Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

On The Road

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.