Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

An Afternoon of Surprises

Arakano looked around the table and grinned.

Anairon had come back from the Golden Flower just before it was time to eat with Tasariel, Califiriel, Laurefindil, and Ecthelion in tow. More interestingly, he had come back without the hangdog expression that his older brother would have expected.

Itarillë had done her best to cover how thrown she was by the additional unexpected guests, even if these ones were only for lunch. He’d spotted the moment when the realization dawned that they might also have more information about Lómion. She was definitely not in the same league as Artë. He’d managed not to laugh, but it had been difficult.

Tuor, of course, was taking it all in stride as he apparently always did. Arakano was forming a theory that part of the thing the rest of the family didn’t get about the peredhel had nothing to do with Lúthien and everything to do with Tuor. That ability to keep calm no matter how strange everything around you got being inherited by everyone from Eärendil down would explain quite a bit.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t just bring him straight here,” Rillë said reproachfully to Anairon. “I would have helped him. Lómion knows I would help him.”

Arakano sighed internally. Anarion’s abilities might be coming on by leaps and bounds, but it was entirely possible he’d never figure out how to handle a disappointed older female relative.

“If the boy didn’t want to,” he shrugged, diverting his niece’s attention.

“It did sound as if Lómion was quite focused on reaching his father’s kin,” Tuor added. “I don’t know that I can blame him. He had no choice but Gondolin for how many years?”

“That still doesn’t explain why no one mentioned to an adult what was going on when you got back to the city,” Laurefindil said, levelling his daughters with a stern look, and catching Anairon on the tail end of it.

Tasariel met her father’s eyes with equanimity, Califiriel squirmed slightly. Anairon held his ground.

That deserved an assist.

“Anairon told an adult,” Arakano pointed out. “So leave him out of it.”

“Really?” Laurefindil said. “Who?”

“Me!” Arakano retorted, nettled. “I’m an adult, even if you all forget it most of the time because I didn’t last very long in Beleriand. And he told Ammë and Atto besides.”

“Once Irissë was back,” Rillë protested.

“He was going to have to say something eventually,” Tasariel sighed. “The whole plan was for him to bring his parents and hers!”

“And Aunt Irissë?” Rillë prompted.

The girls had no answer for that.

“No one knew anything about her and Eöl until they met up with us,” Anairon said firmly.

“Anyone who knows her should be unsurprised that she showed up unlooked for and in her own good time,” Ecthelion snorted.

“He’s got you there,” Gildor told Rillë cheerfully.

The Inglorions had turned up en masse just before Anairon returned, clearly hoping to find out more from people who couldn’t or wouldn’t send them out of the room just when things got interesting. (Except for Artalissë, who was barely able to sit still for sheer excitement and really just wanted people who would share it.)

Rillë didn’t quite glare at him, though she would have at anyone else. Gildor was close to her own age, but unlike Lómion she hadn’t known him in Beleriand. Arakano was told that until the rest of the family descended on Gondolin, they had been cheerfully comparing experiences.

“It’s not quite accurate to say no one knew about her and Eöl,” Galadriel put in with a smile.

“Good of you to admit it,” Arakano muttered.

Rillë’s mouth pinched in a rather interesting way anytime someone mentioned Eöl.

“Did anyone tell you about the baby, Rillë?” Galadriel continued.

Rillë’s jaw dropped. All four Inglorion’s heads swiveled toward her in unison.

“Baby?” Laurefindil asked softly.

Rillë’s jaw was still shocked, but her eyes were worried.

“Oh, look, dessert!” Anairon said.

It was probably only Arakano who caught the slight note of desperation in his voice.

---

Irissë fluttered around the room in delight.

The guest suite was wonderful – and Elemmakil said it had been made with them in mind, knowing that Lómion would want his parents to visit. (The suite for Tindomiel’s parents was sadly rather generic, but the Moles hadn’t had any idea when they built who he might marry, or even if. But she suspected they’d remedy that fairly quickly.)

“Look at this!” she marvelled. “They built this all without him – but for him!”

Eöl nodded, though she could tell he wasn’t nearly as impressed. He might even be just humoring her.

“It doesn’t mean he has to stay here,” she said softly, settling onto his lap. “This is not like Beleriand. He can choose to leave whenever. My idiot brother can’t keep him here against his will – and if he tries to so much as pressure him, Atto and Uncle will intervene. And anyway, he has to come to Tirion for the birth.”

Eöl smiled, but there was more than a touch of melancholy to it. He brushed her hair back from her face.

“You’ve settled all this in one afternoon?” he asked wryly.

“I haven’t settled anything, you silly man,” she sniffed, kissing his forehead. “Lómion is grown. It’s not for us to tell him what to do. He’ll settle it for himself – and I suppose Tindomiel may want a say as well. But I know my son. He won’t walk away from people so loyal to him any more than you would.”

Eöl pulled her down slightly further so he could kiss her properly.

“I just don’t see why he would want to spend any more time among them.”

“His people had nothing to do with my death or yours,” Irissë sighed. “And who do you suppose took care of him all those years? I’m sure it wasn’t just my brother or even my aunt.”

Eöl laid his head against hers. She could feel that underneath the satisfaction at Lómion finding a mate he was happy with lay what Artë would call unsettled waters.

“I’m doing my best,” he whispered.

“I know,” she soothed him. “It is a lot to take in. And I adore you for being so patient with everyone. Look on the bright side – you get to spend more time with Elrond?”

She could feel the smile more than see it. Eöl might have missed the boy when he was actually a boy, but she knew he’d make up for lost time now. Particularly if Elrond was still lacking in kin on his mother’s side.

“And your baby brother,” Eöl agreed. “He seems like he could do with another brother.”

Irissë frowned.

“I know Finno’s not coming back soon, but really, he has two brothers!”

The snort from her husband said more eloquently than words could that he didn’t think Turvo had been much help on that front. Make that one more thing she needed to have out with him. He hadn’t been so completely useless when she was little. Come to that, he hadn’t been completely useless even in Beleriand.

Then again…

“Oh, that idiot,” she exclaimed.

Eöl brightened, knowing perfectly well which brother she meant.

“He’s gone from one extreme to the other,” Irissë fumed. “Too much overprotective big brother in Gondolin, but that didn’t work, so now he’s gone as far as he could in the other direction and stayed away entirely!”

If she’d been raging about anyone else, Eöl would have laughed and tried to dissuade her. His silence meant he was no more ready to forgive Turvo than Turvo was ready to be nice to him.

If you want to cheer him up, you might mention to him Elrond’s other three heartily dislike Turvo.

“Artë?” she asked, stopping mid-complaint.

That did get a laugh from her husband.

I’ve been staying away from Turvo’s, Artë said, but I thought I might get away with a quiet visit to you.

Irissë giggled and sprang to open the door.

“Here I thought you’d be trying to sneak up there to have a go at my idiot brother,” she greeted her.

“Let him sweat,” was Artë’s dismissive comment. “The waiting makes it worse.”

Eöl chuckled.

“Not visiting the newlyweds?” he asked.

“They’re otherwise occupied,” Artë smiled. “Besides, I think there’s a push for dinner here this evening to include the grandmothers – Auntie really wants to see her grandson. A few hours patience on my part is little enough to ask. Particularly when it gives Turvo more time to stew in his own juices.”

That got a guffaw rather than a chuckle.

“Shame Celeborn is missing all this,” Eöl sighed. “I think he’d enjoy it.”

“Just as well though,” Artanis said grimly. “I don’t think anyone’s prepared to wrangle Anariel, and from what I can tell, even Elrond is inclined to let Turvo twist in the wind there. Besides, if Celeborn were here, it would be more obvious that it’s grandmothers only tonight.”

“Why only Ammë?” Irissë asked with a frown.

“Rillë is of the opinion that your father should wait a bit longer – she thinks the meeting may distress him. Apparently Maeglin was the one to clean and dress his body for burial.”

Irissë was horrified.

“Before you give your brother a matching bruise on the other side of his face, it is usual for kin to handle their own dead,” Eöl snorted. “Also, did I not hear your father’s end was rather brutal? The boy probably thought if he didn’t take it on, someone who had known him better would have to.”

“It’s still terrible,” she said. “He never got to meet Atto properly…”

“He will,” Eöl said.

He will, Artë assured her at the same time. Soon!

She hesitated only a moment.

“Tell me more about these dinner plans. Where are Eöl and I in all this?”

---

Turukano sank into the fireplace chair in his study with a sigh.

Lunch had been a misery, and dinner didn’t promise to be much better. True, his mother would be dining at the Mole. Better yet, his parents and hers had also contrived to keep Artanis away from him by letting her go there as well on the excuse that “the grandmothers” should also get to congratulate the young couple.

With Artanis and Irissë both dining at Lómion’s, he just might make it through the rest of the day without adding any further injuries to his collection. But even so, he couldn’t see how the evening meal would be anything approaching pleasant.

Ingo had taken himself off to see his sister and collect his children from the Wing. He could take his time. He’d been no help whatsoever at lunch, only made things worse.

With Elenwë off to the Heavenly Arch with Amarië, he might actually get a few desperately needed minutes of peace and quiet.  

He heard the door to his study open, and assumed it was Hendor until he heard the lock click.

He whirled to find Irissë standing between him and the door, arms crossed.

He considered putting his desk between them for safety, but her glare went up a notch.

“No, stay where you are. Make yourself comfortable, even.”

She strode to the sideboard and opened a fresh bottle of the white Ingo had brought up. She poured two glasses before he could demur.

“We need to talk, don’t you think?” she said bluntly, handing him a glass.

Turukano looked from the glass to his sister.

“I don’t drink anymore,” he demurred, trying to hand it back.

“Since when?” Irissë demanded, settling into the chair opposite him with the air of someone who wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

“Since the night you came back to Gondolin.”

“So you were in your cups,” she snorted. “And what, swearing off drinking for the rest of your life is the appropriate penance for being a beastly drunk?”

“If I’d been clearheaded…”

“You’d still have acted like an ass,” Irissë sniffed. “I’ll agree you shouldn’t drink alone, but I don’t think a glass now and then in company is going to kill you. Or anyone else.”

He glared at her, but she met his eyes steadily until he had little sip just to prove to her he wasn’t scared to try it.

“So what do you want to talk about?” he sighed, surrendering to the inevitable.

“My son,” she said thoughtfully. “My daughter. My husband. My baby brother. My law-daughter, her parents, her sister…”

She’d been ticking them all off on her fingers as she went.

“I think that’s enough to start with, but I don’t promise other topics won’t occur to me as we go.”

Turukano wasn’t sure what was more frightening, the list of topics, or his sister actually taking things seriously.

“Don’t be obtuse, I’ve always been able to take things seriously when the occasion called for it. It just usually doesn’t. But beating you black and blue isn’t actually going to fix anything, is it?”

He didn’t actually trust himself to speak, so he raised his glass in agreement.

“Pace yourself,” she warned with a frown. “You’re not getting out of this by drinking yourself senseless.”

“Where did you intend to start?” he asked reluctantly.

“You pick,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her own. “Wait, you gave up drinking but still have good stuff like this on hand? Or are you trying to make me feel bad for you claiming you gave it up?”

“I really did give it up. But I have guests on occasion,” he pointed out. “Besides, Ingo was so appalled at what I did have around that he sent for a crate from the Harp.”

She snickered.

“I’ll thank Ingo later. Pick your poison.”

Turukano winced.

“Are you going to spend the whole time seeing how many references to your own death you can work in?”

“Possibly, now that you mention it,” Irissë smirked. “Quit stalling.”

“Daughter,” he ground out.

“Good choice,” she replied in a faux-hearty voice, raising her glass to him.

“Am I about to get punched again?”

“No, I think I got it out of my system. Mostly. Unless you have more stupid things to confess to that I don’t already know about.”

“When was she begotten?” he asked.

“The first time?” Irissë said. “Not quite three months before Lómion decided he couldn’t wait any longer to see what your city looked like.”

He didn’t bother to ask about the implied second time. He knew his sister well enough to guess the answer – as soon as she was physically able for it in Lórien.

“You didn’t say,” he pointed out quietly.

“Somebody was being a foul-tempered ass, I didn’t get the chance,” she shrugged. “At least, not before the fatal part, and it hardly seemed the thing to mention as I was dying. I don’t think it would have made matters any better.”

Her burning eyes dared him to contradict her, but he was honest enough to admit she was right.

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he admitted.

“Which brings us neatly to my husband,” Irissë said. “What in Angband possessed you, Turukano?”

“He killed you!”

Turukano was doing his best to remain a dignified adult, but he was ready to yell like a child.

“And yes,” he continued, “I’ve since been told about the poisoned blade. It would have helped to know about that at the time! As far as I could tell, he killed you over a scratch!”

“Did you seriously think I’d marry someone so orc-like?” his sister demanded disdainfully. “I know you have a terrible habit of only seeing what you want to see, but really.”

“You might have come back because you were running away from him,” he muttered mutinously.

“Yes, I’ve heard your version of events – and that apparently it was the version that prevailed in Endorë,” she sniffed, taking another sip of her wine. “I think Atto should have made you announce in the Square of the King that it was all horseshit. Here and in Tirion.”

“I have corrected the record,” he said stiffly.

“Only after having a lovely blowup with Moryo and upsetting my law-daughter,” Irissë shot back. “I heard that part, too.”

“Of course you did,” he sighed. “I’m sure Artanis was delighted to fill you in.”

“No, actually I heard most of it from Celebrían and Elrond,” she corrected him. “And Ammë and Atto. They seemed to think I should know what I was walking into this time.”

“Fair,” he admitted grudgingly, taking a small drink. “You’re taking it surprisingly well.”

She snorted.

“You’re acting as if I don’t get why you did what you did. I may be your little sister, but I am still your sibling, and you’re not as hard to figure as you seem to think.”

“Oh?”

“You meant to keep everyone safe.”

“Don’t bring up the Ice,” he ordered fiercely.

“Fat chance,” Irissë sniffed. “That’s where it started, isn’t it? You never got over what happened and blaming yourself for it – a good trick when we all decided that was a good idea, because we were all pretty stupid at that point – and decided the answer was to hide as many people as you could because you were going to do better.”

“Ulmo told me to build a secret stronghold,” Turukano said quietly. “It wasn’t just me thinking hiding was a good idea. And it worked…until it didn’t.”

His sister gave him a searching look, as piercing as if she’d borrowed Artanis’ abilities.

“And did Ulmo at any point suggest it was time to go?” she asked quietly.

Turukano nodded.

Irissë’s jaw dropped.

“Turvo, you ass! Seriously?”

He nodded miserably a second time.

“Was this before or after Lómion was captured by Sauron?” she demanded angrily.

“I…don’t know?” he offered hesitantly. “I never knew Lómion was captured. I only found that part out after I returned. You’re right I never noticed, but neither did anyone else – even Rillë didn’t spot it, and she knew him better than anyone!”

Irissë contemplated her nearly empty glass long enough that it was clear she was considering throwing it at his head.

“I’ll admit to being stupid and not heeding Ulmo’s message to leave, but I don’t know what more I – or anyone else - could have done for Lómion! I took the best care of him I knew how. I stood in place of a parent to him, do you believe I didn’t take that seriously?”

He seized the opportunity to refill her glass before she could throw it – and move the bottle out of range for throwing or for adding more to his own glass.

“I don’t see how you could possibly miss that Sauron was controlling him,” she snapped.

“I don’t either, but I did – and so did Rillë, and Rog, and Lauro, and Auntie! His own House missed it! He was the same as ever, right until the end, Irissë. Ask anyone. He dined in my house at least once a week, and with Rillë and Tuor more days than not.”

Irissë swirled her glass thoughtfully.

“And he never once asked for help?”

“If he did, it wasn’t me he asked. But I should have heard of it.”

Whatever Irissë was thinking, she didn’t care to share with him. So he waited, and began to wonder if it were possible that he might actually survive this interview.

“I’m sorry, Irissë. Truly. I made a terrible mess of things. I understood that already when I died, and I’ve learned more about it since I returned. But believe me when I tell you I would have moved heaven and earth to help Lómion if I’d known.”

“It still doesn’t explain why none of us could find him in the Halls,” Irissë said, almost as though she were thinking out loud.

“You would have to ask him about that. I can’t say. Even if he were blaming me, there no reason he shouldn’t have gone to you or Atto.”

“I will,” she said, suddenly decisive.

He waited, unsure if that meant they were now ‘okay’ as Tindomiel would have put it.

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” Irissë said, her expression turning severe. “We still haven’t talked about my baby brother.”