Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Tough Questions

Itarillë woke slightly later than usual, slipping out of bed before her disquiet state of mind could wake Tuor.

She wanted time to think.

The revelations of the night before had shaken her badly.

How had she never realized Lómion was scared of Atto? What sort of friend, never mind cousin, was she to miss something so fundamental? Had she taken too much for granted and assumed that naturally he would see her father the same way she did, as a parent who only wanted the best for him? Or had she not given enough credit to his certainty that something was not right with Atto’s version of his mother’s death?

Crowding in on those thoughts was the worry about what Tinwë and Elrond were thinking. Tinwë had been thawing toward Atto, but Elrond had not. She could not bear the thought of such a rupture between her and her only living grandson.

So many questions, and she wasn’t sure who to turn to with them. Normally she would have gone to Lómion if she didn’t want to talk things out with Tuor. But that was not an option today any more than it had been for the last two Ages. She also didn’t want to betray Lómion’s confidence – what had been told to them had not been for all and sundry. It was a family matter. Perhaps Laurefindil?

But he didn’t know yet either, which meant she would have to explain it all. And once she told him, he might well ask her the same questions she was already asking herself.

She was still lost in thought, curled up on her favorite chair with her chin resting on her knees, when Tuor poked his head into the room.

He looked surprised, as well he might. The table was bare, no breakfast in sight. She hadn’t so much as requested a pot of tea be brought up.

“You’re thinking very hard,” he observed quietly. “Did it go that badly with Lómion?”

“Noo…” she said slowly, unsure how much she could or should tell him.

Would Lómion want Tuor to know?  It wasn’t as if he had disliked him…

“You decide what you feel like telling me while I go find some breakfast,” Tuor suggested, kissing the top of her head for good measure.

“How did you know it was about Lómion?” she asked as he reached the door.

“You’re facing the window that gives you a view of the Mole,” Tuor’s voice drifted back. “And you haven’t gone to talk to him about it.”

“It could have been about Tinwë,” she murmured, but without any rancor.

She knew it must have been longer, but it felt like only a few minutes before he was back bearing a tray with sweeter breakfast things than she usually indulged in. Almond pastries,  cinnamon pastries, apple compote, a berry salad…

“You’re spoiling me,” she said reproachfully.

“You look like you could do with some spoiling,” Tuor shrugged, unrepentant. “Now, what’s got you so worked up that you didn’t even bother with breakfast?”

She hadn’t intended to, but she ended up telling him everything, barely touching the pastry he’d put on her plate.

“I don’t know how I could have missed it,” she concluded. “I’m a terrible friend, aren’t I?”

Tuor paused for a moment, digesting it all, before he shook his head decisively.

“I think Lómion was probably too worried he’d lose the one friend he had to let you see any of that. As far as I could tell, the only other person in the city I might have called his friend was Rog. And I can’t see him telling Rog any more than I would have expected him to tell you. Rog’s position was dependent on King Turukano.”

“But…”

He might have told Rog! Rog wouldn’t have broken a confidence. And might have been able to reassure Lómion.

“You can’t have it both ways, love. You know perfectly well he had no problems keeping secrets for your safety – you told me the Way of Escape came from an idea he gave you, but he didn’t want to know anything about it. I’m sure he knew you were doing something, but he never once asked. Wise of him, in hindsight. Consider his feelings about your father another secret he kept for your sake.”

“How was keeping it quiet for my sake?” she demanded.

“Call it your happiness, if you prefer,” Tuor shrugged. “He’s done far stupider things for you. He brought your father back from the battle, didn’t he? Which is all the more astonishing now that we know how he felt about him.”

She glared at her husband.

“How do you construe keeping my father alive as doing something stupid?” she asked frostily.

“Love, you know perfectly well if I’d given that message to you, the city would have been packed up and gone long before Morgoth’s forces arrived. You would have heeded the warning. I believe Lómion would have listened, come to that, and he’d have been your right hand.”

Itarillë frowned, not liking the uncomfortable truth in his words but unable to contradict it. She would have seized the opportunity to leave the valley, much less the assurance they might have protection for the evacuation.

“But he got it in his head that your father dying would hurt you terribly, so he made sure it didn’t happen. If he’d go to that length, why on earth do you expect he’d have told you he was never quite sure your father was safe for him to be around? Much less tried to explain that he thought your father was a kinslayer?”

Tuor didn’t have to point out that Lómion had been right to think so.

She settled herself further down in her chair, slouching as sulkily as any adolescent possibly could. Tuor had the sense not to chuckle, but she knew perfectly well he was finding it amusing.

“I’m relieved, actually,” he continued.

“Oh?” she said, perfectly willing to be distracted. “How so?”

“I was concerned you were out of sorts because you weren’t sure how to proceed now that your dearest cousin married our great-granddaughter. I could see where that might make the friendship a bit awkward. Perhaps not as much so as it would for mortals, but still.”

She giggled.

“No, I’ve expected for years that he would marry Elrond’s daughter,” she told him, trying to keep the glee at surprising him out of her voice. “I just thought it would be Anariel.”

Tuor coughed so hard that the bite of pastry he’d just taken went down wrong and he needed to take several swigs of juice before he could speak again.

“I am eager to hear how you reached that conclusion,” he said, eying his glass as though he were regretting it not being something slightly stronger than whitecurrant.

“Aunt Irissë told Aunt Galadriel the day Lómion was born that he would marry her daughter – she’d foreseen it,” she replied.

Tuor didn’t need to say that Galadriel was the girls’ grandmother, not mother. It was plain on his face.

“Lómion also told me once that he’d dreamed of her – at the time I was puzzled when he said she looked rather like you. I thought he was trying to get a rise out of me. But the first time I saw her portrait after Celebrían and the girls returned, it was clear to me that Aunt Irissë mistook a granddaughter for a daughter. I’m sure she and Aunt Galadriel thought the same, even if they haven’t said it to anyone.”

Tuor blinked.

“In that case, I wonder what Irissë thinks of all this,” he murmured.

“I’d guess she was surprised, but if Lómion’s happy, there’s no way she would object,” she said thoughtfully. “And he does seem to be happy.”

Happier than I’ve ever seen him.

“I suppose so long as Anariel hasn’t had any matching dreams or visions of her husband, all’s well,” Tuor sighed. “Though I can tell you’re aching to have a talk with your best friend about it.”

Itarillë once again tried not to pout.

She did want to talk to Lómion about it, as it happened – to be sure he wasn’t bothered at the unexpected switch, and to find out how under the stars it had come about. He’d been so sure about his golden-haired future mate… and there was no mistaking one girl for the other. Tinwë looked more like Grandmother’s daughter than Aunt Irissë did. No one seeing her would think of Aunt Galadriel first!

“Cheer up, love,” Tuor suggested. “If I know Tinu, she realizes perfectly well that you and Lómion need to have a confab at some point.”

He was the only one in the city who called their granddaughter by her Sindarin short name rather than the Quenya version. Then again, Tinu had also dubbed him ‘Pop-Pop’ rather than any more normal variation of grandfather, as it was quite close to the word his people had used in his youth. They were, as Tinwë said, ‘on the same wavelength’ when it came to names.

She still hadn’t discovered why the length of a wave mattered, much less how one measured it. Perhaps she could ask Tuor to discover that while she talked to Lómion?

“I wonder if they’re at home today,” she sighed.

She owed poor Enerdhil an apology.  Though he might have said…

Tuor’s lips quirked, a sure sign that he’d followed her train of thought.

“Perhaps send a note to ask first this time,” he suggested with a grin.

---

Irissë pinned her brother with a glare when she heard Lómion’s plea.

“You had better stay right there,” she informed him. “We are not done yet.”

“But..”

“No. You are not barging in on them without so much as a by your leave.”

“I’m not barging…”

“They’re newlyweds! If you weren’t invited, you’re barging.”

“I just want to see that they’re well,” he protested.

It was close to a plea.

“They’re well,” she said flatly. “And when they say they are ready and invite you, you will see them.”

“The holiday is tomorrow,” her brother said softly. “Everyone was going to dine at my house.”

“I will ask them,” she sighed. “But if either of them says no, that’s the end of it, understood?”

He nodded with alacrity. At least he’d learned when to recognize the best deal he was going to get. The Turvo she remembered would have kept pushing.

“If I find you wandering around the Mole instead of here waiting when I get back, I will break both your legs,” she warned him.

“No, you won’t,” he said morosely. “Tindomiel would, but you won’t.”

She snickered as the door closed behind her. Tindomiel wouldn’t either. Though from what Artë said, Anariel might. One problem at a time, though.

She hurried to the kitchen, where she found the head cook with two trays ready to go.

“This one is for the Prince and Princess,” he explained, handing it to her before she could say a word. “The other is for you and the King.”

“How?” she demanded in astonishment.

“The King’s arrival was noted, as was you taking him to…discuss matters,” the man said wryly. “I trust he is still in good health?”

“He’ll live,” Irissë snorted. “Besides, if I’d done anything truly dire, Elenwë would be here by now.”

“Oh, I expect the Queen will arrive shortly. That’s why there’s more on the tray for you.”

She stared at him for a moment, then decided it was best to go with it.

“I can’t manage both trays on my own,” she protested.

“My apprentice can carry the one to your rooms while you see to the Prince,” he smiled.

Irissë decided the only sensible response to that was to get the other try to Tinwë and Lómion as quickly as possible lest her brother seize the opportunity to either do something stupid or run away.

She was pleasantly surprised to find her son and law-daughter both more or less dressed, at least sufficiently so for family.

“Darlings,” she greeted them, setting the tray down. “You know you don’t need to go anywhere today, yes?”

“Good,” Tinwë replied.

“I thought we might invite Rillë to visit later,” Lómion said, more to Tinwë than to her.

“If that’s what you want to do,” she shrugged. “Though if you’re inviting family, I know Elenwë would love to meet you.”

“Tinu said much the same,” he nodded. “Perhaps this evening?”

“She might be here slightly sooner than that,” Irissë confessed. “Turvo is having breakfast with me.”

Lómion looked surprised, Tinwë looked delighted.

“Does he still have functional kneecaps?” she wanted to know.

Irissë laughed. Her brother’s comment made much more sense now.

Artë, your little darling is delightful.

Yes, I know. Didn’t you believe me when I told you?

“He did when I left him. I’d better get back, though, lest he get bad ideas and that has to change.”

She kissed them both before darting back to her own rooms.

Turvo was glaring at the breakfast tray as though it were some sort of threat, or possibly a plot.

“I’m fairly sure Lómion’s cook wouldn’t poison anyone,” she snickered.

“How much does the man expect us to eat?” he asked in consternation.

Irissë decided not to explain. He really needed to get better at dealing with surprises. Besides which –

“While we’re eating, there’s a few more things I think you ought to know, and I don’t want Lómion to feel like he has to discuss such painful matters again so soon, let alone with someone he’s not sure about.”

“Should you be telling me at all?” Turvo asked quietly.

She raised an eyebrow, but decided after evaluating him that he wasn’t trying to deflect painful subjects. He was actually concerned for Lómion and worried the boy would be further upset to have things he had told his parents and Tinwë’s repeated to him.

“Given everyone in the family will want an answer about why we couldn’t find him in the Halls, yes. It would be odd if you were the only one who didn’t know. I’m sure Ammë will have told Atto and Auntie and Uncle by now.”

Turvo abruptly pushed the food away, looking slightly nauseous.

“Was he that terrified of me?” he asked quietly.

“Not everything is about you, dear brother,” Irissë sighed as she sat down. “Besides, that would not be as bad as the true reason.”

---

Elenwë was surprised to find Turvo gone when she woke. As upset as he’d been the night before, she’d expected him to want to stay in bed and either skip breakfast completely or have it brought to their rooms.

The other side of the bed was empty, and the spot where Turvo had slept cool enough that he’d been up and about for some time.

He wasn’t in the outer rooms either.

When she reached for him, she realized he wasn’t even in the house. He was out in the city – and trying not to let her hear what he was doing.

Her husband was very silly by times. She might not know what he was doing, but she could tell where he was.

She hoped he’d had sense enough not to disturb Tinwë and Lómion so early.

Though, as he was at the Mole…

She hadn’t had a chance to congratulate Tinwë yet. She wasn’t sure if Lómion would want to see her, it wasn’t clear how long he’d been back, but too many new people was more than some of the newly returned could handle.

If she went to the Mole, she could ask, though.

Tinwë would know better than anyone what Lómion could or couldn’t handle. And it was unlikely they were planning on going anywhere today…

Elenwë dressed quickly.

She’d just slip out before her law-parents or the Noldaran looked for her.

---

“I have a question for you, my love.”

Tindomiel looked up.

Maeglin looked unexpectedly serious. They’d been having a surprisingly good morning, all things considered.

He was even beginning to share her amusement at Grandpa Turukano being foolish enough to come looking for Aunt Irissë. (The telling off was still ongoing. She was keeping half an ear out for it, just in case they had to warn Enerdhil that cleanup was needed in aisle two.)

“Shoot,” she said, reaching for a second helping of the frittata.

“There has been so much else happening that it did not occur to me until now. But you spoke of ‘Pop-Pop,’ and Itarillë looks much as she ever did…”

She waited expectantly.

“How is Tuor still alive?”