Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Taking A Break

Tindomiel was surprised to find when she stepped into Tas’s room that it was not just Tasariel, Califiriel, and Anairon present.

Glorfindel had his arms folded, and Ecthelion had his serious face on.

“How did you know I was coming?” she demanded.

“It’s not terribly difficult to work out that something is up when these three all try to slip away from breakfast at once,” Ecthelion said drily. “Particularly since Tasariel is about as subtle as her father.”

“I am plenty subtle!” Glorfindel said indignantly.

“Hey!” Tas protested at the same time. “I can be subtle!”

“As you say,” Ecthelion replied, in a tone that just missed smug.

“That’s…interesting,” Tindomiel said carefully, trying not to laugh. Ecthelion had taken to the dad thing naturally, even if they hadn’t quite convinced him yet that he was one. “Still not sure why it means you’re both geared up to tell me off. I haven’t done anything.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.

Tindomiel matched it.

The standoff continued until Tasariel started to snicker and Ecthelion’s attempt to hush her failed.

Tindomiel couldn’t help the grin.

“You can tell me off for whatever it is you think I’ve done later, even though I probably didn’t do it. But for now, I’m here to talk to them.”

Echthelion might have argued, but Glorfindel gave in with a sigh.

“I will merely settle for pointing out the considerable irony of the person who regularly complained about the oddities of your family tree marrying someone who is both a first cousin thrice removed and a second cousin at one, two, and three removes – the last two twice, I might add.”

Tindomiel had no reply, mainly because she had no idea if he was being accurate or facetious – she would need to sit down with a family tree to figure out the relationship in any direction. Though she did have to admit it was a true statement that all four of her grandparents were related to Aunt Irissë, Uncle Eöl, or both. To think she’d once found Arwen and Estel’s relationship somewhat mind-bendy…

A moment of reflection along those lines led to the inescapable conclusion that Glorfindel was unlikely to be the only one to bring it up. Her brothers would surely have some choice comments.

There was another snicker from Tas’s direction.

“I think that actually made more of an impression than any attempt at scolding her would have, Atto,” Cali said, sounding amused.

“Wonderful. Let’s quit while you’re ahead,” Ecthelion advised Glorfindel before he could add anything else, steering him toward the door. “As for you, Tindomiel, mind the time. If you’re still here at mid-day, you’ll be dining with us, and possibly told to haul Lómion over as well. Your parents and your in-laws are invited to lunch.”

Tindomiel brightened. As long as she got away before the others arrived, she and Maeglin would be left to eat on their own. That would give them a chance to compare notes.

She waited until Ecthelion had escorted a visibly reluctant Glorfindel out. (Despite the stern pose, she was betting he was just as curious about the full story as anyone else not currently in the room.)

“You’re officially a bad influence again,” Califiriel informed her, eyes dancing, as the door closed behind her parents. “Ecthelion thinks we ought to spend less time with you and more with our cousins in Valimar or Alqualondë.”

Tindomiel resisted the urge to pump her fist. Ecthelion was the one with kin in Alqualondë, so if he’d started referring to his nieces and nephews as Tas and Cali’s cousins, that meant they were winning.

“You’d think he’d know better by now,” Tasariel snorted.

“I don’t see how spending more time with the Vanyar is supposed to make you any less children of Scoobies,” Tindomiel shrugged. “I don’t need to be any kind of influence, you get it from your mothers.”

“I notice you don’t mention the Lindar,” Cali sighed.

“Of course not, they’re not much different than what we’re used to anyway! Besides, if they’ve heard what’s going on, they’ll want all the dirt same as everyone else. But I somehow doubt that’s what Ecthelion had in mind.”

She turned to Anairon.

“So?” she asked. “How did it go? And when did you tell them?”

“I’d say if you ever do that again, you’re on your own, but I’m pretty sure even you only get married once,” Anairon grumbled. “Lucky for you Aryo was home, otherwise Galadriel would have found out before we even left Tirion. Then there would probably have been even more family wanting to come along!”

“You’re going to have to explain that one,” Tindomiel said, settling in on Tasariel’s bed for what promised to be a long story.

By the time he finished, including the story of Irissë reappearing and doing her solid best to draw all scandal to herself, all three girls were caught in a non-stop giggle loop.

“So everyone’s been dead set on keeping Turukano and Irissë apart, for obvious reasons,” Anairon finished. “Which means even apart from you two not having made any public appearances yet, it’s not really over.”

“Don’t worry, Irissë’s handling the Grandpa Turukano part on her own,” Tindomiel snorted. “Or maybe he decided to suck it up and get it over with. Either way, they were having breakfast together this morning at the Mole.”

“And you’re sure he’s not back in Mandos?” Anairon asked skeptically.

Tas looked similarly doubtful.

“I don’t think it can be all that bad,” Tindomiel replied. “Gramma Elenwë came looking for him, and you know she counts as adult supervision. I doubt Irissë’d kill anyone in front of her. Or that Elenwë would let her send him back.”

“Irissë is more like you or your sister than me,” Anairon pointed out. “Not killing him still leaves her a lot to work with.”

Tindomiel thought about it for a minute.

“Fair point,” she conceded. “I don’t think she’s in quite the same category as Anariel, but Grandpa Turukano’s on his own either way. But enough of that. He’s so not the point of me being here. Besides, there’s a few things that you won’t have heard yet and should…”

---

Turukano came back to himself with Elenwë’s worried face just inches from his own.

“Turvo? Can you hear me, love?”

Yes, of course he could. Now that they were both alive again, he could hear her to the ends of Arda, no matter where they both happened to be.

“Breathe, please?”

He was breathing. He had to be. That was part of being alive.

“Is he like this all the time?” he heard Irissë ask from somewhere far away.

Good, she should be far away. That way he couldn’t cause any more harm to her children.

“No, he’s not! For the love of Nienna, Irissë, what did you say to him?”

“I only told him what happened, why we couldn’t find Lómion in the Halls,” his sister said, this time in a whisper. “And it’s not as if that was his fault! I’d already covered the things that were – he was fine with everything else!”

He dimly appreciated the courtesy of not blaming him, even though it was his fault. What had Lord Namo been thinking to send him back out into the world?

“What did happen?” Elenwë demanded, an edge to her voice.

He started to retreat in spirit, but Elenwë took her hand firmly in his, anchoring him to the world. He abruptly changed his mind, deciding it was best to get the worst over with.

“I failed him, Elenwë,” he croaked. “So badly. I didn’t keep him safe. I didn’t keep my niece safe. I didn’t keep Itarillë safe, or Eärendil…”

Somewhere in the distance, his sister made a noise of utter disgust, but Elenwë shushed her.

“He thought he was in Angband,” Turukano whispered. “For two Ages.”

Angband had broken Maitimo in a handful of years. Lómion had believed he was there from the day the city fell to the day he married Tinwë. Even before that, he had lived in fear all his years in the city.

He’d meant to keep his nephew safe and had achieved the exact opposite. Worse, he knew Lómion had wanted to keep Rillë safe, and look what had happened. He might not know his nephew as well as he thought, but he knew enough to know how the lad would have taken that.

He was wholly unable to deal with Elenwë’s reaction on top of his own, he had to close his mind.

The next time he became aware of his surroundings, something was being held to his lips and his choices were drink or have it spill all over him. So he drank.

His wife and sister snapped into focus as something sharp and alcoholic burned its way down his throat.

He wanted to tell them he didn’t drink anymore, but couldn’t make his mouth form the words.

“I told you already it’s not all about you, Turvo,” Irissë snapped, but he could hear the worry that she was covering with irritation. He hadn’t meant to worry her. He hadn’t meant to upset anyone. He hadn’t meant any of it to happen. “Unless you’re confessing to being in league with Sauron?”

Had he been? They’ve all heard the terrible price Húrin Thalion had paid to buy his safety. Maybe he had been Sauron’s pawn all along and not known it. Morgoth had destroyed Húrin’s children too, hadn’t he? Those foul whispers about Lómion lusting after Rillë took on a new and horrifying cast in light of that thought…

Irissë Nolofinwiel, this is the opposite of helping! Elenwë hissed at her.

He could no more shut her out than he could sever part of his own fëa, but right now he could not bear his mate’s anger.

“Should we get Ammë or Atto, do you think?” Irissë asked, sounding on the edge of true panic.

He knew she’d just said something more to Elenwë, even if he couldn’t hear it. But whatever it was didn’t matter as much as not having his mother see him like this.

“No! I’m fine,” he told them firmly – or tried to, at least.

The set of both his wife’s feä and his sister’s said without need for words that he was not and they weren’t taking his claim otherwise seriously for even a second.

“Good of you to rejoin the conversation at last,” Irissë muttered. “Even if you are still talking nonsense.”

“You’re not helping, Irissë!” Elenwë snapped.

“Responding to what’s said is a distinct improvement!” Irissë shot back. “But it’s clear he is most definitely not ‘fine’.”

Turukano didn’t dignify that with a response, mostly because he was well enough to recognize the signs of Irissë refusing to be budged no matter how in the wrong she was.

“I think you’d better ask your parents to come up,” Elenwë sighed. “He’s not much better, and his thoughts are getting wilder and more fractured by the minute.”

“No!” he protested, this time with more emphasis.

Why under the stars were they worrying about him? Lómion was the one who needed looking after!

“Would you stop being such a stubborn ass, Turvo!” Irissë snapped before Elenwë could say anything. “You are not all right – you just stared at a wall for a good quarter of an hour! Once Elenwë got here and tried to get you talking again, you babbled like an infant every time you tried to speak for as long again. You’re still not making a lick of sense, and you’re scaring me and probably her too!”

Frustration with his obstinate little sister was familiar enough to almost be a comfort, except she’d just said he was scaring her. Irissë wasn’t scared of anything.

“What under the stars?”

His dislike of Irissë’s husband was still reflexive. But the sight of young Elrond froze his tongue before he could utter a word.

He’d already made enough of a mess of it with young ones, he didn’t dare damage his grandson as well. He tried to say he was fine, or that if he wasn’t, surely they didn’t need to trouble the boy, but if he’d gotten the words out, they were ignored.

“If everyone would please be quiet and calm?”

Elrond’s voice was placid enough on the surface, but beneath it there ran a river, fierce and powerful. While it had ostensibly been a request, his words somehow had the force of a command.

When Turukano raised his eyes this time, he found Eöl and Elrond both looking at him appraisingly.

“How long has he been like this?”

Turukano tried to shrink away from the boy’s gaze, but Eöl held him in place. The expression on his face was far worse than annoyance or dislike – he looked like he was concerned despite himself.

“Only a few minutes,” Turukano said, trying to sound normal and confident.

“Half an hour?” Irissë said uncertainly. “Possibly more? I lost track of the time once I realized he wasn’t just being ridiculous.”

“At least,” Elenwë confirmed. “He was in a bad way when I arrived. Maeglin and Tinwë had told me he was up here with Irissë, and I thought I’d better come make sure the two of them weren’t quarreling again. I almost wish they had been, it would have been so much simpler!”

“He’s had a very bad shock. Have you given him anything?” Elrond asked briskly.

“Brandy,” Irissë said. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”

Eöl’s lips twitched, but Elrond sighed.

“No, Aunt, I’m afraid that is not best practice,” he said. “Particularly not with someone who prefers to avoid alcohol.”

His tone of suppressed exasperation was the same as Ammë’s. How had Turukano not known that? Better yet, how had Elrond known he didn’t drink anymore? Had someone told him? Had they told him why?

There was a murmur of conversation, and then something was once again being pressed to his lips.

“Drink, please, if you would,” Elrond instructed.

The world came into much sharper focus as he obeyed. Whatever Elrond had given him was gentler than whatever Irissë had used. It tasted of summer afternoons and Elenwë’s kisses.

“Always prepared for a crisis?” Eöl asked in quiet amusement.

“Even without Anariel and the boys around, keeping miruvor at hand has become a firm habit,” Elrond replied.

Turukano flinched.

Anariel was another one he’d damaged. Irissë had been only the latest person to remind him of it – and he should probably be thankful it had been her and not Artanis.

Elrond’s expression said he’d caught that, but mercifully he chose not to comment. He pressed another swig of miruvor on him instead.

“Now, what caused all this?” Elrond asked, looking to Irissë.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Turukano said firmly.

“He didn’t think it was,” his sister sniffed.

“Aunt?” Elrond prompted.

The boy was perfectly courteous, but also made it plain he would wait until he had an answer.

“I was telling him about Lómion in the Halls, and he just…”

“Ah,” Elrond nodded, as if that explained anything. “Was that all you told him?”

“We’d already covered everything else!” Irissë said indignantly.

Elrond raised an expressive eyebrow.

“There is such a thing as too much at once,” he said. “Being so recently come from Lórien, I would have expected you were aware of that.”

Irissë, for a wonder, accepted the reproof gracefully.

“I am fine, truly,” Turukano insisted.

“Of course,” Elrond murmured.

“Aw, he sounds like you, Elenwë,” Irissë cooed.

Elrond looked startled, the demeanor of the healer slipping for the first time in his surprise.

Eöl chuckled, though it wasn’t clear who or what he found so amusing.

“I imagine it is because we’re both rather exasperated at the moment,” Elrond said. “My daughter has just married. This should be a joyous time, or at the very least one of recovering from the hurts of the past.”

“I’m recovering,” Turukano tried to assure him.

“Aunt, it would be gratifying if you could refrain from upsetting your older brother,” Elrond continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I don’t believe he can handle any further shocks today.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him this time!” Irissë protested. “I had no idea he’d take it so badly! We’d had a perfectly civil conversation.”

“Yes, you only threatened my kneecaps once,” Turukano muttered.

Eöl laughed.

“This certainly bodes well for the festive dinner tomorrow,” Elrond sighed.

Turukano hesitated to say so aloud, as he rather doubted anyone wanted to hear it, least of all Elrond, but he heartily agreed with his great-grandson.