Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Lunch With The Parents

Mastacarmë, as ever, did not let any frustration show as he coordinated his staff. Their work was a bit like a dance, with complex choreography and many moving parts coming together at precisely the right moment. That dance would fall apart if he lost his composure.

Enerdhil had declared himself done not half an hour ago. Admittedly, he had half a point. Prince Lómion’s parents had arrived, and found their son and his mate respectably dressed and in a fit state to receive them.

He might have stayed on duty long enough to take lunch up.

Mastacarmë had decided to make pizza one of the main components.

He had been pleased to discover the California foods the princess had spoken of were in many ways ideal for the current situation – meant to be eaten quickly, without utensils, and marvelously flexible in the hands of a creative cook. As far as he had been able to discover from the young Golden Flowers, the only constant to pizza was the bread base and the requirement that it involve some form of cheese. He’d had the night cooks doing nothing but experimenting with combinations of flavors and textures for the past week.

Today he was using Nyarindë’s idea of putting a salad on a pizza base, the light dressing and ricotta setting off the chopped greens, onions and peppers. She’d pointed out gleefully that it matched well with what they’d been told of the tradition of eating cold pizza. (Lady Tasariel had looked dubious when it was initially pitched to her, but she’d eaten the sample completely and asked for seconds.)

“The soup is nearly finished!” his assistant called. “Five minutes!”

The soup was one he’d packed as much nutritional punch as possible into, featuring a medley of early summer vegetables punctuated by egg drop and an invigorating spice blend.

He looked over to where the bakers were plating the miniature seed loaves with basil butter, and turned his head in the other direction to make sure the stuffed squash were likewise at the plating stage.

With lunch nearly complete, his only remaining worry was whether he should be planning dinner, and if so, for how many.

“Sir, may I be of assistance?”

He turned to find one of the undercooks looking at a visitor in bemusement.

“Prince Elrond!” Mastacarmë exclaimed.

“Indeed,” the younger man replied, inclining his head politely.

He would have to instruct the staff on recognizing their prince’s parents and parents-in-law. He was somewhat disappointed to find that there was anyone on his staff who didn’t recognize the king’s great-grandson.

He strode over to the prince in question.

“You wished to speak with me?” he asked, gesturing to Prince Elrond to proceed him into his office. If his assistant couldn’t complete the trays for the prince’s rooms without him at this point, he had no business calling himself a master.

“I’m afraid no one mentioned your name to me,” Prince Elrond said apologetically.

He looked more like the king, but his gracious manner was all Queen Elenwë.

“Mastacarmë,” he replied genially. “What brings you to my kitchen? I must confess I was not expecting you.”

“I wished to enquire about how well my daughter and son-in-law have been eating. I thought you would be the man to ask,” Prince Elrond said. “I’ve a suspicion Maeglin could do with a bit more than he’s been getting.”

Mastacarmë was rather discomfited. He’d done all he could!

“I mean no criticism, I believe you have done an exemplary job,” Prince Elrond reassured him immediately. “But with Maeglin only just returned, he ought to have been eating somewhat more than normal to begin with, even before they married…”

Mastacarmë let out a sigh of relief.

“I’ve been trying for a good mix of high energy and things with staying power,” he said. “The aim has been that everything should be quick to eat and keep well enough that it can sit several hours if not noticed at once. And of course, sufficient fruit, veg, protein, and so on. If the dishes are interesting to try out with a partner, that’s to the good as well. Most trays have come back empty or nearly so.”

He was particularly proud of how well the fondues had worked – both the chocolate and the cheese ones had come back to the kitchens picked entirely clean.

The prince looked relieved, and Mastacarmë recalled that he was a healer. This was likely more than just parental concern.

“There’s also been a request or two,” Mastacarmë continued. “I’ve done my best. I leaned on Lord Laurefindil’s girls a bit to discover what I could of our Princess’ tastes, and of course I had no one else to ask about some of the dishes she knew from her youth.”

The prince’s mouth quirked as though he were trying not to laugh.

“Yes, Tasariel and Califiriel are fairly well qualified there, though my older daughter would have been more help.”

Mastacarmë remembered just in time that he should not ask when they might expect Princess Tindomiel’s sister.

“I hear you have created several interesting versions of pizza,” Prince Elrond said. “I assume they were your invention, for I don’t recall caramelized onion, apple, and goat cheese being a popular variant in Anariel’s telling, or rhubarb and basil with honey whiskey sauce.”

He would have to tell Nyarindë and Samnion what an impression they’d made. They’d be pleased.

“I must give credit to my staff,” Mastacarmë smiled. “Those were both creations of my apprentices.”

He paused.

“I just sent up something for the pair of them before you arrived. But we were nearly done assembling a luncheon for both the happy couple and their parents…”

He didn’t want to ask directly, but it gave Prince Elrond an opening to comment on whether or not the prince and princess seemed sufficiently well fed. It also might give him a chance to gauge how their parents were reacting to the unexpected union. He doubted Princess Irissë would object – she had been famously partial to her young niece, so much so that he could not imagine her not treating her son similarly. But that left three unknowns, one of who was standing before him.

“We could not have hoped for better, I thank you,” Prince Elrond said warmly. “They did mention having eaten recently, but we expect them to join us for our meal all the same. If it does not trouble your people unduly, I shall be happy to help carry lunch upstairs. I would prefer to see Maeglin in particular eating while they are still focused.”

“Ah,” Mastacarmë sighed. “So they will need a bit longer.”

“I fear at least one public appearance will be necessary given the holiday and the many grandparents eager to see them,” Elrond sighed. “But aside from that, I suspect they will need another week or so.”

Mastacarmë nodded.

“Will you all be taking dinner at the King’s House tonight?” he asked bluntly. “Or should I prepare dinner for a smaller party here?”

“I think the younger folks might dine here, while the rest of us join King Turukano,” Prince Elrond said thoughtfully. “I suspect there will be some discussion as to how and when to present them publicly, and they’re certainly not ready to have the entire family descend on them.”

“If you’ve any suggestions,” Mastacarmë said expectantly, reaching for pen and paper. He’d take all the help he could get!

“I shall be more than happy to discuss them with you after lunch,” Prince Elrond told him. “I may see if Uncle Eöl is willing to join us as well.”

“It would be good to meet the prince’s father – and his mother as well,” Mastacarmë nodded. “But as you say, they should eat first.”

He led the way to where the trays were being assembled.

“Perhaps a bit much for the parents, but for our prince and princess…”

“I think it will be just enough,” Prince Elrond agreed, taking it all in.

Then the prince did a double take when he saw Elemmakil.

“I… captain…” Prince Elrond said.

Mastacarmë looked from one to the other.

“Our new princess comes by her troublesome streak honestly,” Elemmakil informed Mastacarmë with a wicked grin. Turning to the prince, he added, “I trust you’ve learned better sense by now?”

Prince Elrond blushed.

---

The last thing Turukano wanted to do was go down to lunch with all his guests. He would much rather have retreated to the privacy of his rooms, where even Ingo or Atto would hesitate to bother him. But there was no way around it. He was not only the King of the city, he was everyone’s host. It was his duty.

The only consolation was that he knew his sister wouldn’t be present. She’d be lunching in the Mole, where hopefully Lómion and Tindomiel were able for visitors. He wondered who his granddaughter had brought out of the Halls first, Lómion or Irissë… Lómion first, surely? Had there been a secret courtship before the boy returned, or was Lómion just as impetuous as his mother given the opportunity?

Letting his mind focus on silly inconsequential details was a good distraction from the appalling nature of the news Atto had shared, but even that couldn’t wholly blot it out. He was surprised his sister had led with the damage to her son rather than the death of her daughter.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand her reaction. Hadn’t he been half-mad trying to keep Rillë safe after Elenwë’s death? What would he have done to anyone who put her at risk?

I don’t know, what were you contemplating doing to Curvo at the Mereth Aderthad?

GET OUT OF MY HEAD, INGO.

“It was a reasonable question,” his best friend snorted, taking his arm companionably as if they were wandering the market rather than going in to what promised to be the most unpleasant meal since his return.

“What was the question, Ingo darling?” Ammë asked curiously.

Turvo ducked his head, unable to deal with any disappointed looks at present. All the same…

“Is this really the time for this discussion?” he said pointedly.

“Don’t worry, the children all decamped to the Wing on the theory that Anairon knows more than anyone else,” Amarië reassured him. “Gildor wanted to hear what Artë had to say about it besides.”

“Poor boy,” Aunt Eärwen chuckled.

“He’ll manage,” Atto said drily. “Besides, didn’t you say he had backup?”

“Laurë and Ecthelion turned up there with their girls as well,” Uncle Ara nodded. “Who probably know a thing or two themselves. Artanis is delighted.”

Turukano’s jaw dropped. If all three of them knew about it…

“You mean to say-”

“It seems they’ve been married for a month or so,” Elenwë sighed. “Your mother and aunt were just explaining to us that Tindomiel may need a bit more time than most newlyweds – something about Melian’s descendants.”

Beside him, Ingo made a slight choking sound.

“Stars, I didn’t even think about that,” his cousin said. “Given how long it took before Aunt Melian and Uncle Elu were ready to rejoin the world…”

“Happily, it sounds as if her descendants don’t need quite so long,” Elenwë said. “Though it may be asking too much for Tinwë and Lómion to join the festivities for the Gates of Summer. I’ll be pleased if they manage a family dinner with all of us. The rest of the city will just have to develop some patience.”

Turukano managed not to snort at the odds of that happening.

“Surely you don’t expect them tonight,” Ammë said.

“No, but I thought perhaps tomorrow evening,” Elenwë replied hopefully. “I thought it might be easier if we go to them rather than ask them to come here.”

“Has Elrond sent word yet?” Turukano asked, taking his seat – and gratefully taking his wife’s hand under the table. Without Elenwë he’d never get through any of this. It was why he’d made such a mess of everything in the first place. She was the one who was good with people.

You do just fine, Turvo, she sighed. You’re wonderful about looking after people you care about, which is why it puzzles me so that you made such a mess of it with Irissë and her husband the first time!

It didn’t seem the time to explain that he’d just wanted to keep his little sister safe.

“No,” Ammë replied. “I doubt he’s had time to do more than see them and be sure they’re in good health. We’ll have to be patient, too. Oh, and I’m still waiting to hear just what Ingo’s question you didn’t want to answer was.”

Turukano flushed.

“I was asking him what he meant to do to Curvo at the Feast of Reuniting,” Ingo piped up – as maddeningly cheerful as ever.

Ass, Turvo commented silently.

She’s not going to let it go, Ingo shrugged. And I’m curious as well.

“Why should he have done anything to Curvo?” Atto asked, frowning.

“Curvo had his terrible kinslaying self too close to Rillë,” Ingo chuckled, answering before Turukano could think of anything sensible to say.

“Darling, you surely didn’t think Curvo would do anything terrible to a child,” Ammë exclaimed, sounding scandalized.

“You were worried about Curvo?” his aunt said at the same time, sounding utterly baffled.

“He was so reprehensible as to let Rillë and Tyelpë have a third slice of cake,” Ingo informed them, eyes dancing. “And let himself be pulled into dancing with both of them.”

I’m starting to think Irissë’s approach to people who annoy her has its merits, Turukano informed his most aggravating cousin.

I thought we’d established you considered Curvo your most aggravating cousin, with my sister a close second? Ingo said, with a mental grin that made Turukano consider if he could get away with kicking him under the table.

Not with Amarië sitting between us.

Turukano looked up to find both his father and his uncle covering their mouths, which meant they’d heard it all.

Silmë might like hearing about that feast, Ingo added softly. I don’t think she’s heard much about the good times.

As quiet as Ingo had said it, his father and uncle probably hadn’t heard that part. But why on earth hadn’t Ingo told her about it? He’d been there too.

“Yes, all right,” he ground out. “I was unduly cranky.”

“At the children having a good time?” his mother said, all disappointment. “How could that be upsetting?”

“No, at the idea they were there at all!” Turukano exclaimed. “If I could have, I would have picked them both up and sent them back home, where it was safe!”

“What did this have to do with Curvo?” his uncle prodded.

“It must have been the cake,” his father suggested.

“It had nothing to do with the cake,” Turukano snorted in exasperation. “You knew perfectly well I didn’t want my daughter near kinslayers. We had words about it.”

Turvo! We talked about this! Elenwë protested.

Pots and kettles, Ingo reminded him.

It wasn’t at the time! he shot back irritably.

“Yet you’ve been terribly impatient with young Elrond, who appears to have a similar thought,” his father observed.

“He doesn’t seem to have such problems with other kinslayers,” Turukano snapped, as annoyed with being led into such an obvious trap as he was with being badgered when they all knew he would much rather be alone.

“Possibly because those other kin have taken good care of him and his children,” Ammë said quietly.

His mother had never been one to yell. The reproof was deafening all the same.

“Or tried to, in Anariel’s case,” Aunt Eärwen corrected with a sigh.

Turukano stabbed viciously at his salad. It was going to be a very long lunch, and an even longer afternoon.

---

Maeglin thought his law-father looked somewhat startled when he returned with Elemmakil helping carry the luncheon trays.

“Elrond?”

Tinu’s mother half-rose from her seat in concern.

“I’ve just run into someone I haven’t seen since the War of Wrath,” Elrond murmured. “I’m fine. Just a bit surprised.”

He and Elemmakil began setting the dishes on the table.

Maeglin was interested to note the search for new innovations in pizza appeared to be continuing.

“Oh, look, he’s combined it with salad this time,” Tinu said, looking fascinated. “Even Anairon’s never tried that.”

It’s got some mildly spicy peppers in it, she warned him silently, pointing them out so he’d recognize them. If you don’t want them, I’ll have them.

You should warn my parents as well, he replied. Ada will probably like them, but I’m not sure what Ammë will think.

Neither of his parents would know them.

Tindomiel’s mother stepped in before either of them could say anything more, pointing out various ingredients in the meal that might be unknown to his parents, whether because they originated in California or whether they were developed in Second or Third age Ennor.

His father looked confused by the salad pizza, not that Maeglin entirely blamed him. Though it did look quite tasty, with the onions and all those crisp greens… he would have politely taken only one, but Elrond looked from him to the tray and set a second slice on his plate for him.

“I’m sure it’s all delicious,” Ammë announced blithely, taking generous helpings of everything. “Though not as good as Anairon’s cooking, of course.”

Maeglin smothered a smile.

His mother was always certain that his craft and Ada’s were the best, and that apparently now extended to Anairon as well. He turned over Tinu’s idea of remaking that piece for her. She’d think it wonderful no matter what, but he could do so much better now than he could have at twenty-three.

“He’s no doubt busy elsewhere,” Elrond snorted. “Poor boy will be answering questions for my grandmother all afternoon.”

Maeglin took a sip of water to cover how odd it he found it to hear Rillë referred to as someone’s grandmother. (Particularly his law-father’s.)

“There’s not all that much to answer,” Tinu said with a slight frown. “Maeglin came back, found us, got startled because somebody kept trying to insist we should take him to Grandpa Turukano instead of going to Neldoreth like he wanted-”

“Anairon meant well,” Maeglin interrupted firmly. “Neither of you could have known. And he was concerned you would end up in trouble.”

“He still could have been more discreet,” Tinu shrugged, unrepentant.  

I’m not saying anything here I wouldn’t say to him, she added for Maeglin’s benefit. Or said already when you weren’t there to hear it.

“And then yeah, I could have had more self-discipline. See? I’m getting better at recognizing my own mistakes.”

The last seemed to be aimed toward her father.

“What mistakes, darling?” his mother protested, giving Elrond the most reproachful look in her arsenal of expressions designed to make others feel guilty. “It’s all turned out for the best.”

The ‘hasn’t it?’ was implicit, and Elrond had little choice but to nod, much to Ada’s amusement – and Tindomiel’s mother’s.

He’ll nod now and talk to me later when your mother isn’t around to steamroll him, Tindomiel informed him.

He’ll ask you both to eat now.

Maeglin blinked in surprise at Elrond’s gentle osanwë – and pointed look at the pair of them.

“We’re eating!” Tindomiel said blithely through a mouthful of pizza.

“You too, my little mole,” his mother said fondly, ruffling his hair.

Maeglin was a bit more restrained, but he also did as asked.

How could he not, when this was the most enjoyable meal he’d had since he left Nan Elmoth?