Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

A New Day

Maeglin woke the next morning feeling more alive than he had since he was first captured.

Even without eating the night before or any immediate prospect of breakfast, he was full of energy, and oddly cheerful considering he was surely one of the worst regarded elves in Beleriand. (Gorthaur had been only too pleased to make sure the rest of the city knew that their prince had betrayed them; he doubted even Itarillë would take his part after that.)

Maybe it was the fine weather, or maybe what might have been the best night’s sleep he could remember. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in years beyond count he was free. Whatever the reason, and he didn’t care to worry about it, he was happy. What was more, he felt no fear for the first time since he had come to Ondolindë. He had all but forgotten what that was like.

He let the trees guide him to a nearby stream, where he drank his fill of the crisp, cool water. Unlike the northern streams he remembered – only those within Tumladen itself had been safe by the end – it was untainted by even a memory of evil.

Was this what Ennor was meant to have been?

He took the time to bathe, savoring the feel of clean water on his skin nearly as much as he had the taste of it when drinking. When he finished, he did his best to finger-comb his damp hair before pulling it back from his face.

Looking at his reflection in the water, he found that between the simple grey clothing and the hair, his kin or his friends would still recognize him. But any who had known only Prince Lomion, Lord of the House of the Mole would likely pass him by without a second glance.

That suited him well enough. He might in time earn forgiveness, but he knew better than to think it would be immediate, or that all he encountered would welcome him as they once might have. Nor did he feel himself equal to the anger many Ondolindrim must no doubt feel toward him. It would be hard enough to face his kin; the rest would have to wait.

He set out walking again, with no particular destination in mind. Now that he was among the trees, he felt no urgency about his slightly hazy goal of discovering some news of his kin.

He enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair, and the wholesome countryside around him. He listened to the trees and the birds. Once, he even trusted himself enough to sing – though only very quietly, and not for very long.

The passage of the sun told him he had been underway for several hours when he stumbled onto other elves.

The golden-flowered trees had slowly given way to other varieties, nearly all unfamiliar to him. A few were still in blossom, but most already had early fruit developing.  Scattered in among them were berry bushes, laden with ripe berries. He counted three or four different varieties, and wished he knew whether they were safe to eat.

He heard the voices well before he saw them.

There were two of them, nis and ner. They were speaking Quenya, the nis with a slight trace of the lisp he recalled from his one encounter with his mother’s Fëanorion cousins, the ner in an accent almost exactly that of his mother’s brothers.

The pair were berrying – him with a discerning eye, her rather more casually, with nearly as many berries going into her mouth as into her basket.

He nearly sat down in shock when he realized he had found the girl with the light. Out here, by daylight, she looked more like any other elf, though he would argue a bit prettier than most – until he looked at her eyes. Those still gave away that she was something out of the ordinary.

“You said you wanted to try some new idea you had,” the girl was saying.

Her companion frowned in response.

“Yes, but it will have to wait,” he sighed. “If I’d known we were going to be out this long, I would have planned better and packed more supplies. Working out here, I could experiment without commentary.”

“You’re allowed to just say ‘yes’,” the girl pointed out cheerfully, popping another ripe berry into her mouth. “I don’t need justification for it.”

“Sorry. Too much older brother,” the ner shrugged with a faint blush. “Older older brother.”

“I knew which one you meant,” she replied wryly. “At least he’s paying attention now?”

“Only because he’s afraid of what else our cousins will say if he doesn’t,” the ner grumbled. “And of looking shabby by comparison. How would it look if they take me on trips or spend time with me and he doesn’t?”

“It might be a little bit that. But I think he really does feel badly about it,” she assured him. “He wouldn’t be pestering you this much if he didn’t.”

“In that case, I hope he finds the happy medium between ‘ignoring me’ and ‘being too involved’ sometime soon,” the ner replied, setting his full basket to one side and reaching for an empty one. “If he keeps it up much longer, I’m asking Atto to remind him I have a father and don’t need another one.”

There was a pause, as he pondered whether the berries on the bush in front of him were to his liking before beginning to fill the new basket, judging each berry with care before picking it.  

“So you don’t want to go there next?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst idea,” the ner sighed, with a slight grimace. “We didn’t bring enough with us to stay out here more than another week or so without starting to look a bit ragged.”

She shrugged.

“If you really don’t want, I can always slip in, grab some more stuff, and pop right back.”

“No, let’s try behaving ourselves for a little while longer. Is there any chance you can persuade Aryo to come with us next time?”

“Probably,” the girl agreed cheerfully. “He’s generally up for anything interesting. If I’d thought about it, we could have brought him along on this trip. He’s not the one I really have to persuade, though. That’d be your mother. Honestly, I’m starting to think Grandpa was telling the truth about her being the reason you didn’t get to visit more often.”

“You’re Mother’s favorite,” the ner shrugged. “If you look pitiful and tell her how badly you hoped your Uncle Aryo would come with us, she’ll cave.”

“Only if your father doesn’t snicker too much while I’m looking pitiful,” she pointed out with a laugh. “Though I guess I could always appeal for backup. If there were two granddaughters asking your mother…”

The ner smirked.

“See? If you just apply yourself-”

She groaned and threw a smashed berry at him.

“Definitely too much older brother! You’re starting to sound like him.”

The ner laughed and caught the berry, popping it into his mouth.

“Just remember, as with so many other things you later deplored, it was your idea!”

The girl with the light wrinkled her nose, but before she could retort, someone else interrupted.

“Here, we filled our basket!”

Two more girls joined the pair, but aside from their first words, they preferred a different language.

He had to listen carefully for a bit before the words began to make sense. It seemed to be one of the Lindarin dialects, but it was not the speech of the Iathrim or even the Mithrim. It sounded more akin to what he knew of Falathrin – but Falathrin as it might sound if the elves of the Falas had borrowed a good many words from his mother’s people.

He hoped the apparent blending of languages betokened his father’s people and his mother’s getting along better these days.

“Are you going to make jam here, or are we hauling all this back to the city?”

The speaker was one of the newcomers, the question directed toward the two Maeglin had spotted first.

Between his looks and his language, Maeglin guessed the lone male in the group to be one of the Noldor. He thought for a moment he was looking upon his uncle Findekano. But a closer look proved this elf was too young and too untroubled to be Findekano, who had suffered a terrible death in battle.

Maeglin stuffed that memory back down. He wanted to enjoy his good mood a little while longer, not have it shattered by memories of the uncle he might have gone to live with had the course of the battle in the north run slightly differently being slaughtered.

“If we do jam here, Airo can experiment without anyone else butting in,” the girl with the light responded.

“No one would butt in, Tinwë,” the male responded patiently. “But they would feel the need to comment constantly, which is why it would be nicer to work out here.”

“That’s pretty much what butting in means,” she muttered, more for his ears that for the others.

“But I don’t have any of the supplies I’d need,” he continued, taking no notice. “So there’s no choice, really. We’ll have to take it back. I can probably do what I want if you’ll run interference for me. You’re good at that.”

There was a derisive snort from the girl with the light – and now Maeglin had a name for her. Tinwë. It suited her.

“If no one actually butts in, it’s because I told them off last time. I’d like to think I made an impression. But you can make jam here if you like. I’m pretty sure I have everything you’ll need. You owe Golden Flower’s steward two jars of anything you deem a success in return for his telling me what all that would be so I could pack it for you while Tas and Cali threw their stuff together.”

“Only two? And he didn’t tell anyone? How did you manage that?” one of the other ellith asked in astonishment.

There was a pause.

“Um, I may have threatened to make a certain incident public?” Tinwë offered evasively.

“You’re going to share, right?”

The elleth speaking had hair a shade of red he’d previously seen only on Prince Maedhros.

“No. You’d only misuse the knowledge,” Tinwë scoffed. “If you want dirt, you’ll have to dig it up yourself. And once you do, I suggest you not waste it on trivial stuff.”

The small party had clearly been gathering from the bushes for some time now, and had several full baskets full of deep blue berries already. The baskets the younger two girls had brought were not berries. Some contained what looked to be seed pods of some sort, others a fruit he did not recognize.

Maeglin kept out of sight – at least, he thought he was out of sight – and was debating whether or not he should introduce himself when the decision was taken out of his hands by one of the girls noticing him.

“Hello!” the redheaded girl exclaimed in surprise. “Where did you come from?”

“I…”

“Go easy on him,” the other girl suggested with a pointed nod.

He wasn’t sure what she meant, and regarded her warily.

Her hair was a shade somewhere between Itarillë’s gold and the lightest of browns. Her eyes were kind, but even so, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I came from that direction,” he said softly, trying his best to speak simply. He had little hope that he could match their words.

“What…” the girl with the light, the one they’d called Tinwë, stopped short at the sight of him. “Oh!”

He could see her more vividly now that they were standing face to face in the sunlight. He wasn’t sure what to make of her hair, but her eyes were nearly as blue as the sky above them. He blinked, and looked away before it could become awkward. It wasn’t good manners anywhere he knew of to stare at someone you’d only just met.

“I know you, don’t I?” she asked with a slight frown.

He shook his head.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I thought… At least, I feel like I should know you. I’m Tindomiel.”

He realized Tinwë must be a familiar name, which meant he had no right to use it – though interestingly, it sounded more Noldorin than Sindarin, rather at odds with her ease with Falathrin. Her full name was also apt – a morning star, a sign of hope. She certainly had been to him.

“I would certainly remember had we been introduced, my lady,” he assured her quietly.

It wasn’t entirely honest – they may not have been introduced, but it’s not as if he’s never seen her before either – but it wasn’t a lie, either.

His words were still not quite right judging by the expressions of the others, but Tindomiel’s eyes widened slightly. When she spoke again, it was in Doriathrin – entirely free of any Noldorin accent. She was more of a puzzle than ever.

“Where are you bound?”

“I am not sure,” he replied, relieved at no longer needing to attempt the unfamiliar dialect. “This country is new to me.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be,” she replied wryly. “This is my kinswoman Tasariel, and her sister Califiriel, of the House of the Golden Flower. And that’s my cousin Anairon.”

Maeglin had to suppress a start at the casual mention of Laurefindil’s house. Had more of the Ondolindrim than he had hoped survived? Either way, he had expected to have more time before he encountered any of them.

The two girls smiled at him, their eyes curious. He was sure they were too young to have known Ondolindë – while he might not be clear how much time had passed since the city fell, he was certain it was more than the years of this pair, who were not yet of age. Anairon he guessed to be somewhat younger than himself. The other man wore an expression that suggested he understood little more than the names now that they had switched dialects.

Maeglin, for his part, tried not to slip into rudeness by looking at any of them overly closely. He wondered who the parents of the two Golden Flowers might be. If they were Laurefindil’s own daughters – and Tasariel’s face certainly had more than a touch of resemblance even if her hair was nothing like – then it seemed he had been mistaken in his belief about where his older cousin’s heart lay. (Add that to the list, a sardonic voice whispered quietly.)

He also made sure to school his reaction to the male’s name, with its similarity to the name of the grandmother in the West he had never met. A grandmother who was probably ashamed of him, if she knew of him at all. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t.

At least he still had the faint hope that Tindomiel was of his father’s people. How else would she know their tongue?

“Are you newly returned?” Anairon asked.

Unlike Tindomiel, he did not speak Doriathrin, but continued in the Falathrin dialect.

Now that he looked at him properly, Maeglin had to suppress a shiver, for Anairon could easily pass for Findekano’s younger brother. He resembled him even more than King Turukano had.

Maeglin nodded, understanding they must have somehow recognized that he was coming from what had once been Angband.

“Have you eaten yet?” Tindomiel asked. “We were just about to stop for lunch. If you’re hungry, you could join us.”

“I would be most grateful,” Maeglin replied politely.

“No need to stand on formality,” she told him with a smile. “Company manners aren’t required out here, and we’re a pretty informal lot when left to our own devices.”

She ignored a snort from Anairon’s direction, beckoning to Maeglin with a smile. He found himself smiling back on pure reflex.

“Come on.”