying, as Irissë handed over half a dozen eggs to Anairon.

Their little brother did a quick tally of heads and turned toward their still-sleeping parents.

“Do you think I have time to cook the eggs before everyone’s awake? They’d make a decent frittata with some of the leftovers from last night. If we don’t stop for lunch, we can make good time today...”

Arakano suspected that with no one dragging their feet anymore, and the news out, they’d make their best time yet. The girls would make sure of it. The question would be if the rest of them could keep up.

“Of course you have time, sweetie,” Irissë proclaimed, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “We won’t wake them up until you say everything’s ready. It will be a lovely surprise!”

“You think they’ll sleep that long?” Anairon asked, glancing at his parents with a look of bemusement.

By his expression, Arakano guessed he’d only ever known their parents as early risers. While his mother did rise early most days, it wasn’t unheard of for his parents to sleep in and enjoy a lazy morning together on a day when they had nothing in particular to do. At least, it hadn’t been in his youth. Had they changed so much?

“No doubt.”

All of them except Eöl jumped as Aunt Eärwen joined the conversation. Arakano managed not to glare at his law-brother for not warning them when he had clearly seen her coming. The half-concealed smirk made him think that it was possible the man was more like his sister than he’d first thought.

“Irissë and Eöl back, Lomion back, Tindomiel married, and a new granddaughter? Your mother hasn’t been so happy since the Darkening. With so much weight off her mind, she’ll likely sleep the whole day if you let her.”

All three of Anairë’s children reached the instant silent agreement that would be exactly what happened.

“Right,” Anairon said quietly, looking from their sleeping parents to what Irissë and Galadriel had just handed over and visibly re-assessing. “In that case, we’ll throw together something simple for lunch for the rest of us, but I’ll do something very nice for dinner. As long as people are willing to help with the foraging?”

“I daresay we can do that,” Aunt Eärwen replied cheerfully in a tone that meant the younger generation had little choice in the matter. “Just tell us what you’re after.”

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“Tell me something nice from when you were little.”

Maeglin looked at Tindomiel, unsure what she was hoping to hear. They’d spent a lot of time talking about history – in general, and hers in specific. There was so much for him to catch up on and learn. He’d have been discouraged had it been any other tutor.

“Anything,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t even asked. “We’ve been going over so much history to try to catch you up, it would be nice to hear some stories that aren’t grim and filled with our kin getting killed.”

“You have plenty of those, I think,” he smiled, kissing the tip of her nose.

“Yes, and I’m happy to tell them, but I want to hear some of yours, too,” she replied. “You already know more about Imladris than I do about Nan Elmoth!”

It was a fair point, and she hadn’t told him only the good – the scary and the slightly embarrassing had featured as often as the charming and funny.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said thoughtfully. “When you’re happy as a child, there’s much that is special to you but would not necessarily interest anyone else. Trips elsewhere stick out in my mind because they were something different, but that does not mean that time at home was somehow less enjoyable. And I definitely don’t have anything as good as Glorfindel and the pepper.”

“I don’t know, what was your favorite toy?” she asked.

He grinned.

“I always had children’s versions of tools, and Ammë says those were my favorite from the first wooden hammer.”

“Of course they were,” she giggled. “I can just see you as a little kid, planning out your projects.”

“I’m sure early on all I did was hit things and make marks in my sandbox,” he assured her. “Eventually I moved on to making shapes in the sand and building little hills. It wasn’t until I was older and learning to write and starting to understand more about crafting that the tools were anything more than toys.”

“When was your first project?”

He laughed.

“The sort undertaken with lots of supervision, or my first proper project on my own?”

“Either.”

“I did small things with Ada as soon as I was old enough to be taught safety,” he smiled. “That had to be learned before anything else. Then he would guide me, his hands over mine on the tools, and eventually him just watching. But my first grownup project was a twisted-wire ring for Ammë.”

He was so happy to be able to remember that again. Unlike projects made under Ada’s eye or with help of dwarven masters, that one had been his from start to finish. It hadn’t turned out quite as intended – what first attempt ever did? But he had been proud of it all the same. His mother had adored it, and never taken it off. She’d been buried with it on.

He’d heard a few of the master smiths of Gondolin had laughed that their princess would wear such poor work. He hadn’t had the heart to tell them why.

There was a gentle touch.

Hey. They were out of line. You were a grieving kid. It was unkind.

“They weren’t to know. And it’s a bit late to tell them now,” he shrugged.

“True, but you could remake it,” she pointed out.

He looked at her in surprise.

“You are surprisingly evil for someone so nice,” he informed her.

“I’m not evil,” she shrugged. “I just don’t see why you shouldn’t re-create something that was special to your mom. It’s not my fault if that has the side effect of a couple of jerks recognizing why that ‘poor work’ was her favorite...”

“It is a pleasing notion,” he admitted. “But I think I would rather make the ring as I would make it now. It will still be recognizable to Ammë.”

Which means it’ll still be recognizable to the jerks, too, she pointed out as she kissed him.

“What about you?” he asked. “What was your first project?”

She laughed.

“Learning how to speak.”

“Everyone learns how to speak!” he protested.

“Yes, but I learned to talk in California, which doesn’t speak any elvish language,” she told him with a grin. “I came to Imladris speaking English and had to learn Sindarin so I could talk to my dad and brothers.”

Maeglin couldn’t help his utter astonishment.

“But… osanwë,” he protested weakly.

“Oh, it helped. Pretty sure the first few months would have been a lot harder without it. But I still had to learn,” she told him. “At least I was quick about it. I think Ada was equal parts happy and horrified when Anariel finally started mastering basic words like ‘yes’ and ‘no’.”

Personally, I think he should be happy he missed Anariel learning no the first time around.

“I doubt your father sees it that way,” Maeglin said quietly.

From what she said, her father cared for all of his children deeply.

“No, probably not,” Tindomiel said thoughtfully. “But I also don’t think having Ada in California with us would have helped. My brothers would have done something really drastic if they’d lost both parents. Don’t ever tell them I said so, but they’re less equipped for drastic than Anariel is. Anyway, it’s gotten to be second nature to all of us to turn the worst stuff into humor. We joked about pretty much every force of darkness we came across.”

“Even the ones ripped your sister out of the world?” he asked.

“Anariel will probably be joking around at the Dagor Dagorath while all the grownups disapprove of her not taking things seriously enough. I mean, she told Sauron at the Morannon that he was a pizza burn on the roof of the world’s mouth.”

Maeglin paused a moment in confusion, unsure what to make of it.

“Was that a joke or an insult?”

Even once she stopped giggling, it took a while for Tindomiel to explain pizza. But once he understood it well enough to describe it accurately, Maeglin thought it was worth finding out if the kitchens of the Mole could produce one based on his words alone. They’d been doing a wonderful job the past couple weeks at sending up all his favorite foods, but it aside from chocolate, it was clear they knew less about Tindomiel. He wanted her to have things that made her happy.

She hadn’t had pizza in years. And her face lit up when she talked about it, almost as much as it did when she talked about her siblings across the sea.

He’d add it to the next note he left in the outer room for Anardil. He’d written a few so far. He’d set the change of house colors in motion, with the caution that the change shouldn’t be made public before he and Tindomiel were ready to announce their union to his uncle.

He was surprised how quickly Anardil had been able to worm fabric samples out of Egalmoth. In his experience it usually took longer than a day or two. But the samples had been left with their food tray and a stern note that if they dared get food or drink on them, they could explain it to the Lord of the Heavenly Arch themselves. He and Tindomiel had a good time picking a grey that worked for them both. They’d have to have fittings once their honeymoon was over.

---

Mastacarmë looked at Enerdhil blankly.

“Pítsá?” he repeated dubiously. “What under the stars…?”

“The prince described it as best he could,” Enerdhil replied, handing the note over. “There.”

Mastacarmë gave the paper a skeptical look, visibly tried to puzzle out the strange word, and then glared at a snickering Elemmakil as if the prince’s request was somehow his fault.

“Yes, it’s very funny. The Prince requests something our new Princess is fond of besides chocolate, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to make it properly,” the cook grumbled. “His description is not adequate. I can think of many ways to achieve this, but they will not all taste the same, and it may be that none of them is the correct method. Make yourself useful, go find Lady Califiriel, and ask if she can come assist me if she is available. Let us hope she knows what pítsá is and how it should be made. If nothing else, she can serve as a taster…”

“Not Lady Tasariel?” asked Elemmakil.

“Lady Califiriel has greater patience, and also a greater ability to remain discreet,” Mastacarmë said flatly. “If her sister mentions to their father that she has had this pítsá here, Lord Laurefindil will know something is afoot.”

“Please, Elemmakil?” Enerdhil added, before the man could argue. “As a favor to us both? And while you’re at that, I’ll find anyone in this house who knows tailoring,”

“You’re already dealing with Lord Egalmoth, what do you need with another tailor?” Elemmakil snorted. “We don’t have many, and certainly none who match his skill.”

“I don’t intend to have Princess Tindomiel emerge for her first appearance as the Princess of the Mole wearing the colors of the Wing or the workaday clothing she was wearing when she arrived,” Enerdhil said with as much dignity as he could muster. “And I don’t have the first idea how one gets from existing clothing to measurements. I make jewelry, not garments!”

“Why not just send the clothes to him?” Elemmakil asked. “It would be a good deal easier, and involve fewer people.

“Yes, it would just involve showing Princess Tindomiel’s clothing to Lord Egalmoth, who has never forgotten an outfit,” Enerdhil replied shortly, his patience wearing thin. “I’d rather send measurements. Those at least he won’t know. The princess has never had clothes made by the Heavenly Arch.”

“That we know of.”

“I can hardly send to Princess Itarillë to be certain, can I?”

“Gentlemen!”

Mastacarmë sighed.

“Elemmakil, stop harrying the man. Go see if you can’t find Lady Califiriel.”

Elemmakil bit back whatever he’d been about to say and departed.

The cook turned to Enerdhil.

“Come now, don’t let the pressure get to you. We’ve managed this long, we can hold out a few days more. Even with requests for odd Mannish foods I’ve never heard of.”

“I’m starting to worry it’s not just ‘a few days more’,” Enerdhil admitted. “It’s been long enough now that they should be starting to notice the rest of the world again, or at least have some sense of time.”

“Are they not?”

Enerdhil shook his head.

Mastacarmë swore softly as he counted up days.

“We’re stuck with it either way at this point,” he sighed. “If we are to confess to the King, I would much prefer to do so with his nephew and granddaughter at hand to distract him.”

---

Turukano managed what he hoped was a genuine looking smile.

He shouldn’t be so nervous about this. It was his best friend, for the love of Nienna. Yet he couldn’t help feeling as he had when he led his people out to battle. That hadn’t turned out well.

Courage, my love. We talked about this. You worry far more than you should.

Elenwë’s touch soothed him briefly before she turned her attention back to her guests.

“Ingo, I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure you’d accept our invitation.”

Despite the pit in his stomach, Turukano was grateful that Elenwë had carried her point. He wouldn’t have pulled together sufficiently on his own to follow through on the idea, even if it had been his originally.  

“I nearly didn’t,” his cousin replied, watching as their wives and Artalissë disappeared in the direction of the Heavenly Arch. “But Amarië wanted to see Elenwë, and the children were curious to see your city.”

“Rillë is thrilled to see Gildor,” Turukano said. “She is quite put out that she never got to meet him in Beleriand, you know, and I am told seeing him now and again in Tirion is not the same.”

“If they get on well on this visit, she may find herself wondering how to encourage him to spend time elsewhere,” Ingo snorted. “He’s at a bit of a loose end here without Findë.”

Turukano floundered a bit with that. He supposed Gildor’s relationship with Celebrían must be rather different, as she’d been married to young Elrond for an Age, and not so free to go off adventuring on a whim as Ingo’s eldest seemed to do.

“I doubt she would see that as a problem,” he replied at last. “As to the others, I suppose Laurefindil’s girls may be company for Lissë, but-”

“I’m well aware you don’t have any young kin their age handy for the younger boys,” Ingo said drily. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll find their own amusement. And if they don’t, it’s their own doing. I suggested they go to my grandparents in Alqualondë, but they insisted on coming, and Lissë wasn’t about to be left out.”

“You didn’t want to bring the children?” Turukano asked in surprise.

Perhaps he had been right after all. Some things couldn’t be mended.

Ingo gave him one of those looks that meant he’d heard. There had been a time where he wouldn’t have cared one whit what his best friend overheard of his thoughts, but that had been long ago.

“No, I thought we might have some grown-up conversations – you know, all the ones you were so handy at avoiding while you were in Tirion. I didn’t think you’d want them wandering through in the middle. That’s why I made sure you weren’t expecting Tinwë and Anairon before I accepted.”

That didn’t really clarify much – if anything, it made it worse.

“I look forward to it,” Turukano replied, proud of himself for keeping his tone so even.

“And Tindomiel thinks I’m the worst liar in the world,” Ingo chuckled, clapping him on the back.

Turukano did not glower at his best friend.

But annoying as Ingo might be at the moment, he had come. Turukano was grateful for that. It took some of the sting out of another holiday without his grandchildren or his parents. And if anyone could see a way to fix things, it would be the natural optimist.

---

Elrond sighed.

It had been an adjustment on arrival in Aman, having so many relatives. Parents he barely remembered. Grandparents he had never met, and not just his parents’ parents. Most had until then been only names he learned as a child or read about in books.

Though he suspected some of his elders blamed them, it wasn’t Maedhros and Makalaurë’s fault. As an adult, he recognized in retrospect how they had tried to make his family real to him, not just history lessons. But as an adult who had also taught children who had to learn about distant ancestors they never expected to meet, he knew how difficult the task had been.

His grandmother Melian in particular had taken getting used to.  He wasn’t entirely sure he had achieved it yet.

It still surprised him every time she popped up at his elbow – and that wasn’t merely a figure of speech. He supposed it was better that she spoke to him face to face, as the alternative was osanwë from wherever she happened to be, and that could be even more disconcerting.

It would be more upsetting were she not excellent at letting him know when his daughter needed him. (And assuring him that his children in Ennor were fine. He wasn’t sure how she knew, and hadn’t asked. But she was able to tell him his grandchildren’s names faster than his father found them out.)

This time she had informed him that he and Celebrían should make their way to Gondolin. Undue haste wasn’t needed, but her tone had suggested they should not dawdle. It had to be something to do with Tindomiel – Melian was unlikely to stir herself on Turukano’s behalf, given the dim view the royal couple of Neldoreth held of Idril’s father.

Elrond himself tried to take the same forgiving attitude toward his own forefather he would counsel any other to show, but it was not easy when the reasons forgiveness was required included harm to his children. Turukano had been disciplined by the Noldoran and his parents; there was no need for Elrond to add to it, but he still preferred to keep his distance from new Gondolin.

He liked his grandmother Idril and grandfather Tuor. Elenwë, though she had not been much spoken of in Middle-earth, he had found to be the patience and calm that held her family together. It went some way toward explaining how the Turukano spoken of in Middle-earth had been so different from the Turukano his elders recalled as a youth in the West.  After those hard years without Celebrían, Elrond could understand that too well.

But for all that, he still found Turukano difficult to deal with. He was grateful that his grandmothers were understanding. Idril had been to visit at Imlanthiriath several times, and Elenwë often visited Tirion if she knew he would be there.

He had wondered if the present journey was a result of some attempt on his daughter’s part to patch things up. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility – she had brought back Uncle Moryo and was currently working on rehabilitating Fëanor. (Still not yet admitted to grandfatherhood, but Elrond suspected it was only a matter of time. For himself, he felt he could admit it, though he’d prefer to have a conversation with the man first.)

But Tindomiel suddenly deciding to spend time in Gondolin seemed unlikely. She hadn’t been easy with Turukano since the revelation of the true circumstances of his sister’s death.

“You worry entirely too much, my love,” Celebrían murmured, breaking into his thoughts.

“An old habit,” he replied with a rueful smile.

“There is far less cause for worry here,” she reminded him, waving at their surroundings, so unlike the environs of Imladris or even Imlanthiriath. “And you are not fretting about the children.”

“Only one of them,” he sighed.

“If she had done something worth worrying about, Aunt Melian would have said something,” she laughed. “I’m only surprised she’s told us Gondolin. I could have sworn Tinu meant to spend the holiday in Neldoreth.”

“I suppose Tirion wasn’t an option this year,” he snorted.

Celebrían laughed even harder at that. She had no sympathy whatsoever for the would-be social climbers of Tirion, and was more inclined to treat their daughter’s behavior toward the worst offenders as a bad joke. Elrond, who had been the target of similar ambitions in Gil-galad’s court in Lindon, had little patience for those who wanted his daughter’s hand for the status rather than the person attached to it. But he did wish his daughter would be slightly more circumspect.

Tindomiel’s methods of dealing with such unwanted suitors lacked subtlety. Fortunately, he had yet to be called on for any official response. He hoped it would stay that way, because he doubted Tirion society would take the view of the matter he did.

Suddenly Celebrían stilled.

“Hm,” she said. “Perhaps you should be concerned after all. Ammë just suggested I make my way to Gondolin.”

“Certainly in no way suspicious,” Elrond replied.

“My mother is even less likely to take a trip to Turukano’s city than you are,” Celebrían pointed out. “I suspect Grandfather told her to stay away from him. So not only is it suspicious, it’s worrying. I can’t say I’m pleased at the prospect of spending the festival trying to keep your least favorite grandfather alive and unscathed.”

“It wasn’t high on my list of plans either,” Elrond murmured.

What had been an enjoyable ride took on a slight air of tension. Not serious tension of course – they’d both been to war themselves, and watched their children go to war. A family gathering that probably wouldn’t end in bloodshed wasn’t in quite the same category. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, though.

Then they reached the top of the next hill and discovered it wasn’t just themselves and Galadriel bound for Gondolin.

Stars above, what did she do? Celebrían demanded.

In addition to Galadriel, her parents, his grandparents Anairë and Nolofinwë, Anairon, Arakano, and two people unknown to him –a quick brush against his wife’s mind proved they were a mystery to her as well – were all waiting for them, camp already set up for the night. (And with the good tents. This was a planned journey.)

“There you are, darling,” Galadriel smiled. “Come meet my cousin Irissë and her husband Eöl.”

Every story they’ve been told about Irissë since they arrived flashed through Elrond’s head, coupled with the stricture on Tindomiel not bringing people back from Mandos without permission.

Definitely not going to be a quiet holiday, Celebrían sighed.

No, Elrond replied. But with your grandparents and mine all here, at least we won’t have to worry about keeping the peace.

It might be interesting? she replied gamely.

And to think he’d once wondered if Aman might get boring after the first few years.

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Irissë was so excited to meet Artë’s daughter. She could gauge how close the girl was by how Artë’s spirits lifted. She knew where to look even before she spotted the pair on horseback.

“Ooh, she looks like Celeborn!”

“I’m sure we’ll find plenty of Galadriel in her as well,” Eöl murmured in her ear.

No doubt, Irissë replied in amusement. But I suspect she’s daddy’s girl. For one thing, she just assessed us all as he would.

As he will, I think, Eöl corrected.

Her mate was bearing up rather well at being surrounded by Noldor, but Irissë knew perfectly well he already looked forward to reinforcements.

Less reinforcements than someone else used to all this, he replied. That pair look quite comfortable with each other, if not with this troupe.

“They should be used to everyone but us,” Irissë snorted. “Particularly Anairon.”

She hugged her little brother.

She’d been restraining herself from pumping him for information about her new daughter-in-law. She wanted to be good friends with both of them, but Eöl was convinced that too much too soon would send her little brother into the same sort of panicked withdrawal Turvo had often shown when out of his depth. (Not that Eöl knew Turvo did that, but what he’d described was the same thing.) Aryo had added the caveat that Anairon was not confident enough to come out again any time soon if he retreated into his shell.

“They’re used to everyone,” Anairon said quietly. “But a little less used to everyone at once.”

“Elrond built a house of his own, in a place Uncle Nolo pointed out to him, and while they visit everyone in turn, and do occasional holidays in Tirion or Alqualondë, he’s a homebody at heart,” Galadriel explained.

“Almost everyone,” her father corrected. “I don’t recall him going to Gondolin before.”

He sounds very sensible to me, Eöl said for her ears alone. I like him already.

You’d say that about anyone that avoided Turvo, she snorted.

Probably, but in this case I’m saying it about Nimmy’s grandson, he replied.

Nimloth has been his favorite younger cousin. He’d treated her like a kid sister.

You’re going to spoil him, aren’t you? she demanded.

And you’re not going to spoil Galadriel’s daughter? he snorted. And granddaughter? Besides, someone needs to indulge the boy. He had no grandparents.

Nimloth had yet to return, and Dior wouldn’t.

That does still leave my niece and her husband! Irissë pointed out.

“Darling!” Artë chirped, hugging her daughter. “Come meet my cousin Irissë and her husband Eöl!”

Celebrían covered her surprise rather nicely, Irissë thought. Elrond was the practiced diplomat of the two. His surprise didn’t even show, though she was certain it was there.

He learned in self-defense, Artë informed her wryly. He was part of the court of the Noldoran in Beleriand for many years before he founded his own stronghold. He wasn’t even thirty when he was first placed in the King’s care.

“Nephew,” Eöl said in Lindarin, extending a hand Sindarin fashion.

Diplomat or not, Elrond couldn’t quite hide his surprise at being addressed so, and his reply was a bit hesitant.

“Uncle?”

“Silly boy,” Irissë said, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair.

She could get away with that with little brothers, but she wasn’t sure about grandnephews she had just met. Grandnephews whose daughter had married her son… She’d better give it a day or two.

I appreciate your restraint, my love, Eöl said. As I’m sure Elrond will, once he knows you well enough to recognize that’s what this is. And how rare it is.

“I don’t suppose Galadriel shared with you two why you’ve been invited to join this outing, did she?” he asked.

Artë made a face at him behind her daughter’s back. Elrond caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“She did not,” Elrond confirmed. “If you care to explain, it would be most welcome.”

“What did Tindomiel do this time?”

Celebrían’s tone held a note of not quite exasperation that Irissë was familiar with. It was a novelty to hear it directed at someone else.

“She got married!” Irissë beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Elrond and Celebrían both looked rather startled. Elrond’s expression settled into acceptance more swiftly, though.

He confirmed it for himself, Artë informed her wryly.

Celebrían had turned at once to her husband.

“It seems so,” Elrond told her.

“I trust you are not upset with her?” Ammë asked, in the tone that meant the answer should be ‘no, of course not.’  (Another note Irissë was quite familiar with.)

Irissë was still surprised her mother was taking such a hasty union so well.

Grandchildren are allowed more leeway than children, I think, Eöl snorted. And I suspect our boy gets extra allowance on top of that as she has yet to meet him…

Come to think of it, for as long as she’d worried about her mother’s reaction, Ammë had yet to say anything to her, either.

“I’m only surprised Rillë hasn’t reached out to us,” Ammë continued. “I would have expected she would be eager to share the news.”

“Perhaps she has been doing Maeglin the same service Anairon was doing for Tinu,” Aunt Eärwen suggested. “She has always described him as her best friend, after all.”

Celebrían gave a sudden cough that might have been covering up another noise. Elrond looked truly startled for the first time.

“Maeglin?” he asked.

The pair traded a look Irissë was unable to decipher.

They appear more taken aback by who than what, Eöl observed.

Irissë had never been one to let things fester.

“You sound surprised,” she said, turning to Elrond. “I hope you are not among those who thought poorly of my son?”

Artë’s silent warning came too late.

“No,” Elrond replied solemnly. “I merely hadn’t expected Tindomiel would be the daughter who brought us together.”

Now it was Irissë’s turn to be surprised.

“It sounds like there’s a story there,” Eöl said, before she could form any reply.

“It’s simple enough,” Artë interjected. “Maeglin made Anariel’s favorite sword. She’s been his staunchest defender in Middle-earth since she found it.”

“From all descriptions, it is fine work,” Atto pointed out proudly.

“It has been a rare source of tension between her and her brothers,” Celebrían added wryly.

“She’s well able for it,” Elrond murmured.

That all sounded very encouraging!

“I look forward to meeting her,” Irissë smiled. “But at the moment I’m more eager to meet Tindomiel.”

“Fortunately, she is somewhat closer at hand,” Elrond sighed.

“And somewhat more trouble?” Eöl asked, trying to hold back laughter.

“As we don’t know what Anariel is up to at the moment, the safe answer is ‘no’,” Celebrían sighed.

---

Anairon looked around the camp. They were only a day from Gondolin. He didn’t mind the idea of this group dropping in on his brother unannounced, but he wondered if there was any good way to warn Tinwë. He wasn’t much at osanwë at a distance though, and even if he were, he doubted he’d get away without Uncle Ara, Atto, Galadriel, or Elrond noticing. Probably all of them.

She’d just have to fend for herself. He’d bought her more time than they’d expected anyway. Besides, there wasn’t much left anyone could do at this point. She was definitely married, and everyone knew the story now.

They’d pried it out of him over dinner.

He’d done a roast wild turkey with wild rice stuffing, sweet potato stew, and a salad of greens and edible flowers available in the area. For dessert he’d thrown together an apple-wild berry compote his sister had proclaimed her new favorite.

Irissë had said that about every meal so far, which was a bit confusing. But she also ate everything with gusto and asked for seconds. He wasn’t sure whether she was just humoring him or genuinely that enthusiastic about the food.

His father had waited until everyone was nearly finished to bring up the subject on everyone’s mind.

“Anairon, perhaps you could tell us the full tale of what happened before you came back to Tirion?”

He’d sighed and begun with Maeglin coming across them seemingly by chance. He’d omitted that Tindomiel had been to the Halls to visit Finduilas, lest it give them the wrong idea. After all, even her best friends had been suspicious about that timing. (Besides, Finduilas and cousin Ango were a sore spot for Aunt Eärwen, so Tinwë wouldn’t want him to tell that part. He didn’t really want to, either.)

He had also edited a bit once the marriage had happened. He didn’t think Ammë would want all the details on that. (If Irissë did, she could ask later.) He was surprised Ammë had taken it so well. He was more surprised that no one else seemed upset.

Elrond’s main reaction was concern that the pair might have unknowingly endangered Maeglin’s health by marrying so soon after his return. Irissë had been more astonished that the pair had gone to Gondolin.

“Why there?” had been her bewildered question. “After being stuck in Turvo’s city so long, why would he choose that when he’s free to go anywhere?”

“I suspect they did that only because it was closest,” Elrond sighed. “I doubt it would have been Tinu’s first choice either.”

“It wasn’t,” Anairon admitted. “She was for Neldoreth or your house. Or Tirion. Or…”

“I take it you were the practical one?” Celebrían asked. “Or was that Maeglin?”

“I think he’s normally practical, but I was the one who said they were unlikely to make it anywhere else without scandal,” Anairon admitted.

“Of course you did!” Irissë said. “Such a sweet boy to look out for your cousin and your nephew like that.”

Her look conveyed quite clearly that if anyone else thought otherwise, they should keep it to themselves. Anairon didn’t think that would stop their parents from having their say later – he was sure they would at some point. But Ammë was surprisingly even-tempered about it.

“He’s always been clever,” Ammë said firmly. “And he and Tinwë look out for each other as well as you two ever did. Thankfully, they find themselves less trouble. Usually.”

“Give him time, Ammë,” was his sister’s airy reply. “He’s only just learning.”

I think you’ve been trying to be well-behaved enough for all of us, she informed him. Time you had your share of fun!

You poor sod, Aryo added, dodging the half-hearted smack their sister aimed at him.

“Speaking of trouble,” Atto said, giving Irissë a meaningful look.

“Yes, I trust everyone will be on their good behavior when we reach Turvo’s city,” Uncle Ara added.

Anairon didn’t think that was directed at him.

“I make no promises. I have words for my big brother the ass,” Irissë informed them.

Anairon suspected if she was anything like Tinwë and her sisters – and he felt like that was the case – there would be more than just words.

“You may have them – under supervision,” Atto replied. “Your brother’s conduct has already been dealt with by the Noldoran. He was warned at that time that we would revisit it when you returned.”

Anairon had seen a similar look on Tindomiel often enough to recognize that Irissë meant to have her say without interference. He resolved to hide out in the Wing or the Golden Flower for that part.

Or the Mole, an impish voice suggested.

He looked up to find Irissë smirking, but it was Galadriel speaking.

I suspect your partner in crime’s new House will grant you sanctuary readily enough.

He looked at her in surprise.

They may even be happy for the reinforcements.

Anairon looked from cousin to sister.

Yes, if they were planning to pick a fight with his older brother, he could see where the Moles might be happy to have someone to keep the peace. Or even just someone interested in peace.

---

Elrond pulled Celebrían to him. He loved quiet moments like this, just the two of them.

Admittedly, he loved them more when he didn’t know there were half a dozen elder kin with keen ears in tents to either side of them.

Peace, my love. I don’t think we’re the main entertainment this trip, Celebrían said wryly, kissing his neck. So far as I can tell, Ammë and Aunt Irissë are far too busy with their confab to be listening in on us.

I’m not sure if I should warn Tindomiel or not, he sighed.

Don’t bother, she snorted. She’s the one who decided this was a good idea, she can deal with the aftermath. Including explaining to her big brothers and sister when they get here.

Elrond couldn’t help the laugh.

You don’t suppose there will be any hard feelings between the girls, do you? he asked, running a hand through his wife’s hair.

Celebrían shook her head decisively.

Anariel’s too practical to think she has any claim on someone she’s never met. Her only concern will be if he treats her baby sister well. And possibly whether he can be persuaded to make her more weapons.

Celebrían paused.

She may however be disappointed to miss the fireworks.

Fireworks? Elrond frowned.

Celebrían pushed herself halfway up on his chest.

Elrond Eärendilion, she said sternly. If you think I don’t know that my mother and aunt fully intend to have it out with your grandfather…

Great-grandfather, Elrond corrected.

…and that our middle daughter has a serious issue with that same grandfather…

Ah.

He had hoped that hunting down the last balrogs in Middle-earth had been enough to vanquish that particular demon. But he wouldn’t second-guess Celebrían if she believed otherwise.

You take issue with him too, she said, sounding surprised.

I am not quite so even-tempered as to overlook harm to my children, he said, trying not to let his anger rise. Even from my forefather.

No, but you’ve kept your own counsel on the subject so well I thought you’d forgiven him.

I don’t believe I have, Elrond said ruefully. I’m not sure I will manage it until Anariel does.

If Anariel does, Celebrían corrected.

You think her so hardened against him? Elrond asked, rather surprised.

You have said yourself that for some wounds there is no healing, Celebrían told him sadly. The loss of her mortal brother and sisters is such a one. It may be easier for her to blame your great-grandfather than to accept that loss. Anariel is not used to things she cannot change.

She rejected the Gift in California, Elrond reminded her. There was no way around their sundering after that.

Privately, Elrond thought it would have been worse had Anariel faced the Choice head on. Unlike Arwen, who had found some measure of peace though she knew the end might be hard, Anariel would have stared down the Choice indefinitely. She would not have been able to choose which half of her heart to sever, no matter how long she wrestled with it.

Oh, she’d rage at the dying of the light indefinitely, Celebrían sighed. But your daughter, my love, does not believe in fates that cannot be changed.

Say rather that she is Elros’ niece, Elrond replied quietly. He did not believe in fates that could not be changed either.

Her surprise echoed through his soul. He supposed it was fair. He rarely spoke of his brother, even to her. Elros was his wound that would not heal.

His brother was on his mind, though. The thought of his twin had been unavoidable when Arwen married, but somehow he sprang to mind today also.

Celebrían wanted to know why.

He would have been enjoyed all this immensely, Elrond mused.

Even more so than your uncles?

Elrond chuckled aloud. It was hard to say who was finding the current situation funnier, his Uncle Aryo or his new-met Uncle Eöl.

He would have joined forces with them, I think, to egg everyone on.

He would also have appreciated Eöl.

Elrond wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but in meeting his Sindarin kin, he wondered what it might have been like to know them as a child. Eöl wasn’t the first, nor would he be the last, for Elrond knew not all of them had returned yet. He had been pleased to discover few of them shared Thranduil’s qualms about him being insufficiently Sindarin.

That is just Thranduil,  Celebrían assured him. Uncle Oropher has never had any problem, nor does Uncle Eöl seem to.

Thankfully, Elrond said.

The frown on Celebrían’s face boded ill for Thranduil the next time they met.

---

Turukano tried not to wince at Ingo’s glare.

“You drink this?” Ingo demanded in horror after he’d managed to swallow. “Calling it swill might be insulting swill.”

“The bottle hasn’t been touched since I got here,” Turukano shrugged. “For all I know, it’s been there since sometime in Second Age.”

“Were you keeping it for decoration? Or does it have sentimental value? That might actually be an acceptable excuse, you saving a bottle for us to drink together…”

“I don’t drink.”

“Since when?” Ingo asked.

Turukano didn’t think it really needed to be said. Ingo knew perfectly well how Irissë had died.

He didn’t know just how often Turukano had drunk alone in his hidden city both before and after that, or what a mess he’d been. Death would have been welcome if only he hadn’t known most of his city was going with him. He would prefer not to confess that part to anyone, particularly not his best friend.

Ingo sighed.

Turukano wasn’t sure if that was the sigh of Ingo accepting him being hardheaded, or the sigh of Ingo having heard everything in his head. He was a bit out of practice at reading him, and still more out of practice at keeping him out.

“Fine, so you stopped drinking – and yes, we’re adding that to the list of things to talk over. But that doesn’t excuse you from having something acceptable for your guests, surely? I wouldn’t even serve that to orcs!”

“This is my private study!” he protested. “Not somewhere I entertain most guests. Also, orcs wouldn’t care. They’ll drink anything. I may not have seen as much of Beleriand as the rest of you, but I know that much.”

Ingo gave him a look that was a mix of exasperated and reproachful until he rang for his steward.

“Sardaron, please bring a bottle from the cellar we use when the lords dine with us.”

“A nice white,” Ingo added. “Something light. We’re keeping clear heads. Turvo, do you still order from the royal vineyards? Aiko and Atto have been collaborating.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Turukano said, keeping his tone even in front of the steward. “I doubt we have any, though. See what you can do, Sardaron.”

The steward withdrew with a curt nod that showed he disapproved of Ingo.

“He’ll come around,” Ingo said cheerfully. “I’m very charming, you know.”

“Yes,” Turukano sighed. “I’m aware. Is there any reason you’re so insistent on a drink?”

“Thought I’d continue the tradition of drinking with my best friends,” Ingo said cheerfully. “Separately if you insist, but I do think it’s safe for you to have a single glass in company.”

“Tradition?” Turukano asked skeptically.

“The last time Curvo and I talked, we had a drink. A rich red, before you ask. It felt appropriate to have a drink for our talk, too.”

Turukano was sorely tempted to throw something at him.

“Ah ah ah,” Ingo chided. “Recall that you’re both in the same club.”

Turukano did recall. He did not appreciate the reminder.

“At least you’ve ordered a white for me,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We could all get together again whenever he returns,” Ingo suggested. “Provided, of course, you manage to pull your head out of your rear end before then.”

Turukano counted it as progress that he didn’t snap at that. Actually, he found to his surprise he was halfway considering the notion.

“You really think he’ll be allowed out anytime soon?” he asked skeptically.

Moryo had only gotten out because of Tindomiel. Namo hadn’t planned on letting him go. In Turukano’s opinion, that didn’t bode well for Moryo’s brothers.

“I think Artë’s littlest darling is unlikely to leave her grandmother’s favorite cousin in there when she explains why Namo has to give back Kano and Maitimo as I’m told she plans to do. And I hear Anariel is not as good at taking ‘no’ for an answer as my sister.”

Turukano couldn’t help the strangled cough.

“That might work,” he admitted. “At least, it would if your grandnieces were aware Curvo was Artë’s favorite. I don’t believe they are, though. It’s almost as if I’m not the only one who had a change of heart about him in Beleriand.”

Ingo’s cocked head indicated that hit had landed.

“I guess you can be stubborn until the breaking of the world if you really want to, but I don’t see why you’ve been taking it out on Aunt Nerdanel and Silmë.”

Turukano paused in confusion.

“I haven’t done anything to Auntie or Silmë,” he said. “I mean, yes, I haven’t been visiting regularly or anything, but that’s hardly unique to them. I spend most of my time here. Besides, I didn’t think they’d want to see me. They know Curvo and I weren’t on good terms before we died. So what am I but a reminder that the one they want to see isn’t back? They might have even thought I was rubbing it in!”

Ingo gave him one of those looks.

He really should have had a better excuse, but he hadn’t thought Ingo would need to ask.

“Fine,” Turukano sighed. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to say once I saw the portraits of Gildor! It wasn’t as though I could talk to you about it. There’s no privacy with our fathers about.”

Ingo frowned.

“What should you need to say?” he asked. “And why worry about our parents? Besides, if we weren’t on close enough terms for you to feel comfortable coming to me in Alqualondë or Valimar, it wasn’t my doing.”

Turukano bit back his instinctive retort - “Yes, Valimar would have been so much better than Tirion, because any of us have ever successfully kept anything from Grandmother” - shielding his mind carefully as he did.

He hoped he hadn’t forgotten how to shut Ingo out at need. The last thing he needed was to make another mess, particularly one that involved both his best friends. It was bad enough knowing Artanis and Irissë were going to team up on him at some point. Ingo and Curvo on top of it would be too much.

But it didn’t make sense.

Ingo wasn’t the devious one. That was Curvo. Ingo was as honest as Tindomiel poked fun at him for being. He was unlikely to be faking innocence, let alone manage it so convincingly.

Which meant Ingo was not the one he needed to be asking about Gildor.

Curvo was in the Halls. Artanis was more likely to strangle him than answer any questions – particularly if there was no evidence of him patching things up with Curvo first. Which he couldn’t do even if he truly wanted to what with Curvo inconveniently still dead.

Manwë’s balls!

He’d started the morning not looking forward to having to talk things out with Ingo about Irissë, her husband, and her son. Right now, that would actually be a welcome change of topic.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said firmly. “Forget I said anything.

“That’s not really how it works,” Ingo snorted. “You really are out of practice at being friends with anyone.”

“So I’m told. Why don’t we move on to other things I don’t particularly want to talk about?”

It was more desperation than anything else, but to his surprise, Ingo laughed.

“We may rehabilitate you yet.”

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Egalmoth snorted softly in amusement. He didn’t know who Enerdhil thought he was fooling, but it certainly wasn’t him. At least, not anymore.

He had initially seen no reason to doubt that the fabric samples requested in various shades of grey were for what the man said they were for – presentation of a new jewel. It hadn’t struck him immediately as odd that Enerdhil had been so tight-lipped about who it was for.

Egalmoth had assumed it would be for either Princess Itarillë or Queen Elenwë. He was known to the city to be on good terms with the royal ladies, so he understood perfectly if Enerdhil intended it to be a surprise and was reluctant to tell him lest he spoil it. (Accidentally of course. Egalmoth would never intentionally ruin such a moment for another craftsman. But one never knew what might set the princess thinking, and she was quite perceptive once her attention was drawn to something.)

It made sense, even. The Gates of Summer were nearly upon them, and the festival was a natural time to present such a gift.

But this…

Enerdhil had sent a commission for new formal clothes – two sets. Matching. In one of the greys he had selected from the samples. What’s more, in contrast to nearly everyone else ordering new clothes, Enerdhil had said there was no rush – it was perfectly fine to take his time. With the holiday only days away, every other person in the city was in a swivet to have their new finery completed in time. That was what had made him take notice. It had only taken a few moments after that to place what was familiar about the order.

If Enerdhil didn’t suppose Egalmoth would recognize the measurements, he was a fool. Well, one set of measurements. (The second set he didn’t know. Under any other circumstances, that would be driving him to distraction.) Hadn’t he made all the boy’s clothes after his arrival in Ondolindë? Not to mention most of the ones he knew perfectly well the Moles had ordered over the years and held in storage against their prince’s return?

There was only one logical conclusion, remarkable as it might be. Egalmoth hadn’t the foggiest who the lady was, but he knew for certain there was one. He was astonished that the Moles had kept utter silence on the matter - and perhaps a bit envious. The Heavenly Arch wouldn’t have managed to keep something so juicy to themselves for more than a few days. But so far he could figure, the Moles had been sitting on this for close two weeks at least.

Thus it was that he found himself in a dilemma.

He ought to inform Princess Itarillë. As Prince Lomion’s kinswoman and closest confidante, not only would she expect to be told of his return and marriage, she might have some idea as to the lady. While he had no intention of telling the rest of the city, Egalmoth certainly wouldn’t mind being one of the first to know just who had finally managed to attract the prince. (Not only did he enjoy hearing news first for its own sake, he also wouldn’t mind knowing who best to watch for reactions whenever it became public.)

Unfortunately, if he shared his conclusion with the princess, he’d all but certainly be party to interrupting the prince’s honeymoon. Itarillë Turukaniel had many fine qualities, but save in her dealings with children, patience was not generally numbered among them. In this case, he was certain her reaction would be to march directly to the House of the Mole immediately.

He had often found the young prince irritating or even exasperating, but not to a level where he was willing to inflict that on him. It would surely put an end to any hope of ever mending bridges with the boy. He doubted the new Princess of the Mole would be best pleased with him either. Offending someone he might not even know – and who would soon have considerable patronage in her gift – did not seem like the best course.

Besides, grey seemed encouraging. Perhaps Prince Lomion was finally willing to let that aggravating insistence on black drop. He doubted he was the only one hoping so. Not only would the rest of the Moles thank him for it, the dyeworkers of the Heavenly Arch detested having to regularly work with black on the scale required by house colors.

Egalmoth considered his options. It was unlikely he would persuade Enerdhil to come clean, but it was worth a try. Particularly as if his suspicions were correct, he’d prefer to have more than just the grey outfits requested at the ready. The House of the Heavenly Arch wouldn’t be caught without a suitable wedding present. Grey might do for ordinary occasions, but not for a festival…

The only problem was it was impossible to make something appropriate for the lady without having any idea who she might be, much less her taste or what she looked like. He could hardly tell even his most skilled designers to simply guess when all they had to go on was measurements.

There was nothing for it. He reached for his stationary with a sigh to compose a note requesting Enerdhil’s presence. He’d simply have to persuade him somehow. And then make absolutely certain he didn’t let so much as a hint slip to his assistants what they were working on or for who.

---

Enerdhil was ready to send someone to Alqualondë to drag their dilatory steward back whether Aranwë was minded to return or not. This was too much.

Judging by his co-conspirators’ expressions, he wasn’t the only one about to report trouble.

“Wing has definitely concluded there is something afoot,” Mastacarmë said glumly. “Lady Califiriel says both their cook and their steward have been pointed in their questions the past few days, and while neither Fountain nor Golden Flower’s cooks know, it certainly sounds like they suspect. I don’t think our young allies can do much more to screen us at this point.”

Enerdhil looked to Elemmakil, who had entered last, wearing a thunderous expression.

“There’s been some loose lips,” he told them. “I’ve just set a few knees knocking, but they’re not the first this week or even today. It’s only a matter of time before someone slips up in front of the wrong person and gives the whole game away. I don’t think there’s anyone of age in the House who doesn’t know at this point.”

Enerdhil took a deep breath.

“Lord Egalmoth knows.”

Two shocked looks greeted him.

“You told him?” Elemmakil demanded. “The Heavenly Arches are the worst gossips in the city! You might as well have posted a notice in the Square of the King!”

“Actually, that might have been more subtle,” Mastacarmë reflected. “Most of the city ignores those.”

“I only confirmed what he already knew about the prince,” Enerdhil sighed. “Not that I had much choice when he’d already guessed. If I’d denied it, he would probably have asked someone in the Wing or Golden Flower next! The only part that was news to him was our princess. Thankfully he was startled enough that he saw the virtue of holding his tongue.”

“More like he doesn’t want to have to explain it to the Queen or the Princess of the Wing any more than we do,” Mastacarmë chuckled. “Here, have a sip of this.”

He poured a glass of whatever cordial he’d brought to fortify everyone’s nerves this time. Enerdhil discovered it had a kick to it, but was rather tasty.

“What gave it away?” Elemmakil wanted to know.

“Egalmoth recognized the prince’s measurements, and could account for the matching set no way except that the prince had not returned alone. There was nothing for it but to tell him, lest he imagine something more scandalous. Were it not for our princess having her clothes made elsewhere until now, he’d likely have worked that part out on his own as well.”

“I hadn’t realized Heavenly Arch was so observant, or I’d have told you to hold off,” Elemmakil said ruefully. “How did he take the news?”

“Astonished,” Enerdhil replied. “Relieved that it won’t fall to him to break the news to anyone else. Oh, and gleefully plotting an entire new wardrobe for Princess Tindomiel. He was giving orders to have the ladies Tasariel and Califiriel brought in for ‘last minute fittings’ as I left and composing a letter to dispatch to Prince Morifinwë.”

Privately, he doubted that would go well. Lord Egalmoth had been no friend of the House of Fëanáro even before the Nirnaeth. But at least Egalmoth wouldn’t be driving him or anyone else in the Mole to distraction.

“Good, that means he’ll be too busy to gossip until after the festival,” Elemmakil snorted.

“Gentlemen, drink up,” Mastacarmë recommended. “We may well make it to the holiday in peace after all.”

They were just clinking their glasses together, part toast and part hope, when it became clear they had been overly optimistic.

---

Itarillë had long been an early riser, but her husband was not. She always breakfasted with him, no matter how late he might sleep, but she wasn’t usually this impatient about it.

She suspected he was taking his time rising this morning just to vex her. He might not sense her as acutely as most elves would their mate, but he still knew she was agitated about something.

When he finally appeared in the doorway to the room where they usually took their morning meal, making a production of rubbing sleep from his eyes, she was sure of it.

“Aggravating man,” she murmured.

“And a cheerful good morning to you too, my love,” he replied, kissing her just long enough to be distracting before he moved toward his own chair. “What has you all aflutter?”

“A collection of oddities that’s set me thinking,” she replied. “I’ve been waiting to talk them over with you. I want your opinion.”

Tuor sighed as he seated himself.

“It must be odd indeed for you to have ordered all my favorites,” he said, glancing over the table.

He helped himself to the blueberry muffins all the same, and waited patiently.

“Had you heard that the Mole’s cook has been picking Hendor’s brain about Tinwë’s likes and dislikes?” she asked, starting with the simplest part.

Tuor shook his head, setting several melon slices on her plate.

“No, but the only odd thing I can see there is that I hadn’t heard she or her parents were expected any time soon. Tas and Cali came back from their latest jaunt on time and without her, so I expect she’s gone to her parents or to Thingol for the holiday.”

Itarillë tried not to pout.

The Birth of Flowers and the Gates of Summer were two of her favorite festivals, and Tindomiel hadn’t been in the city for either of them the past several years. She understood that her great-granddaughter had to rotate holidays among her kin – besides the desire to spend the occasional holiday at her parents’ home, Tindomiel also had Tirion, Neldoreth, Alqualondë, and Valimar to placate, not to mention her ainurin kin. But Itarillë had been hopeful that perhaps this year…

She knew perfectly well that the uneasy peace between her father on the one hand and Tindomiel, Elrond, and Celebrían on the other was partly to blame. But she’d believed Tinwë at least had decided to let bygones be bygones. She certainly didn’t hesitate to visit the House of the Wing or the House of the Golden Flower (and the Fountain.) She might easily have spent the holiday in the Wing. Ammë would have loved to see her as well.

“Exactly – why ask about her now, when she’s not in the city?” she persisted.

Lómion’s cook might have enquired about Tinwë’s tastes at any time – even at a time when the girl was present to ask directly.

“He likely wants to have a head start on being ready the next time they’re in town,” Tuor shrugged. “It must be a bit boring for him right now, what with the Moles not really putting on much in the way of festivities this year.”

That was true, but she didn’t like having to admit it. Aranwë hadn’t trusted Enerdhil to supervise that  much without losing either his patience or his temper. As a result, most Moles would be either making merry with other Houses or visiting outside the city. There would be only a modest feast for those who did not wish to look elsewhere to occupy the kitchen staff.

“Tindomiel might have at least stopped in to see us before going on for the holiday,” Itarillë pouted. “She may still be unhappy with Atto, but I don’t see why she shouldn’t visit Ammë. Or us!”

She didn’t see enough of her grandson, his lovely wife, or their daughter.

“Cheer up, love,” Tuor said. “If she’s avoiding Ondolindë at present, I suspect it’s more to do with that trick she played on Rog last time she was here. I wouldn’t have said giving him time to contemplate his revenge is the best plan, but it seems to be what she’s going with.”

Itarillë sighed. Ardamírë hadn’t been even half as mischievous in his childhood as Tinwë was as an adult. She said as much.

“Our son seems more the exception than the rule,” Tuor chuckled. “Probably to do with the times. I suspect it’s a bit easier to get into trouble regularly when you don’t have to worry that trouble will kill you.”

“Anariel never seems troubled,” she replied tartly.

Tinwë’s older sister’s brand of trouble was as a rule the sort that would happily kill her, but it had never yet bothered her.

“Anariel’s another exception from all accounts,” Tuor sighed. “Just in the other direction. And her brothers aren’t much better. Thankfully, Tindomiel seems more in keeping with what we’ve been told about Arwen.”

That was another unpleasant thought – it rankled Itarillë no end that she would never lay eyes on Arwen. At least she had been able to meet Elros and his children on visits to Elenna! But there was no such chance with Elrond’s oldest girl. She had chosen mortality on the far side of a Sea Itarillë was barred from crossing. The closest she could come was inveigling Ardamírë to let her sail with him on occasion.

“You are remarkably out of sorts this morning,” Tuor said with a slight frown, pushing the cinnamon pastries he knew she enjoyed best toward her, and following them with the apple compote she liked. “Have you spent the entire time since sunup brooding on things that vex you?”

“No,” she replied with dignity. “I’ve been trying to make sense of several oddities, and you sidetracked me after I told you the first one. Also, your theory that Tinwë is avoiding our fair city has a slight defect –she was seen at the southwest gate a month ago. And not with Laurefindil’s girls - several days after they returned.”

“Oh?” Tuor asked, aggravatingly calm as he buttered his second muffin. “On her own?”

“No,” she said slowly. “With Anairon. If not for his presence, I’d have asked Rog if there were any further unexplained events in his workshop.”

Tuor grinned, knowing as well as she did that her youngest uncle was hopelessly honest, worse than useless if their granddaughter’s goal had been another prank. Tindomiel was trying her hardest to make her best friend a better accomplice, but thus far it was proving slow going.

“Testing the waters to see if it’s calm enough to show her face?” Tuor suggested.

“In which case, she might have stayed,” Itarillë pointed out. “Rog may have all manner of interesting ideas to even the score, but she must realize he’d save it until after the festival.”

Rog regarded the ongoing prank war with Tindomiel as private entertainment, so he wouldn’t strike back publicly. Half the city would find out about it within the day when he did, but the prank itself would be confined to the Wing or the Hammer. He’d also been very good at keeping the daughters of the Golden Flower out of it, for which both Itarillë and Laurefindil were thankful. Tasariel got into scrapes enough without such encouragement.

“Odd of her not to at least stop in to say hello to us, don’t you think?” she persisted.

Tuor shrugged, doubtless able to come up with theories he knew she would either dismiss or not wish to credit.

“Is this the last of your oddities, or are there more?”

“Egalmoth has an urgent commission he has been unusually quiet about,” she said. “I tried to pry it out of him yesterday, and he changed the subject immediately.”

“I don’t think he’d be Tinwë’s first choice if she wanted new clothes,” Tuor laughed. “Doesn’t she usually go to your father’s cousin in Tirion? He definitely wouldn’t be her first choice for assistance with pranks.”

“I don’t know that the two are connected, only that there are quite a number of small oddities at once,” she protested. “And that has me thinking…”

She stopped in astonishment as something out the window caught her eye. Surely not. It couldn’t be.

It was. That was Lomion’s standard flying above the Mole!

The next moment, an exceedingly confused Tuor was watching his wife bolt out the door.

By the time he reached the window, the flag was no longer up.

---

“I don’t know what you were thinking, any of you,” Enerdhil told the two offenders furiously. “Did I, or any other officer of this House, instruct you to raise the prince’s banner?”

“No,” the younger of the two ventured when it became obvious his companion was too startled at the normally mild-mannered jewelsmith somehow managing to be more intimidating than Lord Aranwë at his worst. “But the prince is in residence…”

“And was not prepared to receive the rest of the city as yet!” Enerdhil snapped, his patience stretched to the breaking point. “Let us hope no one noticed your moment of foolishness.”

“Sir?”

He glanced toward the door.

Another nervous youngster was peeking in, clearly torn between not wanting to interrupt the telling-off his housemates were getting, and feeling unequal to whatever situation had sent him in search of the acting steward in the first place.

“Yes?” Enerdhil asked tiredly.

By the time the prince and princess emerged, he was going to need a holiday of his own. A long one. Somewhere peaceful, with no troublesome princes or princesses underfoot.

“Sir, it’s Princess Itarillë…”

Enerdhil closed his eyes and counted ten. Of the entire city, she would be the one to notice the banner in the scant two minutes it had been aloft.

“Sir, I don’t think we can put her off much longer.”

The two at fault quailed under the glare Enerdhil gave them.

“If the prince is disturbed, I will share with him whose idea it was,” he announced direly before stalking out toward the main staircase.

It was as well he’d headed for the stairs, for he found Elemmakil doing his level best to dissuade Princess Itarillë from charging into the prince’s rooms.

“Princess! What an unexpected surprise,” he said, doing his best to sound as if this were a normal day, and her appearance not wholly unwelcome. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Enerdhil,” she said reprovingly. “I saw the banner. Where is he?”

He ruthlessly squashed the guilt at having to disappoint her.

“My deepest apologies, Princess. Some of our young folks were in holiday spirits and got a bit carried away. I was just reproving them.”

Itarillë gave him a sharp look.

“So Lomion is not back?” she asked, focusing on him sharply enough that he didn’t dare attempt an untruth.

He fell back on politeness.

“I’m afraid the prince is not at home, Princess,”

For a split second, he thought it had worked. Then Itarillë advanced.

“Since when is Lomion not at home to me?” she demanded sharply.

“The prince is not at home,” Enerdhil repeated stolidly. “I am certain you will be the first to know when he is.”

He wasn’t sure how the standoff would have ended had Prince Tuor not appeared.

“Good day, Enerdhil, Elemmakil,” he said pleasantly. “My love, I hate to interrupt, but your mother just sent word your grandparents are expected shortly. The High King is with them, and your aunt Galadriel is also among the party.”

Princess Itarillë looked as startled as Enerdhil felt, though doubtless for slightly different reasons.

“Oh, for the love of Nienna,” she murmured. “Enerdhil, my cousin may not be at home but I imagine he will also appreciate a warning – our grandmother will not be so easily put off, and she will certainly not accept him not being at home.”

Tuor offered her his arm politely, but she demurred.

“I’ll go directly to Ammë,” she said. “Be a love and make sure the Wing is in good order? Ask the staff to ready the guest rooms – at the very least we’ll be asked to host Aunt Galadriel.”

She looked to be composing a task list already on her way out.

Tuor gave Enerdhil and Elemmakil a measuring look.

“I didn’t mention it to Rillë, but you’ll also want to warn Maeglin his parents are with them,” he advised.

He left before either of them could regain their tongues.

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Enerdhil didn’t like this one bit, but he saw no alternative.

He sighed and knocked on the door.

Lord Egalmoth looked downright smug when he opened it.

“If you’ve come to see the progress, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” he said jovially. “Come in!”

Enerdhil waited only until the door had closed behind him.

“Can you have them finished today?” he asked, letting some of his desperation bleed into his voice.

Egalmoth’s brows rose.

“You said there was no urgency,” he reminded Enerdhil.

“There wasn’t,” Enerdhil sighed. “Not until we got word that royal visitors are expected imminently. I think they will expect the Prince and Princess to receive them. And I would as soon have them wearing something appropriate for the occasion.”

“As well for you things are as far as they are, then, isn’t it?” Egalmoth chuckled.

He pulled the cloths covering the two tailor’s forms at one end of his studio aside.

Both outfits were very close to complete – could even be called that now, Enerdhil thought, if one overlooked the lack of embroidery or other embellishment that would normally grace something intended for a prince and princess of the city.

“How urgently do you need them?”

Enerdhil turned to the Lord of the Heavenly Arch, who now had the smug look of a man who knew he would be owed a favor when all was said and sifted.

“How soon can you have them done?” he replied.

“That depends on how many assistants I can have working with me,” Egalmoth shrugged. “Until now, I’ve been limiting it to those whose discretion I trust.”

“I think you can safely call in a few more,” Enerdhil sighed. “Their discretion won’t need to last more than a few hours.”

Hang secrecy, he wasn’t about to present Princess Tindomiel to Prince Lómion’s parents in a borrowed tunic or something that didn’t match the prince. And those were his only other options at this point!

“Send someone over at lunchtime,” Egalmoth replied. “I trust you’re seeing to circlets and other accessories?”

Enerdhil did his best not to look affronted, though he was privately not happy on that score. He’d had precious little craft time these past few weeks, to the point that he had no circlet complete for the princess. Yet. But he wasn’t about to admit that. Everyone had their limits.

Instead, he let Egalmoth usher him out. He heard the Lord of the Heavenly Arch calling for several other masters as the door of the House closed behind him.

If he worked quickly, perhaps he might yet salvage the situation.

---

Tindomiel smiled drowsily.

At some point she was going to have to thank all the Moles. She knew Maeglin had expected they’d have privacy here, but she’d thought they’d be lucky to get a week undisturbed. This was twice that, and the kitchen staff had spent much of it doing their level best to spoil them.

She had no idea how they’d found out about pizza, much less gotten it right. Yes, she’d told Maeglin about it, but any description he’d relayed couldn’t possibly have been accurate enough even for an elven cook with long-years of experience.

More than that, they’d served up enough things she hadn’t even told him about yet to prove they were getting information somewhere else.  (Maybe Tas and Cali had explained burritos?) Maeglin had been surprised several times as well, including a few dishes he said he hadn’t seen since his youth and had no idea his cook knew how to make.

When she opened her eyes, she found Maeglin reading, with a slight frown on his face. He didn’t need to sleep as much as she did, so he had taken to reading history while she slept. He had initially wanted to catch up on advances in craft, but she had pointed out that catching up on history might be slightly more urgent.

He was thus slightly reluctantly reading Pengolodh’s Rise and Fall of Numenor, which was far and away the best account of late Numenor and the lead-up to the Last Alliance. Tindomiel had added that request to the list for Enerdhil several days ago – she was happy to catch him up on the First and Third Ages personally, but the Second Age had never really been her jam.

“You’re looking grumpy,” she observed.

Maeglin looked up from the book, scowling.

“I do not understand how a kingdom founded by people who had fought and defeated Sauron came to trust him,” he said. “Much less concluded it was wise to bring him back with them.”

“There were almost twenty-three long-years and twenty-five of their kings between the one and the other,” she reminded him gently. “Ada says by the time of the Downfall, Elros was viewed by most Numenoreans more as a legend than a real person. So if they thought their first king was just a story, I don’t imagine they took Sauron very seriously either.”

Maeglin did not say fools out loud, but she could hear the thought so clearly he might as well have.

“You don’t call him Uncle?” he asked softly. “If I have understood correctly, he was your father’s brother?”

Tindomiel winced.

Her father’s brother was not something often discussed in his household. Maeglin had so many sore spots of his own to get over that she’d been reluctant to spring too many of her family’s on him too soon. But there was no getting around this one now…

“His twin, actually. But he died almost two Ages before I was begotten,” she explained quietly. “I never met him. My siblings never met him. Heck, even Nana never met him – he died when she was just a little girl, before she was old enough to make the trip to the island. And Ada doesn’t talk about him much. So he’s our uncle, but…”

I am sorry.

“You don’t have to be. You didn’t know. And it wasn’t your genius idea for him to pick ‘Man’ when the Valar decided it was a great plan to make him and Ada choose a kindred.”

“I don’t think we talked about that part yet,” he said cautiously.

“No,” she sighed. “I was trying not to dump too much of the not nice stuff on you at once.”

She was trying to figure out where to begin when there was a firm knock on the bedroom door.

“My prince, my princess, would you please join me in the sitting room?”

She looked at Maeglin, but he was just as puzzled as she was as to why Enerdhil would require their presence.

Only one way to find out, he told her reluctantly.

She pulled on a dressing gown, and tried not to giggle at her mate’s mock glare as that left him little choice but to dig through his wardrobe until he found an informal tunic that didn’t offend his sensibilities. (The one he settled on was a fairly natural shade of green, and warm enough that he didn’t look sallow in it, leading Tindomiel to suspect someone had taken great care in picking it.)

“For someone who is famous for having dressed in black as often as possible, your closet is surprisingly colorful,” she pointed out with a grin.

“I wasn’t present to argue with anyone about it,” he sighed. “I am relieved to see they didn’t seize the opportunity to go wild with more garish colors.”

Tindomiel tried and failed to picture him wearing some of the bright hues she’d seen both here and in Tirion. Whoever had been responsible for his wardrobe had clearly known what they could and couldn’t get away with.

He held out a hand to her, and they entered the sitting room together to find Enerdhil and another man Tindomiel didn’t recognize.

“Elemmakil!” Maeglin exclaimed.

“Felicitations on your marriage, my prince,” Elemmakil replied. “Greetings, princess.”

Tindomiel couldn’t tell from his tone what he really thought about it – for all she knew, she had some work to do to get on his good side. He might only know her by hearsay about her prank war with Rog…

“What’s the what, Enerdhil?” she asked.

“I had hoped to leave the pair of you undisturbed several days longer,” he replied, “but I must warn you that is unlikely. There was an excess of high spirits this morning.”

Elemmakil’s snort indicated that was an understatement, so Tindomiel turned to him expectantly.

“Some apprentices with more nerve than sense ran the prince’s standard up,” he said.

“Oh, dear,” Tindomiel murmured.

“Unfortunately,” Enerdhil said slowly, clearly still looking for the right words.

“Gran saw it, didn’t she?” Tindomiel groaned. “How did you keep her from busting in on us? Or did Pop-Pop take pity on me and talk her down?”

Maeglin looked utterly bemused.

“Gran?” he murmured.

“Yes, my princess,” Enerdhil said. “But it’s not just that...”

She blinked.

“Grandpa too?” she asked worriedly.

She was now astonished they had gotten any advance notice at all before the relatives descended. How long had the stupid banner been up?

“I imagine the King has been informed by now,” Elemmakil muttered, drawing an odd look from Maeglin.

“We have been warned that a party from Tirion is arriving even now,” Enerdhil said with an air of slight desperation. “The High King is among them, as well as the King’s parents and brothers, your mother’s mother, and your parents.”

Tindomiel’s jaw dropped.

“All of them?” she asked, stunned.

She’d expected Anairon would admit it to his parents and hers, not that he’d bring a sizable chunk of their extended family!

“Prince Tuor instructed me to warn you the prince’s parents are among them,” Enerdhil finished.

“Ammë and Ada?” Maeglin asked in astonishment.

Tindomiel felt his emotions veer abruptly from complete bewilderment to wild hope, and his hand tightened on hers.

“Yes, my prince,” Enerdhil replied. “Which is why I thought, under the circumstances, I had best throw myself on the mercy of Lord Egalmoth…”

He handed over two neatly wrapped packages stamped with the Heavenly Arch and a card.

“He accepts that it is not an opportune moment for a congratulatory visit, but charged me to pass on his best wishes.”

“Thank Nienna for small mercies,” Maeglin muttered. “But – my parents? You are sure?”

“I have not seen them myself, my prince, but I see no reason to doubt Prince Tuor’s word.”

“If Pop-Pop said they’re coming, they’re coming,” Tindomiel snorted. “I take it we should get dressed and behave like we’re expecting incoming?”

“If you would be so good, my princess,” Elemmakil said sardonically. “And recall that the incoming are your royal kin, not the lord of the Hammer.”

“I was already clear on that part,” she sighed. “Give us a heads up before anyone actually busts in on us, please. If you can.”

“I will be standing guard myself,” Elemmakil replied seriously.

He bowed and left.

“I am going to bring up food,” Enerdhil said. “Please be ready when I return.”

Maeglin waited until the door closed behind him, then turned to Tindomiel.

“Pop-Pop?” he asked.

“It’s a California word for grandfather,” Tindomiel explained absently, most of her attention unwrapping her new clothes. “It’s also reasonably close to his childhood word for it, so that’s what I call him. I have so many grandparents it would get confusing real quick if I called them all the same thing.”

“Yes, but Tuor is your grandfather?” Maeglin persisted.

She lifted her eyes to him with a slight frown.

“You knew that.”

“I did not,” Maeglin said, trying for reasonable. “But that would mean Rillë…”

“Is my grandmother. We covered this. I’m sure I told you. I must have.”

“I would have definitely remembered if you had. And how can Rillë be your grandmother?” Maeglin asked in confusion. “You told me your mother is Galadriel’s daughter, and your father is the son of Elwing of Doriath.”

“Yes. And her husband Eärendil,” Tindomiel pointed out.

Maeglin sat down abruptly.

“That part you failed to mention,” he said, sounding slightly faint.

Tindomiel immediately dropped her fancy new outfit in favor of making sure he wasn’t going to keel over, reaching for him body and spirit.

“I thought I told you about that. I’m sure I told you! It was … nevermind. Yeah, Eärendil’s my grandfather. I’m just not the one who looks like him. Anariel’s almost a carbon copy, except for the shortness.”

Maeglin was too dazed to even query what carbon had to do with it. She could hear only one coherent thought – what will Rillë say?

“She’ll probably be joining Ada in the ‘wait, which one married Maeglin?’ confusion corner,” Tindomiel told him wryly. “And if she saw the banner, I’m kinda surprised she isn’t here already to tell you herself. Enerdhil and Elemmakil must have some fortitude.”

That, more than anything, seemed to reassure Maeglin she did know what she was talking about.

It is true Rillë can be quite forceful when the occasion calls for it, he agreed as he began removing the wrapping from his own outfit.

Tindomiel retrieved hers from the floor. She hoped she hadn’t done any damage dropping it.

“What did Egalmoth write?” he continued in his best attempt at a normal tone, as if his world hadn’t just been knocked for a loop.

“It sounds like standard congratulations,” Tindomiel offered tentatively.

“Sounds like?”

“I’m not really sure, I’ve never actually been to an elven wedding. I have no idea what is usually said.”

---

Turukano stared at his wife in disbelief.

It was little consolation that Ingo looked just as startled as he felt.

“My parents are coming here?”

He tried not to glare at Ingo. It had been some time since they’d both said the same thing at the same time. And that had been a far less aggravating situation…

Elenwë looked far too delighted at them speaking in chorus.

“Why?” Turukano managed to say – this time without accompaniment from Ingo.

“And why is Artë with them?” Ingo added suspiciously.

Turukano tried not to audibly react to that.

Artanis never came to his city. He wasn’t sure she was even allowed to – he suspected her parents had put a private stricture on her after that ruling several years back. It was the only way he was able to account for his having lived so long in peace.

They didn’t, Ingo informed him. Though I imagine they would have had words had she headed in this direction. She just hasn’t seen fit to come torture you until now.

That was in no way helpful.

“My love, I thought you’d be pleased to host everyone for the holiday,” Elenwë said reproachfully. “Oh, and Irissë is with them.”

Ingo whacked him on the back as he choked.

It may not be too late for us to run away to Formenos, Ingo suggested quietly.

Oh, yes, that will definitely improve matters, Turukano snorted. I feel so much better knowing you’re expecting the worst too.

I was mostly thinking of you, Ingo retorted. I’m pretty sure no one is aiming at me.

A glance at Ingo showed one of his most infuriating grins.

Cheer up, you’re not on your own this time, Ingo added more seriously.

“Thank you, Elenwë,” Ingo said aloud. “Have you told Amarië and the children yet? I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear the news.”

Elenwë gave them a piercing look, then sighed.

“I shall go tell them now,” she said. “Why do I feel like this won’t be a peaceful holiday?”

Before she could go, Itarillë came barreling in.

“Ammë, Atto,” she said breathlessly. “Did you know Lómion has returned?”

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Irissë was sorely tempted to ride on without everyone else. (Well, everyone else but her husband.) They were going so maddeningly slowly.

“We really aren’t,” Galadriel murmured in amusement, and grinned outright at the glare that got her in return.

Besides, neither your parents nor mine are about to let you go ahead of everyone else alone.

“I don’t see what they’re worried about,” she sniffed.

“Given that they know you, my love, they’re probably worried you’ll level your brother’s house,” Eöl replied. His tone said he wouldn’t be bothered at all, and would actually enjoy watching.

“Level his house, beat him black and blue, and possibly cut off his hair for good measure,” Aryo agreed cheerfully.

“Arakano, you needn’t give your sister such ideas,” Anairë’s voice rang out from behind them.

“Don’t worry, Auntie,” Galadriel laughed. “I assure you she’s already had worse ones.”

I hadn’t actually thought of leveling his house, Irissë confessed – and promptly had to smack her laughing husband. I probably shouldn’t, though. It would upset Elenwë, and I’m not angry at her.

She reached apologetically for Artë, who had just had the fleeting thought that Celeborn would be sorry to miss all this.

I’ll manage, Artë sighed. We knew when I sailed that something like this could happen.

“You foresaw that your youngest granddaughter would marry our son?” Eöl asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aunt Melian would be proud of herself for seeing that.”

“This particular marriage, no,” Artë sighed. “But we did understand it was possible one of the children might marry. Our thought was more for Tinu than for the older three – it seemed unlikely they would meet someone and be so impulsive that they would not wait to celebrate with all their kin.”

“They might well choose to celebrate with Arwen,” a new voice broke in.

Celebrían and Elrond had joined them.

“If they meet someone new to them, darling,” Artë replied indulgently. “I’m quite confident Anariel and Legolas are only good friends. I have every expectation she’ll make merry at his wedding, but I’m quite certain she won’t be the bride.”

Celebrían pouted slightly at that, and Elrond chuckled.

Irissë liked Elrond, and thought her son couldn’t have asked for a better father-in-law. He had her stupid brother’s even temper, but with a sense of humor Turvo was missing and a kindness she was certain was straight from Grandmother no matter how many generations were in between them.

“Who is Legolas?” Eöl asked.

“Oropher’s grandson,” Artë replied. “And as his Thranduil remained in Ennor as well, that makes two responsible adults keeping eyes on both Legolas and my grandchildren.”

“Yes, Ennor just may survive,” Elrond agreed.

“Because Thranduil has ever prevented Anariel from doing things she shouldn’t,” Celebrían muttered. “Need I remind you of the incident at Erebor?”

With such a lead-in, of course Eöl had to ask.

Shall I be the distraction? Artë wanted to know as Celebrían launched into the rather interesting tale of Anariel’s first full-scale battle.

Irissë grinned at both Anariel’s inventiveness and Artë’s question.

You think we need one?

“You girls aren’t plotting anything, are you?”

Irissë jumped at her mother’s voice directly behind her. Artë did not.

I’ve had a bit more time to get used to them being around again.

Irissë did not glare at her, but only because that would give away to their mothers that they were indeed plotting something.

“Just a reminder before we reach the city,” Uncle Ara said genially. “This is to be a peaceful occasion. That means both of you, Artanis.”

Artë looked affronted, but Eöl spoiled the effect by laughing.

“Also, I think it best if we do not all descend on the happy couple at once. Irissë and Eöl and Celebrían and Elrond will do for a start.”

“But-” Artë began, obviously put out to be excluded.

Irissë would have happily argued the case as well – her best friend was also the grandmother of the bride and had every right to be there!

“The parents of the newlyweds only,” Uncle Ara said gently. “You can join them later. Elrond will send word when the rest of us may visit, or bring the newlyweds to dinner at Turvo’s house if they are up to it.”

Irissë was puzzled by that. At this point, they should surely be ready for their first public appearance. And why would Elrond be the only one trusted to make such decisions?

“Is there some reason they would not be?” Ammë asked curiously, as confused as Irissë was.

Eöl was not the only one to chuckle at the innocent question, and Irissë looked to her husband curiously until she noted Elrond trying not to obviously blush.

“Melian’s descendants honeymoon a bit longer than the rest of us, Auntie,” Artë replied with a smile. “Estel should count himself fortunate indeed that Arwen was more like her grandmother than her father – or Lúthien, to whom she was so often compared.”

Eöl looked curious.

“Why, how long did Lúthien…?”

“No one’s entirely sure,” Artanis informed him. “But it’s a fair bet that it was longer than normal. Dior took four months, and Elrond here was two.”

Irissë smothered laughter as most heads swiveled to poor Elrond.

“I had no idea it had been so long,” he said with a shrug. “To be fair, no one warned me of the possibility either.”

It looked very much like Artë had to work not to laugh.

“How could we?” she said, her eyes dancing. “We weren’t sure ourselves what to expect. Elwing and Eärendil were only an extra week.”

Elrond paused.

“So there is no clear pattern,” he mused. “I wonder if it’s something Grandmother Melian would be able to explain?”

“You could ask her if you think she’ll be of help,” Artë replied.

Irissë was mildly surprised that Elrond shook his head.

“Not today,” he said decisively. “Though she must not be overly concerned – she didn’t tell us why we were coming here.”

“Given how long Aunt Melian and Uncle Elu’s honeymoon lasted, I doubt any length of time shorter than several years likely to trouble her,” Eöl put in. “I also agree that it should be just us and Tindomiel’s parents who go to greet them first.”

Irissë heard his thought that he would prefer to be reunited with his son without an audience. Elrond and Celebrían he was willing to stomach, not only because they were now the boy’s law-parents, but because of Elrond’s talents as a healer.

“Excellent,” Uncle Ara said. “We’re nearly in view of the city, so if you intend to change before we arrive, now is the time.”

“I very much doubt Tindomiel will fuss about clothes, Grandfather,” Celebrían sighed.

“Or Lómion,” Irissë couldn’t help pointing out.

“Turvo, however, might,” Atto said. “And he may expect his royal kin to dress appropriately for the occasion.”

“I don’t have anything else to change into,” Irissë sniffed. “He’ll just have to take me as I am.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Artë sighed.

Try not to get blood on it!

Irissë had to work not to laugh as Uncle’s mild glare proved he’d caught that.

---

Anairë tried not to fret at the sight of her son’s city.

She knew perfectly well her daughter was making a show of behaving herself – which meant at some point, she fully intended to stop behaving. Aryo was treating the entire affair as a great joke, and poor Anairon was acting as though he expected someone to start scolding him at any moment. He evidently had yet to realize that anyone who wanted to trouble him would have to go through Irissë first. (In practice, that meant they’d be up against Artanis as well.)

She wondered how concerned she should be about Turvo – and wished, not for the first time, that her eldest son had also returned to help wrangle his younger siblings. Irissë and Turvo both listened to Finno, and were less likely to quarrel with him around.

You’re fretting, my heart, Nolo pointed out, kissing the nape of her neck – he couldn’t very well do more at the moment, but she knew he would happily distract her otherwise.

“Of course I’m fretting,” she murmured. “It’s one thing for Ara to say this will be a peaceful meeting. It’s another for Irissë, Artë, and Turvo to actually do it.”

“I have every hope Turvo will be so shocked at all of us descending on him without advance warning that he’ll be at his lordly best,” Nolo chuckled. “Look – there he is now.”

Their second son was awaiting them at the city gates, with his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and…

“Is that Ingo?” she asked in surprise.

She hadn’t known their nephew was spending the holiday here. She hadn’t even realized Ingo and Turvo were on good enough terms again for that. Though it seemed a hopeful sign…

“And his family,” Nolo nodded. “I didn’t know he was here.”

“Nor I,” Arafinwë said, joining them. “But it’s just as well. Not only will he be a good influence on Artanis, his children are here as well, which gives Artanis an incentive not to start trouble lest she lose some of the air of wisdom and invincibility she cultivated in Middle-earth.”

“Why should she start trouble?” Nolo asked.

“She’s holding a grudge over that book of his,” Eärwen sighed. “And possibly other matters from Beleriand that she hasn’t seen fit to share…I’m certain there’s more she hasn’t told us.”

Anairë gave Eärwen a look. Surely she didn’t intend to re-open that question now of all times.

“I thought we’d convinced her to let that be?” Ara said in dismay.

Eärwen gave her husband a fond look that managed to still convey that he wholly underestimated his only daughter’s capacity for trouble. Anairë knew the feeling – Nolo was always firmly convinced of Irissë’s innocence and good intentions no matter how much mayhem she caused.

That was the moment at which the children rejoined them, all wearing clothing somewhat more appropriate for a festive occasion. Eöl looked to have borrowed something from Elrond, though Anairë had hoped that Aryo would offer.

He did, Ammë, but Noldorin fashion isn’t quite to Eöl’s taste, her daughter informed her. He’s far happier with this, and it’s not as if Aryo’s clothes would have fit any better.

“Kindly remember there will be a good many of Turvo’s people watching,” Anairë reminded everyone – but particularly her daughter and niece. “Any arguments should be kept until later, when we are among ourselves.”

“Of course, Auntie,” Artanis trilled.

Irissë avoided answering directly by exclaiming how well Elenwë and Rillë looked and how excited she was to see them both.

Anairë narrowed her eyes, in no way fooled. That didn’t bode well at all.

Take heart, my love. It’s not as though she’s going to start a war, Nolo reassured her. And at least she is back among the living.

Yes, there was that. Her daughter had returned. She had a new granddaughter. And a grandson to meet.

She would bear that in mind whenever the trouble started.

---

Turukano was doing his level best not to fidget. He was king, after all, and had to set a good example. That was why he was out here at the city gates in his festival best to greet his visitors – all of them.

“I should have liked to see Lómion first,” he grumbled.

He’d changed swiftly and arranged the welcome, but he was still out of sorts. His instinct had been to hurry to the Mole to see his nephew and make sure the boy was well. But he’d had to abandon that plan under the combined weight of his wife, daughter, and best friend.

“Yes, darling, but it sounded as if he’s not ready for visitors just yet,” Elenwë said soothingly. “Rillë said Enerdhil told her Lómion wasn’t at home. I can’t imagine he’d say such a thing to her without Lómion having ordered it. And if he’s not at home to her as close as they are…”

“Lómion might be ready for visitors, but I don’t think Tinwë is,” Ingo said cheerfully, straightening Lissë’s sash. His daughter was all but dancing in place with excitement at the unlooked for family holiday.

Everyone else in the party turned to look at Ingo.

“What?”

“Tindomiel?” Rillë asked, her voice noticeably higher than normal.

Ingo looked startled.

“I thought you knew,” he said weakly, as his oldest boy started to laugh.

Amarië shushed Gildor, who only laughed harder at his father’s defense.

I thought Rillë told you they had married!

The two younger boys smirked. Lissë gasped before getting that look the Arafinwions all had when speaking silently to one another.

Turukano glared at his best friend. He could only imagine what was being said that he couldn’t hear – and what they might be telling his aunt and uncle – and what his uncle would be telling his father.

You utter idiot, how would I know? he demanded. Rillë didn’t say, I’m not sure she even knew! And I’m not the one of us who can hear everyone from here to Tirion!

“Oh! That’s Irissë!” Elenwë exclaimed brightly, blissfully unaware of this latest surprise.

Turukano’s eyes went from Ingo, who most definitely still had explaining to do, to the oncoming party, which did indeed include not only his parents and Ingo’s, but also Elrond, Celebrían, Artë, Irissë, and…

“I am not having that elf under my roof,” he growled.

He might have accepted that his sister’s death had been an unfortunate accident and his response an overreaction, but that did not mean he liked his sister’s husband any better for it.

“Turukano, ‘that elf’ is your law-brother,” Elenwë hissed before Ingo could say anything. “You will conduct yourself accordingly or so help me…”

You will please also remember that my children are present, Ingo added urgently, with a tight grip on his wrist. Don’t you dare make a scene before we can send them elsewhere to keep them occupied while you and Irissë and Artë have it out.

Turukano didn’t care how irritated Artanis was this time, he was in a mood to match her barb for barb.

“Could someone please explain to me how Tinu comes into this?” Tuor asked in bemusement.

“Not now, my love,” Rillë whispered.

A sudden sound from Tuor seemed to indicate the explanation was no longer needed – the lad was clever enough to have put it together on his own, even if he couldn’t hear all the osanwë happening around him.

It was almost a relief when Turukano’s parents and aunt and uncle greeted him.

“Hail Turukano, King of Ondolindë,” Uncle Arafinwë said, sounding faintly amused.

He could be, given he probably knew more than anyone else about what was going on. It took work to return the greeting appropriately without showing how disgruntled he was.

“Hail Arafinwë, High King of the Noldor,” he replied. “It is an unexpected honor. Dare we hope you will accept our hospitality for the festival?”

“We would be honored,” his uncle replied.

“Amil, Atar,” Turukano continued. “It is a joy to see you again.”

That was as far as he got before his sister planted a fist solidly in his face.

---

“Irissë!”

Anairon was grateful he had a brother between himself and Turukano as their sister showed every sign of ignoring anything she’d ever been taught about manners and royal decorum. He was sure Ammë was not going to take this well.

She’d never felt the need to cover it with him, but he was certain punching kings in the face was, as Tinwë would put it, not of the good. Even kings who happened to be one’s brother. (And even if that brother probably deserved it.)

He didn’t expect his brother would react well either, and would sooner or later work out whose fault it was that everyone had showed up unexpectedly…

“Stand up straight and stop trying to hide,” Aryo advised him in an amused whisper. “You’re not in the firing line, so enjoy the show.”

“He deserved it, Ammë!” Irissë told their mother unrepentantly.

“For what?” Turukano demanded furiously, rubbing at his jaw, royal dignity forgotten.

Anairon could hear his Inglorion cousins starting to snicker – and he suspected any of the Ondolindrim watching were probably just as amused.

“For taking such good care of my son that you failed to notice he’d been dragged off to Angband!” Irissë snapped, kicking him rather forcefully in the shin for good measure. “And possessed by Sauron!”

She punctuated that with a kick to the other shin, drawing a mental howl of pain from their older brother. (No audible sound escaped him thanks to firmly clenched teeth.)

“Children,” Atto said warningly. “Why don’t we discuss this in private?”

As you were told to do!

“Fine,” Irissë sniffed. “There’s plenty to discuss. After I’ve seen Lómion.”

“Yes, we can make our way to the House of the Mole,” Turukano began only to be cut off.

“Irissë and Eöl will proceed to the Mole,” Uncle Arafinwë said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation or contradiction. “Elrond and Celebrían will accompany them. The rest of us will want to freshen up before the midday meal…”

It was a statement, not a question.

Anairon had to admit that Turukano’s sour lemon expression was a little amusing – he might be king of the city, but their uncle was still the High King and thus could not be contradicted.

For all that, Anairon still had no intention of getting any closer to his elder brother until Irissë had settled up with him. He wondered if the Moles would be willing to hide him.

It was a relief when Rillë beckoned to him and Aryo to follow her to the Wing while their parents and aunt and uncle continued to the House of the King. He was still more relieved when he saw Galadriel was going to the Wing as well. That meant he’d at least have some backup when the inevitable questions started.

No sooner did the doors of the Wing close behind them than Rillë and Tuor both looked to him.

“Well?” Rillë said pointedly.

Anairon took a deep breath. It would have been nice had Tinwë given him any hint how he was supposed to explain all this if he got stuck with that task. Then he remembered how he’d seen her answer such a leading question…

“Well what?” he asked, putting his best innocent expression on.

Rillë’s eyes narrowed, Aryo snickered, and Galadriel smiled.

“How fast they grow up, eh, love?” Tuor chuckled. “Come on, lad, your room’s this way.

Tuor waited until they were safely out of earshot of the others to add, “I think you and I are due for a chat without anyone else putting their oars in.”

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Dressing didn’t usually take long, but Tindomiel understood that if today was the day they would have to finally deal with the whole family descending on them, they’d better do things properly. (Particularly seeing as they hadn’t been within arrowshot of proper so far.) Just wearing clothes that didn’t look like they’d been thrown on at the last possible minute wouldn’t cut it.

So after they were dressed in the new clothes Enerdhil had brought for them, she gestured for Maeglin to sit down so she could do his hair. Considering how often she’d been responsible for making a mess of it lately, fixing it was new and different.

He blinked in surprise, but sat quickly enough that it was clear he had no objections.

“Is there a particular style you prefer?” she asked him as she reached for the hairbrush.

“No, I leave it up to you,” he said. “I have no idea what is current.”

“It doesn’t have to be current, it just has to be something you’re comfortable with.”

He didn’t respond aloud, but she could hear the thorny thicket of politics and Noldorin fashion and trying to fit in that he associated with his hair while in Ondolindë.

She sighed. Of course they’d gone and made it complicated.

After a moment’s thought, she elected to go with one of the no-nonsense Iathrin styles that reflected practicality rather than rank, one she’d seen on everyone from novices just learning how to shoot a bow to Thingol himself. If anyone – from her royal grandfather on down – wanted to make a fuss about it, tough.

It was only once she’d gotten started that the intimacy of the act struck her. She’d done her siblings’ hair before, of course, and they’d fussed over hers, but she’d never touched anyone else’s.

Maeglin’s hand brushed hers in a quiet gesture of appreciation.

“I would be happy to return the favor,” he murmured.

She knew he would be more than happy – the last few weeks had been a revelation to him, but not nearly enough for someone so starved for trust and intimacy as he had been before his death. The family descending on them might be annoying on one level, but on another, she knew it was going to be the best thing for him.

“Another day,” she sighed, regretting the necessity. “It will take too darn long to explain any of the ways I wear it, and I don’t think you’ll know them already.”

She could have let him do something with her hair that he’d be familiar with, but she was betting he knew Iathrin styles best, and that wouldn’t be very diplomatic under the circumstances. It was only sense to do something with her hair that at least nodded to Noldor. Her usual styles weren’t complicated for someone used to doing them, but she remembered vividly how intimidating she’d found them when she first arrived in Imladris. Only Arwen’s staunch support and confidence that she would master them had kept her going.

She ruthlessly tamped down the stab of regret that Arwen would never know about this – she’d be so delighted for them. (And probably see the humor in the situation better than anyone but Anariel.) And that gave her inspiration – she’d wear her hair the same today as she had for her sister’s wedding.

“We do seem to be under a deadline,” Maeglin agreed – but she noticed he watched carefully as her fingers flew through the motions. He would know next time.

Tindomiel was surprised when it was neither Elemmakil nor Enerdhil who entered the room bearing the tray of food not long after they were both properly presentable and carefully sitting on one of the couches, doing nothing more than holding hands and doing their best not to muss each other’s clothes, hair, or anything else no matter how tempting.

“Mastacarmë!” Maeglin exclaimed. “We have you to thank for all this? I should have known.”

The man positively beamed.

“It is good to see you back, my prince, and looking so well. And this is our new princess?”

She smiled politely, though she hadn’t a clue who he was.

He’s our head cook, Maeglin explained. And beyond doubt the one responsible for the pizza and burritos!

I adore him already, she replied.

“Yes, this is Tindomiel,” Maeglin said, a note of pride in his voice. “I believe you will come to like her.”

“If she has your regard, my prince, I’m certain I will,” Mastacarmë replied. “There will be time enough for she and I to get to know one another later – for now, I hope this will serve. We are told your parents will be arriving any moment, and I will not be having either of you faint from not eating.”

“We’ve been eating!” Tindomiel protested. “And it’s all been delicious!”

Her mouth was watering all the same at the sight and smell of the almond croissants and melon-berry salad on the tray. She was sure they had been eating regularly, even if she couldn’t quite work out when exactly the last meal had been. It had to have been recent.

“I am pleased to hear it, my princess. It will be a relief to finally hear from you directly about your likes. I have been relying on secondhand reports.”

She started to reply, but Mastacarmë cut her off.

“Eat now, please – your family are coming, remember. We will speak later, never fear.”

He collected the empty tray from their previous meal and made for the door.

“I am preparing a light luncheon, but you will need to advise me whether you will dine here or with the King this evening, and if you are dining here, whether there will be guests beyond your parents.”

“When we know, you’ll know,” Maeglin assured him. “Thank you.”

He grinned at her as the door closed.

“A few smiles and the Moles will be all yours,” he told her, kissing her hand before doing as they’d been told and applying himself to the food.

“It’s more than that,” she pointed out wryly.  

A few smiles and their prince’s good opinion might be closer to it.

The door banged open, but it was Enerdhil, not Maeglin’s parents.

He looked to be at breaking point.

“Finished just in time,” he breathed, handing over a pair of matching circlets. “Get them on – your parents are practically at the door.”

“His or mine?” Tindomiel asked as Maeglin settled the silver ornament onto her hair, clipping it carefully into place.

“Both,” Enerdhil said. “The housekeeping staff are in a swivet – they had only a few hours warning.”

“But-”

“The secret that you were here was kept as well as could be,” Enerdhil informed them. “Which meant I regrettably could not tip off the housekeepers to have the house ready for royal visitors. Or allow Mastacarmë to have the kitchens prepared to cook for festival meals after Aranwë told them they wouldn’t need to.”

Tindomiel couldn’t help the giggle.

“Nana and Ada won’t give a hoot,” she said. “And I don’t think your mother sounds the type, either. So unless your father has a passion for housekeeping you haven’t mentioned…”

Maeglin’s perplexity at the idea of his parents paying attention to such matters was more effective than any ‘hold still’ on her part could have been, and his circlet was in place before he recovered.

When she turned back to Enerdhil, he gave an audible sigh of relief.

“That’s everything in order,” he pronounced. “And consider this fair warning, my prince – now that your parents are here to handle matters, I intend to take several days to recover from all this.”

“Of course,” Tindomiel assured him before Maeglin could say anything. “You’ve been an absolute hero, Enerdhil. I’m sure nobody could have done any better. Take as much time as you need.”

“I am grateful to hear you think so, Princess.”

Flattery will get you everywhere, was Maeglin’s amused comment at Enerdhil’s visible reaction to the praise – not to mention her blessing his plan to hide out for a while.

Well he did manage to keep everyone away for longer than either of us thought he could, she pointed out reasonably. And he looks exhausted. He has every right to sleep for a week if that’s what he wants to do now.

---

Maeglin had to work not to laugh at the idea of Anardil sleeping for a week.  A day or two, he’d believe. He’d seen that a few times. But after those couple days, the other man was far more likely to lock himself into his workshop and seize the opportunity to create uninterrupted. Particularly if he’d had the stewardship dumped on him temporarily with the assurance it wouldn’t take much of his time…

Tindomiel would learn. His house was home to many craftspeople who didn’t necessarily keep regular or sociable hours. But given her ability to take the unexpected in stride, he felt sure she would win them all over.

He couldn’t resist a single kiss – particularly not when he noticed she had a bit of icing sugar from the almond pastries lingering on her lips.

Of course that was the moment the door burst open.

He looked up expecting to see Elemmakil or Anardil again, but instead –

“Ammë?” he exclaimed.

No amount of hearing ‘your parents’ had prepared him to see his mother striding through the door looking alive, healthy, and elated to see him.

He was so startled he might have stayed frozen in place, but Tindomiel gave him the gentlest of shoves to start him moving. He met his mother halfway across the room, crashing into an embrace he’d been waiting three Ages for without knowing it.

“Look at you,” his mother murmured. “All grown up!”

“He wasn’t exactly little the last time you saw him,” came an amused voice from somewhere behind her.

“Ada!”

Another set of arms wrapped around them both. His father wasn’t merely happy to see him, he was proud enough that Maeglin nearly cried.

I made a terrible mess of everything, he tried to tell them, not quite succeeding in holding back tears.

“No such animal,” his mother sniffed dismissively.

“You did just fine, my son,” Ada assured him. “We have every reason to be proud.”

And all the more so for you having picked the most sensible princess at hand to marry.

Maeglin laughed through his tears – and then gasped as he caught the wispy, not-quite-properly awake consciousness of…

“My sister?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Ammë told him. “We’re all back and just as we should be.”

He did his best to calm himself – he didn’t want to alarm the baby.

“Don’t be silly,” his mother sighed fondly. “You won’t. She’s happy to be near her big brother again.”

He reached cautiously for her and was reassured that the little one seemed healthy and none the worse for her sojourn in Mandos.

She is fine, his mother said quietly. We have been far more worried about you, my little mole.

She kissed his temple, just as she used to when he was little.

He did not want to worry her even more by admitting what had happened, and tried to change the subject by looking around for Tindomiel.

He found her bracketed by two elves who could only be her parents. Her father looked indulgent, her mother reproving.

He reached out a hand, and felt anchored when she caught it.

“Ammë, Ada, this is Tindomiel,” he said, drawing her toward him.

“We know,” his father said in amusement. “We’ve heard a good deal about her from Galadriel. And young Anairon.”

“And a few others as well,” Tindomiel’s mother added wryly. “I’m afraid Anairon did his best for you two, but ended up with a few more relations in tow than just his own parents. I’m Celebrían, and this is my husband Elrond.”

Celebrían was an elegant blend of Aunt Galadriel and Uncle Celeborn. Elrond looked surprisingly like Cousin Lúthien.

“A star shines upon this hour,” he said, falling back onto rote politeness – despite the mentions of them, he hadn’t once considered how he should greet his mate’s parents.

They’re not worried about your manners, Tindomiel assured him silently, a touch of amusement in her voice.

“You don’t need to fuss with protocol and etiquette, lad,” Elrond said with a smile. “And you’ll have to excuse Celebrían. She’s out of sorts to discover that no one thought to warn us we were coming to meet a law-son, so she hasn’t a single thing appropriate for a wedding gift.”

Maeglin started to try to claim responsibility, only to have Celebrían laugh.

“You’ve made the poor boy nervous,” she told her husband reproachfully. “And it’s entirely unnecessary, Maeglin – I’m her mother, I can guess perfectly well who the impulsive one in this partnership is.”

“Nana,” Tindomiel sighed.

Celebrían raised an impressive eyebrow, and Tindomiel relented immediately.

“Yes, it was my fault,” she sighed. “Please say you’re going to spare me having to tell everyone individually.”

Elrond did his best not to laugh. Eöl didn’t hold back.

“Line of Lúthien indeed,” he chuckled.

“Hush with your line of Lúthien,” Ammë sniffed. “She looks just like Ammë!”

Maeglin wasn’t sure what to make of that until Tindomiel silently informed him it was accurate – and that he’d probably get to see for himself before long.

Ammë followed up her statement with one of her bone-cracking hugs, which went a good way to alleviating any worried Maeglin had about what she thought of the situation. He was about to intervene to rescue his mate, but…

“Don’t worry,” Tindomiel giggled. “This is nothing compared to Anariel’s hugs.”

They can have a hug-off whenever she gets here, she added. She’ll win.

“We did have to explain to my middle daughter a time or two that it was as possible to break elven bones as mortal ones,” his father-in-law sighed.

He’s joking, right?  Maeglin asked.

Nope, Tindomiel said cheerfully.

When Ammë let go – or at least, when she decided one arm was sufficient to keep around Tindomiel while the other was around Maeglin – Elrond suggested they all sit.

Maeglin had the conviction his law-father was keeping a sharp eye on him.

More like a healer’s eye, Tindomiel said, suddenly sounding concerned.

“No cause for worry, my dawn child,” Elrond murmured. “But you would have done better to let Maeglin recover more of his strength before marrying. It’s just as well it’s nearly lunch time.”

“We just ate,” Maeglin said, eager to protect his mate from any charges of negligence.

“I am pleased to hear it, but you could both stand to eat again,” Elrond said mildly.

“Elrond, you’re worrying both of them,” Celebrían sighed. “Relax, darlings – yes, you too, pumpkin belly.”

Pumpkin belly? he asked silently.

Did I say anything when your mother called you a little mole? No, I did not!

He snickered. He’d have to ask Celebrían at the first possible opportunity.

He did notice that his father also looked concerned, so he obligingly steered Tindomiel back to a seat, knowing that if they sat, their parents would also.

“Mastacarmë said he’d be sending up a light lunch,” he said as Tindomiel settled in next to him.

“I’ll just have a word with him,” Elrond said, and slipped out.

So much for a light lunch, was Tindomiel’s comment.

“Don’t worry,” Ammë chirped. “He’s not upset, just trying to make sure you’re up to company.”

“Meaning all the rest of them won’t stay patient forever?” Tindomiel sighed.

“Your impulse to go to Neldoreth probably would have worked out better,” Celebrían told her daughter gently. “As it is, Ammë is here, and her parents, and Anairon’s parents. And Uncle Ingo was already visiting with his family.”

“Lissë’s here?” Tindomiel asked in strangled tones.

Maeglin glanced at her, and she answered the unspoken questions at once, filling him in on Finrod’s daughter and how annoying she could be.

She is not the cousin I would have put first on the list to celebrate my wedding with, Tindomiel concluded.

Anairon, Tasariel, and Califiriel were all there at the time, Maeglin pointed out. So she’s hardly the first.

She blinked at him, and he made sure to keep his expression neutral.

“You are the absolute end,” Tindomiel sighed.

But her face gave away that she wasn’t annoyed at all, and the touch of her spirit was both fond and amused.

“I know,” he agreed, allowing himself a small smile.

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Tuor marched them briskly to Anairon’s usual room – at least, the room that was usually his when he could contrive to avoid staying at his brother’s house.

“Congratulations, by the way, on managing to not spill the beans early,” Tuor said conversationally as he opened the door for them. “I imagine Tinu will be quite proud of you when she hears.”

“She’ll be the only one,” Anairon muttered.

“I doubt that,” Tuor chuckled. “You have a sibling or two who will also look on the bright side, even if they haven’t had the opportunity to tell you so yet.”

Anairon was unused to having enough living siblings for such a statement to need clarification, but Tuor didn’t leave him an opening.

“Rillë will be busy supervising Hendor packing up Tinu’s things,” Tuor continued before Anairon could say anything. “So while she’s otherwise occupied, what say you tell me the story of how we all got here – the unexpurgated version, as opposed to whatever you told your parents and hers. And Maeglin’s, come to that. Though from what I saw, Irissë’s unlikely to be upset with any of you.”

Anairon sighed.

It would be just as well to tell someone everything – and at least he could trust Tuor wouldn’t be cross with him over any of their sillier decisions, like not thinking to ask for Queen Melian’s help sooner. He might not even tell anyone else…

“It isn’t a trial, lad,” Tuor said, taking the window seat and waving for Anairon to settle himself wherever.

By the time he finished telling the whole tale – including the part where he’d had to try to keep Tinwë and Lómion fed when neither of them had the least bit of sense of time or been paying attention to anything outside of each other, the part where Aryo had been the least helpful help possible, and the part where he still wasn’t really sure if Galadriel and Irissë meant it about liking his cooking – Tuor was chuckling.

“Ease up, lad. I think it’s safe to say they like it well enough. Galadriel isn’t going to eat food she can’t stand every night for a week straight just to humor her kid cousin. And from all I’ve heard, your sister isn’t the type to even pretend to eat it. If she didn’t like it, she’d say so flat out, no matter how hellbent she is on spoiling you.”

“You think?” Anairon asked hopefully. “And you’re not upset?”

Tuor laughed.

“Stars above, why would I be? If anyone’s displeased, it will be solely with Tinwë for not being more careful with someone newly returned. She’s been read that lecture before. But I think I can leave the refresher to her parents. Elrond’s disapproval will make far more impression on her than anything else but harm to Maeglin himself in the case that she’s actually done any. I doubt she has, though. I’m sure the Moles would have found a way to discreetly send for backup if Maeglin seemed unwell to them. Instead, they’ve been keeping everyone away trying to guard his privacy.”

That was a bracing thought.

“She didn’t bring him back, though.”

He wanted Tuor to be absolutely clear on that point. They might have been suspicious, but not only had Tinwë fiercly denied it, on reflection he had concluded she would not have left someone she just brought back wandering around on their own for any length of time. Maybe the adults could believe that, but he didn’t. She wasn’t careless with people.

“If you’re convinced, that’s good enough for me,” Tuor shrugged. “Maeglin wouldn’t be the first in the family to carry on doing things his own way upon return, and I doubt he’ll be the last.”

Anairon breathed a sigh of relief. At least there’d be one elder inclined to take her side.

And as long as they were talking about troublesome issues…

Anairon laid out his concerns about his sister and his cousin intending to have it out with his brother, parents or no.

“…and now is the worst time for it. Elrond and Celebrían never come here at all, and Elenwë really wants them to. If we could just get through one festival, it would make her so happy. And then it might get better,” he finished. “Is there anything you can do?”

Tuor did sigh at that.

“I appreciate the confidence. But you’ve overestimated me considerably if you think I’m capable of stopping Galadriel and Irissë doing exactly as they please. I doubt I could do much about Galadriel on her own, her and your sister together is beyond me. Besides, between what we already knew and what you’ve just told me, someone laying into your brother without respect for manners or his royal dignity might just give him enough of a kick to finally patch things up properly. Assuming he can, that is.”

“That means we’re all stuck for it,” Anairon said glumly. “Tinwë and Lómion may be able to dodge it, they’ve got an excuse no one’s going to argue with. But they’re going to expect the rest of us to all do dinner, aren’t they? The last time someone thought that was a good idea…”

Tuor definitely remembered that as well as Anairon did, given the drama that had ensued.

“It wasn’t the most pleasant evening, but as I recall it did lead to getting a bit of the ugliness out into the open to be dealt with,” he said slowly. “If there’s still more Turukano hasn’t admitted to yet, now’s probably the time. I don’t see where putting it off until Elrond’s older three arrive will help matters in the least. He’s going to have a difficult enough time with them as it is.”

Anairon had to admit that was probably true. Tindomiel’s reaction had been fairly restrained all things considered. From what he knew of Anariel, restraint wasn’t in her vocabulary. Also, the process of getting ‘the ugliness’ out hadn’t been entirely smooth even with Tindomiel the only one of her siblings present.

“I’ll leave you to freshen up before lunch,” Tuor said. “Cheer up, lad, most of Rillë’s questions won’t be directed at you.”

Anairon waited until Tuor had left before deciding that he might just borrow another page from Tinwë’s book – he really wanted to check in with Califiriel and Tasariel about what had been going on in Gondolin.

He eyed the stonework next to the window. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but if Tindomiel could use it to get down, so could he…

---

Arakano beamed genially at his niece. He was enjoying being the fun uncle.

Actually, he was having a hard time not laughing.

Itarillë’s expressions were so close to Turvo’s that it was hilarious to watch her try to pout without being obvious about it.

Galadriel had been given Tindomiel’s usual room, which was currently being packed up by a small army of Wingers – far more than strictly necessary, but Hendor had found a large number of willing assistants hoping they might have the opportunity to hear what exactly was going on that had their normally unflappable Princess in such a tizzy.

He could have told them that was a vain hope – everyone present knew how to hold their tongue when it was necessary. Between them, Rillë and Artë were being so discreet that no one had gleaned anything yet. They hadn’t even mentioned where Tinwë’s things were to be sent, only that they were to be boxed up.

“You could stay in the House of the King, uncle,” Rillë pointed out for the third time.

He wasn’t sure if she was hoping he might be backup for her father, a spy for her, or just that Galadriel would be more talkative without him present. He reckoned she’d be disappointed on all counts. He was firmly on Irissë’s side, and knew perfectly well that Galadriel was enjoying the situation far too much to give anything away just yet. (She was trying very hard not to laugh behind Rillë’s back.)

“I doubt Turvo has room,” he replied cheerfully. “He is also hosting Ingo and his brood, after all.”

It was very convenient to have a ready excuse. It saved him having to invent something he could say in front of Hendor and the rest of the staff. Anairon wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be any closer to the explosion than strictly necessary.

Besides, he might well catch more from Artë. Rillë was so used to looking up to her as an elder kinswoman that she’d miss little tells.

Interestingly enough, she was also missing a few other details.

He could have mentioned to her that his younger brother appeared to have gotten surprisingly good at climbing down stonework – or at least good enough that he didn’t slip until he was close enough to street level for it not to matter. (Arakano had definitely noticed that last part immediately and hadn’t panicked at all. He was sure he hadn’t ever given his older brothers such a bad few seconds.)

Anairon would be back for lunch, he was sure.

In the meantime…

“Niece, I hadn’t realized we’d be here for the festival – do you suppose your tailors could help me assemble something that doesn’t look like it was put together at the last minute?”

He couldn’t help the smile at Rillë’s look of exasperation. It was a carbon copy of his older brother’s.

Galadriel’s smirk said she was thinking the same thing.

---

Anairon was relieved to reach the street without getting caught – or injuring himself. It had been a near thing, but he didn’t lose his footing until he was nearly all the way down and managed to jump the remaining distance without much trouble.

That just left the difficulty of getting into the Golden Flower unobserved. With any luck if he slipped in by way of the kitchens…

“And here he is,” Ecthelion said, sounding entirely unsurprised.

Anairon jumped.

“I…”

“Were just coming to see the other two who have some explaining to do?” his cousin Laurefindil suggested.

Normally Anairon would have wilted under the combined force of their stern expressions and crossed arms, but channeling Tindomiel had been working well enough so far today that he saw no reason to stop now.

“Why are you both in the kitchen?” he demanded without any attempt to explain himself whatsoever. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs somewhere?”

“They caught us trying to sneak out,” Califiriel informed him regretfully, looking as chagrined as he felt.

“It was me,” Tasariel sighed. “And yes, I should have been the distraction like you said. It would have worked much better. But I wanted to talk to him, too!”

She glared at her sister as if this was somehow Califiriel’s fault.

I won at rock, paper, scissors, Cali said wryly.

“Don’t we all,” Laurefindil said before the girls could quarrel. “I’ve a feeling the three of you know a good deal more about what’s been going on than the rest of us.”

“Fine,” Anairon said. “You can ask us whatever you like – so long as you remember I have to be back at the Wing in time for lunch.”

Ecthelion raised an eyebrow, and Cali looked startled.

Not being as adept at osanwë as the girls, Anairon had no good way to let them in on his logic – that didn’t give them nearly long enough to get the whole story, particularly if the girls played their part and interrupted with tangents. He’d have a built-in reason to cut things short, and possibly even spring Tas and Cali with him. He couldn’t technically invite them to lunch, but he could hint that Itarillë and Galadriel would want to see them…

“I have a better idea,” Ecthelion said smoothly. “Why don’t we all take lunch at the Wing? I suspect we are not the only ones who have questions for the three of you.”

It was a really good try, Tasariel told him, sounding impressed. Definitely way better than you usually do.

Even if it did end up making it worse, Cali said regretfully. You don’t have a hope of holding anything back with all of them in the room at once.

Not just him, Tas pointed out, sounding resigned. Ecthelion knows perfectly well Aunt Galadriel will be there.

Anairon reflected that he was right back to where he’d started, depending on Aryo to haul him out of trouble.

---

“I don’t see what you’re finding so amusing about all this.”

Turukano glared at his best friend – or glared as well as he could around the ice he was holding to his jaw. His little sister’s left was still every bit as wicked as he remembered it. He’d been lucky to remain upright.

“It was a little funny,” Ingo chuckled, as immune to the glare as ever.

They’d retreated to his office as soon as their parents were shown up to their rooms. (This was the most visitors he’d had at once since he returned, which would have been enough to put him on edge all on its own. Happily, the lack of sufficient rooms had given him an excellent excuse to house Aryo and Anairon with Rillë in the Wing – the fewer of his younger brothers in the audience for this, the better.)

“It was not,” Turukano grumbled. “And Atto and Ammë won’t say a thing about it!”

“Probably not,” Ingo agreed cheerfully. “But look on the bright side – they only let her have one free swing.”

“And two kicks,” Turukano pointed out sourly.

He knew even without looking there would be matching bruises on each shin. Irissë hadn’t held back with the kicks any more than she had with the punch.

“They may have felt she deserved one for each?” Ingo offered.

Turukano glared again, winced, adjusted the ice, and reflected it was just as well Irissë had caught him on the jaw. He’d look ridiculous presiding over Tarnin Austa with a black eye.

“If it’s one free hit each, she has one more coming.”

Turukano and Ingo both turned to face the door, Turukano somewhat faster. Ingo might have heard him coming, but Turukano hadn’t known his father was there until he spoke.

“Glad to see you had the sense to ice it. Perhaps we can have Elrond take a look at it later.”

“The punch was for Lómion, plus a kick each for herself and Eöl,” Ingo observed, sounding as puzzled as Turukano felt.  

“Knowing Irissë, I’d say she’s holding back a punch for her daughter,” Atto said, taking the empty seat behind Turukano’s desk – something he usually didn’t do. “I suspect she’s hoping to get that one in without witnesses.”

“Her daughter?”

Atto chuckled as Turukano and Ingo spoke in chorus for the second time that day.

“I’d forgotten how charming it is when you boys do that,” he said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? But yes, her daughter. Had you been slightly less precipitous in demonstrating your disdain for her husband the first time you met him, she might have had a chance to share the news.”

Turukano met his father’s eyes square on for two heart beats before walking over to the basket by the fireplace meant for scrap paper no longer fit for anything but burning and vomiting into it.

Ingo looked from cousin to uncle, for once startled into both silence and indecision.

“I thought it would be best if I broke it to you in private,” his father continued. “We really would prefer that you and your sister use your words, not your fists – and I think it would be best for all if you could reach a place that doesn’t involve one or both of you holding grudges.”

Irissë’s going to kill you, Ingo helpfully informed him.

You don’t say? he replied acidly as he wiped his mouth. Your sister’s going to help.

Don’t be ridiculous, Artë won’t kill you. But she will help hide your body…

“I’ll just leave you boys to it, then,” Atto said.

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Mastacarmë, as ever, did not let any frustration show as he coordinated his staff. Their work was a bit like a dance, with complex choreography and many moving parts coming together at precisely the right moment. That dance would fall apart if he lost his composure.

Enerdhil had declared himself done not half an hour ago. Admittedly, he had half a point. Prince Lómion’s parents had arrived, and found their son and his mate respectably dressed and in a fit state to receive them.

He might have stayed on duty long enough to take lunch up.

Mastacarmë had decided to make pizza one of the main components.

He had been pleased to discover the California foods the princess had spoken of were in many ways ideal for the current situation – meant to be eaten quickly, without utensils, and marvelously flexible in the hands of a creative cook. As far as he had been able to discover from the young Golden Flowers, the only constant to pizza was the bread base and the requirement that it involve some form of cheese. He’d had the night cooks doing nothing but experimenting with combinations of flavors and textures for the past week.

Today he was using Nyarindë’s idea of putting a salad on a pizza base, the light dressing and ricotta setting off the chopped greens, onions and peppers. She’d pointed out gleefully that it matched well with what they’d been told of the tradition of eating cold pizza. (Lady Tasariel had looked dubious when it was initially pitched to her, but she’d eaten the sample completely and asked for seconds.)

“The soup is nearly finished!” his assistant called. “Five minutes!”

The soup was one he’d packed as much nutritional punch as possible into, featuring a medley of early summer vegetables punctuated by egg drop and an invigorating spice blend.

He looked over to where the bakers were plating the miniature seed loaves with basil butter, and turned his head in the other direction to make sure the stuffed squash were likewise at the plating stage.

With lunch nearly complete, his only remaining worry was whether he should be planning dinner, and if so, for how many.

“Sir, may I be of assistance?”

He turned to find one of the undercooks looking at a visitor in bemusement.

“Prince Elrond!” Mastacarmë exclaimed.

“Indeed,” the younger man replied, inclining his head politely.

He would have to instruct the staff on recognizing their prince’s parents and parents-in-law. He was somewhat disappointed to find that there was anyone on his staff who didn’t recognize the king’s great-grandson.

He strode over to the prince in question.

“You wished to speak with me?” he asked, gesturing to Prince Elrond to proceed him into his office. If his assistant couldn’t complete the trays for the prince’s rooms without him at this point, he had no business calling himself a master.

“I’m afraid no one mentioned your name to me,” Prince Elrond said apologetically.

He looked more like the king, but his gracious manner was all Queen Elenwë.

“Mastacarmë,” he replied genially. “What brings you to my kitchen? I must confess I was not expecting you.”

“I wished to enquire about how well my daughter and son-in-law have been eating. I thought you would be the man to ask,” Prince Elrond said. “I’ve a suspicion Maeglin could do with a bit more than he’s been getting.”

Mastacarmë was rather discomfited. He’d done all he could!

“I mean no criticism, I believe you have done an exemplary job,” Prince Elrond reassured him immediately. “But with Maeglin only just returned, he ought to have been eating somewhat more than normal to begin with, even before they married…”

Mastacarmë let out a sigh of relief.

“I’ve been trying for a good mix of high energy and things with staying power,” he said. “The aim has been that everything should be quick to eat and keep well enough that it can sit several hours if not noticed at once. And of course, sufficient fruit, veg, protein, and so on. If the dishes are interesting to try out with a partner, that’s to the good as well. Most trays have come back empty or nearly so.”

He was particularly proud of how well the fondues had worked – both the chocolate and the cheese ones had come back to the kitchens picked entirely clean.

The prince looked relieved, and Mastacarmë recalled that he was a healer. This was likely more than just parental concern.

“There’s also been a request or two,” Mastacarmë continued. “I’ve done my best. I leaned on Lord Laurefindil’s girls a bit to discover what I could of our Princess’ tastes, and of course I had no one else to ask about some of the dishes she knew from her youth.”

The prince’s mouth quirked as though he were trying not to laugh.

“Yes, Tasariel and Califiriel are fairly well qualified there, though my older daughter would have been more help.”

Mastacarmë remembered just in time that he should not ask when they might expect Princess Tindomiel’s sister.

“I hear you have created several interesting versions of pizza,” Prince Elrond said. “I assume they were your invention, for I don’t recall caramelized onion, apple, and goat cheese being a popular variant in Anariel’s telling, or rhubarb and basil with honey whiskey sauce.”

He would have to tell Nyarindë and Samnion what an impression they’d made. They’d be pleased.

“I must give credit to my staff,” Mastacarmë smiled. “Those were both creations of my apprentices.”

He paused.

“I just sent up something for the pair of them before you arrived. But we were nearly done assembling a luncheon for both the happy couple and their parents…”

He didn’t want to ask directly, but it gave Prince Elrond an opening to comment on whether or not the prince and princess seemed sufficiently well fed. It also might give him a chance to gauge how their parents were reacting to the unexpected union. He doubted Princess Irissë would object – she had been famously partial to her young niece, so much so that he could not imagine her not treating her son similarly. But that left three unknowns, one of who was standing before him.

“We could not have hoped for better, I thank you,” Prince Elrond said warmly. “They did mention having eaten recently, but we expect them to join us for our meal all the same. If it does not trouble your people unduly, I shall be happy to help carry lunch upstairs. I would prefer to see Maeglin in particular eating while they are still focused.”

“Ah,” Mastacarmë sighed. “So they will need a bit longer.”

“I fear at least one public appearance will be necessary given the holiday and the many grandparents eager to see them,” Elrond sighed. “But aside from that, I suspect they will need another week or so.”

Mastacarmë nodded.

“Will you all be taking dinner at the King’s House tonight?” he asked bluntly. “Or should I prepare dinner for a smaller party here?”

“I think the younger folks might dine here, while the rest of us join King Turukano,” Prince Elrond said thoughtfully. “I suspect there will be some discussion as to how and when to present them publicly, and they’re certainly not ready to have the entire family descend on them.”

“If you’ve any suggestions,” Mastacarmë said expectantly, reaching for pen and paper. He’d take all the help he could get!

“I shall be more than happy to discuss them with you after lunch,” Prince Elrond told him. “I may see if Uncle Eöl is willing to join us as well.”

“It would be good to meet the prince’s father – and his mother as well,” Mastacarmë nodded. “But as you say, they should eat first.”

He led the way to where the trays were being assembled.

“Perhaps a bit much for the parents, but for our prince and princess…”

“I think it will be just enough,” Prince Elrond agreed, taking it all in.

Then the prince did a double take when he saw Elemmakil.

“I… captain…” Prince Elrond said.

Mastacarmë looked from one to the other.

“Our new princess comes by her troublesome streak honestly,” Elemmakil informed Mastacarmë with a wicked grin. Turning to the prince, he added, “I trust you’ve learned better sense by now?”

Prince Elrond blushed.

---

The last thing Turukano wanted to do was go down to lunch with all his guests. He would much rather have retreated to the privacy of his rooms, where even Ingo or Atto would hesitate to bother him. But there was no way around it. He was not only the King of the city, he was everyone’s host. It was his duty.

The only consolation was that he knew his sister wouldn’t be present. She’d be lunching in the Mole, where hopefully Lómion and Tindomiel were able for visitors. He wondered who his granddaughter had brought out of the Halls first, Lómion or Irissë… Lómion first, surely? Had there been a secret courtship before the boy returned, or was Lómion just as impetuous as his mother given the opportunity?

Letting his mind focus on silly inconsequential details was a good distraction from the appalling nature of the news Atto had shared, but even that couldn’t wholly blot it out. He was surprised his sister had led with the damage to her son rather than the death of her daughter.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand her reaction. Hadn’t he been half-mad trying to keep Rillë safe after Elenwë’s death? What would he have done to anyone who put her at risk?

I don’t know, what were you contemplating doing to Curvo at the Mereth Aderthad?

GET OUT OF MY HEAD, INGO.

“It was a reasonable question,” his best friend snorted, taking his arm companionably as if they were wandering the market rather than going in to what promised to be the most unpleasant meal since his return.

“What was the question, Ingo darling?” Ammë asked curiously.

Turvo ducked his head, unable to deal with any disappointed looks at present. All the same…

“Is this really the time for this discussion?” he said pointedly.

“Don’t worry, the children all decamped to the Wing on the theory that Anairon knows more than anyone else,” Amarië reassured him. “Gildor wanted to hear what Artë had to say about it besides.”

“Poor boy,” Aunt Eärwen chuckled.

“He’ll manage,” Atto said drily. “Besides, didn’t you say he had backup?”

“Laurë and Ecthelion turned up there with their girls as well,” Uncle Ara nodded. “Who probably know a thing or two themselves. Artanis is delighted.”

Turukano’s jaw dropped. If all three of them knew about it…

“You mean to say-”

“It seems they’ve been married for a month or so,” Elenwë sighed. “Your mother and aunt were just explaining to us that Tindomiel may need a bit more time than most newlyweds – something about Melian’s descendants.”

Beside him, Ingo made a slight choking sound.

“Stars, I didn’t even think about that,” his cousin said. “Given how long it took before Aunt Melian and Uncle Elu were ready to rejoin the world…”

“Happily, it sounds as if her descendants don’t need quite so long,” Elenwë said. “Though it may be asking too much for Tinwë and Lómion to join the festivities for the Gates of Summer. I’ll be pleased if they manage a family dinner with all of us. The rest of the city will just have to develop some patience.”

Turukano managed not to snort at the odds of that happening.

“Surely you don’t expect them tonight,” Ammë said.

“No, but I thought perhaps tomorrow evening,” Elenwë replied hopefully. “I thought it might be easier if we go to them rather than ask them to come here.”

“Has Elrond sent word yet?” Turukano asked, taking his seat – and gratefully taking his wife’s hand under the table. Without Elenwë he’d never get through any of this. It was why he’d made such a mess of everything in the first place. She was the one who was good with people.

You do just fine, Turvo, she sighed. You’re wonderful about looking after people you care about, which is why it puzzles me so that you made such a mess of it with Irissë and her husband the first time!

It didn’t seem the time to explain that he’d just wanted to keep his little sister safe.

“No,” Ammë replied. “I doubt he’s had time to do more than see them and be sure they’re in good health. We’ll have to be patient, too. Oh, and I’m still waiting to hear just what Ingo’s question you didn’t want to answer was.”

Turukano flushed.

“I was asking him what he meant to do to Curvo at the Feast of Reuniting,” Ingo piped up – as maddeningly cheerful as ever.

Ass, Turvo commented silently.

She’s not going to let it go, Ingo shrugged. And I’m curious as well.

“Why should he have done anything to Curvo?” Atto asked, frowning.

“Curvo had his terrible kinslaying self too close to Rillë,” Ingo chuckled, answering before Turukano could think of anything sensible to say.

“Darling, you surely didn’t think Curvo would do anything terrible to a child,” Ammë exclaimed, sounding scandalized.

“You were worried about Curvo?” his aunt said at the same time, sounding utterly baffled.

“He was so reprehensible as to let Rillë and Tyelpë have a third slice of cake,” Ingo informed them, eyes dancing. “And let himself be pulled into dancing with both of them.”

I’m starting to think Irissë’s approach to people who annoy her has its merits, Turukano informed his most aggravating cousin.

I thought we’d established you considered Curvo your most aggravating cousin, with my sister a close second? Ingo said, with a mental grin that made Turukano consider if he could get away with kicking him under the table.

Not with Amarië sitting between us.

Turukano looked up to find both his father and his uncle covering their mouths, which meant they’d heard it all.

Silmë might like hearing about that feast, Ingo added softly. I don’t think she’s heard much about the good times.

As quiet as Ingo had said it, his father and uncle probably hadn’t heard that part. But why on earth hadn’t Ingo told her about it? He’d been there too.

“Yes, all right,” he ground out. “I was unduly cranky.”

“At the children having a good time?” his mother said, all disappointment. “How could that be upsetting?”

“No, at the idea they were there at all!” Turukano exclaimed. “If I could have, I would have picked them both up and sent them back home, where it was safe!”

“What did this have to do with Curvo?” his uncle prodded.

“It must have been the cake,” his father suggested.

“It had nothing to do with the cake,” Turukano snorted in exasperation. “You knew perfectly well I didn’t want my daughter near kinslayers. We had words about it.”

Turvo! We talked about this! Elenwë protested.

Pots and kettles, Ingo reminded him.

It wasn’t at the time! he shot back irritably.

“Yet you’ve been terribly impatient with young Elrond, who appears to have a similar thought,” his father observed.

“He doesn’t seem to have such problems with other kinslayers,” Turukano snapped, as annoyed with being led into such an obvious trap as he was with being badgered when they all knew he would much rather be alone.

“Possibly because those other kin have taken good care of him and his children,” Ammë said quietly.

His mother had never been one to yell. The reproof was deafening all the same.

“Or tried to, in Anariel’s case,” Aunt Eärwen corrected with a sigh.

Turukano stabbed viciously at his salad. It was going to be a very long lunch, and an even longer afternoon.

---

Maeglin thought his law-father looked somewhat startled when he returned with Elemmakil helping carry the luncheon trays.

“Elrond?”

Tinu’s mother half-rose from her seat in concern.

“I’ve just run into someone I haven’t seen since the War of Wrath,” Elrond murmured. “I’m fine. Just a bit surprised.”

He and Elemmakil began setting the dishes on the table.

Maeglin was interested to note the search for new innovations in pizza appeared to be continuing.

“Oh, look, he’s combined it with salad this time,” Tinu said, looking fascinated. “Even Anairon’s never tried that.”

It’s got some mildly spicy peppers in it, she warned him silently, pointing them out so he’d recognize them. If you don’t want them, I’ll have them.

You should warn my parents as well, he replied. Ada will probably like them, but I’m not sure what Ammë will think.

Neither of his parents would know them.

Tindomiel’s mother stepped in before either of them could say anything more, pointing out various ingredients in the meal that might be unknown to his parents, whether because they originated in California or whether they were developed in Second or Third age Ennor.

His father looked confused by the salad pizza, not that Maeglin entirely blamed him. Though it did look quite tasty, with the onions and all those crisp greens… he would have politely taken only one, but Elrond looked from him to the tray and set a second slice on his plate for him.

“I’m sure it’s all delicious,” Ammë announced blithely, taking generous helpings of everything. “Though not as good as Anairon’s cooking, of course.”

Maeglin smothered a smile.

His mother was always certain that his craft and Ada’s were the best, and that apparently now extended to Anairon as well. He turned over Tinu’s idea of remaking that piece for her. She’d think it wonderful no matter what, but he could do so much better now than he could have at twenty-three.

“He’s no doubt busy elsewhere,” Elrond snorted. “Poor boy will be answering questions for my grandmother all afternoon.”

Maeglin took a sip of water to cover how odd it he found it to hear Rillë referred to as someone’s grandmother. (Particularly his law-father’s.)

“There’s not all that much to answer,” Tinu said with a slight frown. “Maeglin came back, found us, got startled because somebody kept trying to insist we should take him to Grandpa Turukano instead of going to Neldoreth like he wanted-”

“Anairon meant well,” Maeglin interrupted firmly. “Neither of you could have known. And he was concerned you would end up in trouble.”

“He still could have been more discreet,” Tinu shrugged, unrepentant.  

I’m not saying anything here I wouldn’t say to him, she added for Maeglin’s benefit. Or said already when you weren’t there to hear it.

“And then yeah, I could have had more self-discipline. See? I’m getting better at recognizing my own mistakes.”

The last seemed to be aimed toward her father.

“What mistakes, darling?” his mother protested, giving Elrond the most reproachful look in her arsenal of expressions designed to make others feel guilty. “It’s all turned out for the best.”

The ‘hasn’t it?’ was implicit, and Elrond had little choice but to nod, much to Ada’s amusement – and Tindomiel’s mother’s.

He’ll nod now and talk to me later when your mother isn’t around to steamroll him, Tindomiel informed him.

He’ll ask you both to eat now.

Maeglin blinked in surprise at Elrond’s gentle osanwë – and pointed look at the pair of them.

“We’re eating!” Tindomiel said blithely through a mouthful of pizza.

“You too, my little mole,” his mother said fondly, ruffling his hair.

Maeglin was a bit more restrained, but he also did as asked.

How could he not, when this was the most enjoyable meal he’d had since he left Nan Elmoth?

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Arakano looked around the table and grinned.

Anairon had come back from the Golden Flower just before it was time to eat with Tasariel, Califiriel, Laurefindil, and Ecthelion in tow. More interestingly, he had come back without the hangdog expression that his older brother would have expected.

Itarillë had done her best to cover how thrown she was by the additional unexpected guests, even if these ones were only for lunch. He’d spotted the moment when the realization dawned that they might also have more information about Lómion. She was definitely not in the same league as Artë. He’d managed not to laugh, but it had been difficult.

Tuor, of course, was taking it all in stride as he apparently always did. Arakano was forming a theory that part of the thing the rest of the family didn’t get about the peredhel had nothing to do with Lúthien and everything to do with Tuor. That ability to keep calm no matter how strange everything around you got being inherited by everyone from Eärendil down would explain quite a bit.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t just bring him straight here,” Rillë said reproachfully to Anairon. “I would have helped him. Lómion knows I would help him.”

Arakano sighed internally. Anarion’s abilities might be coming on by leaps and bounds, but it was entirely possible he’d never figure out how to handle a disappointed older female relative.

“If the boy didn’t want to,” he shrugged, diverting his niece’s attention.

“It did sound as if Lómion was quite focused on reaching his father’s kin,” Tuor added. “I don’t know that I can blame him. He had no choice but Gondolin for how many years?”

“That still doesn’t explain why no one mentioned to an adult what was going on when you got back to the city,” Laurefindil said, levelling his daughters with a stern look, and catching Anairon on the tail end of it.

Tasariel met her father’s eyes with equanimity, Califiriel squirmed slightly. Anairon held his ground.

That deserved an assist.

“Anairon told an adult,” Arakano pointed out. “So leave him out of it.”

“Really?” Laurefindil said. “Who?”

“Me!” Arakano retorted, nettled. “I’m an adult, even if you all forget it most of the time because I didn’t last very long in Beleriand. And he told Ammë and Atto besides.”

“Once Irissë was back,” Rillë protested.

“He was going to have to say something eventually,” Tasariel sighed. “The whole plan was for him to bring his parents and hers!”

“And Aunt Irissë?” Rillë prompted.

The girls had no answer for that.

“No one knew anything about her and Eöl until they met up with us,” Anairon said firmly.

“Anyone who knows her should be unsurprised that she showed up unlooked for and in her own good time,” Ecthelion snorted.

“He’s got you there,” Gildor told Rillë cheerfully.

The Inglorions had turned up en masse just before Anairon returned, clearly hoping to find out more from people who couldn’t or wouldn’t send them out of the room just when things got interesting. (Except for Artalissë, who was barely able to sit still for sheer excitement and really just wanted people who would share it.)

Rillë didn’t quite glare at him, though she would have at anyone else. Gildor was close to her own age, but unlike Lómion she hadn’t known him in Beleriand. Arakano was told that until the rest of the family descended on Gondolin, they had been cheerfully comparing experiences.

“It’s not quite accurate to say no one knew about her and Eöl,” Galadriel put in with a smile.

“Good of you to admit it,” Arakano muttered.

Rillë’s mouth pinched in a rather interesting way anytime someone mentioned Eöl.

“Did anyone tell you about the baby, Rillë?” Galadriel continued.

Rillë’s jaw dropped. All four Inglorion’s heads swiveled toward her in unison.

“Baby?” Laurefindil asked softly.

Rillë’s jaw was still shocked, but her eyes were worried.

“Oh, look, dessert!” Anairon said.

It was probably only Arakano who caught the slight note of desperation in his voice.

---

Irissë fluttered around the room in delight.

The guest suite was wonderful – and Elemmakil said it had been made with them in mind, knowing that Lómion would want his parents to visit. (The suite for Tindomiel’s parents was sadly rather generic, but the Moles hadn’t had any idea when they built who he might marry, or even if. But she suspected they’d remedy that fairly quickly.)

“Look at this!” she marvelled. “They built this all without him – but for him!”

Eöl nodded, though she could tell he wasn’t nearly as impressed. He might even be just humoring her.

“It doesn’t mean he has to stay here,” she said softly, settling onto his lap. “This is not like Beleriand. He can choose to leave whenever. My idiot brother can’t keep him here against his will – and if he tries to so much as pressure him, Atto and Uncle will intervene. And anyway, he has to come to Tirion for the birth.”

Eöl smiled, but there was more than a touch of melancholy to it. He brushed her hair back from her face.

“You’ve settled all this in one afternoon?” he asked wryly.

“I haven’t settled anything, you silly man,” she sniffed, kissing his forehead. “Lómion is grown. It’s not for us to tell him what to do. He’ll settle it for himself – and I suppose Tindomiel may want a say as well. But I know my son. He won’t walk away from people so loyal to him any more than you would.”

Eöl pulled her down slightly further so he could kiss her properly.

“I just don’t see why he would want to spend any more time among them.”

“His people had nothing to do with my death or yours,” Irissë sighed. “And who do you suppose took care of him all those years? I’m sure it wasn’t just my brother or even my aunt.”

Eöl laid his head against hers. She could feel that underneath the satisfaction at Lómion finding a mate he was happy with lay what Artë would call unsettled waters.

“I’m doing my best,” he whispered.

“I know,” she soothed him. “It is a lot to take in. And I adore you for being so patient with everyone. Look on the bright side – you get to spend more time with Elrond?”

She could feel the smile more than see it. Eöl might have missed the boy when he was actually a boy, but she knew he’d make up for lost time now. Particularly if Elrond was still lacking in kin on his mother’s side.

“And your baby brother,” Eöl agreed. “He seems like he could do with another brother.”

Irissë frowned.

“I know Finno’s not coming back soon, but really, he has two brothers!”

The snort from her husband said more eloquently than words could that he didn’t think Turvo had been much help on that front. Make that one more thing she needed to have out with him. He hadn’t been so completely useless when she was little. Come to that, he hadn’t been completely useless even in Beleriand.

Then again…

“Oh, that idiot,” she exclaimed.

Eöl brightened, knowing perfectly well which brother she meant.

“He’s gone from one extreme to the other,” Irissë fumed. “Too much overprotective big brother in Gondolin, but that didn’t work, so now he’s gone as far as he could in the other direction and stayed away entirely!”

If she’d been raging about anyone else, Eöl would have laughed and tried to dissuade her. His silence meant he was no more ready to forgive Turvo than Turvo was ready to be nice to him.

If you want to cheer him up, you might mention to him Elrond’s other three heartily dislike Turvo.

“Artë?” she asked, stopping mid-complaint.

That did get a laugh from her husband.

I’ve been staying away from Turvo’s, Artë said, but I thought I might get away with a quiet visit to you.

Irissë giggled and sprang to open the door.

“Here I thought you’d be trying to sneak up there to have a go at my idiot brother,” she greeted her.

“Let him sweat,” was Artë’s dismissive comment. “The waiting makes it worse.”

Eöl chuckled.

“Not visiting the newlyweds?” he asked.

“They’re otherwise occupied,” Artë smiled. “Besides, I think there’s a push for dinner here this evening to include the grandmothers – Auntie really wants to see her grandson. A few hours patience on my part is little enough to ask. Particularly when it gives Turvo more time to stew in his own juices.”

That got a guffaw rather than a chuckle.

“Shame Celeborn is missing all this,” Eöl sighed. “I think he’d enjoy it.”

“Just as well though,” Artanis said grimly. “I don’t think anyone’s prepared to wrangle Anariel, and from what I can tell, even Elrond is inclined to let Turvo twist in the wind there. Besides, if Celeborn were here, it would be more obvious that it’s grandmothers only tonight.”

“Why only Ammë?” Irissë asked with a frown.

“Rillë is of the opinion that your father should wait a bit longer – she thinks the meeting may distress him. Apparently Maeglin was the one to clean and dress his body for burial.”

Irissë was horrified.

“Before you give your brother a matching bruise on the other side of his face, it is usual for kin to handle their own dead,” Eöl snorted. “Also, did I not hear your father’s end was rather brutal? The boy probably thought if he didn’t take it on, someone who had known him better would have to.”

“It’s still terrible,” she said. “He never got to meet Atto properly…”

“He will,” Eöl said.

He will, Artë assured her at the same time. Soon!

She hesitated only a moment.

“Tell me more about these dinner plans. Where are Eöl and I in all this?”

---

Turukano sank into the fireplace chair in his study with a sigh.

Lunch had been a misery, and dinner didn’t promise to be much better. True, his mother would be dining at the Mole. Better yet, his parents and hers had also contrived to keep Artanis away from him by letting her go there as well on the excuse that “the grandmothers” should also get to congratulate the young couple.

With Artanis and Irissë both dining at Lómion’s, he just might make it through the rest of the day without adding any further injuries to his collection. But even so, he couldn’t see how the evening meal would be anything approaching pleasant.

Ingo had taken himself off to see his sister and collect his children from the Wing. He could take his time. He’d been no help whatsoever at lunch, only made things worse.

With Elenwë off to the Heavenly Arch with Amarië, he might actually get a few desperately needed minutes of peace and quiet.  

He heard the door to his study open, and assumed it was Hendor until he heard the lock click.

He whirled to find Irissë standing between him and the door, arms crossed.

He considered putting his desk between them for safety, but her glare went up a notch.

“No, stay where you are. Make yourself comfortable, even.”

She strode to the sideboard and opened a fresh bottle of the white Ingo had brought up. She poured two glasses before he could demur.

“We need to talk, don’t you think?” she said bluntly, handing him a glass.

Turukano looked from the glass to his sister.

“I don’t drink anymore,” he demurred, trying to hand it back.

“Since when?” Irissë demanded, settling into the chair opposite him with the air of someone who wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

“Since the night you came back to Gondolin.”

“So you were in your cups,” she snorted. “And what, swearing off drinking for the rest of your life is the appropriate penance for being a beastly drunk?”

“If I’d been clearheaded…”

“You’d still have acted like an ass,” Irissë sniffed. “I’ll agree you shouldn’t drink alone, but I don’t think a glass now and then in company is going to kill you. Or anyone else.”

He glared at her, but she met his eyes steadily until he had little sip just to prove to her he wasn’t scared to try it.

“So what do you want to talk about?” he sighed, surrendering to the inevitable.

“My son,” she said thoughtfully. “My daughter. My husband. My baby brother. My law-daughter, her parents, her sister…”

She’d been ticking them all off on her fingers as she went.

“I think that’s enough to start with, but I don’t promise other topics won’t occur to me as we go.”

Turukano wasn’t sure what was more frightening, the list of topics, or his sister actually taking things seriously.

“Don’t be obtuse, I’ve always been able to take things seriously when the occasion called for it. It just usually doesn’t. But beating you black and blue isn’t actually going to fix anything, is it?”

He didn’t actually trust himself to speak, so he raised his glass in agreement.

“Pace yourself,” she warned with a frown. “You’re not getting out of this by drinking yourself senseless.”

“Where did you intend to start?” he asked reluctantly.

“You pick,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her own. “Wait, you gave up drinking but still have good stuff like this on hand? Or are you trying to make me feel bad for you claiming you gave it up?”

“I really did give it up. But I have guests on occasion,” he pointed out. “Besides, Ingo was so appalled at what I did have around that he sent for a crate from the Harp.”

She snickered.

“I’ll thank Ingo later. Pick your poison.”

Turukano winced.

“Are you going to spend the whole time seeing how many references to your own death you can work in?”

“Possibly, now that you mention it,” Irissë smirked. “Quit stalling.”

“Daughter,” he ground out.

“Good choice,” she replied in a faux-hearty voice, raising her glass to him.

“Am I about to get punched again?”

“No, I think I got it out of my system. Mostly. Unless you have more stupid things to confess to that I don’t already know about.”

“When was she begotten?” he asked.

“The first time?” Irissë said. “Not quite three months before Lómion decided he couldn’t wait any longer to see what your city looked like.”

He didn’t bother to ask about the implied second time. He knew his sister well enough to guess the answer – as soon as she was physically able for it in Lórien.

“You didn’t say,” he pointed out quietly.

“Somebody was being a foul-tempered ass, I didn’t get the chance,” she shrugged. “At least, not before the fatal part, and it hardly seemed the thing to mention as I was dying. I don’t think it would have made matters any better.”

Her burning eyes dared him to contradict her, but he was honest enough to admit she was right.

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he admitted.

“Which brings us neatly to my husband,” Irissë said. “What in Angband possessed you, Turukano?”

“He killed you!”

Turukano was doing his best to remain a dignified adult, but he was ready to yell like a child.

“And yes,” he continued, “I’ve since been told about the poisoned blade. It would have helped to know about that at the time! As far as I could tell, he killed you over a scratch!”

“Did you seriously think I’d marry someone so orc-like?” his sister demanded disdainfully. “I know you have a terrible habit of only seeing what you want to see, but really.”

“You might have come back because you were running away from him,” he muttered mutinously.

“Yes, I’ve heard your version of events – and that apparently it was the version that prevailed in Endorë,” she sniffed, taking another sip of her wine. “I think Atto should have made you announce in the Square of the King that it was all horseshit. Here and in Tirion.”

“I have corrected the record,” he said stiffly.

“Only after having a lovely blowup with Moryo and upsetting my law-daughter,” Irissë shot back. “I heard that part, too.”

“Of course you did,” he sighed. “I’m sure Artanis was delighted to fill you in.”

“No, actually I heard most of it from Celebrían and Elrond,” she corrected him. “And Ammë and Atto. They seemed to think I should know what I was walking into this time.”

“Fair,” he admitted grudgingly, taking a small drink. “You’re taking it surprisingly well.”

She snorted.

“You’re acting as if I don’t get why you did what you did. I may be your little sister, but I am still your sibling, and you’re not as hard to figure as you seem to think.”

“Oh?”

“You meant to keep everyone safe.”

“Don’t bring up the Ice,” he ordered fiercely.

“Fat chance,” Irissë sniffed. “That’s where it started, isn’t it? You never got over what happened and blaming yourself for it – a good trick when we all decided that was a good idea, because we were all pretty stupid at that point – and decided the answer was to hide as many people as you could because you were going to do better.”

“Ulmo told me to build a secret stronghold,” Turukano said quietly. “It wasn’t just me thinking hiding was a good idea. And it worked…until it didn’t.”

His sister gave him a searching look, as piercing as if she’d borrowed Artanis’ abilities.

“And did Ulmo at any point suggest it was time to go?” she asked quietly.

Turukano nodded.

Irissë’s jaw dropped.

“Turvo, you ass! Seriously?”

He nodded miserably a second time.

“Was this before or after Lómion was captured by Sauron?” she demanded angrily.

“I…don’t know?” he offered hesitantly. “I never knew Lómion was captured. I only found that part out after I returned. You’re right I never noticed, but neither did anyone else – even Rillë didn’t spot it, and she knew him better than anyone!”

Irissë contemplated her nearly empty glass long enough that it was clear she was considering throwing it at his head.

“I’ll admit to being stupid and not heeding Ulmo’s message to leave, but I don’t know what more I – or anyone else - could have done for Lómion! I took the best care of him I knew how. I stood in place of a parent to him, do you believe I didn’t take that seriously?”

He seized the opportunity to refill her glass before she could throw it – and move the bottle out of range for throwing or for adding more to his own glass.

“I don’t see how you could possibly miss that Sauron was controlling him,” she snapped.

“I don’t either, but I did – and so did Rillë, and Rog, and Lauro, and Auntie! His own House missed it! He was the same as ever, right until the end, Irissë. Ask anyone. He dined in my house at least once a week, and with Rillë and Tuor more days than not.”

Irissë swirled her glass thoughtfully.

“And he never once asked for help?”

“If he did, it wasn’t me he asked. But I should have heard of it.”

Whatever Irissë was thinking, she didn’t care to share with him. So he waited, and began to wonder if it were possible that he might actually survive this interview.

“I’m sorry, Irissë. Truly. I made a terrible mess of things. I understood that already when I died, and I’ve learned more about it since I returned. But believe me when I tell you I would have moved heaven and earth to help Lómion if I’d known.”

“It still doesn’t explain why none of us could find him in the Halls,” Irissë said, almost as though she were thinking out loud.

“You would have to ask him about that. I can’t say. Even if he were blaming me, there no reason he shouldn’t have gone to you or Atto.”

“I will,” she said, suddenly decisive.

He waited, unsure if that meant they were now ‘okay’ as Tindomiel would have put it.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Irissë said, her expression turning severe. “We still haven’t talked about my baby brother.”

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By the time Irissë had finished sharing her opinions on Turvo’s botched handling of their amazing, talented baby brother who could most definitely have used an older sibling looking out for him and teaching him and spoiling him and making sure he actually had some confidence instead of being at his best when he thought no one was looking, her older brother looked rather stunned.

His ridiculous theory that he had thought he was being helpful by staying away had been dealt with decisively.

“That’s almost as big a load of horseshit as the story you told about my husband,” she told him bluntly.

“That’s what Moryo said,” her brother muttered.

“Stars, it was bad enough that even Moryo noticed?” she demanded.

Her brother flushed, which meant there was a story there he didn’t care to tell – she would have to ask Moryo at the first opportunity.

“Yes, his return-“

“Was when it all unraveled on you. I heard that part already.”

“You must not have heard all of it,” Turvo said, with the air of a man gathering himself for a doomed charge. “You haven’t said anything about the book.”

“Oh, Artë told me all about that,” she assured him. “But I also heard that Finno said to leave it to him to settle.”

Her brother blanched.

Privately, Irissë decided she owed Artë a thank you for that notion that letting her brother stew improved the end result as well as sharing that she hadn’t seen fit to share what Tindomiel had said on the matter later. Her brother the ass was likely to have quite a while to anticipate Finno’s justice.

Finno could always yell at her later if he didn’t like it.

“I do hope you’re going to be less terrible to Aryo and Anairon’s mates whenever they marry.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes at his shock.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, dear brother, you blamed your older brother’s mate for his death, and actually killed my husband. It’s not a very encouraging pattern. In our brothers’ shoes, I might think twice about introducing a mate or even a prospective mate to you.”

Turvo could come up with nothing coherent in response, just a bunch of spluttering. Seeing as he’d only had the one glass – she hadn’t pushed him on the drinking – it was solely from outrage, insult, or possibly having just realized that she had a point.

“Anyway, you can’t fix that right now. But you can be a better big brother to Anairon. You’re pretty good at big brother-ing when you’re not being an ass.”

“Thank you,” Turvo snorted.

She decided to take the edge of sarcasm as a good sign. She hadn’t been trying to break him, just to pull his head out of his rear end.

“I suppose I’d better be getting on. We’re having dinner at Lómion’s tonight.”

“Yes, Ammë’s joining you. Perhaps you can show her the way.”

She tried not to snicker.

“Yes, then she can see how adult I’ve been,” Irissë agreed.

“You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“Considering everyone else, our parents included, expected me to give you another bruise at the least, I think I’m allowed to be a little smug,” she grinned. “Come on.”

She took his arm.

“Let’s go see if there’s anyone left in your house at all. I wouldn’t blame them if they were all down at Rillë’s pumping the children for information.”

---

Anairë kept her husband from following Turukano when he stalked off after lunch.

Ingo had left to find his children – and possibly to get away before Turvo decided to imitate his sister and take a swing. He knew as well as Anairë did that Turvo could only be pushed so far before he snapped.

Her son might have been annoyed, but it had been rather illuminating to hear from his best friend how Turvo had behaved in the early years in Beleriand. Too many people thought she should only hear the better moments, but hearing only the good didn’t help her put her family back together again.

Elenwë and Amarië had nipped off to Elenwë’s  favorite tailor to order wedding presents – the Moles had apparently stocked Lómion’s wardrobe, but Elenwë was certain he wouldn’t have anything in current fashion, and Tindomiel was unlikely to have anything appropriate for the festival considering she’d left Tirion abruptly on one of her rambles. (Anairë could have enlightened them on exactly why she’d left, but then she’d have to admit to knowing about it and possibly reprimand the girl.)

Nolo had been inclined to seize the opportunity to have a talk with their son, but Anairë had argued it was too soon. Lunch hadn’t been overly harsh, but Turvo would need time to think things over. Push at him too much and it would be counterproductive – he’d either blow up or simply retreat to a point that only Elenwë would be able to coax him out.

She’d shooed him and Ara off to visit Rillë and Artë instead. (And all the young ones, seeing as the only ones not there were Lómion and Tinwë.) That would keep them out of trouble for a bit.

That left her and Eärwen free to talk the day’s events over in the privacy of her room. Eärwen thought things were going rather well – Irissë had stopped at only one punch, after all. Given what they knew, she might easily have been more emphatic.

Anairë had been a bit puzzled about that, but there was always the hope that Irissë had finally grown up somewhere along the way.

Eärwen was only a bit disappointed that she wouldn’t be among the party dining at the Mole that evening. As she’d said, if they included all grandmothers Tindomiel had in the city, there would be only Amarië and Tuor left to dissuade the rest of the boys when they got bad ideas.

They might have kept talking for another several hours had Eärwen not pointed out that if Anairë wanted to have a word with Turvo before anyone else got back, now was the time.

She could also ask Turvo to have someone show her the way to the Mole after. She would just as soon make her way there quietly, without a fuss. Let the rest of the city focus on the comings and goings at the Wing.

It was a shock to find Turvo and Irissë coming out of his study arm in arm – though it looked more like Irissë’s idea than Turvo’s.

Irissë’s grin only broadened at the sight of her, and she gave a little bow.

“Look, he’s still alive and no new bruises,” she proclaimed proudly.

Turvo didn’t seem inclined to dispute the statement. If anything, he looked rather resigned to the situation.

“Darling, have you been torturing your brother?” Anairë asked.

Turvo flinched at the word, but Irissë giggled.

“Not in the least,” she replied. “Well, maybe a little. But only words, Ammë. No fists, feet, or other body parts.”

Anairë would dearly have loved to get a few minutes with Turvo, but with Irissë there, it was impossible.

“I was just coming to ask if you’d have someone guide me to Lómion’s house, Turvo, but as Irissë will be going back directly…”

“Do you need to take a change of clothes with you? Or anything else?”

She was unsurprised that Turvo had seized the chance to talk about something inconsequential – and to get rid of his sister without looking like that was what he was trying to do.

“No, I know Tindomiel won’t mind me not being ‘fancy’, and I rather doubt Lómion will be fussed either.”

“He won’t be, Ammë – he’ll be just fine with you as you are,” Irissë assured her.

“If you’re certain,” Turvo said.

“Yes,” Irissë chirped. “We’re certain. Behave yourself at dinner brother dear – and don’t go making things worse.”

Anairë waited until they were halfway to the Mole, according to Irissë at least, before she raised the subject of what had brought Irissë to her brother’s house.

“We were just clearing the air, Ammë,” Irissë told her cheerfully. “I thought it would go better without an audience.”

“Your father and uncle will still want to have a conversation with both of you,” Anairë warned.

“That’s fine,” her daughter shrugged. “Gives Turvo an incentive to behave, lest I actually ask them to do what I told him I thought they should have made him do.”

Anairë knew better than to ask. She turned the conversation to Lómion instead, but to her disappointment, Irissë refused to be drawn.

“You’ll meet him very shortly, Ammë,” she said. “I’ll let you form your own opinion. Besides, you already know I think he’s wonderful, what more do you want me to say?”

Anairë sighed. It would accomplish nothing to push. So instead she turned the conversation to the city, curious to hear what Irissë thought of new Ondolindë, original Ondolindë, and the Ondolindrim.

With Irissë livening it up with anecdotes, the walk passed quickly enough.

The House of the Mole wasn’t entirely out of place in the city, but Anairë decided there was an understated elegance to it. It wasn’t showy as the Harp or airy like the Swallow, it was down to earth and practical – but still beautiful.

“They tell me they had time and space to plan the house properly this time,” Irissë explained. “It was an afterthought in the original city, built late and solely so Lómion would have his own House. The only other house created after the building of the city was the Wing, and Rillë tells me that was smaller still. She handpicked her people.”

Anairë thought but did not say that surely Tuor should have had more of a hand in what was nominally his House.

They were met at the top of the stairs by a slightly apologetic captain of the guard, who waved them toward Lómion’s rooms. Irissë found it hilarious that her son and law-daughter had caused so much havoc, but Anairë didn’t see the amusement. The poor officers of the house had clearly been taxed to the limit trying to handle the unprecedented situation.  She would point that out to her grandchildren later – but gently.

When they reached Lómion’s rooms, Irissë called out.

“Darlings! Are you decent?”

Anairë sighed. She might not have had the full story yet – she or Eärwen would worm it out of someone eventually – but she was certain her daughter had not had such interruptions when she was newly wed. (She also had a suspicion of how Irissë would have reacted…)

Her daughter didn’t actually wait for a reply, just pushed the door from the sitting room to the private rooms open without further ado.

“What would you have done if the answer was ‘no’?”

She had known Lómion’s looks were reminiscent of Nolo, but his voice was very like his father’s. The question, however, put her in mind of Tindomiel – and that was an encouraging thought. She would congratulate them regardless, but it would be comforting to know her grandchildren were well-matched.

“Covered your grandmother’s eyes,” Irissë replied brightly. “Here they are, Ammë!”

She meant  to say something along the lines of ‘yes, I can see that’, but Anairë found to her dismay that emotion robbed her of her voice entirely. She has been waiting since the late First Age to meet her only grandson, waiting through war, destruction, death, return, desperate for any crumb of news about him, and at long last, he was here.

---

Tindomiel looked around the table and smiled.

The ‘grandmothers’ dinner was going surprisingly well, all things considered. (Yes, still slight awkwardness given that from Gran Itarillë’s perspective, her best friend had just married her great-granddaughter with zero warning, but aside from that tiny insignificant little detail…)

Gramma Anairë hadn’t said a single word to them about not doing things properly. She’d actually been so overcome when Irissë brought her early that she hadn’t been able to say a word for the first few minutes. When Maeglin had gone to her in concern, she’d grabbed him in a hug so tight it would have impressed Anariel.

That, paradoxically, had gone a long way to reassure her previously nervous husband that his grandmother did indeed love him just as much as his mother, albeit in slightly different ways.

Anairë’s first words when she was finally able to speak had been, “I am so happy for you both.”

After that, the only trouble had been convincing Maeglin that they really could wait until the appointed time for dinner. It turned out he shared the ‘someone is upset? Feed them!’ gene with Anairon and Anairë herself. It had been really hard not to laugh for a while there.

Once she was calmer, Gramma Anairë wanted to hear anything Maeglin would tell her about himself. Tindomiel had been warmed by his delight as it became clear that anything meant anything – unlike anyone in Gondolin, his grandmother was thrilled to hear stories from his childhood and stories about him and his parents doing small happy everyday things. Tindomiel enjoyed listening, too – and enjoyed even more seeing Maeglin finally relax in the presence of kin other than his parents.

Some of the tension had come back when the rest of the dinner guests arrived – specifically Gran Itarillë. She wasn’t sure why Grandmother didn’t worry him, but was decided it was best to go with it and be grateful. Whereas it was obvious that at some point she had to contrive time for Maeglin and Gran Itarillë to talk without anyone else in the way.

But her grandmothers were just as excited to see him as Anairë had been. If Gran had things to say to Maeglin about his choice of mate or manner of marrying, she was saving it for later. She’d chosen to focus on a more pertinent question.

“Tinwë?” she asked when the conversation hit a lull. “Did you bring him back?”

“Nope,” Tindomiel said firmly. “He came back all on his own. Well, mostly on his own. Minor assist from Namo.”

“I see now why your friends were so convinced you would be in trouble,” Maeglin sighed.

“She is not in trouble,” Anairë informed the room. It had the force of a command, not a suggestion.

“Of course not, Grandmother,” Gran Itarillë trilled. “I was just curious. Given Tindomiel’s ability, perhaps there was a secret courtship?”

She looked expectantly at them.

All you, Tindomiel informed her mate silently.

“I saw Tindomiel once or twice in the Halls, but to call it a courtship would be wildly inaccurate,” Maeglin replied. “It is fair to say I noticed and admired her, but no more than that.”

“You saw him in the Halls, Tinwë?” Gramma Anairë asked in surprise. “You never said!”

“I saw her,” Maeglin said, heading off the danger. “I do not believe she saw me.”

Tindomiel could feel his unease with the turn the conversation had taken. He wasn’t eager to explain his isolation in the Halls.

“If I had seen him, I would definitely have said something,” she assured everyone.

“But why would you not have made yourself known to Tinwë?” Gran Itarillë persisted. “I had the impression from Maitulië that nearly everyone knows her in the Halls!”

“Who is Maitulië?” Anairë whispered to Irissë, who looked just as puzzled.

“One of the Wingers who is recently returned, just this past winter. He was killed at Sirion,” Itarillë explained. “So his information is more recent than Uncle Aiko or Uncle Aryo’s.”

“Not as recent as ours,” Eöl put in, “and we didn’t see very much of Tindomiel, or have the sense that everyone knew her.”

Itarillë’s reaction to that was the same as to just about anything Eöl said – an air of slight confusion, as she tried to adjust her worldview to him not being nearly as bad as her father had claimed.

“Maitulië may have exaggerated slightly,” Tindomiel said, wrinkling her nose. “There’s still a lot of people in there, it’s not like I could talk to everyone. I’d be in there non-stop from now until whenever the Halls are finally empty.”

“So you weren’t in the Halls just before Maeglin came back?” Itarillë pressed.

She has you there, Maeglin said – but very quietly, well aware that both Galadriel and Itarillë had sharp ears.

“I was, but to visit Finduilas.”

“How is Findë?” Grandmother cut in, possibly sensing that Tindomiel would be happy for the save.

“Good. Still not ready to come back though,” she replied sadly.

“Why ever not?” Anairë asked. “Have you told the sweet girl how happy Eärwen and Lótë will be to meet her at last? And Lótë’s parents?”

“Every time I see her,” Tindomiel nodded.

“But then…” Itarillë trailed off in frustration. “Well. Keep at it, she might change her mind. You finally returned, maybe she’ll take inspiration from you.”

Maeglin blinked in surprise, not entirely pleased to have the conversation turned back to him.

I’m not sure she knew who I was while I was alive, why would she take inspiration from me? he asked Tindomiel privately.

“I do not believe I so much as saw cousin Finduilas once. Or if I did, I did not know it was her.”

“What were you doing that whole time?” Irissë asked curiously. “We looked everywhere for you.”

“Yes, no one in the family found you, and not for want of looking!” Itarillë added. “Did you think we would believe Sauron’s lies?”

Tindomiel took a decent swig of wine. That was the question they’d been hoping to avoid – and phrased in a way that unknowingly made it worse.

“No,” Maeglin said quietly, but anyone who heard it could tell there wasn’t much conviction in the word.

“Lómion, what happened?”

The quiet desperation she could feel from Maeglin was too much.

“Nope, not talking about that at dinner,” Tindomiel announced.

“Why?”

The question came from multiple directions.

“Because I have one grandmother at this table who will be flat out horrified and another who will begin plotting…not sure what the equivalent of homicide is when you’re talking about ainur, but that.”

I thought your sister was doing that already, Maeglin said.

Yes, fine, they’ll have to get in line behind Anariel, she sighed.

She looked around the table, and gauging Gran Itarillë’s expression, amended her statement.

Actually, make that two grandmothers plotting ainuricide. Plus your mother would probably haul off and maim her older brother for not stopping it somehow, and we’ve gotten this far without serious violence…

Maeglin wasn’t much comforted, though he was relieved that she had put a stop to it.

At least, they thought she had.

“My dawn child,” her father said slowly. “I’m not certain letting whatever it was that bothered your mate so fester unaddressed is the best plan. I have still not entirely mastered the therapy you mentioned, but I believe it may be appropriate here. Maeglin need not worry about anyone else’s reaction, every person at this table cares for him and only wishes to see him healthy and happy.”

Did Turvo do something else inexcusable we didn’t know about yet? Grandmother asked sharply.

Balls.

It was almost a really nice dinner, she sighed to Maeglin.

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Maeglin understood that Elrond meant it when he said everyone in the room cared about him. He knew that. It didn’t make the idea of telling them what he’d only told Tindomiel any less intimidating.

Do you want me to insist they all back off? she asked urgently. I’ll do it.

I don’t think it will get any easier for waiting, he replied.

“Fine,” Tindomiel said flatly. “You all want to try the therapy thing, that’s great. But it’s on hold until after dessert.”

Maeglin might have said something had he not been utterly thrown at the sight of Rillë losing a battle of determined looks. Tindomiel won easily.

“Very well,” Elrond nodded.

It’s a reprieve at least, she told him. And of course I won – Gran Itarillë is nothing compared to fighting with Anariel or Arwen.

All the same, Maeglin couldn’t say he actually tasted much of the last course. Tindomiel tried to get him to sample more of dessert, Mastacarmë had come up with something magnificent in chocolate, but he was far too nervous.

It’s going to be ok, she assured him.

Unfortunately for her, he caught the thought she hadn’t meant to share – just don’t look at your grandmother when you say it.

Apparently it was his mother’s mother that would be horrified.

When everyone else was finished eating – Maeglin had done his best, but was fairly sure all he’d done was push things around on his plate – Tindomiel led the way into their sitting room and settled him in his favorite spot.

She curled up next to him, making it clear by both position and posture that she was not just at his side, but on his side. He took her hand gratefully and waited until the quiet meant everyone else had also found places.

“You wanted to know about the Halls,” he began quietly, looking at his own knees to avoid having to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I think we should begin a bit before that,” his father interrupted. “Tell us more of your life in Gondolin, that we may understand how you came to be in the Halls in the first place.”

“He nearly died from grief,” Itarillë put in unexpectedly. “After… after he was orphaned. We couldn’t get him to eat, and he locked himself in his room. Laurefindil had to go in the window to open the door.”

Maeglin tried not to blush. He usually did his best not to think on that miserable time. But it was something his parents would want to hear about.

“I did not mean to worry everyone so. But it was a very bad time,” he murmured.

“Was there no one you trusted enough that you could turn to?” his father asked worriedly.

“I trusted Aunt Irimë and Itarillë,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sure who else I could or should trust.”

“What about Turvo?” his grandmother asked quietly.

He hesitated, reluctant to answer that question honestly. How was he supposed to explain it?

“Uncle Moryo said his brother believed you were frightened of Turukano,” Elrond observed.

He looked up at that – had Uncle Curvo told his brothers that he was to go with Uncle Finno after the battle? And why?

Elrond’s expression was not neutral – it was one of great concern.

He’s on your side, my love. Truly, Tindomiel whispered.

“How…?” he asked in confusion.

“Your uncle has already been brought before the Noldaran for his misdeeds once,” his grandmother said flatly.  Her tone softened. “Is it true?”

He swallowed, wishing anyone else would have been the one to ask that question, but nodded.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Of course I was frightened of him – how could I not be? He killed my father, and claimed it was because my father killed my mother. But I knew that could not be.”

“Oh, my little mole…” his mother murmured. “It was, but not as your uncle told it.”

“Tindomiel has explained it to me,” he replied. “But I did not know it then. I only knew that you and Ada were both dead. Uncle had Ada thrown from the city walls, but before he did, Ada told me to watch for my opportunity to get away. I nearly did at the battle – what did you say it was called?”

He looked to Tindomiel.

“The Nirnaeth,” she reminded him.

“Yes, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad,” he nodded. “I met Uncle Finno there, and he told me I might go with him to Mithrim after the battle. But the day went against us, and I was lucky to manage a retreat with Uncle’s forces, reaching Uncle Finno’s people or Uncle Curvo’s was impossible. And Uncle Finno was killed…”

“That was not your fault,” Elrond said firmly.

It feels like it was, though, he told Tindomiel sadly.

“A great many people died in the battle,” Aunt Galadriel pointed out, speaking up for the first time. He’d nearly forgotten she was there. “Unless you spoke to each of them beforehand, your feeling that taking an interest in you somehow was the end of Finno doesn’t hold much water.”

Oddly, irrefutable logic made him feel better than sympathy would have.

“But you saved Atto,” Itarillë whispered. “He told me he would not have made it back if not for you and your company!”

“I did not see where you also losing a father was going to help anything,” he explained.

Saving his uncle had nothing whatsoever to do with his uncle and everything to do with keeping his best friend happy and safe.

Itarillë knew him well enough to know what he meant. Much like her great-granddaughter, she expressed herself with actions, not words. He found himself being hugged by his tearful cousin, who then settled into the just sufficient empty space on his other side, radiating support.

“And once you returned to the city?” Elrond prompted.

“I was terrified for everyone,” he said slowly. “We thought ourselves so well prepared for that battle, but it was nothing compared to what the master of Angband had in waiting.”

Their ranks had melted under the onslaught like butter, done in by sheer numbers. He hadn’t known there were so many orcs in all the world, let alone that they could all be collected in one place.

He could feel that Tindomiel was prepared to back him if he wanted to stop, and Rillë would probably be just as fierce about it. But having gotten this far…

“Our armories were badly depleted afterward. It was all we could do on the retreat to keep those that remained alive and in some semblance of order, stopping to salvage anything from our fallen comrades wasn’t even a thought. Both the Mole and the Hammer set to work to rearm all the Houses, because it was clear that any further battle was likely to be still more desperate. We began to think we might be safe when the city remained undisturbed for several years, but the work did not stop. It was not long after Tuor came to the city with Ulmo’s message that Rog and I realized we had a grave problem. The iron mines within the Echoriad, the parts of it that counted as the environs of the city, were nearly exhausted. We were using what we could from the tailings, but we couldn’t rearm without some fresh source of iron.”

“You never said!” Rillë protested.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he explained quietly. “If you ask Rog, he will tell you the same. We also weren’t sure how to approach the king, particularly not when he had just decided against abandoning the city. Perhaps if we had, things might have gone differently. Instead, we agreed that I would try prospecting in the mountains. I found what became Anghabar, after all. If I could find a new source, or a more accessible path to where we believed there ought to part of the Anghabar seam we hadn’t touched yet, all might yet have been well.”

“This is when you were captured?” his mother asked worriedly.

He looked up to find her clutching Ada’s hand tightly, and nodded.

“I don’t know how far I strayed beyond whatever protection Ulmo had drawn around the valley, but clearly I must have, because there were orcs.”

He steeled himself. Maybe it would have been better to tell this part on an empty stomach – the glee of the orc captain still made him sick when he recalled it. Not to mention everything that came after that…

“They realized very quickly what they had stumbled onto, and took good care to bring me to Angband alive and relatively unspoiled.”

There was a stifled sob from his grandmother’s direction, but he didn’t dare look. If he did, he would lose his composure and they would have to start again later or tomorrow or some other day.

“Sauron was delighted when he discovered I was not just any man of Gondolin, but its prince.”

At the time, he’d hoped that he might dissemble, convince the Enemy’s right hand that he was only a lowly miner. Sauron had let him carry under that delusion on for several days before revealing that he knew who his prisoner was. At least, Maeglin thought it had been days.

But now that he had seen his grandfather – properly, alive – and knew what Nolofinwë looked like, it must have been obvious from the moment Sauron laid eyes on him who he was. Letting him believe he hadn’t been recognized had been just one more form of toying with him.

“When I finally broke, I thought it would be over, that he would kill me. But he did so much worse – he sent me back, but under his control, unable to warn anyone. I did try!”

Rillë’s sympathetic squeeze of the hand Tindomiel wasn’t holding said that she at least believed him.

“But every time I tried, Sauron would punish me, and it became harder and harder to do anything at all. Toward the end, I was barely even conscious most of the time, and it was worse when I was, because the last time he punished me, Sauron told me when the attack would come. When I was myself, I knew time was running out, but I could do nothing to prevent it.”

“And no one noticed?” his father demanded, aghast. “Not even your dearest friends?”

“I drew back from Rillë as much as I could,” he confessed. “I knew she had a secret and that I had managed to keep quiet. I didn’t know where, but I knew of it, and that might have been enough for Sauron to take more drastic steps to discover it.”

He suddenly realized he didn’t know if it had worked.

“Did your secret stay safe?” he asked Rillë urgently. “Did it work?”

“It worked, though Sauron may have guessed. We were able to make our way out of the city, but we were attacked in the mountains. I don’t know if it was ill luck, or if it was just plain that the Eagles’ Cleft was the only route left to escape the valley. Laurefindil died slaying the balrog, so we were able to reach the Vale of Sirion.”

His mouth worked soundlessly for a minute at the thought of Rillë and little Eärendil facing a balrog before Tindomiel restored him to something like a mental balance.

They lived, she reminded him. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here and neither would you.

“This is perhaps a foolish question,” Aunt Galadriel said. “But when did you make the sword?”

“Which sword?” he asked in bemusement. “I made a good many swords, both before and after the battle.”

“She means Anariel’s,” Tindomiel snickered. “Which, by the way, she adores so much she refuses to use Gran Itarillë’s sword. She claims she’s afraid of destroying family heirlooms.”

“Really,” Itarillë snorted from his other side. “Swords are meant to be used. She’s hardly going to destroy on of Lómion’s.”

“Tell her that when she gets here,” was Tindomiel’s suggestion.

“Oh,” Maeglin said mildly. “That one. That was the last sword I made. I would work on it when I was myself, when I could… break  is not the right word, he was always there, but crack Sauron’s control, perhaps?”

The look on Aunt Galadriel’s face was of satisfaction.

“She’s going to adore it even more once she realizes her sword’s very existence is an annoyance to Sauron,” Celebrían sighed.

That was a pleasant thought. Though her using it to end Sauron would be even more pleasant.

Bit late for that, Tindomiel sighed. Remember that thing about rings?

“But all this does not explain why no one could find you in the Halls,” Itarillë protested.

Tell them, Tindomiel encouraged him.

“I did not know I was in the Halls,” he blurted out.

At least it’s out there now, she soothed him.

“How could you think you would be anywhere else?” his mother asked in confusion. “You died.”

“I did. But I didn’t realize that either – Sauron had me right until the last, and told me he did not intend to let me go so easily. I thought I woke up in Angband.”

The sound his grandmother made was far worse than a sob.

Perhaps we should have had my grandfather here for this?  he asked Tindomiel worriedly.

NO. That would not have made it any better. You do remember how he died, right? Because I can assure you he didn’t leave the temper in the Halls when he came back, and there’s no Morgoth here for him to go stab to work his feelings out.

He wasn’t certain about her logic, but he was relieved to see that Aunt Galadriel had moved to support his grandmother. His mother wasn’t capable, caught in her own horrified reaction.

“When did you discover your true circumstances?” Elrond asked softly.

“When Tindomiel told me,” he replied honestly. “I did not know I had been dead and safely in Mandos until I had already left.”

“But surely they explained to you in Lórien!” Rillë protested.

“He didn’t return by way of Lórien,” Tindomiel said, with the air of one getting the worst over with. “And before everyone asks again, it was not my doing. Uncle Namo has apparently finally figured out how to be sneaky, or at least creative. He just kinda booted Maeglin out after me when I left.”

“I had seen Tindomiel leave, but I hadn’t the faintest idea where she had gone thereafter,” Maeglin said, eager to exonerate his mate. “I simply picked a direction and started walking. It was a surprise to me when I came upon her and Anairon, and a bigger surprise that Tasariel and Califiriel were Laurefindil’s daughters.”

There was a smothered giggle from Rillë.

I bet you were so confused when they mentioned their mothers…

I was, he replied. You know perfectly well who I thought he was interested in!

He is, Tindomiel assured him. They’re just being slow about making it official.

I could always suggest they follow your fine example, Rillë offered sweetly.

GRAN.

“That does not sound much like Namo,” his grandmother said with a frown. “He is if anything overly careful with the dead – which is why it took Tinwë to bring Aiko back.”

“I believe I was a special case,” Maeglin said reluctantly. “I did not know where I was, or that he was Namo.”

Who did you think he was?

His father did not wish to ask the question aloud – too much risk of upsetting both Rillë and their grandmother – but he had to know.

Belegurth, Maeglin admitted.

He was prepared for his father to be disappointed in him, to think him foolish for having been so taken in, to be upset that he hadn’t been braver – anything but the wave of righteous anger for him, not at him.

“Of course your dad is angry for you,” Tindomiel said aloud. “Sauron deserves anything Anariel did to him and worse, and given the unusual situation, Namo could have tried the equally unusual step of asking somebody to help.”

“I think he did,” Maeglin told her. “There were voices, at first. But I didn’t trust them. And they weren’t Namo. So he must have asked, but it didn’t work. You were the only one who brought light with you.”

There must have been some puzzled looks, because Tindomiel explained further.

“He was in the darkest, oldest parts of the Halls, where nobody goes, not even dead orcs. I had to take light with me, otherwise I’d have run into walls.”

“You can walk through walls,” Galadriel pointed out.

“Not if I don’t know they’re there,” Tindomiel snorted.

“The light is what made me think it might be safe to follow,” Maeglin continued. “It was not like anything in Angband.”

I should hope not, Tindomiel said.

“This doesn’t explain why Namo did not tell anyone!” Ammë exclaimed indignantly.

“No,” Tindomiel said in a voice that promised he was going to hear about it. “It does not. You’re welcome to come with me when I have that conversation with him.”

There was utter silence in the room for a second.

“Of course, darling, I would love to,” his mother beamed.

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Turukano kissed the back of his mate’s neck. Being able to curl up with her in bed like this, just the two of them, was one of his quiet joys. He’d missed it terribly after the Ice. And he needed it this morning.

Dinner last night had been…uncomfortable. Thankfully, it hadn’t been a large party. Ingo’s children had all accepted an invitation to the Golden Flower. (He hadn’t asked Ingo if there had been any prompting from him, or if the younger generation were still picking up Tasariel and Califiriel’s version of events and hadn’t wanted to break off to come back.) So it had been just him, Elenwë, Tuor, his parents, aunt and uncle, and Ingo and Amarië.

Atto must have had the news from Ammë that Irissë had stopped by, because he’d given him a look when he came down to dinner – and remarked that he was pleased to see no fresh bruises on him.

Ingo had gone and made it worse by laughing and pointing out that Irissë might just be waiting until she had surprise on her side again, as if she hadn’t ambushed him in his own study.

Halfway through the meal, Ingo and his father both suddenly turned serious, as though something was wrong, but waved off any questions – and Atto had looked similarly concerned. He’d been the one to ask if Turukano had asked or even ordered Lómion to prepare Atto’s body for burial.

He hadn’t been able to eat another bite after that, because he hadn’t been aware of it at all. He’d been in shock himself and once he’d managed to pull himself together somewhat, occupied trying to comfort Auntie and Rillë that he’d just assumed their retainers had taken care of matters.

Rillë must have thought he knew. If Lómion had done it, she would have been aware of it.

He’d been so distracted that neither his father nor his uncle had tried to bring up anything else that might have been revealed at the Mole.

Ingo had followed him to his study after, looking concerned. If he’d been worried Turukano would start drinking again, he’d been mistaken. The open bottle had confused him until Turukano had related his sister’s visit from earlier, which Ingo found strangely encouraging.

He’d been only too thankful to crawl into bed once Ingo finally let him alone, where Elenwë’s only comment had been that he was doing better now than he had in Beleriand, and everyone understood that.

He supposed it should be nor surprise after the miserable day yesterday and turning in early that he was up with the sun.

With everyone else still abed, he should be able to get away with a quiet walk… possibly even to the Mole. He wasn’t going to feel easy about Lómion until he saw the boy with his own eyes. Even if he was sure Tinwë would have made nearly as much ruckus as Irissë if she thought there was something wrong with him and needed help.

He didn’t bother to put on anything fancy, just no-nonsense every day clothes. Tinwë wouldn’t care, and Lómion had always seemed more at ease when he was informal.

His feet carried him to the Mole without any conscious thought. The front door was opened to him without question, and he was halfway up the stairs to the family level when Irissë came stomping down to meet him.

He had just enough time to register that she was not pleased to see him before she did what he was still surprised she hadn’t done the previous afternoon and planted her fist on the other side of his face.

He managed not to be loud about it – it would be the height of rudeness to wake the entire House because his sister was yet again angry at him – but it was a near-run thing.

“What was that for?” he hissed furiously.

She grabbed his arm and hauled him in her wake toward her own rooms – away from Lómion’s.

She did not slam the door behind them, but probably only for the same reason he’d kept silent despite a jaw that just might be fractured.

The only bright side to his current situation was that his law-brother was nowhere to be seen.

“He and Elrond went to take breakfast at the Hammer,” she snorted. “Eöl wants to meet Rog, and Elrond wants to catch up with him – and probably ask more about Lómion. So you don’t have to worry about my mate walking in on this discussion. But you are going to have to be civil to him at some point, maybe even later today.”

He crossed his arms and glared at her.

“I don’t suppose you’re planning to tell me why I got punched again? Being an adult wearing off?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you all right,” Irissë shot back. “For starters, it turns out my son was terrified of you the entire time he was in your city! What kind of uncle are you that you didn’t notice that?”

He opened his mouth to react to the venom in her tone but closed it again when the words registered.

“Lómion? Was frightened… of me?”

“Yes!”

“But,” he began, having difficultly with the idea. “Why? I was so careful with him from the very beginning. I even made sure to emphasize that he was being given his own house so soon after reaching his majority because people expected it of him, not because I wanted to be rid of him!”

“Did it ever once occur to you, Turvo, that having his father killed made quite the impression on him?”

It was as well that it was Irissë asking – she went with white hot anger. His mother would have gone for quiet disappointment.  He didn’t particularly like either one, but Irissë blowing up at him he knew how to handle. Disappointing his parents he’d never quite learned to deal with.

“No,” he replied softly, trying to keep his back straight. “

“Sit down before you fall down,” his sister snapped impatiently. “And no curling up in your shell like a snail. We are having this out.”

He obeyed without argument, backing into the nearest chair.

“Did he tell you what he apparently told Curvo?” he asked nervously. “About holding himself at fault for your death and his father’s?”

The look on his little sister’s face was enough to shatter him.

“No,” she said raggedly. “But I do see why he’d feel that way. For the love of Nienna, I did far more foolish things at his age.”

“I don’t understand,” he said carefully, wary lest he tip her back into anger. Which, actually, he decided he rather preferred to that brokenhearted expression.

“It was his idea to go to your city, Turvo, not mine. We followed him, trying to catch up to him before anything could happen. But we didn’t reach him until he was practically to the Outer Gate. At that point, we were stuck for it.”

Turukano was silent for a moment.

“I…should have listened more and drunk less that day,” he said. “I do not know if he will hear it from me, but what happened was my fault, not his.”

“Good to see one of you is thinking clearly since your return,” she snorted.

“If Lómion is not thinking clearly at the moment, I think we can agree he has a good excuse,” Turukano pointed out.

“Back to the subject at hand – which is how things went in Beleriand. Why was he kept in your House after we died? Lómion says Auntie would have happily taken him in.”

“I only meant to take the best care of him and keep him safe, Irissë!”

“And you didn’t think Aunt Írimë would take care of him? How often did you drink yourself stupid?”

“I’m his uncle,” Turukano said softly. “He was my only nephew, and it seemed unlikely Finno would be having children. And Rillë was so attached to him.”

“You could have sent him to Finno!”

“I could not – you knew the rule! No one could leave, lest Morgoth’s spies discover the city!”

“You were willing to let me go to Finno!”

“You were an adult! A grown woman, and I might add one who threatened to burn my city down if I didn’t let you go! He was a boy, and freshly bereaved – we nearly lost him as it was! Do you seriously think it would have been wise or practical to send him off to another uncle he didn’t know, in a place he’d never been or heard much about, with an escort, however trustworthy, that he did not know from Imin?”

Irissë’s glare said she didn’t have a counter to that, but she didn’t like it one bit.

“Besides,” Turukano continued. “What if I had sent him to Finno – what then? He’d have been with our brother at the Battle of the Unnumbered Tears, not me – how do you think that would have turned out? Because I think it would have meant watching my brother and my nephew being killed.”

“Finno might have had the sense to leave him in Hithlum,” Irissë grumbled.

“Yes, I’m sure your son would somehow have been less stubborn at Mithrim than in Gondolin,” Turukano snorted. “The boy would not be left behind when everyone else was going to fight, and I really don’t think that had anything to do with me, not after what you’ve said, and certainly not after Atto’s death.”

He belatedly remembered that might not be the best topic to bring up, and braced himself, but to his surprise, Irissë only sighed resignedly.

“I take it Ingo or Atto already… what was Tindomiel’s charming saying? Spilled the beans? Or was it berries…”

“If it’s Tinwë’s saying, it’s beans,” Turukano informed her.

The one good thing to come out of his enforced stay in Tirion was spending more time with his granddaughter and younger brother. California sayings might not always make sense to him – why would one want to spill beans? – but he did recognize a fair number of them now.

“Beans, berries… the point is they told you?”

Turukano nodded.

“What under the stars, Turvo?”

“I had no idea he’d been the one to do what could be done for Atto until last night,” he replied in complete honesty. “You may have trouble understanding what a shock it was when the Eagle arrived. Greeting dead kin in the Halls is not the same as finding out while still alive that they died. And you did not see…”

He trailed off, closing his mind against the memories. He did not want to think on that. Not when Atto was alive again. When nearly everyone was alive again. Finno would rejoin them eventually. He was sure of it. He’d even put up with Maedhros again for his brother’s sake.

Irissë sighed and sank into the chair opposite him.

“You are such an ass,” she said, sounding exhausted.

He leaned forward in concern. Was she well?

“I am fine, aside from being furious and belatedly worried sick about my son!”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” she grumbled.

“Everything?” he offered.

“You’re just saying that to calm me down.”

“No, I’m saying that because I made a mess and I am sorry.”

“I suppose you’re not the only one,” she snorted. “Though the other one I need to yell at will probably be less apologetic about it.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve found someone else at fault? Can I watch when you take them to task?”

“Yes, and no, because I’m not in charge of that outing, considering the other person who needs a talking-to is Namo.”

Turukano nearly choked.

“You plan to tell Lord Namo off?” he spluttered.

His sister grinned – but not a nice grin.

“Yes, Tindomiel – wait, how did you shorten her? Tinwë? – is going to take me. But we’ve agreed I should wait until after the baby is born. She probably shouldn’t go to Mandos so young, even if she will be alive for it.”

Turukano pinched the bridge of his nose. Any other day, his sister wanting to yell at the Judge and having a way to actually achieve it would have been the worst thing he’d hear all day. Today, it wasn’t even second. Possibly not even third. And given that Irissë wasn’t through with him, it might yet slip farther down the list.

“How angry are the children with me?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know that Lómion is angry with you, though Nienna knows he should be,” Irissë replied thoughtfully. “Tinwë is definitely not pleased with you.”

That, unfortunately, was familiar territory.

“And Elrond?” he added nervously.

Not only did he want to be on better terms with the boy, Elenwë and Rillë were going to be furious if he’d given Eärendil’s only surviving child still more reason to avoid him and his city. Come to that, his grandson might have words as well. (Elwing definitely would, but mercifully she was unlikely to come here to share them with him.)

“I’m not sure. He’s too much the courtier – keeps his own counsel, even among family, if he’s not sure of people around him. I’ve an idea he’s still making up his mind about me. I’ll ask Eöl later, he might get more from him when it’s just the two of them.”

Turukano bit back his sharp comment about why Eöl should get along with the boy better. His sister’s expression said she knew perfectly well where he’d been heading, though.

“Eöl’s his kinsman, too,” she warned him. “He’s cousin to Lúthien and Nimloth, so has every right to take an interest in the boy. And it sounds as if a decent chunk of his Sindarin kin are still missing, what with Lúthien and Dior leaving the world and Nimloth by all accounts not quite right since. Don’t make a bigger mess than you already have.”

“How do I fix it?”

He hadn’t planned to say it, much less in such an abject tone, but to his surprise, his sister softened.

“I really don’t know, Turvo. I’m not the one you need to fix things with.”

---

Tindomiel woke feeling unexpectedly refreshed. She hadn’t thought she’d get good sleep, not after yesterday.

The previous evening had been intense, even once everyone else left.

Maeglin had been surprised, then touched, to find so much support once he’d gotten the worst parts out.

Ada had assured him it was as brave a thing as any battlefield deed, and that he was to be commended for finding the strength to speak of his worst memories.

Nana and Aunt Irissë had hugged him a lot, and Gran Itarillë had been practically glued to his other side until she had announced she had better head home. Gramma Anairë had been super attentive the rest of the evening and gone down to the kitchens to bring up leftovers from dessert, seeing as Maeglin hadn’t eaten much of it at table.  (She’d come back with an entirely new set of desserts, as the kitchen staff evidently believed you could never have too much dessert. Tindomiel was looking forward to getting to know all of them.)

She wondered if maybe it might behoove her to venture as far as the kitchens on her own this morning rather than wait for someone to bring food up. They’d been here almost a month, after all. Have to rejoin the world sometime.

Not yet though?

She snickered as the wistful thought from Maeglin.

“Not ready for people?” she asked, snuggling in closer to him.

“Still thinking,” he replied. “It’s been a lot to take in.”

In addition to the not quite therapy session, after they’d retired, he’d asked questions about history and people after he’d died until she fell asleep. She hadn’t been able to answer all of them – for instance, she had no idea where the original steward of the Mole was these days. According to Elelmmakil, Aranwë, who was one of Gran Anairë’s nephews, served in that role now. The wrinkle of Maeglin’s nose when he heard that said Aranwë would not remain steward much longer, but Tindomiel suspected Enerdhil had no interest in taking the job permanently. And she had never heard of Canwien before, so had no idea where the woman might be now.

On the bright side, being related to elves in pretty much every major kingdom and her cranky Uncle Namo meant finding out shouldn’t be too hard. At least, once she was ready to be out and about again.

“We should probably have breakfast while you think,” she suggested. “If you don’t want me to go anywhere, I can always ask someone to bring it up.”

Maeglin nodded with a slightly distracted air that said he had meant it about still thinking.

She cast her mind toward their parents. In her parents’ rooms, she found only her mother. In Maeglin’s parents rooms…

She snickered.

He looked up at once.

“Your mom’s having at Grandpa Turukano,” she giggled. “Kinda sorry we’re missing it.”

“I am not,” Maeglin demurred.

“Are you sure? It sounds like there may be tears – his.”

“Positive,” he replied.

“We don’t have to see him if you don’t want to,” she reassured him. “Like, not just today. You can ignore him for an Age if you want. But you should meet Grandmama Elenwë. She’s really nice. You’ll like her. Very soothing company.”

“Not before breakfast.”

She grinned.

She was pretty sure humor was a good sign. So was him not saying no, even to Grandpa Turukano.

“I’ve asked Ammë if she would mind bringing it up,” Maeglin added.

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Itarillë woke slightly later than usual, slipping out of bed before her disquiet state of mind could wake Tuor.

She wanted time to think.

The revelations of the night before had shaken her badly.

How had she never realized Lómion was scared of Atto? What sort of friend, never mind cousin, was she to miss something so fundamental? Had she taken too much for granted and assumed that naturally he would see her father the same way she did, as a parent who only wanted the best for him? Or had she not given enough credit to his certainty that something was not right with Atto’s version of his mother’s death?

Crowding in on those thoughts was the worry about what Tinwë and Elrond were thinking. Tinwë had been thawing toward Atto, but Elrond had not. She could not bear the thought of such a rupture between her and her only living grandson.

So many questions, and she wasn’t sure who to turn to with them. Normally she would have gone to Lómion if she didn’t want to talk things out with Tuor. But that was not an option today any more than it had been for the last two Ages. She also didn’t want to betray Lómion’s confidence – what had been told to them had not been for all and sundry. It was a family matter. Perhaps Laurefindil?

But he didn’t know yet either, which meant she would have to explain it all. And once she told him, he might well ask her the same questions she was already asking herself.

She was still lost in thought, curled up on her favorite chair with her chin resting on her knees, when Tuor poked his head into the room.

He looked surprised, as well he might. The table was bare, no breakfast in sight. She hadn’t so much as requested a pot of tea be brought up.

“You’re thinking very hard,” he observed quietly. “Did it go that badly with Lómion?”

“Noo…” she said slowly, unsure how much she could or should tell him.

Would Lómion want Tuor to know?  It wasn’t as if he had disliked him…

“You decide what you feel like telling me while I go find some breakfast,” Tuor suggested, kissing the top of her head for good measure.

“How did you know it was about Lómion?” she asked as he reached the door.

“You’re facing the window that gives you a view of the Mole,” Tuor’s voice drifted back. “And you haven’t gone to talk to him about it.”

“It could have been about Tinwë,” she murmured, but without any rancor.

She knew it must have been longer, but it felt like only a few minutes before he was back bearing a tray with sweeter breakfast things than she usually indulged in. Almond pastries,  cinnamon pastries, apple compote, a berry salad…

“You’re spoiling me,” she said reproachfully.

“You look like you could do with some spoiling,” Tuor shrugged, unrepentant. “Now, what’s got you so worked up that you didn’t even bother with breakfast?”

She hadn’t intended to, but she ended up telling him everything, barely touching the pastry he’d put on her plate.

“I don’t know how I could have missed it,” she concluded. “I’m a terrible friend, aren’t I?”

Tuor paused for a moment, digesting it all, before he shook his head decisively.

“I think Lómion was probably too worried he’d lose the one friend he had to let you see any of that. As far as I could tell, the only other person in the city I might have called his friend was Rog. And I can’t see him telling Rog any more than I would have expected him to tell you. Rog’s position was dependent on King Turukano.”

“But…”

He might have told Rog! Rog wouldn’t have broken a confidence. And might have been able to reassure Lómion.

“You can’t have it both ways, love. You know perfectly well he had no problems keeping secrets for your safety – you told me the Way of Escape came from an idea he gave you, but he didn’t want to know anything about it. I’m sure he knew you were doing something, but he never once asked. Wise of him, in hindsight. Consider his feelings about your father another secret he kept for your sake.”

“How was keeping it quiet for my sake?” she demanded.

“Call it your happiness, if you prefer,” Tuor shrugged. “He’s done far stupider things for you. He brought your father back from the battle, didn’t he? Which is all the more astonishing now that we know how he felt about him.”

She glared at her husband.

“How do you construe keeping my father alive as doing something stupid?” she asked frostily.

“Love, you know perfectly well if I’d given that message to you, the city would have been packed up and gone long before Morgoth’s forces arrived. You would have heeded the warning. I believe Lómion would have listened, come to that, and he’d have been your right hand.”

Itarillë frowned, not liking the uncomfortable truth in his words but unable to contradict it. She would have seized the opportunity to leave the valley, much less the assurance they might have protection for the evacuation.

“But he got it in his head that your father dying would hurt you terribly, so he made sure it didn’t happen. If he’d go to that length, why on earth do you expect he’d have told you he was never quite sure your father was safe for him to be around? Much less tried to explain that he thought your father was a kinslayer?”

Tuor didn’t have to point out that Lómion had been right to think so.

She settled herself further down in her chair, slouching as sulkily as any adolescent possibly could. Tuor had the sense not to chuckle, but she knew perfectly well he was finding it amusing.

“I’m relieved, actually,” he continued.

“Oh?” she said, perfectly willing to be distracted. “How so?”

“I was concerned you were out of sorts because you weren’t sure how to proceed now that your dearest cousin married our great-granddaughter. I could see where that might make the friendship a bit awkward. Perhaps not as much so as it would for mortals, but still.”

She giggled.

“No, I’ve expected for years that he would marry Elrond’s daughter,” she told him, trying to keep the glee at surprising him out of her voice. “I just thought it would be Anariel.”

Tuor coughed so hard that the bite of pastry he’d just taken went down wrong and he needed to take several swigs of juice before he could speak again.

“I am eager to hear how you reached that conclusion,” he said, eying his glass as though he were regretting it not being something slightly stronger than whitecurrant.

“Aunt Irissë told Aunt Galadriel the day Lómion was born that he would marry her daughter – she’d foreseen it,” she replied.

Tuor didn’t need to say that Galadriel was the girls’ grandmother, not mother. It was plain on his face.

“Lómion also told me once that he’d dreamed of her – at the time I was puzzled when he said she looked rather like you. I thought he was trying to get a rise out of me. But the first time I saw her portrait after Celebrían and the girls returned, it was clear to me that Aunt Irissë mistook a granddaughter for a daughter. I’m sure she and Aunt Galadriel thought the same, even if they haven’t said it to anyone.”

Tuor blinked.

“In that case, I wonder what Irissë thinks of all this,” he murmured.

“I’d guess she was surprised, but if Lómion’s happy, there’s no way she would object,” she said thoughtfully. “And he does seem to be happy.”

Happier than I’ve ever seen him.

“I suppose so long as Anariel hasn’t had any matching dreams or visions of her husband, all’s well,” Tuor sighed. “Though I can tell you’re aching to have a talk with your best friend about it.”

Itarillë once again tried not to pout.

She did want to talk to Lómion about it, as it happened – to be sure he wasn’t bothered at the unexpected switch, and to find out how under the stars it had come about. He’d been so sure about his golden-haired future mate… and there was no mistaking one girl for the other. Tinwë looked more like Grandmother’s daughter than Aunt Irissë did. No one seeing her would think of Aunt Galadriel first!

“Cheer up, love,” Tuor suggested. “If I know Tinu, she realizes perfectly well that you and Lómion need to have a confab at some point.”

He was the only one in the city who called their granddaughter by her Sindarin short name rather than the Quenya version. Then again, Tinu had also dubbed him ‘Pop-Pop’ rather than any more normal variation of grandfather, as it was quite close to the word his people had used in his youth. They were, as Tinwë said, ‘on the same wavelength’ when it came to names.

She still hadn’t discovered why the length of a wave mattered, much less how one measured it. Perhaps she could ask Tuor to discover that while she talked to Lómion?

“I wonder if they’re at home today,” she sighed.

She owed poor Enerdhil an apology.  Though he might have said…

Tuor’s lips quirked, a sure sign that he’d followed her train of thought.

“Perhaps send a note to ask first this time,” he suggested with a grin.

---

Irissë pinned her brother with a glare when she heard Lómion’s plea.

“You had better stay right there,” she informed him. “We are not done yet.”

“But..”

“No. You are not barging in on them without so much as a by your leave.”

“I’m not barging…”

“They’re newlyweds! If you weren’t invited, you’re barging.”

“I just want to see that they’re well,” he protested.

It was close to a plea.

“They’re well,” she said flatly. “And when they say they are ready and invite you, you will see them.”

“The holiday is tomorrow,” her brother said softly. “Everyone was going to dine at my house.”

“I will ask them,” she sighed. “But if either of them says no, that’s the end of it, understood?”

He nodded with alacrity. At least he’d learned when to recognize the best deal he was going to get. The Turvo she remembered would have kept pushing.

“If I find you wandering around the Mole instead of here waiting when I get back, I will break both your legs,” she warned him.

“No, you won’t,” he said morosely. “Tindomiel would, but you won’t.”

She snickered as the door closed behind her. Tindomiel wouldn’t either. Though from what Artë said, Anariel might. One problem at a time, though.

She hurried to the kitchen, where she found the head cook with two trays ready to go.

“This one is for the Prince and Princess,” he explained, handing it to her before she could say a word. “The other is for you and the King.”

“How?” she demanded in astonishment.

“The King’s arrival was noted, as was you taking him to…discuss matters,” the man said wryly. “I trust he is still in good health?”

“He’ll live,” Irissë snorted. “Besides, if I’d done anything truly dire, Elenwë would be here by now.”

“Oh, I expect the Queen will arrive shortly. That’s why there’s more on the tray for you.”

She stared at him for a moment, then decided it was best to go with it.

“I can’t manage both trays on my own,” she protested.

“My apprentice can carry the one to your rooms while you see to the Prince,” he smiled.

Irissë decided the only sensible response to that was to get the other try to Tinwë and Lómion as quickly as possible lest her brother seize the opportunity to either do something stupid or run away.

She was pleasantly surprised to find her son and law-daughter both more or less dressed, at least sufficiently so for family.

“Darlings,” she greeted them, setting the tray down. “You know you don’t need to go anywhere today, yes?”

“Good,” Tinwë replied.

“I thought we might invite Rillë to visit later,” Lómion said, more to Tinwë than to her.

“If that’s what you want to do,” she shrugged. “Though if you’re inviting family, I know Elenwë would love to meet you.”

“Tinu said much the same,” he nodded. “Perhaps this evening?”

“She might be here slightly sooner than that,” Irissë confessed. “Turvo is having breakfast with me.”

Lómion looked surprised, Tinwë looked delighted.

“Does he still have functional kneecaps?” she wanted to know.

Irissë laughed. Her brother’s comment made much more sense now.

Artë, your little darling is delightful.

Yes, I know. Didn’t you believe me when I told you?

“He did when I left him. I’d better get back, though, lest he get bad ideas and that has to change.”

She kissed them both before darting back to her own rooms.

Turvo was glaring at the breakfast tray as though it were some sort of threat, or possibly a plot.

“I’m fairly sure Lómion’s cook wouldn’t poison anyone,” she snickered.

“How much does the man expect us to eat?” he asked in consternation.

Irissë decided not to explain. He really needed to get better at dealing with surprises. Besides which –

“While we’re eating, there’s a few more things I think you ought to know, and I don’t want Lómion to feel like he has to discuss such painful matters again so soon, let alone with someone he’s not sure about.”

“Should you be telling me at all?” Turvo asked quietly.

She raised an eyebrow, but decided after evaluating him that he wasn’t trying to deflect painful subjects. He was actually concerned for Lómion and worried the boy would be further upset to have things he had told his parents and Tinwë’s repeated to him.

“Given everyone in the family will want an answer about why we couldn’t find him in the Halls, yes. It would be odd if you were the only one who didn’t know. I’m sure Ammë will have told Atto and Auntie and Uncle by now.”

Turvo abruptly pushed the food away, looking slightly nauseous.

“Was he that terrified of me?” he asked quietly.

“Not everything is about you, dear brother,” Irissë sighed as she sat down. “Besides, that would not be as bad as the true reason.”

---

Elenwë was surprised to find Turvo gone when she woke. As upset as he’d been the night before, she’d expected him to want to stay in bed and either skip breakfast completely or have it brought to their rooms.

The other side of the bed was empty, and the spot where Turvo had slept cool enough that he’d been up and about for some time.

He wasn’t in the outer rooms either.

When she reached for him, she realized he wasn’t even in the house. He was out in the city – and trying not to let her hear what he was doing.

Her husband was very silly by times. She might not know what he was doing, but she could tell where he was.

She hoped he’d had sense enough not to disturb Tinwë and Lómion so early.

Though, as he was at the Mole…

She hadn’t had a chance to congratulate Tinwë yet. She wasn’t sure if Lómion would want to see her, it wasn’t clear how long he’d been back, but too many new people was more than some of the newly returned could handle.

If she went to the Mole, she could ask, though.

Tinwë would know better than anyone what Lómion could or couldn’t handle. And it was unlikely they were planning on going anywhere today…

Elenwë dressed quickly.

She’d just slip out before her law-parents or the Noldaran looked for her.

---

“I have a question for you, my love.”

Tindomiel looked up.

Maeglin looked unexpectedly serious. They’d been having a surprisingly good morning, all things considered.

He was even beginning to share her amusement at Grandpa Turukano being foolish enough to come looking for Aunt Irissë. (The telling off was still ongoing. She was keeping half an ear out for it, just in case they had to warn Enerdhil that cleanup was needed in aisle two.)

“Shoot,” she said, reaching for a second helping of the frittata.

“There has been so much else happening that it did not occur to me until now. But you spoke of ‘Pop-Pop,’ and Itarillë looks much as she ever did…”

She waited expectantly.

“How is Tuor still alive?”

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Maeglin waited expectantly, sure there must be some fascinating bit of history to explain how a Man could still be alive and thriving in Aman. There was no doubt in his mind that was the case – Rillë had showed no trace of grief or bereavement. Yet she had married in the full expectation that her husband would live no longer than any other mortal, and he was certain the loss would have left a mark.

Tindomiel sighed.

“It’s a good question, but I’m not actually sure,” she admitted. “Namo says he cheated. All he’ll say about it is that he found a loophole.”

He could feel her frustration – minor, but still undeniable – at not having a better answer for him. She was intensely curious about it herself.

“Surely Rillë must know?”

He had trouble believing Tuor would keep something so significant from her.

Tindomiel shook her head.

“I don’t think so. If she does, she’s kept it to herself – you’re not the first one who’s wondered. I could see her being too glad to have him back to have asked any questions. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.”

Maeglin forebore to mention that he would definitely look a gift horse in the mouth, and would expect that anyone else from Gondolin would as well.

“I figure Anariel can pry it out of him when she gets here,” Tindomiel shrugged. “If all else fails, she’ll suggest possible ways he might have done it until he either admits to one of them or tells he how he did it to get her to stop.”

Tindomiel looked so cheerful at this prospect that he didn’t have the heart to tell her he doubted it would work out that way. The Tuor he knew would likely just smile at every single idea proposed and agree that it sounded like it could work.

Unfortunately, if Tuor didn’t wish his granddaughter to know how he’d done it, he was unlikely  to share with Maeglin either.  Whatever his method, it must be very singular, given that no other Man had ever done the same, not even Tindomiel’s uncle. And from the sounds of it, her family did not lack for creativity...

They were not yet done with their breakfast, Maeglin still musing on the problem of Tuor, when there was a knock followed by the door opening before either of them could reply.

Maeglin had never seen the lady before, but there was something faintly familiar about her.

“Grandmama!” Tindomiel exclaimed. “We could have been…”

“Don’t be silly, darling, I’d have heard if you were not ready for visitors and not disturbed you. I thought Turvo might be here with you.”

Maeglin looked from one to the other in bemusement.

“Maeglin, this is my grandmother Elenwë. Itarillë’s mother.”

He blinked in astonishment. This woman was as warm and open as his uncle had been cold and closed off.

“And this is Lómion at last!” she beamed.

Maeglin found himself being hugged and kissed on the cheek as if she was an aunt he’d known for years.

“We’re so happy to have you back, dear boy,” she told him. “Everyone has been so worried about you all this time.”

Her warm tone implied she’d been among the worried, despite never having met him.

“I… thank you,” he stammered, more disarmed by such obvious partiality than he would have been by reticence.

Elenwë ruffled his hair fondly.

“Don’t fuss, darlings, I’ll not disturb you any longer. I’m sure it’s awkward enough having the whole family descend on you unexpectedly. If Turvo’s not with you, I suppose he must be with Irissë. I do hope he’s still in one piece.”

Tindomiel had opened her mouth to confirm Elenwë’s guess, but at that conclusion, she snickered.

“Yes, Ammë mentioned he had surprised her and they would be breakfasting together,” he said, trying to decide what address would be appropriate.

She’ll be happy with Aunt, but probably happier with Auntie, Tindomiel offered.

“Auntie,” he added tentatively.

Elenwë beamed and patted his hair back into place.

“I look forward to getting to know you,” she told him. “When you’re ready for company!”

She dropped a kiss on Tindomiel’s head and left as quickly as she’d come, leaving Maeglin slightly dazed.

“She’s just one,” Tindomiel pointed out with quiet mirth. “You’ve got lots more to meet.”

But not all today.

“I have to make a start sometime, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully.

Tindomiel paused a moment before she replied.

“It’s not kin you’ve never met before you want to spend time with,” she observed. “You want a confab with Gran.”

Maeglin nodded, unsure if that would bother her.

“Don’t be silly, why should it? She’s your best friend, same as Anairon is mine. I’d be upset if you couldn’t handle my best friend being your uncle, so I can’t very well fuss because your best friend happens to be my great-grandmother. Kinda curious how she’s taking all this, actually…”

Tindomiel trailed off.

Maeglin privately wondered the same, not to mention how Anairon was taking it. It wasn’t as though he could have been frank with Tindomiel the last time they’d seen him.

“It should be easy enough to get Gran to come here to talk to you,” Tindomiel said thoughtfully. “We can be all formal and send someone to invite her if you want, but it’s probably easier if I just tell her.”

“What will you do while she’s here?” Maeglin asked.

Both of them knew perfectly well Rillë wouldn’t speak freely if her granddaughter was close by.

“I’ll go catch up with Tas and Cali – and Anairon, if he’s there, which he probably will be.”

She grinned.

“He can tell me all about the reaction.”

“It would probably be more discreet if you tell Rillë directly,” Maeglin mused. “I’m surprised there aren’t more people curious what’s going on at the Mole, what with both the King and Queen turning up before breakfast…”

“And all the people we had to dinner last night,” Tindomiel giggled. “I’ll be shocked if most of the city doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“If they knew, it wouldn’t be nearly as quiet,” Maeglin muttered.

“I think your Moles would make sure it stayed quiet in here, no matter how crazy it might be out there,” Tindomiel observed. “Anyway, we should get properly dressed before I tell Gran. She’ll probably break a speed record getting here as soon as I tell her you’re asking for her.”

---

Tindomiel might have exaggerated, but not by much. It was less than 5 minutes from Tindomiel’s Gran? There’s someone here who would like to talk to you without all the other grandmothers in the room. to Rillë being shown in by a determinedly neutral and definitely not at all cowed Elemmakil.

She waited only until the door shut behind her to grab him in a hug that tried to make up for two full Ages in a scant minute.

“I’m sorry,” Rillë gasped.

Maeglin was entirely lost.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” he asked in bewilderment. “You’re not the one who got themselves captured, made to betray the city, and turned into Sauron’s plaything.”

“Quite  few things,” Rillë sighed as he steered her to the chair he knew would be hers. Once she sat down, he could see her visiting often – and Tindomiel not needing to make herself scarce for most of the visits. “For a start, I never once realized how you felt about Atto.”

Maeglin hoped he didn’t look as mortified as he felt.

“That was no fault of yours. I was doing my best not to let anyone see it.”

“Yes, but I was the one who was supposed to be your friend! I should have noticed it even if no one else did. Though…”

She broke off with a frown.

“What?” he prompted.

“I wonder if Auntie didn’t guess,” she said, her voice giving away that she was only just putting it together as she spoke. “She was against you staying in Atto’s house, and I know she and Atto had a dreadful fight that led to her going to the Golden Flower. She didn’t speak to him again for months.”

“If she did, she never said,” he replied quietly. “I knew they had quarrelled, but I thought it was because she didn’t agree with him having Ada killed. I was too intimidated by Laurefindil to spend more time in the Golden Flower, though.”

“Before you ask, she’s not here,” Rillë sighed. “She spends most of her time in Valimar or Tirion. She has Tasariel and Califiriel to visit as often as she can persuade Laurefindil, but she comes here only if she has no other choice.”

“You don’t mean to do the same?” Rillë asked nervously after a pause.

“Auntie doesn’t have a House here in the city,” he replied, not wanting to admit that he hadn’t yet thought on it. It was not a simple matter. “She can do as she pleases without disappointing others.”

“You don’t have to live here if you don’t want to,” Rillë replied quietly. “No one would insist on it. Not even Atto.”

“It is not your father’s feelings I am concerned with. The Moles did so much in the hopes of my return – and since my return – that I cannot in any decency be here only rarely. But it is not my decision alone.”

“Oh, Lómion,” Rillë sighed. “Tindomiel?”

He couldn’t help the blush.

“It was impulsive, but I have no regrets,” he replied.

I know which one of Galadriel’s granddaughters you dreamed of and your mother saw. And I’m sure they’ve made the connection as well! Rillë shot back.

She is not a fallback or a consolation prize, Maeglin informed her flatly. And I would not have her know.

“You can speak freely on the subject,” he added aloud.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Tindomiel is not here to over hear,” he reassured her. “She’s gone to catch up with her closest friend.”

“Thank Nienna for that,” Rillë muttered. “But do you really think you can keep it from her? Aunt Irissë and Aunt Galadriel may not be the only ones – for all we know, Anariel may well have had dreams or foresight! They say she’s prone to it, and not the nice sort. There’s already some form of bond between you…”

“Tindomiel told me about the sword,” he interrupted. “I don’t think that’s a bond so much as fate. The sword was made with her in mind, and I am pleased to hear it somehow found its way to the hand it was meant for. But it wasn’t a betrothal or even a courting gift, and foresight isn’t a promise.”

He saw the shadow in Rillë’s eyes at that.

“No,” she said quietly. “It isn’t. Lómion, you were supposed to live!”

“Given how things turned out, I greatly doubt that living would have improved matters,” he said soberly.

It had bad enough when he had only thought he lived. If Gorthaur had managed to actually hold him to life, to take him back to Angband…

“You should have told me what was happening when I was so stupid as to not notice,” Rillë replied reproachfully. “I still can’t believe I never… But don’t you see, we might have done something to break Sauron’s hold on you! You might have escaped with us.”

He suspected that was the other thing she’d had in mind as requiring apologies. But he couldn’t see anything she might have done to change the course of events. Gorthaur was a maia, beyond the power of any elf, even her. And he hadn’t wanted the evil creature anywhere near her or his nephew.

“Or I might have doomed you with me,” he replied quietly. “I had to choose how best to use what little strength I had left. I did not wish to draw his attention to you. Not when he already had his eye on you and your son. He nearly killed Eärendil as it was. I had only just enough to break his concentration, for a moment only.”

Rillë leaned forward and caught his hand.

“That was enough,” she assured him. “Ardamírë knows it was not you. He will be thrilled to hear you live! Though possibly slightly confused at you marrying his granddaughter…”

The last had a hint of mischief to it.

“I never told him about any of that, you know,” she continued.

“I should hope not!” Maeglin snorted. “It promises to be awkward enough as it is.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rillë said thoughtfully. “It might have been more awkward for him had you followed the original plan. Anariel looks very like him…”

“I hear she is like him in other ways also,” Maeglin said reluctantly.

Rillë looked startled.

“Do tell?”

“Sauron also took an interest in her at a young age.”

Rillë’s face crumpled.

“Oh, Lómion, it was terrible! I’d say you can’t imagine, but after what you went through, you might be the only one who actually can…”

It took some time for her to tell him what Tindomiel was clearly unaware of – how Anariel and Celebrían’s disappearance had been experienced by their Amanyar kin.

First had come the sheer terror of what could have ripped an elf out of Arda, for while Elrond’s daughter might be half-elven, his wife was not. That was followed by the long years of not knowing what had become of them – and the assumption that they were both dead in the way of mortals, never to return, and the devastation that awaited Elrond and his surviving children whenever they might arrive in the West. Then the unexpected return, but with it grave concerns about what had been done to Anariel, who would by all account now always be ‘little Anariel’.

Their kin hadn’t learned until Tindomiel and Elrond were here in Aman the true circumstances of Tindomiel’s ‘begetting’, or how old she had appeared when she arrived in Imladris. (Everyone had until then assumed that Tindomiel was the natural outcome of Elrond and Celebrían’s joyful reunion – and given what Tindomiel had told him, he didn’t doubt Elrond and Celebrían had been happy for them to think so.)

He couldn’t help but wonder how much of this she’d spoken about with Elrond or Tindomiel.

Maeglin suspected Elrond’s thoughts would likely be different than his daughter’s. (Or daughters’ thoughts, come to that. No doubt Anariel had her own version of events.) But while Tindomiel’s California had clearly had its dangers, it hadn’t been nearly as devastating to those who experienced it as Rillë’s version. And Tindomiel’s tale of the Slayer made it a power her sister wielded, not something that had been done to her – one she had leveraged to go toe to toe with Sauron himself. She had come out of the encounter alive, which was more than most could claim.

He thought it might help Rillë to hear that. He wasn’t sure this was the time to say so, though.

Fortunately, Rillë happened to mention Sauron again as she worked her way through the Ring War. (He did now understand why even the Noldor might be sensitive about certain smiths making rings.)

“I think he has seen the error of his ways,” he said drily.

Rillë gave him a Look.

“You’re nearly as bad as Tindomiel,” she said severely. “She doesn’t take it seriously enough either. I expected better from you!”

“I assure you I take Sauron seriously,” he replied, suppressing a smile. He had thought it would take much longer for her to get over treating Gorthaur as a delicate subject around him. “But it does sound as if he has good reason for concern when it comes to Anariel. I had understood his power to be so broken now that he cannot hope to rise again, let alone threaten any of your grandchildren.”

Rillë looked sufficiently annoyed for him to ring for food to be brought up. If they were going to hash over everything that had happened since they last had a good heart to heart, there needed to be baked goods and hot beverages.

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Tindomiel was surprised to find when she stepped into Tas’s room that it was not just Tasariel, Califiriel, and Anairon present.

Glorfindel had his arms folded, and Ecthelion had his serious face on.

“How did you know I was coming?” she demanded.

“It’s not terribly difficult to work out that something is up when these three all try to slip away from breakfast at once,” Ecthelion said drily. “Particularly since Tasariel is about as subtle as her father.”

“I am plenty subtle!” Glorfindel said indignantly.

“Hey!” Tas protested at the same time. “I can be subtle!”

“As you say,” Ecthelion replied, in a tone that just missed smug.

“That’s…interesting,” Tindomiel said carefully, trying not to laugh. Ecthelion had taken to the dad thing naturally, even if they hadn’t quite convinced him yet that he was one. “Still not sure why it means you’re both geared up to tell me off. I haven’t done anything.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.

Tindomiel matched it.

The standoff continued until Tasariel started to snicker and Ecthelion’s attempt to hush her failed.

Tindomiel couldn’t help the grin.

“You can tell me off for whatever it is you think I’ve done later, even though I probably didn’t do it. But for now, I’m here to talk to them.”

Echthelion might have argued, but Glorfindel gave in with a sigh.

“I will merely settle for pointing out the considerable irony of the person who regularly complained about the oddities of your family tree marrying someone who is both a first cousin thrice removed and a second cousin at one, two, and three removes – the last two twice, I might add.”

Tindomiel had no reply, mainly because she had no idea if he was being accurate or facetious – she would need to sit down with a family tree to figure out the relationship in any direction. Though she did have to admit it was a true statement that all four of her grandparents were related to Aunt Irissë, Uncle Eöl, or both. To think she’d once found Arwen and Estel’s relationship somewhat mind-bendy…

A moment of reflection along those lines led to the inescapable conclusion that Glorfindel was unlikely to be the only one to bring it up. Her brothers would surely have some choice comments.

There was another snicker from Tas’s direction.

“I think that actually made more of an impression than any attempt at scolding her would have, Atto,” Cali said, sounding amused.

“Wonderful. Let’s quit while you’re ahead,” Ecthelion advised Glorfindel before he could add anything else, steering him toward the door. “As for you, Tindomiel, mind the time. If you’re still here at mid-day, you’ll be dining with us, and possibly told to haul Lómion over as well. Your parents and your in-laws are invited to lunch.”

Tindomiel brightened. As long as she got away before the others arrived, she and Maeglin would be left to eat on their own. That would give them a chance to compare notes.

She waited until Ecthelion had escorted a visibly reluctant Glorfindel out. (Despite the stern pose, she was betting he was just as curious about the full story as anyone else not currently in the room.)

“You’re officially a bad influence again,” Califiriel informed her, eyes dancing, as the door closed behind her parents. “Ecthelion thinks we ought to spend less time with you and more with our cousins in Valimar or Alqualondë.”

Tindomiel resisted the urge to pump her fist. Ecthelion was the one with kin in Alqualondë, so if he’d started referring to his nieces and nephews as Tas and Cali’s cousins, that meant they were winning.

“You’d think he’d know better by now,” Tasariel snorted.

“I don’t see how spending more time with the Vanyar is supposed to make you any less children of Scoobies,” Tindomiel shrugged. “I don’t need to be any kind of influence, you get it from your mothers.”

“I notice you don’t mention the Lindar,” Cali sighed.

“Of course not, they’re not much different than what we’re used to anyway! Besides, if they’ve heard what’s going on, they’ll want all the dirt same as everyone else. But I somehow doubt that’s what Ecthelion had in mind.”

She turned to Anairon.

“So?” she asked. “How did it go? And when did you tell them?”

“I’d say if you ever do that again, you’re on your own, but I’m pretty sure even you only get married once,” Anairon grumbled. “Lucky for you Aryo was home, otherwise Galadriel would have found out before we even left Tirion. Then there would probably have been even more family wanting to come along!”

“You’re going to have to explain that one,” Tindomiel said, settling in on Tasariel’s bed for what promised to be a long story.

By the time he finished, including the story of Irissë reappearing and doing her solid best to draw all scandal to herself, all three girls were caught in a non-stop giggle loop.

“So everyone’s been dead set on keeping Turukano and Irissë apart, for obvious reasons,” Anairon finished. “Which means even apart from you two not having made any public appearances yet, it’s not really over.”

“Don’t worry, Irissë’s handling the Grandpa Turukano part on her own,” Tindomiel snorted. “Or maybe he decided to suck it up and get it over with. Either way, they were having breakfast together this morning at the Mole.”

“And you’re sure he’s not back in Mandos?” Anairon asked skeptically.

Tas looked similarly doubtful.

“I don’t think it can be all that bad,” Tindomiel replied. “Gramma Elenwë came looking for him, and you know she counts as adult supervision. I doubt Irissë’d kill anyone in front of her. Or that Elenwë would let her send him back.”

“Irissë is more like you or your sister than me,” Anairon pointed out. “Not killing him still leaves her a lot to work with.”

Tindomiel thought about it for a minute.

“Fair point,” she conceded. “I don’t think she’s in quite the same category as Anariel, but Grandpa Turukano’s on his own either way. But enough of that. He’s so not the point of me being here. Besides, there’s a few things that you won’t have heard yet and should…”

---

Turukano came back to himself with Elenwë’s worried face just inches from his own.

“Turvo? Can you hear me, love?”

Yes, of course he could. Now that they were both alive again, he could hear her to the ends of Arda, no matter where they both happened to be.

“Breathe, please?”

He was breathing. He had to be. That was part of being alive.

“Is he like this all the time?” he heard Irissë ask from somewhere far away.

Good, she should be far away. That way he couldn’t cause any more harm to her children.

“No, he’s not! For the love of Nienna, Irissë, what did you say to him?”

“I only told him what happened, why we couldn’t find Lómion in the Halls,” his sister said, this time in a whisper. “And it’s not as if that was his fault! I’d already covered the things that were – he was fine with everything else!”

He dimly appreciated the courtesy of not blaming him, even though it was his fault. What had Lord Namo been thinking to send him back out into the world?

“What did happen?” Elenwë demanded, an edge to her voice.

He started to retreat in spirit, but Elenwë took her hand firmly in his, anchoring him to the world. He abruptly changed his mind, deciding it was best to get the worst over with.

“I failed him, Elenwë,” he croaked. “So badly. I didn’t keep him safe. I didn’t keep my niece safe. I didn’t keep Itarillë safe, or Eärendil…”

Somewhere in the distance, his sister made a noise of utter disgust, but Elenwë shushed her.

“He thought he was in Angband,” Turukano whispered. “For two Ages.”

Angband had broken Maitimo in a handful of years. Lómion had believed he was there from the day the city fell to the day he married Tinwë. Even before that, he had lived in fear all his years in the city.

He’d meant to keep his nephew safe and had achieved the exact opposite. Worse, he knew Lómion had wanted to keep Rillë safe, and look what had happened. He might not know his nephew as well as he thought, but he knew enough to know how the lad would have taken that.

He was wholly unable to deal with Elenwë’s reaction on top of his own, he had to close his mind.

The next time he became aware of his surroundings, something was being held to his lips and his choices were drink or have it spill all over him. So he drank.

His wife and sister snapped into focus as something sharp and alcoholic burned its way down his throat.

He wanted to tell them he didn’t drink anymore, but couldn’t make his mouth form the words.

“I told you already it’s not all about you, Turvo,” Irissë snapped, but he could hear the worry that she was covering with irritation. He hadn’t meant to worry her. He hadn’t meant to upset anyone. He hadn’t meant any of it to happen. “Unless you’re confessing to being in league with Sauron?”

Had he been? They’ve all heard the terrible price Húrin Thalion had paid to buy his safety. Maybe he had been Sauron’s pawn all along and not known it. Morgoth had destroyed Húrin’s children too, hadn’t he? Those foul whispers about Lómion lusting after Rillë took on a new and horrifying cast in light of that thought…

Irissë Nolofinwiel, this is the opposite of helping! Elenwë hissed at her.

He could no more shut her out than he could sever part of his own fëa, but right now he could not bear his mate’s anger.

“Should we get Ammë or Atto, do you think?” Irissë asked, sounding on the edge of true panic.

He knew she’d just said something more to Elenwë, even if he couldn’t hear it. But whatever it was didn’t matter as much as not having his mother see him like this.

“No! I’m fine,” he told them firmly – or tried to, at least.

The set of both his wife’s feä and his sister’s said without need for words that he was not and they weren’t taking his claim otherwise seriously for even a second.

“Good of you to rejoin the conversation at last,” Irissë muttered. “Even if you are still talking nonsense.”

“You’re not helping, Irissë!” Elenwë snapped.

“Responding to what’s said is a distinct improvement!” Irissë shot back. “But it’s clear he is most definitely not ‘fine’.”

Turukano didn’t dignify that with a response, mostly because he was well enough to recognize the signs of Irissë refusing to be budged no matter how in the wrong she was.

“I think you’d better ask your parents to come up,” Elenwë sighed. “He’s not much better, and his thoughts are getting wilder and more fractured by the minute.”

“No!” he protested, this time with more emphasis.

Why under the stars were they worrying about him? Lómion was the one who needed looking after!

“Would you stop being such a stubborn ass, Turvo!” Irissë snapped before Elenwë could say anything. “You are not all right – you just stared at a wall for a good quarter of an hour! Once Elenwë got here and tried to get you talking again, you babbled like an infant every time you tried to speak for as long again. You’re still not making a lick of sense, and you’re scaring me and probably her too!”

Frustration with his obstinate little sister was familiar enough to almost be a comfort, except she’d just said he was scaring her. Irissë wasn’t scared of anything.

“What under the stars?”

His dislike of Irissë’s husband was still reflexive. But the sight of young Elrond froze his tongue before he could utter a word.

He’d already made enough of a mess of it with young ones, he didn’t dare damage his grandson as well. He tried to say he was fine, or that if he wasn’t, surely they didn’t need to trouble the boy, but if he’d gotten the words out, they were ignored.

“If everyone would please be quiet and calm?”

Elrond’s voice was placid enough on the surface, but beneath it there ran a river, fierce and powerful. While it had ostensibly been a request, his words somehow had the force of a command.

When Turukano raised his eyes this time, he found Eöl and Elrond both looking at him appraisingly.

“How long has he been like this?”

Turukano tried to shrink away from the boy’s gaze, but Eöl held him in place. The expression on his face was far worse than annoyance or dislike – he looked like he was concerned despite himself.

“Only a few minutes,” Turukano said, trying to sound normal and confident.

“Half an hour?” Irissë said uncertainly. “Possibly more? I lost track of the time once I realized he wasn’t just being ridiculous.”

“At least,” Elenwë confirmed. “He was in a bad way when I arrived. Maeglin and Tinwë had told me he was up here with Irissë, and I thought I’d better come make sure the two of them weren’t quarreling again. I almost wish they had been, it would have been so much simpler!”

“He’s had a very bad shock. Have you given him anything?” Elrond asked briskly.

“Brandy,” Irissë said. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”

Eöl’s lips twitched, but Elrond sighed.

“No, Aunt, I’m afraid that is not best practice,” he said. “Particularly not with someone who prefers to avoid alcohol.”

His tone of suppressed exasperation was the same as Ammë’s. How had Turukano not known that? Better yet, how had Elrond known he didn’t drink anymore? Had someone told him? Had they told him why?

There was a murmur of conversation, and then something was once again being pressed to his lips.

“Drink, please, if you would,” Elrond instructed.

The world came into much sharper focus as he obeyed. Whatever Elrond had given him was gentler than whatever Irissë had used. It tasted of summer afternoons and Elenwë’s kisses.

“Always prepared for a crisis?” Eöl asked in quiet amusement.

“Even without Anariel and the boys around, keeping miruvor at hand has become a firm habit,” Elrond replied.

Turukano flinched.

Anariel was another one he’d damaged. Irissë had been only the latest person to remind him of it – and he should probably be thankful it had been her and not Artanis.

Elrond’s expression said he’d caught that, but mercifully he chose not to comment. He pressed another swig of miruvor on him instead.

“Now, what caused all this?” Elrond asked, looking to Irissë.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Turukano said firmly.

“He didn’t think it was,” his sister sniffed.

“Aunt?” Elrond prompted.

The boy was perfectly courteous, but also made it plain he would wait until he had an answer.

“I was telling him about Lómion in the Halls, and he just…”

“Ah,” Elrond nodded, as if that explained anything. “Was that all you told him?”

“We’d already covered everything else!” Irissë said indignantly.

Elrond raised an expressive eyebrow.

“There is such a thing as too much at once,” he said. “Being so recently come from Lórien, I would have expected you were aware of that.”

Irissë, for a wonder, accepted the reproof gracefully.

“I am fine, truly,” Turukano insisted.

“Of course,” Elrond murmured.

“Aw, he sounds like you, Elenwë,” Irissë cooed.

Elrond looked startled, the demeanor of the healer slipping for the first time in his surprise.

Eöl chuckled, though it wasn’t clear who or what he found so amusing.

“I imagine it is because we’re both rather exasperated at the moment,” Elrond said. “My daughter has just married. This should be a joyous time, or at the very least one of recovering from the hurts of the past.”

“I’m recovering,” Turukano tried to assure him.

“Aunt, it would be gratifying if you could refrain from upsetting your older brother,” Elrond continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I don’t believe he can handle any further shocks today.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him this time!” Irissë protested. “I had no idea he’d take it so badly! We’d had a perfectly civil conversation.”

“Yes, you only threatened my kneecaps once,” Turukano muttered.

Eöl laughed.

“This certainly bodes well for the festive dinner tomorrow,” Elrond sighed.

Turukano hesitated to say so aloud, as he rather doubted anyone wanted to hear it, least of all Elrond, but he heartily agreed with his great-grandson.

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Tindomiel returned shortly before noon. Maeglin watched, amused, while Rillë fussed over his mate as though she were a little girl. Tindomiel’s ease with the proceedings suggested this was perfectly normal.

Of course it is, she told him as they waved Rillë out the door – achieved only with a wholly unsubtle reminder from Tindomiel that if Rillë didn’t run, she’d be late for lunch at the Golden Flower. (Rillë wavered only a moment before deciding she didn’t want to miss any further interesting tidbits that might drop there, particularly given both Tindomiel’s parents and Maeglin’s would be present.)

Their midday meal was delivered by Elemmakil, who clearly had only been waiting to see Rillë leave. He darted out again too quickly to allow Tindomiel time for questions – she was bursting with curiosity about how he knew her father. Unfortunately for her, Elemmakil had no intention of indulging her if he could help it.

She frowned at the door closing firmly behind him.

“He can’t avoid me forever,” she said in a tone that implied it wouldn’t be long before she cornered him.

Maeglin wasn’t quite as curious as his mate, but he did wonder why Elemmakil seemed reluctant to be quizzed.

“Probably it’s embarrassing to Ada,” Tindomiel said cheerfully. “It’s always fun when I can get those stories. I’ve heard more of them about Nana than Ada. I’ll have to get Uncle Gildor to tell you about how Nana behaved when she first met Ada, that’s a good one.”

“Oh?” he asked, dishing her a generous portion of soup.

“Nana punched him when she thought Grandfather wasn’t looking,” Tindomiel snickered. “And that was after she’d almost tipped them both into the Bruinen and then stripped off in his boat. Ada apparently used to be much more Noldorin in his sensibilities…”

Skeptical as his mate sounded about the concept, Maeglin’s father had explained to him at a young age that the Noldor were generally not at ease about nudity as Ammë was. (Given how quickly his parents had married, he’d later concluded that wasn’t the only way Ammë’s attitude was more in keeping with his father’s people than her own.) But he hadn’t gotten the impression Tindomiel’s father was still so Noldorin in his attitudes. Clearly time had changed his mind – or at least accustomed him to Lindarin ways.

“I could always ask,” he suggested, handing her the bowl.

“Mmm, tomato-basil!” Tindomiel exclaimed, after a good whiff. “That will go well with the seed bread. Your kitchen staff are the best.”

“Our kitchen staff,” he correctly firmly, and basked in the grin that drew.

“Still the best,” she repeated, bestowing a kiss on him for good measure. “And don’t worry about Elemmakil. I’ll worm the story out of him eventually. Consider it part of him getting to know me.”

Maeglin decided in this case, sitting back and watching was the better part of valor. He accepted the thick slice of bread she passed him, wondering if he could get away with dipping the bread in the thick soup. It was only the two of them, after all…

“Of course you can,” Tindomiel grinned. “We only have to mind our manners in public. And maybe in front of Grandmama. No sense provoking further incidents.”

Maeglin gleaned from her mind that ‘Grandmama’ meant Aunt Elenwë. While he didn’t catch most of whatever had happened, Maeglin did gather the one most provoked had been Tindomiel.

“How did it go with Gran?” she asked.

Maeglin paused, trying to decide how best to sum up such a remarkable reunion.

“She doesn’t blame me,” he said at last.

“I’m not sure what exactly it is she’s not blaming you for, but I’m not surprised,” Tindomiel snorted, blithely dipping her own bread. “You’re her best friend, not to mention favorite cousin. And she’d already worked out for herself that the betraying the city thing wasn’t your fault.”

“That was what I meant,” he said softly.

Tindomiel put her spoon down with the sort of careful precision he associated with Ammë about to do something drastic.

“Of course she doesn’t blame you for that,” she said firmly. “Stop fretting so much about it. Anyone stupid enough to cast it up to you will wind up with Gran or Anariel coming down on them like a ton of bricks. Or both of them.”

She brightened at that prospect.

“Probably best not to phrase it that way to the Ondolindrim,” Maeglin murmured.

It was a fair guess that at least a few of them had died because a ton of bricks came down on them. He knew how much of the city had already been in ruins before he met his own end.

“I won’t, but you know what I meant,” Tindomiel sighed.

“I do,” he said, doing his best to savor Mastacarmë’s work. “But it is not so easy to stop worries one has spent several Ages with.”

“I know,” Tindomiel replied, her hand warm and reassuring on his. “Which is why I’ll keep reassuring you until it takes. Your battles are my battles now.”

Maeglin appreciated the sentiment, but he was very thankful that Tindomiel only knew of battles at secondhand, not from personal experience.

I may not, but Anariel does, she informed him. And she’s not about to shy away from telling people off in your defense when balrogs and dragons didn’t bother her. She already didn’t want to hear anything against the guy who made her favorite sword. And that was before she finds out you’re her law-brother.

“What did Gran have to say?” she continued out loud as though she had said nothing out of the ordinary.

“A good deal about impatience,” Maeglin managed to reply in something like a normal tone. “And a thing or two along the lines of I should have told her about Sauron before Morgoth took the city instead of wasting time on swords.”

“Because that would have gone well,” Tindomiel snorted.

Her mind reflected a similar assessment to his own of how that would have gone – utter disaster that might well have ended with her and her siblings never existing on account of Eärendil being dead before the city fell.

“You might mention that to her,” he suggested.

“Wouldn’t do any good,” she snorted. “I’ll smile, nod, and keep the conversation moving on to other things. If you want someone to talk her out of that notion, leave it for Anariel.”

Who not only knows more about battles than I do, but more about Sauron too.

Maeglin did his best not to flinch at her words. He knew Tindomiel hadn’t meant it so, but it was still a painful reminder that it was not only himself who had paid the price for his foolishness.

---

Irissë smothered a grin as her niece’s eyebrows flew up at the unlikely sight of the group that met her at the staircase.

Now Turvo was well enough to walk more or less under his own power, he and Elenwë needed to return to their own house, while she, Eöl, and Elrond made their way to the Golden Flower. Laurë was showing a gratifying willingness to get to know her husband on his own merits rather than Turvo’s nonsense.

Rillë was still uncertain about Eöl, and clever enough to realize that her father still detested his law-brother. Also, sharp enough to spot that her father was not well at the moment.

I believe she’s worried we’re all lunching together, Eöl informed her with some amusement. Elrond adds that she’s likely dismayed at the thought of Glorfindel trying to wrangle his daughters with your bad influence and your brother’s sniping.

“Hello, darling, are you coming to the Golden Flower too?” Irissë said brightly. “We could walk over together.”

“I did not realize Ammë and Atto were to attend,” Rillë managed weakly.

“We are not,” Elenwë replied firmly. “It would be poor hosts indeed who accepted an invitation leaving their guests to dine alone. We’ll take luncheon with your grandparents and the High King and Queen.”

Rillë did not quite manage to hide her relief.

“Which is a nice way of saying you can relax, there will be no ugliness at table,” Irissë added, ignoring her law-sister’s noise of dismay.

Or at least, not at this meal. She supposed she’d have to sit down to eat with her brother the ass at some point.

“Behave yourselves, all of you,” Elenwë said firmly, shooting Irissë a stern look before maneuvering a still dazed Turvo down the stairs ahead of them.

“Come along,” Irissë chirped, taking her niece’s hand. “We can have a bit of a chat on the way. Or would you prefer to walk with Elrond? He’s such a sweet boy.”

Her mate helpfully shared that the ‘sweet boy’ had managed to conceal his surprise at being described thus, but only just. He also managed to keep from laughing.

Rillë demurred, instead seizing the opportunity to monopolize her grandson, which left Irissë with Eöl as she’d intended in the first place.

Sneaky, Eöl chuckled as he settled an arm around her.

She wanted to compare notes with him anyway, Irissë said. They’ll put their heads together on the way to Laurë’s and she’ll be calmer by the time we arrive.

She didn’t blame Rillë being concerned about her father, but Irissë wanted someone else to explain to her that Eöl hadn’t had a blessed thing to do with it. And also that the part that was her hadn’t been on purpose this time.

---

Elrond sighed internally.

While he wasn’t in any hurry to spend more time with his great-grandfather, he couldn’t help the feeling that the meal at the King’s House would be a good deal calmer than the gathering at the Golden Flower. Possibly even safer.

Idril hadn’t made up her mind about Eöl yet, and while she might not be quite as extreme in defense of her family as his daughter would be, he didn’t entirely trust his grandmother wouldn’t do anything drastic.

But this promises to be a good deal more amusing, my love, Celebrían offered. The children are all so excited…

Her silent warning was just in time for him to pull his grandmother to one side to allow the group of excited girls that erupted from the main entrance of the Golden Flower to swarm Aredhel and Eöl.

Under normal circumstances, he knew Tasariel and Califiriel normally shared Tinu’s wariness about Lissë. But today the usual distrust had apparently been set to one side in the face of newly returned kin and newly married cousins. There was no telling how long this truce of sorts might last, but for the moment all three were eager to make Eöl’s acquaintance.

Elrond’s idea of Eöl – largely based off of the version of events given by Turgon – had already taken a serious hit when he discovered his kinsman to be the sort of uncle he remembered Celeborn as during his childhood. The damage only increased in light of the discovery that the man was good with children and well able for the high-energy, rapid-fire interrogation about Beleriand, how he’d met Aunt Aredhel, what he thought of Aman, his son’s marriage, Tinu…

“It may work better if you girls put one question to him at a time,” he suggested, trying not to laugh. “And give him a chance to answer it!”

“Indeed, I believe you’ve time enough, unless it has become the fashion in this new age to rush through meals,” Eöl said with a smile.

Glorfindel’s daughters were urging the guests toward the small hall before any other curious Golden Flowers could stop them to make conversation. The remaining adults followed in the girls’ wake.

Elrond found it surprising that the younger generation were making the adjustment so much quicker than his grandmother. Though in fairness, he supposed Idril had lived with her notions of Maeglin’s father considerably longer.

There was a minor scuffle among the girls over who would get to sit by Aredhel and Eöl, which his aunt resolved by declaring with three girls and two of them, the solution was perfectly obvious. Glorfindel’s expression when Tasariel claimed the spot between the pair, leaving Califiriel on Eöl’s left and Lissë on Aredhel’s right was priceless. (Finrod appeared considerably more sanguine about it. Then again, Lissë was the calmest of the three and more likely to be alarmed than enthusiastic at Aredhel’s wilder notions.)

He couldn’t help drawing his grandmother’s attention to the reactions, though to his surprise there was an undercurrent of alarm beneath her amusement.

Tasariel gets into sufficient mischief without Auntie’s encouragement!

They can’t do much at table, Elrond reassured her. Besides, I understood Aunt and Uncle meant to go on to Neldoreth and then to Tirion for the birth? The girls must get their time with them in before they depart.

I expected you would be more help, Idril sniffed.

And here I thought it was well-established that I was quite ineffective at controlling children, at least by Noldorin standards, he grinned. Take heart, Ecthelion is here, and from what I’ve seen he does better at scolding Tasariel when the occasion calls for it than Glorfindel.

The balrog-slayer had been too long in Middle-earth during the years when young elves became rarer and rarer, to be a strict father.

She’s wearing him down, Idril sighed. He started out quite well but the girls learn quickly where the weak spots are and how to exploit them!

He was unsurprised to find his grandmother chose to sit next to him, or that she beckoned young Anairon to take the seat on her other side.

The better to pick his brain without interruptions, Celebrían chuckled, taking his hand as she filled him in on what he’d missed. She’d been there most of the morning. He’s done an excellent job of exonerating his partner in crime and her new partner. Though I suppose if he truly wanted to dodge, he could have gone to the House of the King.

Actually, I think it’s for the best he and Argon are here, Elrond said.

He was quite certain his forefather needed more time without younger kin underfoot – and possibly parental care. But explaining the morning to his mate could wait until they were alone.

---

Anairë hadn’t had such a blissfully carefree morning in a long time.

Four children safe and well, three grandchildren safe (and mostly well), Tinwë and Lómion married… And her husband all to herself for an uninterrupted morning in a proper bed.

They’d decided to have a lie-in. She’d have felt slightly guilty about that had she not been certain Eärwen and Ara were doing much the same, and that all her children and her grandchildren had plenty to keep them amused and out of trouble.

Nolo kissed the back of her neck as she snuggled into him.

“We could stay like this all day,” he murmured hopefully. “The kids are all more or less behaving, and there’s nothing we must do today…”

It was tempting, but she wasn’t about to stick Eärwen and Ara with minding Turvo at dinner.

Actually, I was very much hoping we might dine with Lómion and Tinwë…

“You’ve been marvelously patient, my heart,” she assured him.  

She would have said more, but for the gentle warning from Ara.

“We need to dress,” she sighed. “I think Irissë and Turvo had words again.”

At least, she hoped it was only words. Knowing her daughter, fists were also an option. Or feet.

“We could just let them fight it out,” Nolo suggested, trying his best to keep them both right where they were.

Anairë propped herself up on one elbow so she could face him.

“Nolofinwë Arakano, we cannot let them ‘fight it out’ if you would like to ever enjoy peace in your own family. You know perfectly well your daughter does not worry about concepts like ‘fair’ or ‘restraint’ when fighting.”

Particularly not when it was on behalf of her children…

“There are no swords involved, love, they’ll figure it out.”

Nolo was halfway baiting her, but half serious.

He had little understanding for the lies Turvo had so willfully spread about his law-brother, and had been furious when they had initially come to light. Finding out for certain that Lómion had lived in quiet fear for the best part of a long-year before spending nearly his entire time in the Halls in utter terror had set him off all over again.

“Get up, love,” Anairë ordered, ruthlessly stripping the covers from the bed as she rose. “We are going to sort this out once and for all! I will not have them still quarreling when Irissë goes into labor. They’re both more than stubborn enough for it to come to that.”

Nolo knew better than to keep baiting her when the look on her face meant she’d turn him out of the bed next if need be. He also knew not to grumble too loudly as he rummaged around for his underclothes.

They were both dressed in time to meet Elenwë bringing Turvo into the entrance hall.

Turvo was very pale, with a fresh bruise blooming on one side of his face. But the bruise didn’t explain why he looked so shaken.

“I can guess what you’re thinking, but Irissë didn’t actually mean it this time,” Elenwë informed them wearily.

“She rarely does,” Anairë sighed, well aware of her daughter’s tendency to speak (or punch) first and worry about consequences – and any regrets – later.

“I’m not sure we’re equal to dining with you,” Elenwë began.

“You made lunching with them our excuse to not go to the Golden Flower,” Turvo protested, his desire to avoid company at odds with both his training in good manners and his usual honesty.

“Turukano, do you really feel yourself well enough to sit at table at the moment?” Elenwë demanded in exasperation.

“Perhaps an alternative?” Anairë cut in smoothly. “We might take an informal lunch in Turvo’s study.”

Letting her son try to stand on his royal dignity right now was unlikely to improve matters.

“Ingo, his children, Irissë, Anairon, and Arakano are all at the Golden Flower,” she continued. “So it is only us, Ara, and Eärwen. Turvo will be more at ease in the study. And we’ll be able to speak freely.”

Elenwë looked dubious, but Turvo nodded gratefully, so she slipped out from under his arm to go inform her staff of the change in plan.

Anairë made to take her place supporting Turvo, but he waved her off.

“I can walk, thank you, Ammë.”

His tone was trying for polite but was only just contained.

Ara and Eärwen met them at the door to Turvo’s study, which drew a quiet huff from him – he’d apparently been hoping they wouldn’t show. Ara ignored the huff and held the door for Eärwen.

Eärwen and Ara might have been first in, but Turvo was the first to sit down, practically throwing himself into his favorite chair by the fireplace. That also had the happy side effect of limiting the number of people who could be seated close to him, as there were only four chairs in that cluster.

Anairë took the chair that was usually Tuor’s, leaving Rillë’s for Nolo. The slight squirm on Turvo’s part gave away that he’d rather not have been facing his parents just now, but he must realize that if they didn’t sit there, Eärwen and Ara would.

Eärwen, after a glance at Anairë, settled on the sofa with Ara, and waited expectantly.

Elenwë arrived with the servers bearing the meal before just as the silence stretched to awkward.

“Just set everything down on the desk, we’ll serve ourselves,” she instructed. “I’ll send word if we need anything more.”

Turvo’s shoulders sagged slightly at that last part, though who or what he’d imagined might offer a diversion Anairë couldn’t think.

Nolo brought her a well-laden plate before returning to the desk to get one for himself. Elenwë brought food for both herself and her mate before settling in next to Turvo, still radiating concern.

Anairë decided it was probably best to let him eat a bit first. Once they started talking, he was likely to forget all about food. Nolo started to say something, but she shook her head at him.

Let him have his lunch first. If this doesn’t go well, he’ll skip dinner.

Nolo would have rolled his eyes had he thought no one else would notice.

And you used to tweak me about being too easy on Irissë!

Irissë’s mischief was far simpler than this, Anairë sighed. Much like Tinwë’s, now I think on it. But it seemed more vexing because it was novel in those days.

Also because you can always leave Tinwë’s for her parents to deal with.

She glanced sideways at her husband and found him trying not to laugh.

Nolo, you’ve been perfectly happy to look the other way at some of the girl’s tricks, too!

If anything, she suspected he’d been quietly egging Tinwë and Anairon on in their handling of Linyaríma’s grandson. The boy might have a genuine partiality for Tinwë, but he’d gone about matters entirely the wrong way.

I think we both can stop worrying on that score. She’s well and truly put a stop to it this time, Nolo chuckled.

Anairë did not dignify that with a reply.

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Nolofinwë tried not to be exasperated at the sight of his son staring morosely at his plate. So much for eating first. Turukano was pushing the food around without actually putting any of it into his mouth, much the way he would when he had landed himself in trouble as a boy.  

He had thought he made it plain to Irissë that she was to behave. Repeatedly assaulting her brother could not be considered by any stretch of the imagination behaving. He could no longer continue to look the other way or justify it to himself as being in any way right.

Hush, love, wait until we’ve heard what’s going on, Anairë advised.

She’d be the first to intervene if it had been their youngest son.

Yes, because he has little experience of quarreling with his siblings, and none at all with his sister, she replied sharply. Fortunately, the only danger there is overenthusiasm.

“Darling, what happened?” his beloved added aloud.

“Too much at once,” Elenwë said, unusually tart.

“I take it you mean Irissë?” Nolofinwë prompted.

“Yes, but not in the way you imagine,” Elenwë sighed. “She saw fit to share with him everything she’s learned from Lómion, and Turvo is a bit… overwhelmed by it all.”

“Two Ages, Elenwë,” Turukano murmured.

Ah.

Nolofinwë hadn’t had an easy time with that part himself. For all they’d done in the Halls to try to find the boy, it hadn’t been enough. Not if he’d been hiding in fear the whole time.

And in light of the grilling he had given his son after certain revelations at dinner the previous evening…

“That’s hardly your fault, Turvo,” he said reassuringly.

Even if it is about the only part that isn’t.

Anairë shot him a look, her meaning clear as any crystal. Turvo did not generally hear as much as Nolo’s siblings or Ara’s children would, but in such a raw emotional state he might well hear more than usual.

“That’s not much comfort, though, is it?” Turvo snapped. “Or are you any happier about it, Atto? Seeing as it wasn’t your fault either?”

“My love,” Elenwë murmured pointedly, gripping his hand slightly harder than necessary.

“No, he already covered all my failings last night when he dressed me down after dinner,” Turvo continued. “So I’m quite clear that while I am at fault for the rest of it, my nephew believing himself in Angband for two full Ages is the one part of the entire horrific disaster that had nothing to do with me. Except, of course, in so far as I failed to heed Ulmo’s warning and move my people to safety before Lómion could fall into the power of Morgoth’s wretched creatures. So it is, you see, in fact also my fault.”

Turvo hurled his plate into the fireplace with far more force than was necessary to shatter it.

For a long moment, there was nothing but shocked silence.

“Regardless whose fault it may have been, you do still need to eat,” Eärwen said unexpectedly into the quiet, her tone utterly calm. “And if that requires a command, the High Queen commands it.”

Anairë shot her law-sister a look, but got one of Eärwen’s trademark grins in return.

Turvo missed that exchange entirely, still glaring at the fireplace. He appeared to resent his aunt’s intervention, but he did eventually rise to fetch himself a fresh plate without retort. A lifetime of training to respect his elders – some of it drilled into him in the harsh light of Beleriand – meant he was unlikely to openly defy a direct order without good reason.

Once he returned to his seat, the mechanical way he put food into his mouth indicated he might as well have been eating the ashes from the fireplace.

Heedful of his wife’s earlier insistence that the boy eat before they dealt with him, Nolofinwë kept quiet. His brother did the same until Turukano had worried down a reasonable amount of food.

“I think we might reasonably assign some of the fault for events to Morgoth and Sauron, Turukano,” Ara said thoughtfully. “Or had it entered your head before now that Sauron might possess your nephew before lying to him at the moment of his death, deceiving him into believing he was not dead? It certainly came as a shock to the rest of us, including those who saw Angband emptied and believed we knew the depths of his perversion and cruelty.”

“I believe it surprised even Elrond and Nerwen, and they know more of Sauron and what he was capable of than anyone here,” Eärwen added.

“Who would have thought it possible?” Turukano mumbled, more to what remained of his food than to anyone in the room.

“No one,” Nolofinwë replied firmly. “What’s more, we ought to be grateful he tried that trick only the once. He might have done the same to any of us. You, me, Finno…”

Our dear idiot of a brother, he added silently to Ara, who shot him a worried look. It had only just occurred to him. None of them had seen anything of Naro either. Finno had tracked down Maitimo and his brothers, but only them.

Turvo blanched.

“We might well have believed him, too,” Nolofinwë continued. “Who could possibly think clearly at such a moment, even if they hadn’t been prisoner for months before?”

As close as he was sitting, Nolofinwë caught the memory his son was reliving, though thankfully not the full force of it. Falling, the tower he had built with his own hands crumbing below him, seeing the entire city brought to ruin, so many of his people dying – and screaming defiance to the last for all the good it did.

No, Turvo would not have believed him. Not in that state of mind. Lómion must have been utterly exhausted by the time death finally released his spirit.  

“Turukano!”

He waited until his son met his eyes, shocked and shamefaced, but wholly present.

“You need not take all the misfortunes of the Noldor in Beleriand onto your shoulders. The rest of us made plenty of mistakes of our own. Your relationship with your nephew began badly. But his death was not your doing, nor his confusion about his circumstances in the Halls.”

“I failed him,” Turukano said quietly. “I failed all of them, but Lómion most of all. I do not understand how any of my people forgave me. I don’t see how he possibly could. Or Tinwë.”

He sounded downright broken at the idea that not only his nephew, but his descendants would despise him. Nor was it only Tindomiel he meant, though she was the one closest at hand. (And certainly the one who knew Lómion best.) He knew perfectly well things were not right between him and Elrond either. His thoughts veered sharply away from Tindomiel’s older sister.

“You might give them a chance, my love,” Elenwë suggested softly, taking his hand in hers once more. “I think we may trust Elrond at least to understand that things in Beleriand were not so clear as they are here.”

Elrond, perhaps. Anariel would be another matter entirely. But as Turvo hadn’t mentioned her, best to leave that for the time being. There would be time enough to worry about brokering a peace between them when the girl arrived.

“Let us do what we can, Turukano,” Nolofinwë said briskly. “There is wisdom in Elenwë’s words. What’s more, you are not without kin at hand concerned for both of you. I believe the plan was for the happy young couple to make their first public appearance at the Gates of Summer tomorrow?”

He looked to his wife and law-daughter, who both nodded.

“We will proceed with that in mind. You can have a quiet dinner this evening. Perhaps Ingo will join you, but I suspect you will find most of your guests engaged elsewhere. I myself mean to dine at the Mole this evening.”

He waved aside any attempts at protest.

“If the boy finds the sight of me upsetting, better he has the time and space to deal with that in private than immediately before his first public appearance. I can’t see where him reliving whatever bad memories he has before the entire city will help matters.”

You’re as bad as Turvo, Anairë told him in exasperation.

No, just rather more impatient. He got to see the boy as a boy. My only grandson is newly married and I’ve never laid eyes on him. In either of our lives.

Her sniff said that while she was doing her best to help, she didn’t think Turvo had done a very good job with Lómion either.

“Perhaps you and Elenwë should finish your lunch in private,” Nolofinwë suggested. “The rest of us can amuse ourselves elsewhere until dinnertime.”

Ara raised an eyebrow, but did not argue. He probably knew perfectly well that Eärwen was dying to find out from Anairë what she’d missed.

Well, she’d just have to wait.

Nolofinwë wanted to get back to what their children’s utter inability to behave themselves had so rudely interrupted.

---

Turukano nearly cried with relief when his parents, aunt, and uncle finally left.

His mother had been disappointed. His father was, in addition to being upset with him about Lómion, also that shade of annoyed that Turukano hadn’t understood as a child but as an adult had realized meant he had disturbed them at an inopportune moment.

“You’re being unfair, my heart.”

He looked up to find Elenwë looking disappointed also.

“Your parents were concerned about you. And yes, they may have been doing other things, but your father was only annoyed when he thought you’d been quarreling with your sister – and irritated when he thought it was Irissë’s fault.”

“I only ever wanted to make them proud.”

It had rarely been easy. Not with Finno to live up to, not to mention their older cousins. He’d envied Ingo being the eldest. At least he hadn’t been constantly measured against an older brother.

“Is that all?” Elenwë asked softly, taking his hand.

“I wanted to keep everyone safe,” he admitted miserably. “But it all went so wrong!”

He’d wanted her safe, and their darling daughter. His infuriating sister, his brothers, his father, and his cousins, even the kinslaying ones. His friends and loyal followers. And in the end, none of them had been. He had failed completely. They’d nearly all fallen.

“I think it turned out rather well for quite a while,” Elenwë told him.

Turukano wasn’t about to point out it hadn’t worked out in the least – they’d lost her before they’d reached Beleriand.

“Yes, and then we got to the part where everyone died.”

He did his best to close his mind to the memories.

“Not everyone,” she replied softly, taking his hand.

That Rillë and Ardamírë hadn’t was the smallest gleam of light in the general wreckage. And he wasn’t entirely sure their survival had been worth the terrible price Hurin and his children had paid.

“My love, did you not listen at all?” Elenwë asked sharply. “You are not responsible for everything that went wrong in Beleriand. Look what came from those who survived – Ardamírë moved the Valar to intervene! Elrond held out until Sauron was defeated utterly! Elros was the first in a line of kings of Men that endures even now!”

“I notice you don’t mention Anariel,” he said sardonically.

“One problem at a time,” Elenwë sighed, resting her head against his and sounding tired.

He ran a wondering hand through her hair, then caressed her cheek, smiling slightly when she turned her head to press a kiss to his hand.

“You are so much better than I deserve,” he told her sincerely.

“You are so much more trouble than I deserve, yet somehow always with the best of intentions.”

The words were a complaint but the tone was so full of love that he actually felt better.

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked hopefully.

She gave him a look, and he did his best not to wince, because he knew before she said it what it would be.

“One peaceful dinner with your entire family? Please, Turukano? It’s a holiday.”

They both knew he could never hold out for long when she used that tone.

“Even him?”

He was aware even as he said it that he sounded rather petulant.

“Particularly Eöl,” Elenwë said firmly, her eyes steady on his. “My love, you have already admitted that not only were you at fault for Irissë’s death,  you misunderstood his actions – very badly. If he is willing to make nice for the sake of his son and law-daughter, you should be able to meet him halfway. Be a cordial host and a decent law-brother. If not for your sister, then for your granddaughter and your nephew. And your younger brother. Irissë says they’ve been getting on quite well.”

He tried not to let his opinion of that show.

She leaned against him, letting him think it over. She knew him well enough to know there was no way he could come up with a good counter. Turukano knew perfectly well he was being managed, but as usual Elenwë had done it so smoothly he couldn’t refuse even if he had been better at turning down requests from her.

“It is the Gates of Summer,” she murmured. “A good time for starting fresh. That was what you meant to do with Ingo, after all.”

Patching things up with Ingo was a far easier problem to deal with than his sister’s dratted husband. Even if talking honestly with Ingo probably also meant talking about their other cousin.

“Your sister would appreciate it. You’re going to want to see your niece. And your younger brother would probably appreciate it also.”

Turukano frowned.

“Anairon?”

“We’ll be seeing a lot more of him if Tinwë and Lómion reside in the Mole,” Elenwë suggested hopefully.

His heart leapt at the idea, but fell nearly as quickly.

“There’s no reason they would,” he said in disappointment. “Why should Lómion do that to himself?”

He wasn’t going to delude himself on that score. There was no reason the boy should choose to spend his time here. Not when the boy was so frightened of him and could not possibly trust him. Tinwë had only just been thawing after that incredibly awkward time in Tirion. She would certainly take her mate’s part.

Nor was there much reason to think his youngest brother would be willing to spend more time with him. He’d meant well leaving Anairon to grow up away from his shadow, but it turned out he’d been wrong about that, too.

“I don’t think your nephew is someone who could easily turn his back on people as loyal to him as the Moles have been,” Elenwë pointed out gently. “And Anairon doesn’t dislike you. He just doesn’t know you.”

“I tried to fix that.”

He’d thought that spell in Tirion would give him time to mend matters there, but it hadn’t worked out. His brother and his granddaughter had proved extremely adept at avoiding him, even before Aryo came back.

It rankled that they were both on excellent terms with his younger brother.

“I know,” his mate assured him. “But you went from one extreme to the other too quickly, love. Anairon is rather like you. Give him some time. And let me invite him more often. I don’t think he’ll say no if I ask.”

“If he’s rather like me, he can’t say no to you,” Turukano sighed.

“Good,” she said brightly, kissing the tip of his nose as she stood up. “It’s settled then. We’re having dinner with your family tomorrow night - all of them. And it will be peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” Turukano echoed weakly.

“Including Irissë’s husband.”

“If I must.”

“I’m afraid you must. Cheer up, love, I’ll go see if Ingo’s come back from the Golden Flower yet. The two of you haven’t actually gotten much time together with everything else that’s come up.”

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Maeglin was doing his best not to be nervous. But there was another family dinner this evening, and everyone was acting oddly about it – including Tinwë. Though in her case it was less ‘odd’ than mildly irritated she hadn’t been told who to expect aside from ‘emphatically not Turukano’.

“I pestered Ada until he told me ‘mostly just parents and grandparents’,” she told him from her spot on the window seat. “Obviously the stinger is ‘mostly’. Not sure if that means Anairon, Tas, and Cali made the cut tonight, or if they’re squeezing someone else in.”

Maeglin did not quite jump at the knock on the door, but it was close.

“My parents,” his mate announced serenely. “Yes, we’re decent, Nana.”

“For now, you mean,” his law-mother smiled. “To relive both your minds, ‘mostly’ is because Gildor is coming also.”

Tindomiel’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she snickered.

His official excuse is moral support for Nana, she informed him. Actually, he’s just as nosy as everyone else. Nana doesn’t need support. Unless it’s support to keep from falling over laughing. She’s enjoying this way too much.

“Now, now,” Celebrían smiled. “Your dinner guests are waiting.”

He squared his shoulders. They’d done this once already, and this time he wouldn’t have to tell everyone terrible things.

You really don’t have to brace for family. We know Grandpa Turukano isn’t allowed, Tinwë pointed out gently.

He was glad he had when they entered their dining room. He’d been prepared for most of the others. He hadn’t been prepared to find –

“Grandfather?”

It came out as strangled surprise.

His grandmother might have shown him what his grandfather looked like, but somehow it was still a shock to see him in person and undeniably alive.

His mother was stood to one side of her father, his grandmother on the other. His mother was beaming.

“There, you see, Atto? Rillë, go stand next to him so Atto can see how you look more brother and sister than cousins!”

Rillë would have to wait, because his grandfather did not, crossing the room in two swift strides to embrace him. Nolofinwë was not as tall as his son the king of Ondolindë, but not what anyone would call short, and more solidly built.

“I am so pleased to meet you at last, my boy,” he murmured into Maeglin’s ear.

It took Maeglin a moment to compose himself enough to react.

Perhaps it was for the best they’d sprung it on him before he had time to lose himself to the only other memories he had of his grandfather. The hug was as warm as any of Ammë’s, if thankfully slightly less enthusiastic.

It was foolish to cry when his grandfather was back among the living, but just for a moment, Maeglin felt like a little boy again, waking after a bad dream to find Ammë or Ada there to assure him all was well.

What you went through wasn’t a bad dream, Tindomiel said flatly. More like a nightmare. But real.

“There, you see, Grandfather?” he heard Rillë saying. “He’s safe and well – and all the better for telling us all that horrible stuff last night.”

“I should hope so,” his grandfather said quietly, drawing back to look him over properly. “Such a brave lad, to hold out alone for so long.”

“I’m not alone anymore,” he said firmly.

Definitely not, Tindomiel snickered. Not only do you have me, you haven’t even finished meeting all the kin who happen to be here, nevermind the ones in Tirion, Neldoreth, Alqualondë…

He tried not to be distracted by that idea. He hadn’t even thought on the idea that he had so many more relatives now – and that was without factoring in all those that seemed to claim his mate.

That’s pretty much everyone, she informed him cheerfully. Which means you’re everyone’s now, too.

“Can I borrow him for a moment? I haven’t gotten to express my congratulations yet.”

Tuor! Tuor was there, too – and not looking at all bothered by everything Rillë must have told him, or that Maeglin had gone and married his granddaughter on a few days’ acquaintance.

Maeglin had always known that his mother’s family would find a way to come to terms with it. He’d heard the story when he was little of how his parents met and married, and later realized that the Noldor would have a very different view of the matter than his father’s people. But Ammë had always assured him it would be fine. So her parents and brothers could hardly chastise him when he’d actually been somewhat more restrained.

He had been far less certain what Tuor would think – particularly given that they’d learned during Eärendil’s first years that there were a good many differences between mannish customs and elven ones.

But Tuor held out a hand in the fashion of Men or Lindar, and the handshake was much like Tuor himself, hearty and cheerful.

“I’ve already been told Tindomiel is the impatient one. As if I couldn’t have guessed that.”

Maeglin’s smile now was one of relief – and amusement at his beloved’s huff of exasperation. He liked Rillë’s mate and didn’t wish to be at odds with him.

“Has anyone told Eärendil?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet. Or at least, not that I know of. What Queen Melian may or may not have told Elwing is anyone’s guess.”

Elwing is Ada’s mother. And Lúthien’s granddaughter. Grandmother Melian takes particular care of her. I don’t think she talks to Granddad that often, though.

Maeglin nodded.

“I should like to see him again. To explain…”

“He knows!”

That came from Rillë and Tuor both, Rillë with that look of slight disappointment that said he’d forgotten something she thought important.

“If he doesn’t already, he will soon enough,” Tindomiel shrugged. “Pretty sure we get to go on tour once everyone agrees we’re ok to travel.”

“Would that be a bragging tour or an apology tour, pumpkin?”

“Pop-pop…”

“Shades of both, I think,” Maeglin answered before Tindomiel could get too worked up. “It would doubtless have been welcome to all our kin had we done things properly.”

“Also something of a surprise in Tinu’s case,” someone muttered.

“Uncle Gildor!”

There was a slight air of everyone is ganging up on me from his mate, but also a sense that she was both used to and well able for it.

“Less of a surprise than if it had been your sister, but you doing things Aunt Anairë’s way is still more unusual than not,” Gildor said cheerfully.

“I am curious about grandmother’s way,” Maeglin said politely.

“Wonderful, I’ll tell you, and you can explain to your mate,” his grandmother replied immediately.

The round of laughter that got put Maeglin completely at his ease. This felt far more like family than his uncle’s house ever had.

---

Nolofinwë smiled.

He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect this evening. Not only had everyone else been doing their best not to show how concerned they were, it wasn’t as though he could fully trust either Irissë’s account of the boy or Turvo’s. One was unabashedly partial; the other had completely failed to notice some fairly basic facts about his nephew, which rendered his judgement in the matter questionable.

He’d been horrified to learn it was his grandson who had been left to handle what was left of his body when Morgoth was finished with it. He’d been told by others what state his remains had been in when the eagles had returned him to his son’s city. He had viewed it for himself in some of Vairë’s work and concluded most of it must have happened after he was dead, for it looked even more painful than he remembered the end.

He wouldn’t have inflicted such a sight on any of his family, least of all the grandchild he’d never even met. 

No one had ever brought it up to Turvo, but Nolofinwë had private intelligence that Elrond and Elros had buried his remains, which had been left by the Enemy where he had fallen. He wondered from time to time if that wasn’t part of Elrond’s unusual reticence with his son. (He did not overlook the simmering issue of Anariel and a certain ill-conceived book. The injuries of one’s youth were often felt strongly. He didn’t imagine compounding such a hurt with injuries to one’s child in any way helped…)

Everyone else had been worried how Lómion would react to meeting him. Nolofinwë was more concerned how Tindomiel would react if her mate was upset. The girl’s heart was generally in the right place, but restraint was no more in her vocabulary than it was in Irissë’s.

They seemed a well-matched pair – and he dared hope based on what he’d seen so far that Lómion might actually be successful in getting Tinwë to stop and think before doing something that would set Tirion atwitter. He certainly had a better chance than Anairë.

Tinwë was entirely relaxed, so Nolofinwë concluded Lómion was also at his ease. His youngest descendant had been more curious about Gildor’s presence. He hoped she chalked it up to Gildor cadging his way in to assuage Inglorion curiosity.

He and Anairë dining here tonight had left Ingo a clear field to try to get Turvo talking again – this time with slightly more finesse and tact than Irissë had used. Ara and Eärwen had taken themselves to the Golden Flower for the evening, ostensibly to dine with their nephew, but more likely to quiz his daughters about anything they might not have let slip yet about the newlyweds.

If he’d had any lingering doubts as to Turvo’s lack of truthfulness about Eöl, the happiness in his grandson’s voice when he spoke of his childhood would have settled it. It had taken only the gentlest of hints to get him talking. By the sound of it, Lómion’s early years had been as wholesome and loving as any child in Beleriand’s could be.

Nor had Nolofinwë missed the occasional mentions of Menegroth. Following up on a jest of Irissë’s, he learned that both Thingol’s daughter and wife had been present at his grandson’s birth. How under the stars had his son concluded he could safely mistreat, let alone execute, a sister-son of Thingol’s?

“Grandfather?”

Lómion looked hesitant for the first time.

“You’ve heard many stories about me, and you already knew plenty about Tinu, would you tell us one?”

Nolofinwë blinked. He then caught Anairë’s curiosity. She would not push to hear of Beleriand, but…

“Would you prefer one from here, or one from Mithrim?”

Lómion considered that for a moment.

“Mithrim, I think. I have some idea where that is. Or was. Tindomiel tells me Tirion is not like anything I’ve seen before, even Ondolindë.”

A pointed look from Elrond reminded him that his grandson was newly returned – and unlike him, to a land he’d never known. Lómion might not like Turvo, and understandably so, but Turvo’s city was at least somewhat familiar to the boy, and full of people who cared for him. Perhaps it was for the best he’d come here first.

Nolofinwë knew enough to make sure that his story was one of pleasant moments. Lómion had seen more than enough of the worst of Beleriand. There hadn’t been as many good memories as they might have liked in Mithrim, but there had been. And as Gildor was here…

His tale of Gildor and Finduilas’ only visit to him provoked a good many questions. He was pleased to hear that Lómion sounded rather curious and maybe even a little wistful. If Nolofinwë had only known, the boy would have gotten a chance to visit, too.

But Lómion wasn’t the only one with questions. Tinwë and Celebrían were equally curious – as, surprisingly, was Galadriel. Her questions, appropriately enough for one who stood in place of a mother to the boy, were the sort that brought Gildor to blush more than once, though he played it off fairly well.

But it also gave them an excellent chance to show Lómion he had family beyond those he’d known. The boy might have seen plenty of Menegroth and the dwarves’ kingdom, but he hadn’t gotten to travel to Mithrim, Nargothrond, the Falas, Dorthonion, or even Finrod’s northern outpost on Sirion. He might not be able to see those place, all now beneath the wave, but he would soon meet his kin who had lived there.

And, of course, get to be spoiled by his grandparents. Nolofinwë knew for a fact his darling wife had been waiting three Ages to make a fuss over her grandson. And if he was perfectly honest, so had he.

---

Anairë was, to borrow one of her newly-married granddaughter’s California phrases, over the moon.

Nolo had met Lómion at last. Lómion seemed equally thrilled to meet Nolo. Tinwë and Irissë were both on what was good behavior by their definitions, and Artanis was for once not egging either one on. Elrond and Eöl appeared to be getting along well. Celebrían might have felt she needed moral support, but she and Gildor appeared to be simply enjoying the company.

If only the dinner tomorrow night could be so peaceful…

“So,” Tindomiel said into a lull. “Tas and Cali said the Gates of Summer is tomorrow night. No one’s going to object if we go, right?”

Anairë wasn’t the only one mildly surprised that the girl was doing what sounded suspiciously like volunteering. She would have expected the exact opposite. And so far as she knew, no one had even suggested having the young pair attend.

Celebrían only had to raise an eyebrow.

“Ondolindë does the standing silence thing,” Tindomiel explained cheerfully. “Which means that aside from dinner with the lords at Grandpa and Grandmama’s, we can’t be inundated with questions or mobbed by half the city.”

Irissë looked delighted, Artanis proud.

Anairë probably should have deplored the reasoning, and she knew Nolo halfway expected her to.

But while Tinwë might be as irreverent as ever, her logic was sound. Turvo’s lords wouldn’t dare ask impertinent questions at the formal dinner at his house. And the standing silence – which nearly everyone outside of her son’s city thought anywhere from odd to ridiculous – would mean that while the Prince and Princess of the Mole would be seen by the whole city, no one would be able to ask or even say anything about it until sometime after dawn.

She had enough experience of Tindomiel’s plans by now that she didn’t doubt Tindomiel would have them scooting right back inside either Turvo’s house or their own once the official part was over and the more general festivities kicked off.

“It would also give the Moles an opportunity to bask in their achievement,” Lómion added. “They kept our presence quiet longer than anyone would have thought possible. Longer than we’d hoped.”

There was something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle from Rillë’s direction. (And a cough from Tuor.)

Anairë looked from granddaughter to granddaughter.

“She isn’t wrong, Grandmother,” Itarillë said, her eyes dancing. “I’m sure Ammë and Atto would be delighted if they feel up to attending the formal dinner.”

“How will they get there?” Eöl asked. “It’s all well and good to say no one can badger them during dinner or after. But I imagine word will spread quickly once they’re seen on the street together.”

“Oh, that part is easy,” Nolo snorted.

“Yes, I imagine Tinu intended to get from here to there her way,” Elrond sighed.

He had never been at ease with Tindomiel’s maia-like ability. Anairë really didn’t see why he fussed so. Tindomiel was a descendant of Melian. She came and went as she would. And Tinwë’s ability was a good deal less worrisome than her older sister’s knack for finding any trouble going and getting right in the middle of it.

“Of course,” Tinwë chirped.

Anairë considered it, aware as she did that everyone – Nolo included – was looking to her for the ultimate approval.

“I think if you feel yourselves equal to it, that would be a very good idea.”

“You will, of course, behave appropriately to the occasion,” Celebrían added firmly.

Anairë pinned her own daughter with a look that prevented any additions from her.

“What will they wear?” Rillë gasped. “The holiday is tomorrow, there’s no time to have anything made for them now!”

“What’s wrong with the outfits we wore to greet our parents?” Lómion asked. “They’re new and no one but Ada, Ammë, Elrond, and Celebrían has seen them.”

“You can’t wear grey to the Gates of Summer!”

Celebrían clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing at Rillë’s scandalized tone. The look on both Artanis and Gildor’s faces told Anairë there had been silent commentary from someone.

“Let’s skip the argument,” Tinwë suggested with a sigh. “Egalmoth sent over new outfits this morning. He said it was a wedding present from the Heavenly Arch.”

Now it was Lómion gearing up to protest – and Anairë did see what Irissë had meant about them being brother and sister.

“He’s made clothes for you often enough to know what colors you’ll wear voluntarily or at least suffer under only mild protest,” Tindomiel continued blithely. “I think the ones he sent fall into ‘voluntarily’. They’re a gray that’s almost silver, only a little brighter than what we picked, with green accents.”

“The ones you showed us earlier?” Elrond asked. “Those seemed a good compromise between Gondolin and Neldoreth.”

Lómion hesitated a moment, just long enough for Nolo to clarify that the boy was probably slightly thrown by hearing Thingol’s kingdom referred to as Neldoreth rather than Doriath, before nodding his agreement.

“Wonderful,” Irissë beamed. “It’s all settled, then. Don’t you worry about a thing, darlings – I’m sure between Elenwë, me, and Ammë, we can sort out all the boring details.”

Tinwë grinned. Lómion started to ask, then thought better of it and closed his mouth without saying a word.

Anairë didn’t doubt there would be more friction before all was said and done, but she would happily take it. It wasn’t quite her entire family together again, but it was close enough for now.  

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Turukano thanked Nienna for small mercies.

He’d fully expected to have to put a cheerful front for his parents, aunt and uncle, and Ingo’s entire family dining with him this evening. Elenwë would have gotten him through it somehow, but after the day he’d had, he really wasn’t in a mood for people. Particularly given he was going to have to host not only his entire family, but all the lords tomorrow night.

The morning could be kindly termed a disaster. His afternoon had been a little bit better. Elenwë had let him alone to contemplate the unpleasant prospect of having to make nice with his sister’s dratted husband for the holiday. He’d concluded he really had no choice – if he hadn’t given in to his wife’s request, his mother would have made it an order. She fully expected him to make peace with his sister so that they could both be in Tirion for his niece’s birth. (If one of them wasn’t, he was painfully aware it would be him.)

To his surprise, Elenwë had announced she and Amarië were having a girls’ evening, so he and Ingo would be on their own for dinner. His parents were dining with Tinwë and Lómion at the Mole. Ingo’s parents had gone to Laurefindil’s house. Ingo’s oldest had somehow cadged his way into dinner at the Mole, and his younger siblings had gone to the Hammer. (If Turukano had to guess, they were going to fish for information from Rog. How they thought they’d accomplish that without their host realizing something was afoot was beyond Turukano. And to think his family twitted him about his lack of subtlety!)

He was well aware there were a few strings attached to this unexpected luck.

He had little doubt Ingo was if not under orders at least under suggestion this evening. Happily, Ingo generally only took suggestions when he felt like doing them in the first place. Unfortunately, Ingo was also his closest friend and curious by nature, so if the suggestions had anything to do with Turukano’s nephew or his dratted law-brother, Ingo would be more than amenable.

He was also sure Ingo wasn’t going to let him get away without talking about whatever Ingo intended to talk about. There was a single bottle of wine on the side table.

He wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a threat. Maybe it was both.

He didn’t know if Elenwë had told their cook what to send up, or if the woman had just known what he would want as she so often seemed to. It was simple but delicious – her excellent roast beef sliced just so, the honeyed carrots that were his particular favorite, and scalloped potatoes.

When Ingo swung into the room, it was clear he’d assumed the evening would be casual. He could have wandered out onto the archery ranges without needing to change. 

“When Amarië told me it would be just the two of us, I begged the wine off of Atto,” Ingo told him cheerfully. “Figured he’d have a few bottles from his and Aiko’s little project with him.”

Ingo gestured at the bottle – which did indeed sport a label proclaiming it from the royal vineyards, and had Aiko’s crest on it.

“You’re telling me your father travels with his own wine?”

Turukano couldn’t help but shake his head.

“Are you telling me yours doesn’t? Besides, I thought it would be a viable peace offering.”

“Why do you need a peace offering?” Turukano asked in bemusement.  “Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing?”

“I do believe that’s progress,” Ingo grinned. “If you feel the need, by all means.”

Turukano rolled his eyes, but took the offered opening anyway.

“I’m sorry, Ingo. I’ve been an ass. Then and now. About a good many things.”

Care to be more specific?

“You want me to make a list?”

Ingo grinned, the sort that had often driven their older brothers and cousins nuts.

They both knew Ingo could pick all of it right out of his head. Lómion wasn’t all of it, not by a long shot. Ingo would also know that Turukano wasn’t quite ready to admit out loud that Irissë might not have married a troll, even if he had grudgingly accepted that he’d been in the wrong. He might have admitted to it back when Moryo and Aiko had returned, but admitting and accepting were two different things. And Irissë had made it impossible to avoid dealing with any longer.

“No, not really. It sounds like you’ve had enough thinking time to get there. Glad you’ve finally seen it,” Ingo said thoughtfully. “Just as well I thought to find something good. It’s becoming something of a tradition to use someone else’s wine as a peace offering. Artë made up with Tyelko by sending him a bottle she nicked from Curvo – one of the ones we stashed at Ivrin, incidentally.”

Turukano for the first time in his new life did not feel any need to snap at the mention of their absent third. Well, maybe a little. It was still a reflex, but not as strong as before. And he hadn’t actually snapped. Even if that was because he’d distracted himself by dishing out their dinner… What was it his irrepressible granddaughter liked to say? Baby steps?

“If she makes peace with Tyelko using Curvo’s wine, and I make peace with you with Aiko’s wine, whose wine do I nick to send to Curvo? Assuming he’s around to accept it anytime soon?”

Ingo considered as he opened the bottle.

“Good question. Maybe if you ask your baby brother nicely he’ll pick something from the royal cellars for you? Assuming you were actually serious, that is.”

Turvo accepted the glass Ingo handed him without complaint, passing him a plate in return.

“My baby brother doesn’t want much to do with me,” he pointed out sadly. “I doubt that’s changed in the last week or so. And it’s not likely to anytime soon, either.”

“If – and it is an if – you can get back on Tinwë’s good side, you should try asking her. It wouldn’t surprise me if she knows exactly what you ought to do there.”

“Naturally she knows,” Turukano sighed, picking up his fork. “Whether she’ll tell me is the question. And I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“As long as we’re on apologies, would you forgive me if I stole your cook?” Ingo asked after a few bites. “This is very good.”

“Probably not.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not like I’d be depriving you, your little brother’s a cook.”

“He hasn’t completed his mastery yet and doesn’t want to be here anyway.”

“You know, as long as you’re getting into apologies, you could try one with him.”

“I would if I had any idea what I’d be apologizing for at this point! I’ve tried several times before. He’s got Finno’s maddening way of smiling pleasantly and not letting you get any idea what he really thinks. Besides, you know as well as I do Irissë’s already decided he’s her little brother. And I’m not fool enough to make her mad again right away.”

“Fair point. She’s not going to listen to apologies if I upset whatever plans she has for him. And she’d get Artë involved.”

“So I get to keep my cook?”

“If you must. Did you mean it about apologizing to Curvo?”

Turukano wasn’t sure if it was the food, the wine, or the lack of a horde of relatives badgering him, but he was starting to relax for the first time in a while. Certainly the first time since he’d invited Ingo. It wasn’t quite ‘old times’, but it was starting to feel like they really were friends again.

He wasn’t sure how Ingo could forgive him so readily – aside, of course, from ‘being Ingo’ – but he was grateful. Grateful enough to be willing to try doing something similar himself.

“Yes,” he said, surprising himself almost as much as Ingo. “I did.”

He didn’t mention that in addition to everyone being so pointed about him being in the same kind of trouble as Curvo (even if he’d been responsible for the death of at least one fifth of Menegroth, not just that jackass Eöl), he also had some questions for Curvo. The sort of questions he knew now he wouldn’t get very far with asking Ingo and wasn’t about to risk any body parts asking Artanis.

“In that case, you’d better patch things up with your baby brother first. Moryo got a little heated about that, but you know perfectly well Curvo would be worse if things aren’t better by the time he’s back. I’m not sure what we’ll do about the wine. Between me, Curvo, Artë, and Tyelko, we wiped out all the bottles from Ivrin.”

“You know, we could celebrate being all together in the same place and alive again without wine.”

“Or we could have a glass together, even if it’s not the wine we originally planned. You can have the occasional sociable drink without overdoing. You’ve manage perfectly well all this week.”

“It helps to have my friends around to remind me when it’s time to stop,” Turvo admitted.

“I think that’s at the heart of it. We all end up more alone than we should have,” Ingo said, unexpectedly serious.

“You mean you, me, and Curvo?”

“Us three in particular. We’re not good loners, and I don’t know that we’d improve with practice. Curvo and I handled things better as a team. But not just us. I think nearly everyone was too much on their own in the end – everyone who went to Beleriand. Tyelko was already showing the strain by the time I left Nargothrond. Ango was half mad between missing Lótë and worrying about Resto and his children. Aiko…”

Words appeared to fail Ingo.

“I’ve heard,” Turukano said gently. “I’ve also heard you were alone at the end.”

Ingo didn’t quite shudder.

“I think it was worse for you,” he replied quietly. “Whatever you may have heard about Tyelko and Curvo, which seems to have gotten out of hand, that was deliberate. I didn’t want to lead everyone in my kingdom to destruction with me. So we made sure I wouldn’t. It may not have worked out as we’d hoped, but I didn’t know that until I was here. As far as I knew, I’d left everyone safe and in good hands. You had to watch your city die. I think that would have been harder by far than fighting wolves and getting a chance to tell Sauron what I thought of him.”

Turukano swallowed hard.

He never talked about the fall of his city with anyone. He’d done his best to avoid it even in the Halls. He’d waited Namo and his helpers out until they’d let him be. He’d thought that would be the end of it, but things had gotten worse once he left the Halls. He hadn’t felt at home in Tirion, but Ondolindë was in some ways worse. How could his people stand to recreate their city, let alone insist he return to it, given how it had all ended? Yet how could he be elsewhere when Rillë and his lords had worked so hard to build it again?

“I…”

To his embarrassment, he realized he was crying.

You did your best.

He looked up, startled at the osanwë. He would never have met Ingo’s eyes otherwise.

You wouldn’t have listened if I said it out loud.

He laughed even as he cried.

“No,” he agreed thickly. “I wouldn’t have. Because my best wasn’t enough. Not even close.”

“Neither was mine,” Ingo sighed. “It’s occurred to me that while we did well to follow Ulmo’s advice to found our cities, we should have paid better attention to how we’d get our people away again when it was time to go. We knew it couldn’t last forever.”

“Would it have helped?” Turukano asked. “I don’t know what he told you, but to me he promised a warning. He sent me a sign. Tuor told me it was time to go. And in my heart of hearts, I knew him to be Ulmo’s messenger. But I had lost hope after the battle and thought we were safer hidden away than going back out into all that.”

He didn’t mention that Ingo’s death had also been part of him losing hope. That noble death might have been an inspiration to Thingol’s people and to the Men Ingo had been so fond of, but to his cousin and best friend it had been nearly as great a catastrophe as the battle a few years later.

“I didn’t get any sign. Unless Curvo was supposed to be my sign.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Curvo would have told you flat out if he was a sign. And been incredibly cranky about it.”

Turukano rather enjoyed the thought of the dramatics that would have ensued had Ulmo tapped Curvo to carry a message for him.

“Maybe we were meant to reunite,” he suggested before Ingo could start laughing. “Follow the river down to the same spot. Or even to the sea. Rillë ended up there, after all. Imagine if we’d brought both our kingdoms there.”

For one thing, Curvo’s brothers would never have dared assail little Elwing for the blasted jewel if they had been at such a disadvantage in numbers. Maybe they wouldn’t even have gone to Menegroth. Curvo might have found a different solution under different circumstances.

And with that thought, forgiveness became a lot easier.

“If that was the plan, we sure screwed that up,” Ingo sighed.

“Yeah…”

Turukano paused.

“He will be released, won’t he?”

The more he talked about him without ranting, the more he was actually starting to miss his other cousin.

“If Moryo came back, I have to think they all will. Namo seems to be taking his time about it, but I’m sure he’ll get there eventually.”

“Maybe he’s trying. Who’s to say Aiko and I are the only stubborn ones?”

Turukano wasn’t about to admit that he might be happy to see the rest of their cousins, too. He’d even deal with the inevitable fight with Maedhros. Maitimo. Whatever he was calling himself now. His older brother’s dratted mate.

Heard you anyway. You should probably not repeat the part about hoping Aryo and Anairon will have better taste to anyone else.

He wouldn’t. Strictly speaking, he hadn’t even said it to Ingo. But that didn’t make it any less true.

“Get out of my head, Ingo. And pass that bowl with the blue tea towel over it. If I’m right, that should be dessert.”

“Dessert? I thought you don’t get dessert when you’ve misbehaved. Or did no one tell the cook?”

“How long am I going to hear variations on that theme?”

“I don’t know. Probably until Curvo’s back.”

“At which point he can take it up and give you a break?”

“Ah, you do remember how it goes when you’ve been an ass.”

“I’m already starting to question why I missed either of you.”

“I’m hurt! And you have to admit, you’ve been a pretty big ass this time. Excuse me, you did just admit to it.”

Turukano sighed.

“You’re going to milk this all evening aren’t you?

“And tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…”

“You know, I don’t usually, but I suddenly find myself forward to the standing silence.”

If you think that’s going to stop anyone, you really do need to come to more family get-togethers.

He hadn’t admitted to anyone but Elenwë that he found the holiday a trial, tied up as it was with memories of how things had ended in Beleriand. He wasn’t even sure why it was still such a favorite holiday among his people. But this year it might be a little easier to play the part expected of him.

Ingo gave him a reproachful look.

“You didn’t listen at all to Tinwë’s therapy, did you?”

“I listened.”

“You didn’t actually understand, then.”

“It was all about Irissë and Eöl. We didn’t talk about the rest of it.”

Ingo raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose you were the first one they’d worked with. And as ever, no one thought to try starting with something easy first.”

“Since when do you know so much about therapy?”

“Since I tried it.”

Turukano raised an eyebrow. He could see no reason Ingo had needed it.

“I was curious. And it wasn’t as though anyone was pushing me into it as they did you. It was interesting. And it turned out to be quite useful – it helped me rebuild with Aiko. I think it would have gone much worse between us otherwise.”

Ingo paused.

“Maybe you should try again? And this time talk about more than just Irissë and Eöl?”

“Why would I talk about them if I try it again?”

Turukano didn’t even wait for Ingo’s retort.

“I have to put up with him at dinner tomorrow, do I have to talk about it too?”

Ingo almost fell off his chair laughing.

“You sound as petulant as Irissë and Artanis being made to wear a circlet as kids,” he informed Turukano when he could speak.

“As petulant as any of us, don’t you mean?” Turukano snorted. “Ammë insists none of us were fond of the things as children. Rillë wasn’t either, though thankfully she just settled for reproachful looks designed to cause paternal guilt.”

“Really? I suppose I got lucky. Gildor never protested. Though I suppose Curvo did help me a bit there.”

“Oh?”

Ingo laughed and told some story of Curvo trying out different color stones until he found the color the baby liked best and then setting that in a circlet for him. It was charming, plausible, and to Turukano’s ears, exactly the kind of thing Curvo would come up with to cover up something else.

Turukano made absolutely certain to keep his reaction locked away where Ingo wouldn’t notice. But now he was certain Curvo was the one to ask. And actually genuinely irritated that Curvo wasn’t back yet. That part was safe enough to let Ingo ‘hear’.

“See what you missed, not letting anyone visit?” Ingo chuckled.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again.”

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Anairë knew perfectly well that if she asked her beloved husband, he would say they were guests in their son’s city. That meant it was not down to her to wrangle three sons and one daughter into behaving for a holiday, much less ensuring they were all dressed appropriately. In the case of the eldest of their sons currently present, Nolo would likely also have a few tart words about adulthood.

But she was too used to fussing over Aryo and Anairon - and often Tindomiel into the bargain. She had snapped right back into the habit of assuming Irissë would not be suitably prepared for any public occasion if left to her own devices. (In fairness, it had generally been a valid assumption in the days of the Trees. She had no idea how things had gone in Beleriand.)

She was less sure how to handle her new law-son. She did hope someone had thought to help him find something suitable to wear. It wasn’t as though the newly returned were sent out from Lórien with festival clothes…

“Darling, come back to bed.”

Nolo wasn’t quite pouting at her being with the day so early – not that it was all that early by her usual standards. It was nearly mid-morning. But it was plain he had other things on his mind than who would wear what and how they would behave.

“I can’t.”

“My love, you can be sure Tindomiel and Lómion will be on time in suitable outfits. We settled that last night when Rillë persuaded everyone that the pair of them could attend dinner and the vigil tonight. I also know all of our children are of age and can dress themselves.”

“Nolofinwë Arakano, you know perfectly well-”

“That Irissë and Turvo are in fact capably of conducting themselves acceptably without you constantly intervening. They are both adults. They managed for several long-years without either of us and survived the experience.”

Anairë did not point out that had not ended well. Or question his definition of ‘survived the experience’. From where she sat, she didn’t think that was strictly true in her daughter’s case.

“She’s not ever going to be Tirion’s most proper princess, but she’s hardly in a class of her own anymore when it comes to new and creative scandals. Not with Tindomiel around.”

Nolo did not say out loud that by all reports little Anariel threatened to outdo them both, but he did think it.

“You terrible man, you enjoy watching them cause trouble!”

A little bit. I’ve come to consider the Sindarin notion that we’re occasionally a bit too full of ourselves may be fair!

Anairë sniffed. She didn’t think the Sindar had any room to talk given how Thingol had behaved, on both sides of the Sea. She hadn’t forgotten that he’d called her a kinslayer.

“It’s mostly harmless, my love. Besides, we’re not in Tirion. Any trouble they cause here isn’t your problem. Or Eärwen’s – not that I’ve noticed her fretting much.”

“They’re not her children.”

“No, hers are gleefully egging it all on.”

“Tsk, tsk, love. Ingo’s been a calming influence on Turvo. And if I had to guess, on Artë as well.”

“Artanis is definitely egging on,” Anairë sniffed. “And Eärwen is letting it run in the hopes of dislodging more about Gildor’s youth.”

“Which she might get if Turvo gets irritated enough,” Nolo pointed out with a grin. “Though you should probably tell her about what was shared last night. I don’t think I’d told her that story before – didn’t want to upset her about Finduilas. The two of them were a set.”

“I don’t see how Turvo getting irritated will help her. I don’t think Turvo knows a blessed thing. Wasn’t he already in his city by the time Gildor came along?”

Nolo’s grin only widened as he pulled her back into bed.

“Hold that thought?”

Anairë knew that thought was not what her husband was really interested in holding.

He did have a point that this wasn’t Tirion. She could probably leave it to Elenwë to manage things. Rillë would tell her…

Nolo’s kiss chased any other thoughts of their children or grandchildren right out of her head.

---

“Tinwë and Lómion? Coming here? Tonight?”

Elenwë was astonished at her daughter’s news. Hadn’t they just established a day ago that the pair were not yet equal to public events?

“Yes, Ammë. Don’t fret, no one pressured them into it – Tinwë offered of her own volition! But they won’t be here until just before dinner. As sweet as it was for them to offer, everyone agreed that they’re not up to dealing with the whole city just yet. She’ll use that trick of hers to get here. But she was confident they could manage the dinner with the lords and the standing silence.”

Elenwë fought a snicker. Tinwë’s logic there was crystal clear – with so many royals in attendance, including Turvo’s parents and the High King and Queen, even the boldest of the lords wouldn’t be able to press them. And the standing silence meant no one else could say anything until after the songs marking daybreak. She didn’t doubt Tinwë and Lómion would make their escape right about the time conversation became permissible again.

“You haven’t told your father yet, have you, darling?”

Rillë blinked.

“You don’t want him to know, Ammë?”

“I think we’d better keep it a surprise. He’s already worked up enough about tonight as it is.”

“But why? It’s…”

Rillë trailed off as she realized why he would be.

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes, exactly. Oh, dear. So let’s not complicate things too soon. When Tinwë and Lómion arrive, there will be more than enough family there to cushion Lómion. If Tinwë suggested their attendance, I’m sure she’s up to holding her own , and she's rather good at it. That means you and I can manage Turvo.”

“What about Auntie?” Rillë asked cautiously.

“I think she’s gotten all the dramatics about how things ended in Beleriand out of her system. And I’m told she did generally rise to the occasion over there?”

Rillë thought for a moment.

“She was always at her best at holidays. At least, she was until nearly the point where she insisted Atto had to let her out. The last few holidays she was rather subdued by her standards. Not quite a sulk…”

“Well, then. I think we don’t need to worry about Irissë – at least, so long as Turvo doesn’t go antagonizing Eöl again. But we’ll do what we can to keep them apart. That shouldn’t be too difficult with Ingo and Elrond there.”

“Elrond I understand, Ammë, Uncle Eöl has taken rather a shine to him. But Uncle Ingo?”

Elenwë was rather proud of her daughter, to be able to call Lómion’s father Uncle so quickly after several Ages thinking him what Turvo had claimed him to be.

“Ingo knew him in Beleriand, and what’s more, he’s a calming influence on your father. I’m far more concerned about the other lords’ reaction to Lómion, and to Lómion and Tinwë. Laurë and Ecthelion know already, of course.”

“Egalmoth knows, too,” Rillë said.

“Egalmoth?” Elenwë sighed. “The Heavenly Arch are the biggest gossips in the city!”

“I don’t think it’s known to the whole house,” Rillë assure her. “Only Egalmoth and a few of his senior masters. They made the clothes for them, after all. And I’m sure Egalmoth saw the wisdom in holding his tongue!”

“If he has, it’s the first time,” Elenwë sniffed. “Though I suppose he would realize that too much talk too soon would end in a pair rather unhappy with him and disinclined to call on his services any more than absolutely necessary.”

“It would kill him not to get to dress them,” Rillë laughed. “Though as far as I’m aware, his knowledge is only secondhand. He hasn’t actually seen them yet. I think he’s the only other lord who knows.”

There was a knock on the door.

“My queen, my princess – Lord Rog is asking for a few moments of your time. He begs me to say he would not bother you today of all days if he did not think it important.”

Elenwë nodded, knowing perfectly well Rog would not be put off, and looked at her daughter once the door had closed behind their steward.

“I spoke too soon,” Rillë sighed.

“You don’t know that,” Elenwë protested – but rather half-heartedly. Rillë was more than likely correct.

Rog strolled into the room and made a show of looking around.

“We didn’t expect you so early, my lord Hammer,” Elenwë said. “Dinner guests were invited for dusk. What can we do for you?”

“You can tell me where the boy is,” Rog replied, seating himself jovially on the edge of Elenwë’s desk.

“Boy?” Elenwë asked.

“Nephew of yours, dark hair, about yea high, usually found in company with that one,” he gestured in Rillë’s direction, “when he’s not immured in his workshop.”

“How do you know he’s not immured in his workshop?” Rillë asked with a smile.

“Checked there first. I do know the lad. Which is why I’m eager to welcome him and see how he does.”

“What makes you think he’s back?”

“All the questions Prince Finrod’s brood were asking. Also, the youngest one saying outright they were trying to figure out an appropriate present was what I might call a clue.”

Rillë sighed. She hadn’t asked where the younger Inglorions were dining last night – a mistake, clearly. The Golden Flower would have been the natural place. No one would thought anything of it. But apparently they’d had ideas of their own.

“If you don’t want everyone in the city to find out, you should probably keep those three from wandering around unsupervised,” Rog suggested. “Especially the girl. Charming, earnest, and almost as subtle as our noble king.”

Elenwë couldn’t hold back the laugh.

“Almost as subtle as her father, I’d have said,” she replied.

“After seeing the pair of them, I’d say it’s about the same,” Rillë giggled.

“I’ve not had the pleasure,” Rog snorted.

“You will this evening,” Elenwë said. “They’ll both be at dinner.”

“And Maeglin?”

Rillë and Elenwë exchanged a glance.

“We expect him,” Elenwë said. “But that should not be shared with anyone let there be too much excitement.”

Rog raised an eyebrow.

“The lad’s never been a coward. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong!” Rillë exclaimed. “It’s just…”

Rog waited patiently for her to actually finish the sentence. When the silence drew out too long, he looked slightly wounded.

“Have I not taken good enough care of your precious cousin? I would have said I was the closest he had to a mentor in the city. I acknowledge I failed him in the end, but no more than anyone else did. Can I not be trusted with whatever scrape he’s gotten himself into now?”

Elenwë raised an eyebrow at her daughter. They couldn’t very well let Rog think he was being kept away for lack of trust – or that anyone believed he had failed the poor boy. If Rillë hadn’t realized Sauron had him in his power, she didn’t see how anyone else could have spotted it.

“It’s hardly a scrape,” Elenwë sighed. “He married.”

Rog’s jaw dropped. He was silent for a few moments – then started to laugh.

“The boy’s as hasty as his mother!”

“Yes, well, I think you’ll be less surprised once you meet his bride,” Rillë laughed. “And no, I will not tell you who – you can be surprised with everyone else at dinner!”

“Hm. I have my guesses, but I suppose after two Ages, a few more hours’ patience isn’t too much to ask.”

“Whatever your guesses, I suspect they won’t be correct,” Elenwë told him with a smile. “Besides, you should take care, Lord Hammer – with Lómion married, I do believe that leaves only you and Duilin unmatched.”

“Really?” Rog pretended surprise. “Did Golden Flower and Harp manage to marry without me noticing? Astonishing, I’d have thought the two little girls would have made sufficient noise for the whole city.”

“They may not have announced anything yet, but you know perfectly well they’re a pair,” Rillë said reproachfully. “And they had better consider hurrying things along – my young cousins of the Golden Flower have reinforcements now.”

“Wonderful. I’ll enjoy the show,” Rog chuckled. “Speaking of which, you may be sure I’ll be at dinner. Possibly even a bit early in the hopes of getting a quiet word with the lad and his bride. If nothing else, I want to congratulate him on timing it so he doesn’t have to listen to the wailing from the disappointed ladies of the city.”

He should be careful what you he wishes for… Rillë giggled to her mother.

“Not too early, please, my good lord Hammer,” Elenwë sighed.

He bowed.

“Never fear, ladies. I won’t make any trouble. And I’ll be off, I’m sure you’ve plenty of last minute arrangements given what you just told me!”

---

Tindomiel put the finishing touches on Maeglin’s hair and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

She hadn’t tried any of the more intricate Noldorin styles, but this was something she knew had been worn in Hithlum, which meant it was not so fancy he’d object and also fancy enough that the more persnickety among the Ondolindrim couldn’t say boo. (And if they did, they could answer to a former High King of the Noldor.)

It looked pretty good on him, in her opinion. She’d gotten Aunt Irissë to tell her about a style she could do for herself to match.

“Last chance to back out,” she informed him, grinning to take out any sting.

“It would be foolish not to go. We should attend the festivities. At least, the dinner and the standing silence and dawn song.”

“I figured we’d duck out once the mandatory songs are over.”

Maeglin smiled and kissed her hand.

“You are as wise as you are beautiful.”

Tindomiel managed not to laugh at ‘wise’, but it was a close run thing.

“We make a good pair, then.” She paused. “If you feel overwhelmed or it gets to be too much, you tell me and we’ll blow that popsicle stand.”

As she’d hoped, the California idiom required enough explanation to keep Maeglin’s mind busy with something other than the upcoming family funfest until it was time for them to depart.

There was a very pointed knock before Elemmakil poked his head in.

“My prince, my princess, I believe you are expected at the house of the King.”

Tindomiel bit back laughter. He plainly hadn’t expected to find them fully dressed and ready to go, much less aware of the time.

“Thank you, Elemmakil,” she grinned. “I’d thank you even more if you didn’t sound so surprised about it. Or if you wanted to tell me just what it was Ada did…”

Elemmakil sighed at the latest round of puppydog eyes.

“Flattery is still not getting you any bad ideas or negative influence, princess. And if you don’t get going, you will be explaining to your grandmothers why you are late.”

Tindomiel huffed, but took Maeglin’s hand and took them to the room reserved for her in the House of the King.

“I’m surprised you didn’t argue harder,” Maeglin said in amusement.

He’d been observing his mate’s surprisingly restrained efforts to get Elemmakil to tell stories about her father since the day their parents arrived, and had not expected her to be so patient.

“That wouldn’t work at all,” Tindomiel told him. “I want to lull him into a false sense of security. Then when Anariel arrives, he can deal with her. Not only is she a lot more persistent, she’s not the head of his house, so she won’t have to hold back.”

Maeglin was torn between laughter and feeling sorry for the captain of his guard.

Tindomiel checked her appearance in the mirror, and straightened his circlet.

Grandmama, we’re here.

Elenwë must have been waiting just outside the door to be inside the room so quickly.

“Darlings!”

They were both hugged and kissed, somewhat to Maeglin’s surprise.

What did you expect? Tindomiel snickered. You were nephew, now you’re nephew and grandson. She’s not going to be done fussing over you anytime in the next long-year.

Maeglin blinked.

Only surprise is Gran not ribbing you about being her grandson now. Unless that hasn’t occurred to her yet…

Maeglin somehow managed to keep a straight face, but she could feel she’d thrown him for a loop with that one. Oh, well, at least she’d given him a head start on comebacks.

“Now, darlings, the plan is for you to already be seated at your places when the rest of us come in – no meet and greet or drinks in the reception room before dinner for you. The whole idea is to keep things as relaxed as possible for you.”

Tindomiel grinned.

“You mean we’re a surprise to everyone else?”

“You are going to turn a few heads,” Elenwë agreed cheerfully.

“How many is a few?” Maeglin asked warily.

“Most of the lords,” Elenwë said. “With a few exceptions. Laurefindil and Ecthelion.”

“And Egalmoth,” Tindomiel sighed. “Though he at least should be pleased – we’re wearing his present.”

“Rog also knows Lómion has returned,” Elenwë told them.

“Only that Maeglin returned?” Tindomiel snickered.

“We didn’t feel it would be fair to spoil your best prank yet, darling.”

Maeglin laughed, as much at the way Elenwë was teasing Tindomiel as at the thought of what Rog would have to say when he discovered what Elenwë and Itarillë had left out.

“I’ll send Anairon to get you when it’s time.”

“Not Cali?”

“We’re going to have Laurë’s girls distract your grandfather.”

Tindomiel grinned.

“You know, I think dinner might just be fun.”

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Turukano squared his shoulders and prepared to go downstairs to be a good host.

“Remember, my love, it’s one dinner. Most of our guests will be off to Tirion after the holiday.”

“You’ve mentioned a time or three,” he sighed, knowing perfectly well what – or rather who – was on her mind.

He had already said he’d do this. It would help if she didn’t seem nervous about it now. And after dinner and the start of the city-wide festivities tomorrow, he and Eöl could peacefully settle into cordially detesting each other from a safe distance as much as possible.

“Don’t worry yourself, Elenwë. Please? There will be enough people here that I will barely have to interact with him. I would do far worse things to make you happy.”

That got him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Ingo talked at you, didn’t he? Remind me to thank him later.”

“He barely mentioned the man. We spent more time talking about Beleriand and Curvo.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

His beloved gave him one of those looks that said they would discuss it later. What a shame they had to go play host... Elenwë looked even more beautiful than usual in her new festival dress. He would have happily had dinner with just her, out on the balcony overlooking their private garden. He rather envied those who had the option of a quiet evening with their mate before the vigil.

“We’d better go greet our guests,” Elenwë sighed. “Please, let’s make this a pleasant dinner, my love? It’s not much to ask.”

“With a good number of my family and all the lords here?” Turukano asked in astonishment. “I know you’re an optimist, my heart, but-”

“But the holiday is only once a year. I’ve been told many times I never saw it as it should be. This year could finally be ‘as it should be’.”

Turukano didn’t argue further. At least one of them was looking forward to this.

“Of course, my love.”

---

Tindomiel nearly jumped a mile when the door to the room opened without so much as a knock.

Maeglin would have chuckled at the reaction – which suggested his mate was rather less calm about the proceedings than she appeared – had it not been for who the unexpected visitor was.

“Eärendil?” he choked.

It had to be. Tindomiel had showed him what her sister looked like, and between that and his memories of his nephew as a child, there could be no doubt who the tall blonde in the doorway was.

He looked rather like Tuor, but beardless, with a bit of Rillë blended in here and there.

“Gramma! Granddad!”

Tindomiel brightened at once.

“No one told us you were coming!”

“That, pumpkin, is because we didn’t tell anyone that we were,” Eärendil chuckled, before turning to him.

“Uncle?” he asked quietly.

There was so much in that single word. But Maeglin was staggered that it had been said at all. The last time he’d seen Eärendil was on the walls of Gondolin, just before…

The hug was as enthusiastic as any Eärendil had given him as a child, but this time he was nearly as tall as Lómion himself and just as broad in the shoulders. It took Lómion a moment of shock before he could return the embrace, so taken aback was he that Eärendil was happy to see him.

He’d taken Rillë’s thoughts on that point as her being less than impartial.

“You’ve grown,” he said in bemusement – and both felt and heard Tindomiel’s mirth.

It would be far more awkward if he hadn’t! He had kids and grandkids – how weird would it be if he’d stayed five year old size?

That was true, and yet it was still hard to credit there being three Ages between the last time he’d seen his nephew and today.

“Tinu,” said a reproachful voice he didn’t recognize.

He turned his head to find a tiny but elegant woman who was so like Elrond she had to be his mother.

“I’m behaving, honest!”

“When you have to say it,” Elwing sighed. “We wish you both joy.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling as Tindomiel said the same thing at the same time.

Elwing turned to look at Maeglin, and he was unsure what to say to her. What did she know of him?

“You’re newly returned, newly married, and Grandmother seemed to think you might appreciate Lindarin reinforcements,” she said wryly. “Aside from that, not much, I’m afraid. I didn’t really get much time to learn family stories from my mother, or even from Uncle Celeborn and Aunt Galadriel.”

‘Grandmother’ means Grandmother Melian, Tindomiel helpfully informed him. Who probably also connived to get them here unnoticed. I can’t think how else they would have done it. The streets are getting crowded by now.

He smiled. He suspected Eärendil would have managed. He’d been quite good at slipping around unnoticed when he felt the need. But Maeglin did appreciate the help from Aunt Melian, and the ‘Lindarin reinforcements’, even if it was really only one Linda. Eärendil was a Noldo, not to mention his nephew.

Also, my grandfather!

“Pumpkin, if you’re going to keep up with asides like that all evening, poor Uncle is likely to either snort wine up his nose or choke on his food,” Eärendil said, sounding like he would probably be amused by either option.

“I understand why…cousin Elwing would come,” Maeglin said, after a moment of trying to figure out the best way to refer to her. “But Eärendil, why? I was told you visit the city but rarely.”

“I thought as you’re back, we might make ourselves a better memory of the Gates of Summer,” Eärendil replied hesitantly. “I don’t think you were particularly happy that last one, and I know I was not.”

“This one’s going to be much better,” Tindomiel said firmly.

“Perhaps we might stand together for the silence?” Eärendil suggested.

“Of course!”

“Oh boy.”

They both turned to Tindomiel in bemusement, as her tone suggested trouble.

“Oh, you two should totally stand together,” she said. “I’m in favor. It’s just that I am definitely standing with my mate, and I’m pretty sure Gran expects to stand with him too…and you know darn well Grandmama will probably want to, too.”

Eärendil dissolved into laughter.

“She does have a fair point. You only have two sides, and one is spoken for.”

“I should like it very much if you took the other,” Maeglin said firmly. “Rillë will have other chances. As will my aunt.”

He rather liked Eärendil’s thought that they should have a newer, nicer version of the holiday. Nothing could wipe out that disastrous one, but they could do better. They both needed that. And if he was honest, now that Eärendil was here, he wanted Eärendil where he could keep an eye on him. Just in case.

“That’s settled then,” Tindomiel said blithely. “Except for the grandmotherly outrage, but they’ll just have to deal. And both of you relax. We know there’s no balrogs, dragons, or orcs here in Aman. There have been a lot of perfectly peaceful Gates of Summers since whenever they started doing it again in the Second Age.”

And by perfectly peaceful, I mean perfectly boring, she clarified for Maeglin only. Honestly, it’s way more fun in Tirion. The standing silence is such a buzzkill.

“Buzzkill?” Maeglin repeated in confusion.

Tindomiel did the mini-sigh he was learning to associate with her forgetting something was California before saying it, but before she could explain there was a knock on the door.

This time it was Anairon, whose jaw dropped when he saw who else was in the room with them.

“You’re really pushing it,” he informed Tindomiel. “Elenwë’s not going to be happy when she realizes she needs to rearrange the seating. And with two more for the family table, she’s going to need to…”

Tindomiel rolled her eyes.

“First off, it wasn’t me. This feels like Grandmother Melian’s idea, which Granddad apparently thought was a good one.”

Maeglin noted Eärendil’s smirk and concluded his nephew actually enjoyed watching his granddaughter’s chaos. It seemed his childhood propensity for mischief hadn’t entirely vanished.

“Secondly, there’s room. We’re not even close to maxing out the great hall with just family and the lords! I bet we can sort it out pretty quick. We’re supposed to go down now anyway, right? So we go down, snag the steward or one of his staff and ask them to add two places.”

“Where?” Anairon challenged.

“Who are we sat next to right now?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been in the great hall yet.”

“No time like the present,” Tindomiel declared cheerfully.

Anairon started toward the door, but Tindomiel snagged him before he went more than a step.

“Nope, we’re going my way. Just to make sure we don’t spoil the surprise for everyone else.”

Maeglin couldn’t help the chuckle at Anairon’s look of exasperated resignation.

---

Eärendil smiled as they emerged in the great hall of his grandfather’s house.

The assistants to his grandfather’s steward putting the finishing touches on the tables before everyone came in to be seated did nothing more than look mildly exasperated before one of them peeled off to inform their supervisor of the change in plans.

Anairon sighed and went to speak to the man who had been placing flower arrangements on the head table.

Eärendil didn’t come to Ondolindë often, but the few times he had the city largely treated him as the little prince he’d been Before. The staff in the house of the King took their cue from his grandfather, who still viewed him as a favored grandchild to be indulged. (He probably should have asked Tinu how her visits ran.)

Oh, I’m pretty sure the only one here right now who doesn’t have experience sneaking around and being spoiled here is Gramma. Even Anairon comes in for his share. He’s just not naturally stealthy.

He didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing. He was feeling better about this by the minute.

It had been a sudden decision to come for the holiday. Queen Melian had only told Elwing that morning Tinu and Maeglin would attend the royal dinner after all. Then again, as Elwing had pointed out, it was possible given how things went in her line that it hadn’t been clear until that morning if the pair would be capable of a public appearance.

He’d already had several weeks already to get used to the idea that his youngest granddaughter had married his uncle. (Thankfully, for Elwing it was less strange. She knew Maeglin for an older cousin, but she had never met him.)

He’d eventually concluded that as he wanted only the best for his granddaughter, he couldn’t very well object.  After all, his uncle was the best. Eärendil had adored his uncle and his unfailing patience as a child. And then Maeglin had fought Sauron to save him. Middle-earth might think otherwise, but Eärendil had known as soon as his uncle laid hands on him who it was trying to kill him.

It might not be the sort of battle anyone made songs about. But all the years since have only made him think it more remarkable that his uncle managed to break Sauron’s hold for that handful of seconds that had been the difference between Eärendil’s life or death.

His uncle had died to give him those few seconds.

Eärendil had seen far worse things later, in the War. But his uncle at the bottom of the walls had been the first dead body he’d seen, and it still stood out in his memory as the worst.

So he needed to see for himself that his uncle was back, and the sooner, the better.

Elwing didn’t mind either way, so she’d left it up to him whether they should come. He’d finally decided mid-afternoon – and discovered once he did that his mate already had everything at the ready. She knew his mind better than he did himself sometimes.

The thing that had decided him was that if Uncle thought he could face the Gates of Summer, having lived through that last one knowing what was about to happen, Eärendil could do no less.

This would be the first one he’d attended since he was a child. They hadn’t celebrated it in Sirion for obvious reasons. To his relief, it wasn’t as popular a holiday in or around Alqualondë, where he had made his home since the Valar handed down their ruling. He’d never been able to bring himself to go to any of the ones in his grandfather’s rebuilt city, or even Tirion. If his parents noticed that he always seemed to have an excuse – generally that he couldn’t be away from his nightly voyages for long – they’d never remarked on it.

Besides, he had missed so much of his grandchildren, he didn’t want to miss what was essentially Tinu’s wedding dinner. Yes, there would be other celebrations, but this would be the first.

The newlyweds looked splendid in their festival robes, a silver bright enough he was surprised Uncle had been persuaded to wear it.

He didn’t have time to object, Tinu informed him, her tone dancing. Egalmoth sent them today as a wedding present. I have no idea how he got them done so quickly.

“Probably by roping half his house into helping,” Eärendil chuckled.

He didn’t visit the city often, but he did know the Lord of the Heavenly Arch would hate to be caught out on such an occasion. He’d do whatever was necessary.

“He better not have bribed them by telling them all,” Tinu frowned. “If Rog finds out because the Heavenly Arch told the world…”

“You both look very elegant,” Elwing observed, cutting off what could have been an interesting threat. “This is a change from the colors your uncle uses.”

“House colors,” Tinu grinned. “Well, sort of. I think Egalmoth got as creative as he dared.”

Tinu’s dress was fitted, and though Eärendil couldn’t have said for certain what era the style was, the result made her look far more grownup than usual. The cloth had white and soft grey accents – and if Eärendil was seeing right, the subtle embroidery that created a shimmer effect as she moved had worked in both wings and moles. (Egalmoth was liable to be exceedingly smug at how well his people had made that unlikely combination work.)

Maeglin’s high-collared tunic matched his mate’s in both color and, interestingly, embroidery. The formal trousers beneath it were a deep dark blue that could not fail to remind the Noldor of Nolofinwë. By the usual Ondolindrim standards it was downright restrained, but brighter than anything he’d seen his uncle wear before. The overall effect was more Sindarin than Noldorin, but Maeglin certainly looked every inch a prince of the city.

“I thought black was the color of the Mole,” Elwing frowned, regarding the pair in some confusion. “Though this is certainly more festive.”

“Yeah, we changed the color,” Tinu said cheerfully. “Grey seemed better.”

“Egalmoth’s probably going to stretch it to silver on the regular since he got away with this,” Maeglin sighed.

“We meaning we, or we meaning you?” Eärendil asked his granddaughter cautiously.

“We,” Maeglin said firmly. “The black was really a prank anyway. I didn’t think Tinu would much enjoy wearing it often.”

“Eh, it wouldn’t have been that bad,” Tinu shrugged. “Black goes with everything is a California adage.”

Eärendil, who had not once in three Ages considered the reason for the color choice might be so ridiculous, laughed until he nearly cried.

“I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you as an adult,” he said when he could finally speak again. “Though speaking of knowing…Tinu, have you told your sister about all this?”

Tinu’s bright smile dimmed slightly.

“I started to,” she replied. “But then I realized that might get El and El all worked up. Also, I don’t know what they’re up to right now...”

More than any other of their descendants, Tinu felt the choice of the Peredhil and the separation of the Sea. They all had to make their peace with it, one way or another. But in Tinu’s case, the Sea did not fully sunder her, nor did the ruling that none who reached the West could return to the Bent World bind her. Come to that, she probably could if she truly wished find where her Uncle Elros and his children had gone.

She had been in the West some years before they broached the subject of her special ability with her. Eärendil suspected she’d told him and Elwing more than she’d mentioned to her Tirion kin. In her view, they deserved to know. (Tinu hadn’t thought much of the fact that the Valar hadn’t been open to bending the rules and had been rather caustic when she learned they had taken a dim view of the meetings at sea in the early Second Age.)

That Tinu didn’t put her ability to use to keep closer contact with her siblings on the far side of the Sea, or retrieve her missing uncle was entirely down to self-discipline on her part. The temptation was definitely there – but so was the knowledge that venturing beyond the protection of Aman would risk not just her own safety, but that of all Arda and possibly other worlds into the bargain.

She couldn’t risk falling into the power of Morgoth, or any minions he might have found beyond the circles of the world. Tinu was painfully aware of the responsibility that went with her ability.

It had occurred to Eärendil more than once that Lord Namo was so patient with her dancing in and out of his Halls because it let her ‘blow off steam’ as she said.

“Anariel is visiting Arwen in Minas Tirith,” he told her. “Keeping her company while the boys are off adventuring to the south.”

He did not clarify that ‘adventuring’ was actually a situation with Umbar that everyone was hoping wouldn’t escalate into war. This was a happy occasion.

“Well if I’d known that,” Tindomiel sighed. “It would have been nice to let Arwen know.”

“You could still tell her later, dearest,” Elwing suggested. “It’s not as if you’ll stop being married.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if it would help, or only make things worse,” Tinu sighed. “Also, I’d have to explain why I didn’t tell them right away… I’ll think about it. But not tonight.”

Eärendil suspected she’d added more privately to Maeglin. He didn’t get a chance to ask, however, because a small shriek from behind him signified his mother had just noticed his presence.

“Ardamírë! Elwing!”

“She was already excited, but I think you may have just tipped Gran into ‘ecstatic’,” Tinu told him cheerfully.

“Pity the poor Ondolindrim,” Uncle added. “So much to talk about right before they have to stay silent for several hours.”

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Turukano wasn’t fond of hosting at the best of times. This was not the best of times.. Never mind any other guests, there were already too many just counting his kin.

There was also no ‘waiting for guests to arrive’ when his parents, aunt and uncle, best friend and best friend’s family were all staying with him.

“Cheer up,” Ingo suggested in an undertone. “None of the people here will kick you in the shins.”

Turukano did not glare at him, tempting though it was.

Itarillë and Tuor were the first to arrive, with Aryo and Anairon close behind. He had expected Artanis to be with them, but if she wasn’t he wouldn’t look that gift horse in the mouth. He actually was pleased to see his younger brothers. Anairon for once did not look as if he were trying to hide, and Aryo was ready to laugh at anything and everything.

His brothers and Ingo’s brood were talking amongst themselves when Artanis appeared – oh, right, he should have expected she would show up with Irissë. He still wasn’t back in the habit yet of expecting that where one of them was, the other would be also. And of course, Irissë’s dratted husband was with them.

A nice holiday dinner, Elenwë reminded him as Artanis dropped back, smirking, to let Irissë be the first to greet him.

Turukano managed to keep his pleasant social smile firmly in place after Irissë hugged him. He extended a hand to him in Sindarin fashion.

“Law-brother,” Eöl drawled, apparently amused – and no doubt aware he was under orders to make nice.

“Law-brother,” Turukano replied with a polite and socially correct nod.

Neither of them were much inclined to make conversation beyond the handshake.

Well done, no bloodshed so far, Ingo snickered.

Turukano managed to get a good glare in at his best friend in before he and Artanis exchanged perfunctory and probably equally insincere pleasantries. At least she didn’t have the look in her eye that meant mayhem.

Ingo, surprisingly, had no commentary.

It was a blessed relief when Elenwë managed to hurry Artanis along on the pretext that they  needed to greet Elrond and Celebrían. (It didn’t help Turukano’s nerves that Irissë and Artanis were both giggling. That never boded well in his experience.)

“Rillë, darling, could you just go check everything is ready in the hall?” Elenwë asked. “I want to be sure the stewards did finish in time before we all go through.”

Good thinking. Aside from Laurë and Ecthelion, the lords and their immediate families were likely to arrive more or less in one large group. At which point they could all sit down and get this bloody dinner over with…

Such a cheerful approach to a festive meal!

You are not helping, Ingo.

I am so! It’s a holiday. You are allowed to have fun you know.

Not on this holiday, Turukano felt like telling him. He gritted his teeth and gave the expected dinner every year, because everyone else seemed to enjoy it.  Next year maybe he’d suggest Rillë host.

Next year we’ll all be in Tirion for the holiday, Ingo reminded him. Or your mother will do something dire.

Oh, right. In all the commotion he’d clean forgotten that his niece would be born just before the holiday. That was something to look forward to, at least. Even if it would mean spending more time around Eöl.

If it’s any help, I don’t think he’s expecting much of your time.

That was his father – and if Atto had heard them, Uncle had too.

He was saved from needing to reply by the entrance of his cousin, the girls, and Ecthelion. He didn’t get much time to fuss over Califiriel and Tasariel before Ingo’s daughter appeared at his elbow clearly waiting to talk to them.

“Go, go,” he chuckled. “I’m sure the Inglorions have been waiting for any fresh scraps of gossip!”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true, Uncle,” Lissë said, sounding as reproachful as Ingo. “It’s news.”

“Very well, go exchange the news,” he told them.

“My love, will you be able to manage on your own for a few minutes?” Elenwë murmured. “I know the lords are due at any moment, but there appears to be some last minute snarl in the great hall that needs my attention.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean someone has knocked over those flower arrangements you were so particular about,” Turukano sighed. “Of course I’ll manage.”

He was worried far more about family guests than his lords. They’d be a blessed relief.

Speaking of which, there came Tower of Snow and Pillar now.

Best hope no one else notices the smile for your friends is more sincere than the one for your kin, Ingo snickered – but quietly enough that his father wouldn’t hear.

---

Elenwë strode into the hall wondering what under the stars could have Rillë so worked up now that everything should be set, only to stop short at the unexpected sight of her grandson and his mate.

“Ardamírë?” she asked in astonishment, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “I’m delighted, darling, but you might have given us more than five minutes’ notice!”

She suspected the mischievous streak in his children and grandchildren came from Ardamírë. Anariel carried it to extremes, of course. But they all had at least a dash of it. Rillë had never been any trouble as a child – or as an adult. Ardamírë had punched Eönwë. (Tindomiel had rather gleefully predicted Anariel would do the same at some point.)

“How are we to rearrange the seating, Ammë?” Rillë asked, giving her son as stern a look as she could muster.

Elenwë knew her daughter was far too thrilled to be actually stern with him. She also noted that Tinwë and Lómion were hovering near their own seats, and wondered if Tinwë had a hand in this late-breaking appearance.

“We were hoping to have them seated near us,” Lómion said. “As it’s the first Gates of Summer for either of us here.”

Oh.

Oh, dear.

She hadn’t thought on that at all, and now that it occurred to her, she should have. Goodness knew Turvo had tangled feelings about the holiday, and he had nearly a long-year’s worth of practice by now.

Maybe they were asking too much of Lómion. How had it not occurred to any of them sooner that he might have more worries tonight than just announcing his return and marriage? And was it really Ardamírë’s first one? Surely he’d been here at least once for the holiday?

“Ammë, what are we to do? You had everything arranged so nicely,” Rillë said ruefully. “Ardamírë, you really ought to have let us know you were coming! Now we have to rearrange with only a few minutes to do it!”

Elenwë sighed.

It had taken some time and trouble to work out the seating arrangements. The politics of having the High King, the former High King, the King of Gondolin, the Crown Prince (also a former king in Beleriand), Artanis and Irissë, and Elrond all present plus bearing in mind who ought not be near who had been enough to manage as it was.

The original plan had been for one long high table, centered on her and Turvo, Rillë and Tuor, Celebrían and Elrond, then Lómion and Tinwë, with the rest of the family radiating out on either side, doing her best to keep things balanced.

Now Ardamírë had gone and thrown himself and his wife – the former Queen of the Sindar – into the mix...

It didn’t help that more or less everyone in the family would want to sit next to Tinwë and Lómion or Elrond and Celebrían, and half of them would also plump for Ardamírë and Elwing.

Rillë was already frowning, no doubt trying to work out a solid case for why she should have Ardamírë on one side and Elrond on the other – and knowing her, also trying to work out a method by which she could somehow have three sides and snag Tinwë and Lómion as well.

Touching Turvo’s mind lightly, Elenwë determined that they were still five lords short. Happily, Egalmoth was one of the ones not yet present.

If Egalmoth hadn’t been the first to show, he’d be the last. He liked to make an entrance. And tonight in particular he had likely reckoned it would be easier to hold his tongue if everyone was just on the point of going into dinner by the time he arrived.

Good. That might give them just enough time…

“Get the stewards back in here now,” she said firmly to her daughter. She might now know how they were going to seat everyone, but she did know they were going to need more hands than they had to get it all done in time. “We’re going to have to work quickly. We can’t just tack them onto the end of the table or bump everyone on one side two seats down.”

Seeing her granddaughter about to attempt to help, she added, “Tinwë, don’t you dare try to move furniture around! None of us will ever hear the end of it if you damage that dress before Egalmoth’s seen you in it.”

Tinwë obligingly seated herself in her own chair.

That gave Elenwë a burst of inspiration.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she announced as the head steward came pelting into the hall at a run, with the rest of his staff trailing behind him in alarm.

---

Turukano felt rather unsettled without Elenwë by his side, but he’d hosted several hundred of these dinners without her. She’d led even more of them without him prior to his return, so he couldn’t very well complain. He could certainly manage a few minutes knowing she was just in the great hall.

Besides, he had a puzzle to occupy his mind.

Egalmoth was up to something. He was the last one in, only just making his usual dramatic entrance now.  He also had the air he got when he was sitting on the juiciest of gossip. Whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing yet – his fellow lords had all noticed just as Turukano had, but no one wanted to be the first to ask.

To his surprise, once he greeted the king and the royal visitors, Egalmoth found an excuse to meander over to the Inglorion-Laurefindiel group – which he was heartened to see included Salgant’s granddaughter. He was always pleased to see the young ones finding a way to enjoy these formal occasions.

Whatever Egalmoth was sitting on, the girls either already knew, or knew enough for him to think it worth picking their brains.

He hoped it wasn’t anything about him and Irissë quarreling, or what had happened at the Mole.

Better to get everyone seated and dinner started. It was odd that Elenwë hadn’t come back before all their guests were assembled, when it was time to lead them through to sit down for dinner. Usually they did this together.

As she hadn’t told him he shouldn’t, she must be expecting him to shepherd everyone in and she would rejoin him there.

“My lords and ladies, I hope you’ve come with a good appetite, for the kitchen has been hard at work all day, and I do believe they’ve outdone themselves.”

“You say that every year,” Rog groaned.

“It’s true every year,” Salgant retorted. “When have you ever been disappointed by one of these dinners?”

“Only the year you hosted!” Rog laughed.

“My head cook hadn’t returned yet!”

“Then why did you volunteer to host?”

“My lords,” Turukano said pointedly. “This is a holiday, a happy occasion.”

Rog chuckled and let it drop. Salgant’s glare suggested Rog would hear about it more later.

Some irony in you being the one to say that, Ingo observed. I was expecting Atto or Uncle to trot that one out – probably at you and either your sister or mine.

It would have been at me, since when do our fathers say anything to your sister or mine?

The only response he got from Ingo was mental laughter.

Turukano did not spare a glance at him as he led the way into the great hall, only to stop short.

He probably ought to have been irritated at the whispering he could hear starting up behind him, for he was surely not the only one taken completely by surprise. But he was far too astonished to care.

Tinwë and Lómion were there – and so was Ardamírë.

His nephew and his grandson! (And his grandson’s granddaughter.)

Someone gave him a slight shove.

If you don’t move, we’re going to have to squeeze past you single file on either side, his father said unrepentantly. You’re standing smack in the middle of the doorway.

That did restore the power of motion to him. Though he decided it was probably best, given how everyone had been at him about keeping his distance from Lómion, to go to his mate first.

“Did you know about this?” he murmured when he reached Elenwë’s side.

“Only five minutes or so before you did,” she sighed. “You should have a word with your grandson later.”

Ah. That would explain why the seating arrangements were entirely different than what she’d shown him that morning.

“I didn’t think you’d mind sharing the attention,” Elenwë smiled. “And as it’s the closest that pair will get to a wedding dinner…”

“Normally one would have the happy couple’s parents seated to either side,” he pointed out.

“Well, yes, but Lómion and Ardamírë were determined to sit near each other, and as Elrond doesn’t mind where he’s seated, I thought as king and host, you would be next to Tinwë.”

Turukano chose not to mention to her that it was rather a throwback to the days of his city in Beleriand, when Rillë on one side and Lómion on his other had been the norm everyone was used to and expected to see at such occasions.

I hadn’t thought on that, it was more that if Elrond and Celebrían weren’t on one side of the couple, I had an excellent excuse to place Irissë at a safer distance from you!

Turukano kissed his mate’s hand.

“You are as wise as you are beautiful,” he assured her.

Irissë was at the end of the high table with her husband, appropriate given both her years in Gondolin and being Lómion’s mother. Elrond and Celebrían were between them and Rillë and Tuor.

She also has a sense of humor, Ingo informed him. Emmë, Atto, Auntie, Uncle, your brothers, and my family are at the long table opposite. Which means if you and Irissë do get into it, you’ll have quite the audience.

More like if his sister insisted on making a scene, at least Ingo’s sister would be far enough away not to join in.

Stop it, both of you, Elenwë said firmly. We are going to all sit down and have a peaceful holiday dinner.

Look at it this way, Ingo the irrepressible suggested. At least your mind’s no longer on Eöl.

Turukano would have glared at him again, but Ingo was right about the audience.

He wasn’t used to improvising at moments like this, but clearly he couldn’t just go straight to his seat. So he went to greet Tinwë and Lómion first – not in keeping with normal protocol, perhaps, but they were the newlyweds, and one of them newly returned.

Besides, he hadn’t gotten to see them yet!

Tindomiel, unsurprisingly, wore her best ‘get out of trouble’ smile – which, he had to admit, worked more often than not. Though if she should be in trouble, Atto and Uncle could handle that.

She also wore what could only be Egalmoth’s work, which explained what he’d been keeping quiet about.

“I was not expecting to see you this evening,” he said to them both. “Lómion. Welcome back. It is good to see you looking well.”

He wasn’t sure whether or not a hug would be welcome, but Tinwë gave him the slightest of mental nudges, which he took as permission. Given Elenwë’s more enthusiastic greeting, he supposed it would have looked odd if he held back. It was the thinnest of excuses, but he’d take it.

“Thank you, uncle. I am happy to be back and well. I believe you know my bride?”

Turunkano’s thoughts nearly ground to a halt. Lómion, joking?

Stars, his nephew truly had been intimidated by him. He’d taken it for granted the boy was simply of a serious turn of mind and quiet by nature.

“We’ve met,” Turukano managed to say drily. “Tinwë, I trust there are no more of your little surprises in store tonight?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully, accepting a kiss on the cheek as though she’d done nothing more remarkable than show up unexpectedly as Ardamírë had. “Though I did miss Rog’s reaction, so I hope someone in the family caught it and shares later.”

“I suspect he’ll want a chat with the pair of you on the subject,” Elenwë said. “No pranks until after the holiday, please?”

“If you insist,” Tinwë said, sounding much put upon.

“Grandson, I was not expecting to see you either,” Turukano said, moving up the line.

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Ardamírë said lightly. “But I trusted Uncle Lómion would plead for me if you tried to send me away in disgrace.”

“Ridiculous boy,” Elenwë sniffed. “As if your grandfather or I would ever you away.”

“Sorry, grandmother,” the boy said with a cheeky grin. “I won’t do it again?”

“I hope you will – just with more notice next time. We are always happy to see you, especially at holidays.”

That brought them neatly to their own seats – with Rillë and Tuor just beyond. His daughter was beaming fit to burst.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Atto?” she whispered. “Everyone here at last?”

It wasn’t quite everyone, but he supposed the ones who were still missing hadn’t been in Gondolin so it was natural she didn’t notice their absence.

“It is,” he replied quietly enough that most of the room wouldn’t hear it. “Though I suspect you didn’t think so while you and your mother were rearranging the room.”

“It was no trouble,” Elenwë and Rillë assured him in the same breath.

Turgon smiled before pitching his voice to be heard by everyone in the hall.

“My Kings, my lords, my family and friends – as we stand before the Gates of Summer once more, I give you in place of the usual holiday toast Princess Tindomiel and Prince Lómion of the Mole!”

That got a hearty round of ‘hear hear’ and cheers from the assembled. (Though one or two were still gaping in surprise. Tinwë should enjoy that. He was also keen to hear how she’d persuaded the normally gossipy Lord of the Heavenly Arch to keep quiet.)

---

You see, love? Everything has turned out just fine without you fussing over them.

Elrond’s lips quirked but he did not laugh at Nolofinwë’s remark to Anairë. Beside him, Celebrían did laugh, but it probably looked to anyone else like a response to whatever his uncle had just said to her.

“I’m not sure what’s more impressive – that she’s pulled this off so easily, or the sheer amount of explaining she’ll have to do when her brothers arrive,” she murmured.

If his daughter was in any way put out at being so far removed from Anairon or Glorfindel’s daughters, her usual accomplice at occasions like this, it didn’t show. She gave every appearance of enjoying dinner. She had bent etiquette on occasion – it wasn’t strictly speaking polite manners for her to be jibing with Rog – but on the whole had done nothing to shock the lords of Gondolin.

Well, aside from being presented as the Princess of the Mole. That might be enough for one day.

Combined with the delightful thought that they’re about to have to stand in silence for several hours and can’t say boo to her about it? She’s probably been giggling to herself the entire evening.

Elrond had accustomed himself to both his ancestor Nolofinwë and Celebrían’s grandfather Arafinwë having the same sharp ‘hearing’ Galadriel did, but it still threw him when they responded to the unspoken as readily as the spoken.

“I used to chide my children for doing that,” he sighed.

It doesn’t seem to have made much impression, Nolofinwë chuckled. Tinwë and Anairon spend as much time talking to each other at most state occasions as they do paying attention to anything else. And we haven’t been listening in much, but the silent conversation of the rest the head table has been quite entertaining.

“Oh?”

Turvo is ignoring most of it, but Eärendil, Tinwë, and Lómion are having a grand time, to the point that Rillë’s in a bit of a sulk at being on the opposite side of the table even if she does understand the reasoning.

Elrond couldn’t help the laugh – and looked over to find his mother smiling happily, her eyes darting from the granddaughter a few seats down to him.

Your father argued you’d enjoy the view better from there, Elwing told him. Also, he didn’t say it to Idril or her mother, but he thought you’d have better conversation there as well!

Elrond turned his laugh into a cough lest he be asked to explain.

He was enjoying Eöl’s company, and Celebrían found Aredhel amusing. He probably would have enjoyed the view from the other royal table equally, but he felt certain Elenwë hadn’t been about to seat any of her descendants elsewhere. This was a rare chance for her to gather as much of her line as possible at one table.

“It will be rather interesting to see what configuration she comes up with once Anariel and the boys are thrown into the mix,” Celebrían murmured mischievously.

The sip of wine he had just taken nearly went the wrong way at that thought.

His beloved wife laughed softly and mentally blew him a kiss.

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