Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Come Together

“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.