Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

A Quiet Entrance

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.”