Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Mountains and Molehills

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.”