Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

The Calm(ish) Before The Storm

Irissë was so excited to meet Artë’s daughter. She could gauge how close the girl was by how Artë’s spirits lifted. She knew where to look even before she spotted the pair on horseback.

“Ooh, she looks like Celeborn!”

“I’m sure we’ll find plenty of Galadriel in her as well,” Eöl murmured in her ear.

No doubt, Irissë replied in amusement. But I suspect she’s daddy’s girl. For one thing, she just assessed us all as he would.

As he will, I think, Eöl corrected.

Her mate was bearing up rather well at being surrounded by Noldor, but Irissë knew perfectly well he already looked forward to reinforcements.

Less reinforcements than someone else used to all this, he replied. That pair look quite comfortable with each other, if not with this troupe.

“They should be used to everyone but us,” Irissë snorted. “Particularly Anairon.”

She hugged her little brother.

She’d been restraining herself from pumping him for information about her new daughter-in-law. She wanted to be good friends with both of them, but Eöl was convinced that too much too soon would send her little brother into the same sort of panicked withdrawal Turvo had often shown when out of his depth. (Not that Eöl knew Turvo did that, but what he’d described was the same thing.) Aryo had added the caveat that Anairon was not confident enough to come out again any time soon if he retreated into his shell.

“They’re used to everyone,” Anairon said quietly. “But a little less used to everyone at once.”

“Elrond built a house of his own, in a place Uncle Nolo pointed out to him, and while they visit everyone in turn, and do occasional holidays in Tirion or Alqualondë, he’s a homebody at heart,” Galadriel explained.

“Almost everyone,” her father corrected. “I don’t recall him going to Gondolin before.”

He sounds very sensible to me, Eöl said for her ears alone. I like him already.

You’d say that about anyone that avoided Turvo, she snorted.

Probably, but in this case I’m saying it about Nimmy’s grandson, he replied.

Nimloth has been his favorite younger cousin. He’d treated her like a kid sister.

You’re going to spoil him, aren’t you? she demanded.

And you’re not going to spoil Galadriel’s daughter? he snorted. And granddaughter? Besides, someone needs to indulge the boy. He had no grandparents.

Nimloth had yet to return, and Dior wouldn’t.

That does still leave my niece and her husband! Irissë pointed out.

“Darling!” Artë chirped, hugging her daughter. “Come meet my cousin Irissë and her husband Eöl!”

Celebrían covered her surprise rather nicely, Irissë thought. Elrond was the practiced diplomat of the two. His surprise didn’t even show, though she was certain it was there.

He learned in self-defense, Artë informed her wryly. He was part of the court of the Noldoran in Beleriand for many years before he founded his own stronghold. He wasn’t even thirty when he was first placed in the King’s care.

“Nephew,” Eöl said in Lindarin, extending a hand Sindarin fashion.

Diplomat or not, Elrond couldn’t quite hide his surprise at being addressed so, and his reply was a bit hesitant.

“Uncle?”

“Silly boy,” Irissë said, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair.

She could get away with that with little brothers, but she wasn’t sure about grandnephews she had just met. Grandnephews whose daughter had married her son… She’d better give it a day or two.

I appreciate your restraint, my love, Eöl said. As I’m sure Elrond will, once he knows you well enough to recognize that’s what this is. And how rare it is.

“I don’t suppose Galadriel shared with you two why you’ve been invited to join this outing, did she?” he asked.

Artë made a face at him behind her daughter’s back. Elrond caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“She did not,” Elrond confirmed. “If you care to explain, it would be most welcome.”

“What did Tindomiel do this time?”

Celebrían’s tone held a note of not quite exasperation that Irissë was familiar with. It was a novelty to hear it directed at someone else.

“She got married!” Irissë beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Elrond and Celebrían both looked rather startled. Elrond’s expression settled into acceptance more swiftly, though.

He confirmed it for himself, Artë informed her wryly.

Celebrían had turned at once to her husband.

“It seems so,” Elrond told her.

“I trust you are not upset with her?” Ammë asked, in the tone that meant the answer should be ‘no, of course not.’  (Another note Irissë was quite familiar with.)

Irissë was still surprised her mother was taking such a hasty union so well.

Grandchildren are allowed more leeway than children, I think, Eöl snorted. And I suspect our boy gets extra allowance on top of that as she has yet to meet him…

Come to think of it, for as long as she’d worried about her mother’s reaction, Ammë had yet to say anything to her, either.

“I’m only surprised Rillë hasn’t reached out to us,” Ammë continued. “I would have expected she would be eager to share the news.”

“Perhaps she has been doing Maeglin the same service Anairon was doing for Tinu,” Aunt Eärwen suggested. “She has always described him as her best friend, after all.”

Celebrían gave a sudden cough that might have been covering up another noise. Elrond looked truly startled for the first time.

“Maeglin?” he asked.

The pair traded a look Irissë was unable to decipher.

They appear more taken aback by who than what, Eöl observed.

Irissë had never been one to let things fester.

“You sound surprised,” she said, turning to Elrond. “I hope you are not among those who thought poorly of my son?”

Artë’s silent warning came too late.

“No,” Elrond replied solemnly. “I merely hadn’t expected Tindomiel would be the daughter who brought us together.”

Now it was Irissë’s turn to be surprised.

“It sounds like there’s a story there,” Eöl said, before she could form any reply.

“It’s simple enough,” Artë interjected. “Maeglin made Anariel’s favorite sword. She’s been his staunchest defender in Middle-earth since she found it.”

“From all descriptions, it is fine work,” Atto pointed out proudly.

“It has been a rare source of tension between her and her brothers,” Celebrían added wryly.

“She’s well able for it,” Elrond murmured.

That all sounded very encouraging!

“I look forward to meeting her,” Irissë smiled. “But at the moment I’m more eager to meet Tindomiel.”

“Fortunately, she is somewhat closer at hand,” Elrond sighed.

“And somewhat more trouble?” Eöl asked, trying to hold back laughter.

“As we don’t know what Anariel is up to at the moment, the safe answer is ‘no’,” Celebrían sighed.

---

Anairon looked around the camp. They were only a day from Gondolin. He didn’t mind the idea of this group dropping in on his brother unannounced, but he wondered if there was any good way to warn Tinwë. He wasn’t much at osanwë at a distance though, and even if he were, he doubted he’d get away without Uncle Ara, Atto, Galadriel, or Elrond noticing. Probably all of them.

She’d just have to fend for herself. He’d bought her more time than they’d expected anyway. Besides, there wasn’t much left anyone could do at this point. She was definitely married, and everyone knew the story now.

They’d pried it out of him over dinner.

He’d done a roast wild turkey with wild rice stuffing, sweet potato stew, and a salad of greens and edible flowers available in the area. For dessert he’d thrown together an apple-wild berry compote his sister had proclaimed her new favorite.

Irissë had said that about every meal so far, which was a bit confusing. But she also ate everything with gusto and asked for seconds. He wasn’t sure whether she was just humoring him or genuinely that enthusiastic about the food.

His father had waited until everyone was nearly finished to bring up the subject on everyone’s mind.

“Anairon, perhaps you could tell us the full tale of what happened before you came back to Tirion?”

He’d sighed and begun with Maeglin coming across them seemingly by chance. He’d omitted that Tindomiel had been to the Halls to visit Finduilas, lest it give them the wrong idea. After all, even her best friends had been suspicious about that timing. (Besides, Finduilas and cousin Ango were a sore spot for Aunt Eärwen, so Tinwë wouldn’t want him to tell that part. He didn’t really want to, either.)

He had also edited a bit once the marriage had happened. He didn’t think Ammë would want all the details on that. (If Irissë did, she could ask later.) He was surprised Ammë had taken it so well. He was more surprised that no one else seemed upset.

Elrond’s main reaction was concern that the pair might have unknowingly endangered Maeglin’s health by marrying so soon after his return. Irissë had been more astonished that the pair had gone to Gondolin.

“Why there?” had been her bewildered question. “After being stuck in Turvo’s city so long, why would he choose that when he’s free to go anywhere?”

“I suspect they did that only because it was closest,” Elrond sighed. “I doubt it would have been Tinu’s first choice either.”

“It wasn’t,” Anairon admitted. “She was for Neldoreth or your house. Or Tirion. Or…”

“I take it you were the practical one?” Celebrían asked. “Or was that Maeglin?”

“I think he’s normally practical, but I was the one who said they were unlikely to make it anywhere else without scandal,” Anairon admitted.

“Of course you did!” Irissë said. “Such a sweet boy to look out for your cousin and your nephew like that.”

Her look conveyed quite clearly that if anyone else thought otherwise, they should keep it to themselves. Anairon didn’t think that would stop their parents from having their say later – he was sure they would at some point. But Ammë was surprisingly even-tempered about it.

“He’s always been clever,” Ammë said firmly. “And he and Tinwë look out for each other as well as you two ever did. Thankfully, they find themselves less trouble. Usually.”

“Give him time, Ammë,” was his sister’s airy reply. “He’s only just learning.”

I think you’ve been trying to be well-behaved enough for all of us, she informed him. Time you had your share of fun!

You poor sod, Aryo added, dodging the half-hearted smack their sister aimed at him.

“Speaking of trouble,” Atto said, giving Irissë a meaningful look.

“Yes, I trust everyone will be on their good behavior when we reach Turvo’s city,” Uncle Ara added.

Anairon didn’t think that was directed at him.

“I make no promises. I have words for my big brother the ass,” Irissë informed them.

Anairon suspected if she was anything like Tinwë and her sisters – and he felt like that was the case – there would be more than just words.

“You may have them – under supervision,” Atto replied. “Your brother’s conduct has already been dealt with by the Noldoran. He was warned at that time that we would revisit it when you returned.”

Anairon had seen a similar look on Tindomiel often enough to recognize that Irissë meant to have her say without interference. He resolved to hide out in the Wing or the Golden Flower for that part.

Or the Mole, an impish voice suggested.

He looked up to find Irissë smirking, but it was Galadriel speaking.

I suspect your partner in crime’s new House will grant you sanctuary readily enough.

He looked at her in surprise.

They may even be happy for the reinforcements.

Anairon looked from cousin to sister.

Yes, if they were planning to pick a fight with his older brother, he could see where the Moles might be happy to have someone to keep the peace. Or even just someone interested in peace.

---

Elrond pulled Celebrían to him. He loved quiet moments like this, just the two of them.

Admittedly, he loved them more when he didn’t know there were half a dozen elder kin with keen ears in tents to either side of them.

Peace, my love. I don’t think we’re the main entertainment this trip, Celebrían said wryly, kissing his neck. So far as I can tell, Ammë and Aunt Irissë are far too busy with their confab to be listening in on us.

I’m not sure if I should warn Tindomiel or not, he sighed.

Don’t bother, she snorted. She’s the one who decided this was a good idea, she can deal with the aftermath. Including explaining to her big brothers and sister when they get here.

Elrond couldn’t help the laugh.

You don’t suppose there will be any hard feelings between the girls, do you? he asked, running a hand through his wife’s hair.

Celebrían shook her head decisively.

Anariel’s too practical to think she has any claim on someone she’s never met. Her only concern will be if he treats her baby sister well. And possibly whether he can be persuaded to make her more weapons.

Celebrían paused.

She may however be disappointed to miss the fireworks.

Fireworks? Elrond frowned.

Celebrían pushed herself halfway up on his chest.

Elrond Eärendilion, she said sternly. If you think I don’t know that my mother and aunt fully intend to have it out with your grandfather…

Great-grandfather, Elrond corrected.

…and that our middle daughter has a serious issue with that same grandfather…

Ah.

He had hoped that hunting down the last balrogs in Middle-earth had been enough to vanquish that particular demon. But he wouldn’t second-guess Celebrían if she believed otherwise.

You take issue with him too, she said, sounding surprised.

I am not quite so even-tempered as to overlook harm to my children, he said, trying not to let his anger rise. Even from my forefather.

No, but you’ve kept your own counsel on the subject so well I thought you’d forgiven him.

I don’t believe I have, Elrond said ruefully. I’m not sure I will manage it until Anariel does.

If Anariel does, Celebrían corrected.

You think her so hardened against him? Elrond asked, rather surprised.

You have said yourself that for some wounds there is no healing, Celebrían told him sadly. The loss of her mortal brother and sisters is such a one. It may be easier for her to blame your great-grandfather than to accept that loss. Anariel is not used to things she cannot change.

She rejected the Gift in California, Elrond reminded her. There was no way around their sundering after that.

Privately, Elrond thought it would have been worse had Anariel faced the Choice head on. Unlike Arwen, who had found some measure of peace though she knew the end might be hard, Anariel would have stared down the Choice indefinitely. She would not have been able to choose which half of her heart to sever, no matter how long she wrestled with it.

Oh, she’d rage at the dying of the light indefinitely, Celebrían sighed. But your daughter, my love, does not believe in fates that cannot be changed.

Say rather that she is Elros’ niece, Elrond replied quietly. He did not believe in fates that could not be changed either.

Her surprise echoed through his soul. He supposed it was fair. He rarely spoke of his brother, even to her. Elros was his wound that would not heal.

His brother was on his mind, though. The thought of his twin had been unavoidable when Arwen married, but somehow he sprang to mind today also.

Celebrían wanted to know why.

He would have been enjoyed all this immensely, Elrond mused.

Even more so than your uncles?

Elrond chuckled aloud. It was hard to say who was finding the current situation funnier, his Uncle Aryo or his new-met Uncle Eöl.

He would have joined forces with them, I think, to egg everyone on.

He would also have appreciated Eöl.

Elrond wasn’t one to dwell on the past, but in meeting his Sindarin kin, he wondered what it might have been like to know them as a child. Eöl wasn’t the first, nor would he be the last, for Elrond knew not all of them had returned yet. He had been pleased to discover few of them shared Thranduil’s qualms about him being insufficiently Sindarin.

That is just Thranduil,  Celebrían assured him. Uncle Oropher has never had any problem, nor does Uncle Eöl seem to.

Thankfully, Elrond said.

The frown on Celebrían’s face boded ill for Thranduil the next time they met.

---

Turukano tried not to wince at Ingo’s glare.

“You drink this?” Ingo demanded in horror after he’d managed to swallow. “Calling it swill might be insulting swill.”

“The bottle hasn’t been touched since I got here,” Turukano shrugged. “For all I know, it’s been there since sometime in Second Age.”

“Were you keeping it for decoration? Or does it have sentimental value? That might actually be an acceptable excuse, you saving a bottle for us to drink together…”

“I don’t drink.”

“Since when?” Ingo asked.

Turukano didn’t think it really needed to be said. Ingo knew perfectly well how Irissë had died.

He didn’t know just how often Turukano had drunk alone in his hidden city both before and after that, or what a mess he’d been. Death would have been welcome if only he hadn’t known most of his city was going with him. He would prefer not to confess that part to anyone, particularly not his best friend.

Ingo sighed.

Turukano wasn’t sure if that was the sigh of Ingo accepting him being hardheaded, or the sigh of Ingo having heard everything in his head. He was a bit out of practice at reading him, and still more out of practice at keeping him out.

“Fine, so you stopped drinking – and yes, we’re adding that to the list of things to talk over. But that doesn’t excuse you from having something acceptable for your guests, surely? I wouldn’t even serve that to orcs!”

“This is my private study!” he protested. “Not somewhere I entertain most guests. Also, orcs wouldn’t care. They’ll drink anything. I may not have seen as much of Beleriand as the rest of you, but I know that much.”

Ingo gave him a look that was a mix of exasperated and reproachful until he rang for his steward.

“Sardaron, please bring a bottle from the cellar we use when the lords dine with us.”

“A nice white,” Ingo added. “Something light. We’re keeping clear heads. Turvo, do you still order from the royal vineyards? Aiko and Atto have been collaborating.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Turukano said, keeping his tone even in front of the steward. “I doubt we have any, though. See what you can do, Sardaron.”

The steward withdrew with a curt nod that showed he disapproved of Ingo.

“He’ll come around,” Ingo said cheerfully. “I’m very charming, you know.”

“Yes,” Turukano sighed. “I’m aware. Is there any reason you’re so insistent on a drink?”

“Thought I’d continue the tradition of drinking with my best friends,” Ingo said cheerfully. “Separately if you insist, but I do think it’s safe for you to have a single glass in company.”

“Tradition?” Turukano asked skeptically.

“The last time Curvo and I talked, we had a drink. A rich red, before you ask. It felt appropriate to have a drink for our talk, too.”

Turukano was sorely tempted to throw something at him.

“Ah ah ah,” Ingo chided. “Recall that you’re both in the same club.”

Turukano did recall. He did not appreciate the reminder.

“At least you’ve ordered a white for me,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We could all get together again whenever he returns,” Ingo suggested. “Provided, of course, you manage to pull your head out of your rear end before then.”

Turukano counted it as progress that he didn’t snap at that. Actually, he found to his surprise he was halfway considering the notion.

“You really think he’ll be allowed out anytime soon?” he asked skeptically.

Moryo had only gotten out because of Tindomiel. Namo hadn’t planned on letting him go. In Turukano’s opinion, that didn’t bode well for Moryo’s brothers.

“I think Artë’s littlest darling is unlikely to leave her grandmother’s favorite cousin in there when she explains why Namo has to give back Kano and Maitimo as I’m told she plans to do. And I hear Anariel is not as good at taking ‘no’ for an answer as my sister.”

Turukano couldn’t help the strangled cough.

“That might work,” he admitted. “At least, it would if your grandnieces were aware Curvo was Artë’s favorite. I don’t believe they are, though. It’s almost as if I’m not the only one who had a change of heart about him in Beleriand.”

Ingo’s cocked head indicated that hit had landed.

“I guess you can be stubborn until the breaking of the world if you really want to, but I don’t see why you’ve been taking it out on Aunt Nerdanel and Silmë.”

Turukano paused in confusion.

“I haven’t done anything to Auntie or Silmë,” he said. “I mean, yes, I haven’t been visiting regularly or anything, but that’s hardly unique to them. I spend most of my time here. Besides, I didn’t think they’d want to see me. They know Curvo and I weren’t on good terms before we died. So what am I but a reminder that the one they want to see isn’t back? They might have even thought I was rubbing it in!”

Ingo gave him one of those looks.

He really should have had a better excuse, but he hadn’t thought Ingo would need to ask.

“Fine,” Turukano sighed. “I didn’t know what you wanted me to say once I saw the portraits of Gildor! It wasn’t as though I could talk to you about it. There’s no privacy with our fathers about.”

Ingo frowned.

“What should you need to say?” he asked. “And why worry about our parents? Besides, if we weren’t on close enough terms for you to feel comfortable coming to me in Alqualondë or Valimar, it wasn’t my doing.”

Turukano bit back his instinctive retort - “Yes, Valimar would have been so much better than Tirion, because any of us have ever successfully kept anything from Grandmother” - shielding his mind carefully as he did.

He hoped he hadn’t forgotten how to shut Ingo out at need. The last thing he needed was to make another mess, particularly one that involved both his best friends. It was bad enough knowing Artanis and Irissë were going to team up on him at some point. Ingo and Curvo on top of it would be too much.

But it didn’t make sense.

Ingo wasn’t the devious one. That was Curvo. Ingo was as honest as Tindomiel poked fun at him for being. He was unlikely to be faking innocence, let alone manage it so convincingly.

Which meant Ingo was not the one he needed to be asking about Gildor.

Curvo was in the Halls. Artanis was more likely to strangle him than answer any questions – particularly if there was no evidence of him patching things up with Curvo first. Which he couldn’t do even if he truly wanted to what with Curvo inconveniently still dead.

Manwë’s balls!

He’d started the morning not looking forward to having to talk things out with Ingo about Irissë, her husband, and her son. Right now, that would actually be a welcome change of topic.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said firmly. “Forget I said anything.

“That’s not really how it works,” Ingo snorted. “You really are out of practice at being friends with anyone.”

“So I’m told. Why don’t we move on to other things I don’t particularly want to talk about?”

It was more desperation than anything else, but to his surprise, Ingo laughed.

“We may rehabilitate you yet.”