Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Meet The Grandparents

Dressing didn’t usually take long, but Tindomiel understood that if today was the day they would have to finally deal with the whole family descending on them, they’d better do things properly. (Particularly seeing as they hadn’t been within arrowshot of proper so far.) Just wearing clothes that didn’t look like they’d been thrown on at the last possible minute wouldn’t cut it.

So after they were dressed in the new clothes Enerdhil had brought for them, she gestured for Maeglin to sit down so she could do his hair. Considering how often she’d been responsible for making a mess of it lately, fixing it was new and different.

He blinked in surprise, but sat quickly enough that it was clear he had no objections.

“Is there a particular style you prefer?” she asked him as she reached for the hairbrush.

“No, I leave it up to you,” he said. “I have no idea what is current.”

“It doesn’t have to be current, it just has to be something you’re comfortable with.”

He didn’t respond aloud, but she could hear the thorny thicket of politics and Noldorin fashion and trying to fit in that he associated with his hair while in Ondolindë.

She sighed. Of course they’d gone and made it complicated.

After a moment’s thought, she elected to go with one of the no-nonsense Iathrin styles that reflected practicality rather than rank, one she’d seen on everyone from novices just learning how to shoot a bow to Thingol himself. If anyone – from her royal grandfather on down – wanted to make a fuss about it, tough.

It was only once she’d gotten started that the intimacy of the act struck her. She’d done her siblings’ hair before, of course, and they’d fussed over hers, but she’d never touched anyone else’s.

Maeglin’s hand brushed hers in a quiet gesture of appreciation.

“I would be happy to return the favor,” he murmured.

She knew he would be more than happy – the last few weeks had been a revelation to him, but not nearly enough for someone so starved for trust and intimacy as he had been before his death. The family descending on them might be annoying on one level, but on another, she knew it was going to be the best thing for him.

“Another day,” she sighed, regretting the necessity. “It will take too darn long to explain any of the ways I wear it, and I don’t think you’ll know them already.”

She could have let him do something with her hair that he’d be familiar with, but she was betting he knew Iathrin styles best, and that wouldn’t be very diplomatic under the circumstances. It was only sense to do something with her hair that at least nodded to Noldor. Her usual styles weren’t complicated for someone used to doing them, but she remembered vividly how intimidating she’d found them when she first arrived in Imladris. Only Arwen’s staunch support and confidence that she would master them had kept her going.

She ruthlessly tamped down the stab of regret that Arwen would never know about this – she’d be so delighted for them. (And probably see the humor in the situation better than anyone but Anariel.) And that gave her inspiration – she’d wear her hair the same today as she had for her sister’s wedding.

“We do seem to be under a deadline,” Maeglin agreed – but she noticed he watched carefully as her fingers flew through the motions. He would know next time.

Tindomiel was surprised when it was neither Elemmakil nor Enerdhil who entered the room bearing the tray of food not long after they were both properly presentable and carefully sitting on one of the couches, doing nothing more than holding hands and doing their best not to muss each other’s clothes, hair, or anything else no matter how tempting.

“Mastacarmë!” Maeglin exclaimed. “We have you to thank for all this? I should have known.”

The man positively beamed.

“It is good to see you back, my prince, and looking so well. And this is our new princess?”

She smiled politely, though she hadn’t a clue who he was.

He’s our head cook, Maeglin explained. And beyond doubt the one responsible for the pizza and burritos!

I adore him already, she replied.

“Yes, this is Tindomiel,” Maeglin said, a note of pride in his voice. “I believe you will come to like her.”

“If she has your regard, my prince, I’m certain I will,” Mastacarmë replied. “There will be time enough for she and I to get to know one another later – for now, I hope this will serve. We are told your parents will be arriving any moment, and I will not be having either of you faint from not eating.”

“We’ve been eating!” Tindomiel protested. “And it’s all been delicious!”

Her mouth was watering all the same at the sight and smell of the almond croissants and melon-berry salad on the tray. She was sure they had been eating regularly, even if she couldn’t quite work out when exactly the last meal had been. It had to have been recent.

“I am pleased to hear it, my princess. It will be a relief to finally hear from you directly about your likes. I have been relying on secondhand reports.”

She started to reply, but Mastacarmë cut her off.

“Eat now, please – your family are coming, remember. We will speak later, never fear.”

He collected the empty tray from their previous meal and made for the door.

“I am preparing a light luncheon, but you will need to advise me whether you will dine here or with the King this evening, and if you are dining here, whether there will be guests beyond your parents.”

“When we know, you’ll know,” Maeglin assured him. “Thank you.”

He grinned at her as the door closed.

“A few smiles and the Moles will be all yours,” he told her, kissing her hand before doing as they’d been told and applying himself to the food.

“It’s more than that,” she pointed out wryly.  

A few smiles and their prince’s good opinion might be closer to it.

The door banged open, but it was Enerdhil, not Maeglin’s parents.

He looked to be at breaking point.

“Finished just in time,” he breathed, handing over a pair of matching circlets. “Get them on – your parents are practically at the door.”

“His or mine?” Tindomiel asked as Maeglin settled the silver ornament onto her hair, clipping it carefully into place.

“Both,” Enerdhil said. “The housekeeping staff are in a swivet – they had only a few hours warning.”

“But-”

“The secret that you were here was kept as well as could be,” Enerdhil informed them. “Which meant I regrettably could not tip off the housekeepers to have the house ready for royal visitors. Or allow Mastacarmë to have the kitchens prepared to cook for festival meals after Aranwë told them they wouldn’t need to.”

Tindomiel couldn’t help the giggle.

“Nana and Ada won’t give a hoot,” she said. “And I don’t think your mother sounds the type, either. So unless your father has a passion for housekeeping you haven’t mentioned…”

Maeglin’s perplexity at the idea of his parents paying attention to such matters was more effective than any ‘hold still’ on her part could have been, and his circlet was in place before he recovered.

When she turned back to Enerdhil, he gave an audible sigh of relief.

“That’s everything in order,” he pronounced. “And consider this fair warning, my prince – now that your parents are here to handle matters, I intend to take several days to recover from all this.”

“Of course,” Tindomiel assured him before Maeglin could say anything. “You’ve been an absolute hero, Enerdhil. I’m sure nobody could have done any better. Take as much time as you need.”

“I am grateful to hear you think so, Princess.”

Flattery will get you everywhere, was Maeglin’s amused comment at Enerdhil’s visible reaction to the praise – not to mention her blessing his plan to hide out for a while.

Well he did manage to keep everyone away for longer than either of us thought he could, she pointed out reasonably. And he looks exhausted. He has every right to sleep for a week if that’s what he wants to do now.

---

Maeglin had to work not to laugh at the idea of Anardil sleeping for a week.  A day or two, he’d believe. He’d seen that a few times. But after those couple days, the other man was far more likely to lock himself into his workshop and seize the opportunity to create uninterrupted. Particularly if he’d had the stewardship dumped on him temporarily with the assurance it wouldn’t take much of his time…

Tindomiel would learn. His house was home to many craftspeople who didn’t necessarily keep regular or sociable hours. But given her ability to take the unexpected in stride, he felt sure she would win them all over.

He couldn’t resist a single kiss – particularly not when he noticed she had a bit of icing sugar from the almond pastries lingering on her lips.

Of course that was the moment the door burst open.

He looked up expecting to see Elemmakil or Anardil again, but instead –

“Ammë?” he exclaimed.

No amount of hearing ‘your parents’ had prepared him to see his mother striding through the door looking alive, healthy, and elated to see him.

He was so startled he might have stayed frozen in place, but Tindomiel gave him the gentlest of shoves to start him moving. He met his mother halfway across the room, crashing into an embrace he’d been waiting three Ages for without knowing it.

“Look at you,” his mother murmured. “All grown up!”

“He wasn’t exactly little the last time you saw him,” came an amused voice from somewhere behind her.

“Ada!”

Another set of arms wrapped around them both. His father wasn’t merely happy to see him, he was proud enough that Maeglin nearly cried.

I made a terrible mess of everything, he tried to tell them, not quite succeeding in holding back tears.

“No such animal,” his mother sniffed dismissively.

“You did just fine, my son,” Ada assured him. “We have every reason to be proud.”

And all the more so for you having picked the most sensible princess at hand to marry.

Maeglin laughed through his tears – and then gasped as he caught the wispy, not-quite-properly awake consciousness of…

“My sister?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Ammë told him. “We’re all back and just as we should be.”

He did his best to calm himself – he didn’t want to alarm the baby.

“Don’t be silly,” his mother sighed fondly. “You won’t. She’s happy to be near her big brother again.”

He reached cautiously for her and was reassured that the little one seemed healthy and none the worse for her sojourn in Mandos.

She is fine, his mother said quietly. We have been far more worried about you, my little mole.

She kissed his temple, just as she used to when he was little.

He did not want to worry her even more by admitting what had happened, and tried to change the subject by looking around for Tindomiel.

He found her bracketed by two elves who could only be her parents. Her father looked indulgent, her mother reproving.

He reached out a hand, and felt anchored when she caught it.

“Ammë, Ada, this is Tindomiel,” he said, drawing her toward him.

“We know,” his father said in amusement. “We’ve heard a good deal about her from Galadriel. And young Anairon.”

“And a few others as well,” Tindomiel’s mother added wryly. “I’m afraid Anairon did his best for you two, but ended up with a few more relations in tow than just his own parents. I’m Celebrían, and this is my husband Elrond.”

Celebrían was an elegant blend of Aunt Galadriel and Uncle Celeborn. Elrond looked surprisingly like Cousin Lúthien.

“A star shines upon this hour,” he said, falling back onto rote politeness – despite the mentions of them, he hadn’t once considered how he should greet his mate’s parents.

They’re not worried about your manners, Tindomiel assured him silently, a touch of amusement in her voice.

“You don’t need to fuss with protocol and etiquette, lad,” Elrond said with a smile. “And you’ll have to excuse Celebrían. She’s out of sorts to discover that no one thought to warn us we were coming to meet a law-son, so she hasn’t a single thing appropriate for a wedding gift.”

Maeglin started to try to claim responsibility, only to have Celebrían laugh.

“You’ve made the poor boy nervous,” she told her husband reproachfully. “And it’s entirely unnecessary, Maeglin – I’m her mother, I can guess perfectly well who the impulsive one in this partnership is.”

“Nana,” Tindomiel sighed.

Celebrían raised an impressive eyebrow, and Tindomiel relented immediately.

“Yes, it was my fault,” she sighed. “Please say you’re going to spare me having to tell everyone individually.”

Elrond did his best not to laugh. Eöl didn’t hold back.

“Line of Lúthien indeed,” he chuckled.

“Hush with your line of Lúthien,” Ammë sniffed. “She looks just like Ammë!”

Maeglin wasn’t sure what to make of that until Tindomiel silently informed him it was accurate – and that he’d probably get to see for himself before long.

Ammë followed up her statement with one of her bone-cracking hugs, which went a good way to alleviating any worried Maeglin had about what she thought of the situation. He was about to intervene to rescue his mate, but…

“Don’t worry,” Tindomiel giggled. “This is nothing compared to Anariel’s hugs.”

They can have a hug-off whenever she gets here, she added. She’ll win.

“We did have to explain to my middle daughter a time or two that it was as possible to break elven bones as mortal ones,” his father-in-law sighed.

He’s joking, right?  Maeglin asked.

Nope, Tindomiel said cheerfully.

When Ammë let go – or at least, when she decided one arm was sufficient to keep around Tindomiel while the other was around Maeglin – Elrond suggested they all sit.

Maeglin had the conviction his law-father was keeping a sharp eye on him.

More like a healer’s eye, Tindomiel said, suddenly sounding concerned.

“No cause for worry, my dawn child,” Elrond murmured. “But you would have done better to let Maeglin recover more of his strength before marrying. It’s just as well it’s nearly lunch time.”

“We just ate,” Maeglin said, eager to protect his mate from any charges of negligence.

“I am pleased to hear it, but you could both stand to eat again,” Elrond said mildly.

“Elrond, you’re worrying both of them,” Celebrían sighed. “Relax, darlings – yes, you too, pumpkin belly.”

Pumpkin belly? he asked silently.

Did I say anything when your mother called you a little mole? No, I did not!

He snickered. He’d have to ask Celebrían at the first possible opportunity.

He did notice that his father also looked concerned, so he obligingly steered Tindomiel back to a seat, knowing that if they sat, their parents would also.

“Mastacarmë said he’d be sending up a light lunch,” he said as Tindomiel settled in next to him.

“I’ll just have a word with him,” Elrond said, and slipped out.

So much for a light lunch, was Tindomiel’s comment.

“Don’t worry,” Ammë chirped. “He’s not upset, just trying to make sure you’re up to company.”

“Meaning all the rest of them won’t stay patient forever?” Tindomiel sighed.

“Your impulse to go to Neldoreth probably would have worked out better,” Celebrían told her daughter gently. “As it is, Ammë is here, and her parents, and Anairon’s parents. And Uncle Ingo was already visiting with his family.”

“Lissë’s here?” Tindomiel asked in strangled tones.

Maeglin glanced at her, and she answered the unspoken questions at once, filling him in on Finrod’s daughter and how annoying she could be.

She is not the cousin I would have put first on the list to celebrate my wedding with, Tindomiel concluded.

Anairon, Tasariel, and Califiriel were all there at the time, Maeglin pointed out. So she’s hardly the first.

She blinked at him, and he made sure to keep his expression neutral.

“You are the absolute end,” Tindomiel sighed.

But her face gave away that she wasn’t annoyed at all, and the touch of her spirit was both fond and amused.

“I know,” he agreed, allowing himself a small smile.