Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Handle With Caution

Irissë was sorely tempted to ride on without everyone else. (Well, everyone else but her husband.) They were going so maddeningly slowly.

“We really aren’t,” Galadriel murmured in amusement, and grinned outright at the glare that got her in return.

Besides, neither your parents nor mine are about to let you go ahead of everyone else alone.

“I don’t see what they’re worried about,” she sniffed.

“Given that they know you, my love, they’re probably worried you’ll level your brother’s house,” Eöl replied. His tone said he wouldn’t be bothered at all, and would actually enjoy watching.

“Level his house, beat him black and blue, and possibly cut off his hair for good measure,” Aryo agreed cheerfully.

“Arakano, you needn’t give your sister such ideas,” Anairë’s voice rang out from behind them.

“Don’t worry, Auntie,” Galadriel laughed. “I assure you she’s already had worse ones.”

I hadn’t actually thought of leveling his house, Irissë confessed – and promptly had to smack her laughing husband. I probably shouldn’t, though. It would upset Elenwë, and I’m not angry at her.

She reached apologetically for Artë, who had just had the fleeting thought that Celeborn would be sorry to miss all this.

I’ll manage, Artë sighed. We knew when I sailed that something like this could happen.

“You foresaw that your youngest granddaughter would marry our son?” Eöl asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aunt Melian would be proud of herself for seeing that.”

“This particular marriage, no,” Artë sighed. “But we did understand it was possible one of the children might marry. Our thought was more for Tinu than for the older three – it seemed unlikely they would meet someone and be so impulsive that they would not wait to celebrate with all their kin.”

“They might well choose to celebrate with Arwen,” a new voice broke in.

Celebrían and Elrond had joined them.

“If they meet someone new to them, darling,” Artë replied indulgently. “I’m quite confident Anariel and Legolas are only good friends. I have every expectation she’ll make merry at his wedding, but I’m quite certain she won’t be the bride.”

Celebrían pouted slightly at that, and Elrond chuckled.

Irissë liked Elrond, and thought her son couldn’t have asked for a better father-in-law. He had her stupid brother’s even temper, but with a sense of humor Turvo was missing and a kindness she was certain was straight from Grandmother no matter how many generations were in between them.

“Who is Legolas?” Eöl asked.

“Oropher’s grandson,” Artë replied. “And as his Thranduil remained in Ennor as well, that makes two responsible adults keeping eyes on both Legolas and my grandchildren.”

“Yes, Ennor just may survive,” Elrond agreed.

“Because Thranduil has ever prevented Anariel from doing things she shouldn’t,” Celebrían muttered. “Need I remind you of the incident at Erebor?”

With such a lead-in, of course Eöl had to ask.

Shall I be the distraction? Artë wanted to know as Celebrían launched into the rather interesting tale of Anariel’s first full-scale battle.

Irissë grinned at both Anariel’s inventiveness and Artë’s question.

You think we need one?

“You girls aren’t plotting anything, are you?”

Irissë jumped at her mother’s voice directly behind her. Artë did not.

I’ve had a bit more time to get used to them being around again.

Irissë did not glare at her, but only because that would give away to their mothers that they were indeed plotting something.

“Just a reminder before we reach the city,” Uncle Ara said genially. “This is to be a peaceful occasion. That means both of you, Artanis.”

Artë looked affronted, but Eöl spoiled the effect by laughing.

“Also, I think it best if we do not all descend on the happy couple at once. Irissë and Eöl and Celebrían and Elrond will do for a start.”

“But-” Artë began, obviously put out to be excluded.

Irissë would have happily argued the case as well – her best friend was also the grandmother of the bride and had every right to be there!

“The parents of the newlyweds only,” Uncle Ara said gently. “You can join them later. Elrond will send word when the rest of us may visit, or bring the newlyweds to dinner at Turvo’s house if they are up to it.”

Irissë was puzzled by that. At this point, they should surely be ready for their first public appearance. And why would Elrond be the only one trusted to make such decisions?

“Is there some reason they would not be?” Ammë asked curiously, as confused as Irissë was.

Eöl was not the only one to chuckle at the innocent question, and Irissë looked to her husband curiously until she noted Elrond trying not to obviously blush.

“Melian’s descendants honeymoon a bit longer than the rest of us, Auntie,” Artë replied with a smile. “Estel should count himself fortunate indeed that Arwen was more like her grandmother than her father – or Lúthien, to whom she was so often compared.”

Eöl looked curious.

“Why, how long did Lúthien…?”

“No one’s entirely sure,” Artanis informed him. “But it’s a fair bet that it was longer than normal. Dior took four months, and Elrond here was two.”

Irissë smothered laughter as most heads swiveled to poor Elrond.

“I had no idea it had been so long,” he said with a shrug. “To be fair, no one warned me of the possibility either.”

It looked very much like Artë had to work not to laugh.

“How could we?” she said, her eyes dancing. “We weren’t sure ourselves what to expect. Elwing and Eärendil were only an extra week.”

Elrond paused.

“So there is no clear pattern,” he mused. “I wonder if it’s something Grandmother Melian would be able to explain?”

“You could ask her if you think she’ll be of help,” Artë replied.

Irissë was mildly surprised that Elrond shook his head.

“Not today,” he said decisively. “Though she must not be overly concerned – she didn’t tell us why we were coming here.”

“Given how long Aunt Melian and Uncle Elu’s honeymoon lasted, I doubt any length of time shorter than several years likely to trouble her,” Eöl put in. “I also agree that it should be just us and Tindomiel’s parents who go to greet them first.”

Irissë heard his thought that he would prefer to be reunited with his son without an audience. Elrond and Celebrían he was willing to stomach, not only because they were now the boy’s law-parents, but because of Elrond’s talents as a healer.

“Excellent,” Uncle Ara said. “We’re nearly in view of the city, so if you intend to change before we arrive, now is the time.”

“I very much doubt Tindomiel will fuss about clothes, Grandfather,” Celebrían sighed.

“Or Lómion,” Irissë couldn’t help pointing out.

“Turvo, however, might,” Atto said. “And he may expect his royal kin to dress appropriately for the occasion.”

“I don’t have anything else to change into,” Irissë sniffed. “He’ll just have to take me as I am.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Artë sighed.

Try not to get blood on it!

Irissë had to work not to laugh as Uncle’s mild glare proved he’d caught that.

---

Anairë tried not to fret at the sight of her son’s city.

She knew perfectly well her daughter was making a show of behaving herself – which meant at some point, she fully intended to stop behaving. Aryo was treating the entire affair as a great joke, and poor Anairon was acting as though he expected someone to start scolding him at any moment. He evidently had yet to realize that anyone who wanted to trouble him would have to go through Irissë first. (In practice, that meant they’d be up against Artanis as well.)

She wondered how concerned she should be about Turvo – and wished, not for the first time, that her eldest son had also returned to help wrangle his younger siblings. Irissë and Turvo both listened to Finno, and were less likely to quarrel with him around.

You’re fretting, my heart, Nolo pointed out, kissing the nape of her neck – he couldn’t very well do more at the moment, but she knew he would happily distract her otherwise.

“Of course I’m fretting,” she murmured. “It’s one thing for Ara to say this will be a peaceful meeting. It’s another for Irissë, Artë, and Turvo to actually do it.”

“I have every hope Turvo will be so shocked at all of us descending on him without advance warning that he’ll be at his lordly best,” Nolo chuckled. “Look – there he is now.”

Their second son was awaiting them at the city gates, with his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and…

“Is that Ingo?” she asked in surprise.

She hadn’t known their nephew was spending the holiday here. She hadn’t even realized Ingo and Turvo were on good enough terms again for that. Though it seemed a hopeful sign…

“And his family,” Nolo nodded. “I didn’t know he was here.”

“Nor I,” Arafinwë said, joining them. “But it’s just as well. Not only will he be a good influence on Artanis, his children are here as well, which gives Artanis an incentive not to start trouble lest she lose some of the air of wisdom and invincibility she cultivated in Middle-earth.”

“Why should she start trouble?” Nolo asked.

“She’s holding a grudge over that book of his,” Eärwen sighed. “And possibly other matters from Beleriand that she hasn’t seen fit to share…I’m certain there’s more she hasn’t told us.”

Anairë gave Eärwen a look. Surely she didn’t intend to re-open that question now of all times.

“I thought we’d convinced her to let that be?” Ara said in dismay.

Eärwen gave her husband a fond look that managed to still convey that he wholly underestimated his only daughter’s capacity for trouble. Anairë knew the feeling – Nolo was always firmly convinced of Irissë’s innocence and good intentions no matter how much mayhem she caused.

That was the moment at which the children rejoined them, all wearing clothing somewhat more appropriate for a festive occasion. Eöl looked to have borrowed something from Elrond, though Anairë had hoped that Aryo would offer.

He did, Ammë, but Noldorin fashion isn’t quite to Eöl’s taste, her daughter informed her. He’s far happier with this, and it’s not as if Aryo’s clothes would have fit any better.

“Kindly remember there will be a good many of Turvo’s people watching,” Anairë reminded everyone – but particularly her daughter and niece. “Any arguments should be kept until later, when we are among ourselves.”

“Of course, Auntie,” Artanis trilled.

Irissë avoided answering directly by exclaiming how well Elenwë and Rillë looked and how excited she was to see them both.

Anairë narrowed her eyes, in no way fooled. That didn’t bode well at all.

Take heart, my love. It’s not as though she’s going to start a war, Nolo reassured her. And at least she is back among the living.

Yes, there was that. Her daughter had returned. She had a new granddaughter. And a grandson to meet.

She would bear that in mind whenever the trouble started.

---

Turukano was doing his level best not to fidget. He was king, after all, and had to set a good example. That was why he was out here at the city gates in his festival best to greet his visitors – all of them.

“I should have liked to see Lómion first,” he grumbled.

He’d changed swiftly and arranged the welcome, but he was still out of sorts. His instinct had been to hurry to the Mole to see his nephew and make sure the boy was well. But he’d had to abandon that plan under the combined weight of his wife, daughter, and best friend.

“Yes, darling, but it sounded as if he’s not ready for visitors just yet,” Elenwë said soothingly. “Rillë said Enerdhil told her Lómion wasn’t at home. I can’t imagine he’d say such a thing to her without Lómion having ordered it. And if he’s not at home to her as close as they are…”

“Lómion might be ready for visitors, but I don’t think Tinwë is,” Ingo said cheerfully, straightening Lissë’s sash. His daughter was all but dancing in place with excitement at the unlooked for family holiday.

Everyone else in the party turned to look at Ingo.

“What?”

“Tindomiel?” Rillë asked, her voice noticeably higher than normal.

Ingo looked startled.

“I thought you knew,” he said weakly, as his oldest boy started to laugh.

Amarië shushed Gildor, who only laughed harder at his father’s defense.

I thought Rillë told you they had married!

The two younger boys smirked. Lissë gasped before getting that look the Arafinwions all had when speaking silently to one another.

Turukano glared at his best friend. He could only imagine what was being said that he couldn’t hear – and what they might be telling his aunt and uncle – and what his uncle would be telling his father.

You utter idiot, how would I know? he demanded. Rillë didn’t say, I’m not sure she even knew! And I’m not the one of us who can hear everyone from here to Tirion!

“Oh! That’s Irissë!” Elenwë exclaimed brightly, blissfully unaware of this latest surprise.

Turukano’s eyes went from Ingo, who most definitely still had explaining to do, to the oncoming party, which did indeed include not only his parents and Ingo’s, but also Elrond, Celebrían, Artë, Irissë, and…

“I am not having that elf under my roof,” he growled.

He might have accepted that his sister’s death had been an unfortunate accident and his response an overreaction, but that did not mean he liked his sister’s husband any better for it.

“Turukano, ‘that elf’ is your law-brother,” Elenwë hissed before Ingo could say anything. “You will conduct yourself accordingly or so help me…”

You will please also remember that my children are present, Ingo added urgently, with a tight grip on his wrist. Don’t you dare make a scene before we can send them elsewhere to keep them occupied while you and Irissë and Artë have it out.

Turukano didn’t care how irritated Artanis was this time, he was in a mood to match her barb for barb.

“Could someone please explain to me how Tinu comes into this?” Tuor asked in bemusement.

“Not now, my love,” Rillë whispered.

A sudden sound from Tuor seemed to indicate the explanation was no longer needed – the lad was clever enough to have put it together on his own, even if he couldn’t hear all the osanwë happening around him.

It was almost a relief when Turukano’s parents and aunt and uncle greeted him.

“Hail Turukano, King of Ondolindë,” Uncle Arafinwë said, sounding faintly amused.

He could be, given he probably knew more than anyone else about what was going on. It took work to return the greeting appropriately without showing how disgruntled he was.

“Hail Arafinwë, High King of the Noldor,” he replied. “It is an unexpected honor. Dare we hope you will accept our hospitality for the festival?”

“We would be honored,” his uncle replied.

“Amil, Atar,” Turukano continued. “It is a joy to see you again.”

That was as far as he got before his sister planted a fist solidly in his face.

---

“Irissë!”

Anairon was grateful he had a brother between himself and Turukano as their sister showed every sign of ignoring anything she’d ever been taught about manners and royal decorum. He was sure Ammë was not going to take this well.

She’d never felt the need to cover it with him, but he was certain punching kings in the face was, as Tinwë would put it, not of the good. Even kings who happened to be one’s brother. (And even if that brother probably deserved it.)

He didn’t expect his brother would react well either, and would sooner or later work out whose fault it was that everyone had showed up unexpectedly…

“Stand up straight and stop trying to hide,” Aryo advised him in an amused whisper. “You’re not in the firing line, so enjoy the show.”

“He deserved it, Ammë!” Irissë told their mother unrepentantly.

“For what?” Turukano demanded furiously, rubbing at his jaw, royal dignity forgotten.

Anairon could hear his Inglorion cousins starting to snicker – and he suspected any of the Ondolindrim watching were probably just as amused.

“For taking such good care of my son that you failed to notice he’d been dragged off to Angband!” Irissë snapped, kicking him rather forcefully in the shin for good measure. “And possessed by Sauron!”

She punctuated that with a kick to the other shin, drawing a mental howl of pain from their older brother. (No audible sound escaped him thanks to firmly clenched teeth.)

“Children,” Atto said warningly. “Why don’t we discuss this in private?”

As you were told to do!

“Fine,” Irissë sniffed. “There’s plenty to discuss. After I’ve seen Lómion.”

“Yes, we can make our way to the House of the Mole,” Turukano began only to be cut off.

“Irissë and Eöl will proceed to the Mole,” Uncle Arafinwë said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation or contradiction. “Elrond and Celebrían will accompany them. The rest of us will want to freshen up before the midday meal…”

It was a statement, not a question.

Anairon had to admit that Turukano’s sour lemon expression was a little amusing – he might be king of the city, but their uncle was still the High King and thus could not be contradicted.

For all that, Anairon still had no intention of getting any closer to his elder brother until Irissë had settled up with him. He wondered if the Moles would be willing to hide him.

It was a relief when Rillë beckoned to him and Aryo to follow her to the Wing while their parents and aunt and uncle continued to the House of the King. He was still more relieved when he saw Galadriel was going to the Wing as well. That meant he’d at least have some backup when the inevitable questions started.

No sooner did the doors of the Wing close behind them than Rillë and Tuor both looked to him.

“Well?” Rillë said pointedly.

Anairon took a deep breath. It would have been nice had Tinwë given him any hint how he was supposed to explain all this if he got stuck with that task. Then he remembered how he’d seen her answer such a leading question…

“Well what?” he asked, putting his best innocent expression on.

Rillë’s eyes narrowed, Aryo snickered, and Galadriel smiled.

“How fast they grow up, eh, love?” Tuor chuckled. “Come on, lad, your room’s this way.

Tuor waited until they were safely out of earshot of the others to add, “I think you and I are due for a chat without anyone else putting their oars in.”