Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Maeglin was grateful that Anardil had made his entrance before he or Tindomiel had gotten any farther than they did. He wouldn’t much mind his trusted advisor seeing him in such a state – Anardil had seen him in enough messes already, this would be but one more. But he disliked the idea of that being Anardil’s introduction to Tindomiel. From what he gathered, she wasn’t well acquainted with his House.

“Yes, I was counting on that,” he replied, turning to face the other man.

Anardil’s jaw dropped.

“My Prince?” he gasped.

“I hope so,” Maeglin replied.

He would certainly not blame anyone who no longer wished to follow him. Though if they’d taken such trouble to design for him when building, he might still have more loyalty from the Moles than he truly deserved.

“Prince Lomion…” Anardil had begun what had probably been intended as a lecture, but his eyes widened as he caught sight of Tindomiel. “And Princess Tindomiel?”

It was just as well he’d already looked shocked. He looked from one of them to the other, and for a moment his mouth worked soundlessly. Then he pulled himself together.

“I rejoice to see you once again among the living, my prince. And I congratulate you both. How long are you wed?”

“Um, about that,” Tindomiel began tentatively.

“A bit more than a week,” Maeglin said bluntly, knowing that she would probably take a while to get to the point.

Anardil did not quite glare at that, but it was clear he wanted to. He settled for looking highly disappointed in both of them.

“We were somewhat impetuous,” Maeglin continued.

“Which is a roundabout way of saying you are not prepared to receive visitors just yet?” Anardil asked wryly.

Maeglin had to work not to laugh. It was clear there would be some sort of scolding at some point – just not now, when it was clear it would do no good, and when Anardil hadn’t worked out yet who was at fault.

Instead, Anardil sighed and stepped over to the door he must have entered through, locking it from the inside. If Maeglin were less distracted, he might have taken the opportunity to ask more about the current layout of the House, as the rebuilt version had clearly been improved from the original. As it was, he was wondering how swiftly he could dismiss Anardil that he might return his full attention to Tindomiel.

“This way, my prince, my princess,” Anardil said, leading them to a staircase. “You will have noticed things are slightly different than you remember. We thought you would prefer your office on this level where you can deal with official business, and a study above connected to your private rooms for when you do not wish to be disturbed.”

Maeglin nodded. It was a more elegant solution. He had thought in far more simple terms when he had designed his house. Of course, he’d barely been an adult at the time, much less had experience being in charge of anything at all. He’d also been eager to be out of his uncle’s house as soon as possible.

“Oh, I like it!”

Tindomiel’s exclamation of appreciation as she caught sight of his new study indicated it might well become a shared space. It was certainly more than large enough. He suspected the Moles had been thinking more in terms of prototyping on projects he was not yet prepared to reveal to others, but the extra space meant a desk for his mate would fit very nicely at the window that overlooked the gardens rather than the workshop…

“I can arrange to have your books moved here also, my princess,” Anardil offered. “Which of your grandmothers should I send to?”

“Why don’t we save that for after the whole ‘telling the family’ part,” she suggested. “I don’t think you want to deal with anyone’s reaction to finding out the news that way.”

Maeglin had forgotten what Anardil exasperated looked like, but now that he saw it…

“You have not informed your family yet?”

“That would be a no,” Tindomiel admitted. “We were kind of hoping we could maybe get through the honeymoon first and then fess up that I’m somewhat lacking in self-control? I mean, unless you’re really that eager to be the one to tell my grandmothers?”

Her slightly guilty yet hopeful smile would have worked on far sterner elves than Anardil. He gave in with a sigh – though judging by his expression, only on the first point.

“You owe me, my prince. This is far worse than the time you asked me to make sure you were both on time and presentable for the Yestarë dinner in the House of the King. At least you are well matched. Your lady caused trouble enough before she changed houses – and she can be the one to explain herself to her grandmothers, thank you very much.”

Tindomiel turned to look at Maeglin, eyes burning with curiosity.

“I will tell you all about it later,” Maeglin told her.

He would have to, really. If he didn’t tell the story, Anardil or Rillë would. Though he was curious to hear which house she had been counted in before, and what she had done besides pranking Rog. Or had the pranks been that good that her reputation was known to all the Houses?

“Be sure to include the part where you neglected to warn me that none of the formal tunics you would actually wear had been laundered, and you’d worn the best one while working so it had a hole burned clean through the sleeve,” Anardil added helpfully. “Happily, I think we can be sure the king’s reaction to your marriage will be more indulgent.”

Tindomiel’s face was crinkling in amusement.

“Yes, I’d say so,” she agreed. “In fact, I’d probably use the words ‘absolutely ridiculous’.”

Anardil regarded her thoughtfully, his expression turning slightly abstract. Maeglin recognized the signs of Anardil in a moment of inspiration, and suspected by the time they were ready for the rest of the world, the new Princess of the Mole would find she had some fresh accessories.

“You said that about Uncle Elu,” Maeglin reminded her.

“Yes, because it’s true,” Tindomiel shrugged. “I’m not sure which of them will be worse.”

“Your rooms,” Anardil said, waving them out of the study and into a sitting room. He pointed out a door. “This is the main entrance when you’re not sneaking in through the garden. Your bedchamber, dressing rooms, and bathing room are through there.”

“Dressing rooms?” Tindomiel asked.

Her thoughts reflected surprise, and were quickly turning teasing, at the idea that he might need multiple rooms for his clothes and dressing.

“We laid our plans and built in the hope the prince, when he returned, would find someone worthy of him,” Anardil said evenly. “Though we did not expect him to be quite so hasty about it…”

Tindomiel blushed.

Anardil frowned at them.

“When did you two last eat?”

“Anairon brought us breakfast this morning,” Maeglin said.

Anardil pinned him with a stern look.

“I am disappointed yet unsurprised to hear that we pick up much where we left off – you need to take more than just one meal a day. Now particularly so, I should think.”

He turned to Tindomiel.

“Normally I would expect you to talk sense into him, but I doubt that applies just now. I will bring something up from the kitchens. And then I will think on how best to keep the rest of the House from discovering the prince’s return and marriage before you are ready to announce both to the city.”

“I trust them,” Maeglin said firmly.

“I’m sure you do, my prince,” Anardil replied. “But with several weeks before you are ready to receive visitors – much less inform Princess Itarillë, King Turukano, and Queen Elenwë – I am not sure that everyone will be able to keep their excitement under wraps.”

“We’re sorry, Enerdhil,” Tindomiel offered.

Maeglin glanced at her. Had Anardil changed his name?

“I appreciate the sentiment, my princess.”

“No, really. I’m sorry.” She frowned, and then hastily qualified, “I mean, about the part where I’m making trouble for you. Not the marrying Maeglin part.”

“I understood your meaning well enough, my princess,” Anardil sighed, his tone resigned. “I will take my leave. You’re neither of you fit for company. I suggest you bathe before eating. And do try to remember to look around for food every so often.”

Tindomiel managed to keep a straight face until the door closed behind him.

“Sounds like I’m not the only troublesome one around here,” she giggled. “The history books made you sound far more serious! And a few people who could have corrected our mistaken impressions didn’t… Come on, he said something about taking a bath.”

She was shrugging out of her clothes as she walked, which put an end to any thoughts of Anardil for some time.

---

While Maeglin was contemplating the aesthetic perfection of his wife’s backside, Enerdhil was not idle. Having shut the door of the sitting room firmly behind him, he proceeded through the reception room beyond it. He paused only to retrieve from a sideboard the key not usually used that would secure the entrance to the Prince’s suite.

He was relieved to find no one in the corridor outside, which meant he did not have to explain why he had been in the rooms on a day on which they were not normally inspected, much less why he was locking the door behind him.

Both the prince and princess had abominable timing. They had chosen to make their entrance while the steward of the house was away with his lady visiting her kin in Alqualondë, where one of her nephews was lately arrived.

That left Enerdhil filling in, a duty he had been assured would be light – and should have been were it not for the pair he had just left. Make sure no quarrels arise in the workshops, reorder supplies as necessary, make the routine rounds to verify those on the cleaning and maintenance rota were performing their duties satisfactorily. It should have taken no more than a few hours away from his crafting time.

Aranwë could hardly have foreseen that Prince Lomion would return now, after two full Ages without so much as a whisper of a rumor of him.

Enerdhil would normally have taken himself to his own office to think, but that risked missing the head cook, whose loyalty to the prince was absolute after the Nirnaeth – and equally importantly, who knew how to make all his favorite dishes.  So thinking over how to approach this problem would have to wait.

Mastacarmë was just instructing the night cooks when Enerdhil reached the kitchens. He waited until they had been sent about their tasks to turn to the acting steward.

“Well? What brings you down here so late – you can’t possibly have missed the tray I sent to your studio.”

“I did not, thank you. But I am in need of another tray, and I would rather you prepare it if you would be so kind.”

That drew a raised eyebrow, and an invitation to join the cook in his office just off the kitchens, where they could speak privately.

“I am filled with curiosity. Another tray, on short notice, and no name for the person who rates this request. Just what did you have in mind that it must be me and not the night cooks? Nyarindë and Samnion are both perfectly competent.”

“The sort of thing we used to take to the prince when he was in the middle of one of his projects and couldn’t be pried from his workshop,” Enerdhil explained. “Small but tasty, quick to eat but hearty enough to keep him going.”

That was something only Mastacarmë had regularly been entrusted with, as he had a knack for hitting on combinations of aroma and flavor that Prince Lomion would not ignore even in the midst of one of his feverish bouts of work. He might even have improved since, as in the mid-Third Age, he had managed to track down the Sindarin chef who had cooked for the prince in his childhood, and learned all that he could of what had been available in Nan Elmoth and Menegroth.

The cook gave him a long look at the continued lack of name, but Enerdhil had school his features to give nothing away.

“And where am I to deliver this extra tray when it is ready?” he asked. “Prince Lomion’s workshop? For old times’ sake?”

“Do not worry yourself, I will deliver it,” Enerdhil said firmly. “I will wait here until it is ready.”

He could use the time until then to think.

While he could not manage it alone, telling the entire house was out of the question. There would be such excitement that even if every last Mole held their tongue, the other houses would know something was afoot just from the atmosphere. Pillar or the Hammer surely notice, and their lords come to investigate.

Enerdhil considered adding Golden Flower and Fountain to that list, but a moment’s thought told him he likely had silent accomplices there. He didn’t imagine Lady Tasariel or Lady Califiriel would be ignorant of their good friend’s marriage. So he need not concern himself about any sudden unannounced visits from Lord Laurefindil or Lord Ecthelion.

No, he only had to worry about keeping it quiet, and keeping the pair fed. He would need to tell a few people – but only a few. Mastacarmë, obviously. He would realize he was being asked to prepare things that would tempt the prince’s appetite for the best part of a month – and any of his staff who had served in the kitchens of the original Ondolindë might well work it out also. Elemmakil, the captain of the guard. If the secret slipped, it would fall to him to guard their prince and princess’s privacy.

It would be best to tell them both at the same time. The more Enerdhil had to repeat the story, the more chances for someone else to overhear. Not that any Moles made a habit of listening at keyholes. But as Prince Lomion and Princess Tindomiel had just demonstrated, timing was everything.

Though perhaps their timing was better than he’d thought at first blush – had it been Aranwë making his rounds as usual, they would have had to explain themselves to him, and any chance at being undisturbed these next few weeks would have been over at once. Aranwë was the king’s maternal cousin. While he might possibly have been persuaded not to tell Lomion’s uncle, it was unlikely he’d have been talked out of sending word to Lomion’s grandmother in Tirion at once.

Enerdhil didn’t feel the slightest compunction to inform King Turukano, his parents, or even the High King. If Tindomiel meant to handle telling her grandparents, he was only too happy to leave her to tell them all.