Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

A Family Dinner

Maeglin was doing his best not to be nervous. But there was another family dinner this evening, and everyone was acting oddly about it – including Tinwë. Though in her case it was less ‘odd’ than mildly irritated she hadn’t been told who to expect aside from ‘emphatically not Turukano’.

“I pestered Ada until he told me ‘mostly just parents and grandparents’,” she told him from her spot on the window seat. “Obviously the stinger is ‘mostly’. Not sure if that means Anairon, Tas, and Cali made the cut tonight, or if they’re squeezing someone else in.”

Maeglin did not quite jump at the knock on the door, but it was close.

“My parents,” his mate announced serenely. “Yes, we’re decent, Nana.”

“For now, you mean,” his law-mother smiled. “To relive both your minds, ‘mostly’ is because Gildor is coming also.”

Tindomiel’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment, she snickered.

His official excuse is moral support for Nana, she informed him. Actually, he’s just as nosy as everyone else. Nana doesn’t need support. Unless it’s support to keep from falling over laughing. She’s enjoying this way too much.

“Now, now,” Celebrían smiled. “Your dinner guests are waiting.”

He squared his shoulders. They’d done this once already, and this time he wouldn’t have to tell everyone terrible things.

You really don’t have to brace for family. We know Grandpa Turukano isn’t allowed, Tinwë pointed out gently.

He was glad he had when they entered their dining room. He’d been prepared for most of the others. He hadn’t been prepared to find –

“Grandfather?”

It came out as strangled surprise.

His grandmother might have shown him what his grandfather looked like, but somehow it was still a shock to see him in person and undeniably alive.

His mother was stood to one side of her father, his grandmother on the other. His mother was beaming.

“There, you see, Atto? Rillë, go stand next to him so Atto can see how you look more brother and sister than cousins!”

Rillë would have to wait, because his grandfather did not, crossing the room in two swift strides to embrace him. Nolofinwë was not as tall as his son the king of Ondolindë, but not what anyone would call short, and more solidly built.

“I am so pleased to meet you at last, my boy,” he murmured into Maeglin’s ear.

It took Maeglin a moment to compose himself enough to react.

Perhaps it was for the best they’d sprung it on him before he had time to lose himself to the only other memories he had of his grandfather. The hug was as warm as any of Ammë’s, if thankfully slightly less enthusiastic.

It was foolish to cry when his grandfather was back among the living, but just for a moment, Maeglin felt like a little boy again, waking after a bad dream to find Ammë or Ada there to assure him all was well.

What you went through wasn’t a bad dream, Tindomiel said flatly. More like a nightmare. But real.

“There, you see, Grandfather?” he heard Rillë saying. “He’s safe and well – and all the better for telling us all that horrible stuff last night.”

“I should hope so,” his grandfather said quietly, drawing back to look him over properly. “Such a brave lad, to hold out alone for so long.”

“I’m not alone anymore,” he said firmly.

Definitely not, Tindomiel snickered. Not only do you have me, you haven’t even finished meeting all the kin who happen to be here, nevermind the ones in Tirion, Neldoreth, Alqualondë…

He tried not to be distracted by that idea. He hadn’t even thought on the idea that he had so many more relatives now – and that was without factoring in all those that seemed to claim his mate.

That’s pretty much everyone, she informed him cheerfully. Which means you’re everyone’s now, too.

“Can I borrow him for a moment? I haven’t gotten to express my congratulations yet.”

Tuor! Tuor was there, too – and not looking at all bothered by everything Rillë must have told him, or that Maeglin had gone and married his granddaughter on a few days’ acquaintance.

Maeglin had always known that his mother’s family would find a way to come to terms with it. He’d heard the story when he was little of how his parents met and married, and later realized that the Noldor would have a very different view of the matter than his father’s people. But Ammë had always assured him it would be fine. So her parents and brothers could hardly chastise him when he’d actually been somewhat more restrained.

He had been far less certain what Tuor would think – particularly given that they’d learned during Eärendil’s first years that there were a good many differences between mannish customs and elven ones.

But Tuor held out a hand in the fashion of Men or Lindar, and the handshake was much like Tuor himself, hearty and cheerful.

“I’ve already been told Tindomiel is the impatient one. As if I couldn’t have guessed that.”

Maeglin’s smile now was one of relief – and amusement at his beloved’s huff of exasperation. He liked Rillë’s mate and didn’t wish to be at odds with him.

“Has anyone told Eärendil?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet. Or at least, not that I know of. What Queen Melian may or may not have told Elwing is anyone’s guess.”

Elwing is Ada’s mother. And Lúthien’s granddaughter. Grandmother Melian takes particular care of her. I don’t think she talks to Granddad that often, though.

Maeglin nodded.

“I should like to see him again. To explain…”

“He knows!”

That came from Rillë and Tuor both, Rillë with that look of slight disappointment that said he’d forgotten something she thought important.

“If he doesn’t already, he will soon enough,” Tindomiel shrugged. “Pretty sure we get to go on tour once everyone agrees we’re ok to travel.”

“Would that be a bragging tour or an apology tour, pumpkin?”

“Pop-pop…”

“Shades of both, I think,” Maeglin answered before Tindomiel could get too worked up. “It would doubtless have been welcome to all our kin had we done things properly.”

“Also something of a surprise in Tinu’s case,” someone muttered.

“Uncle Gildor!”

There was a slight air of everyone is ganging up on me from his mate, but also a sense that she was both used to and well able for it.

“Less of a surprise than if it had been your sister, but you doing things Aunt Anairë’s way is still more unusual than not,” Gildor said cheerfully.

“I am curious about grandmother’s way,” Maeglin said politely.

“Wonderful, I’ll tell you, and you can explain to your mate,” his grandmother replied immediately.

The round of laughter that got put Maeglin completely at his ease. This felt far more like family than his uncle’s house ever had.

---

Nolofinwë smiled.

He hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect this evening. Not only had everyone else been doing their best not to show how concerned they were, it wasn’t as though he could fully trust either Irissë’s account of the boy or Turvo’s. One was unabashedly partial; the other had completely failed to notice some fairly basic facts about his nephew, which rendered his judgement in the matter questionable.

He’d been horrified to learn it was his grandson who had been left to handle what was left of his body when Morgoth was finished with it. He’d been told by others what state his remains had been in when the eagles had returned him to his son’s city. He had viewed it for himself in some of Vairë’s work and concluded most of it must have happened after he was dead, for it looked even more painful than he remembered the end.

He wouldn’t have inflicted such a sight on any of his family, least of all the grandchild he’d never even met. 

No one had ever brought it up to Turvo, but Nolofinwë had private intelligence that Elrond and Elros had buried his remains, which had been left by the Enemy where he had fallen. He wondered from time to time if that wasn’t part of Elrond’s unusual reticence with his son. (He did not overlook the simmering issue of Anariel and a certain ill-conceived book. The injuries of one’s youth were often felt strongly. He didn’t imagine compounding such a hurt with injuries to one’s child in any way helped…)

Everyone else had been worried how Lómion would react to meeting him. Nolofinwë was more concerned how Tindomiel would react if her mate was upset. The girl’s heart was generally in the right place, but restraint was no more in her vocabulary than it was in Irissë’s.

They seemed a well-matched pair – and he dared hope based on what he’d seen so far that Lómion might actually be successful in getting Tinwë to stop and think before doing something that would set Tirion atwitter. He certainly had a better chance than Anairë.

Tinwë was entirely relaxed, so Nolofinwë concluded Lómion was also at his ease. His youngest descendant had been more curious about Gildor’s presence. He hoped she chalked it up to Gildor cadging his way in to assuage Inglorion curiosity.

He and Anairë dining here tonight had left Ingo a clear field to try to get Turvo talking again – this time with slightly more finesse and tact than Irissë had used. Ara and Eärwen had taken themselves to the Golden Flower for the evening, ostensibly to dine with their nephew, but more likely to quiz his daughters about anything they might not have let slip yet about the newlyweds.

If he’d had any lingering doubts as to Turvo’s lack of truthfulness about Eöl, the happiness in his grandson’s voice when he spoke of his childhood would have settled it. It had taken only the gentlest of hints to get him talking. By the sound of it, Lómion’s early years had been as wholesome and loving as any child in Beleriand’s could be.

Nor had Nolofinwë missed the occasional mentions of Menegroth. Following up on a jest of Irissë’s, he learned that both Thingol’s daughter and wife had been present at his grandson’s birth. How under the stars had his son concluded he could safely mistreat, let alone execute, a sister-son of Thingol’s?

“Grandfather?”

Lómion looked hesitant for the first time.

“You’ve heard many stories about me, and you already knew plenty about Tinu, would you tell us one?”

Nolofinwë blinked. He then caught Anairë’s curiosity. She would not push to hear of Beleriand, but…

“Would you prefer one from here, or one from Mithrim?”

Lómion considered that for a moment.

“Mithrim, I think. I have some idea where that is. Or was. Tindomiel tells me Tirion is not like anything I’ve seen before, even Ondolindë.”

A pointed look from Elrond reminded him that his grandson was newly returned – and unlike him, to a land he’d never known. Lómion might not like Turvo, and understandably so, but Turvo’s city was at least somewhat familiar to the boy, and full of people who cared for him. Perhaps it was for the best he’d come here first.

Nolofinwë knew enough to make sure that his story was one of pleasant moments. Lómion had seen more than enough of the worst of Beleriand. There hadn’t been as many good memories as they might have liked in Mithrim, but there had been. And as Gildor was here…

His tale of Gildor and Finduilas’ only visit to him provoked a good many questions. He was pleased to hear that Lómion sounded rather curious and maybe even a little wistful. If Nolofinwë had only known, the boy would have gotten a chance to visit, too.

But Lómion wasn’t the only one with questions. Tinwë and Celebrían were equally curious – as, surprisingly, was Galadriel. Her questions, appropriately enough for one who stood in place of a mother to the boy, were the sort that brought Gildor to blush more than once, though he played it off fairly well.

But it also gave them an excellent chance to show Lómion he had family beyond those he’d known. The boy might have seen plenty of Menegroth and the dwarves’ kingdom, but he hadn’t gotten to travel to Mithrim, Nargothrond, the Falas, Dorthonion, or even Finrod’s northern outpost on Sirion. He might not be able to see those place, all now beneath the wave, but he would soon meet his kin who had lived there.

And, of course, get to be spoiled by his grandparents. Nolofinwë knew for a fact his darling wife had been waiting three Ages to make a fuss over her grandson. And if he was perfectly honest, so had he.

---

Anairë was, to borrow one of her newly-married granddaughter’s California phrases, over the moon.

Nolo had met Lómion at last. Lómion seemed equally thrilled to meet Nolo. Tinwë and Irissë were both on what was good behavior by their definitions, and Artanis was for once not egging either one on. Elrond and Eöl appeared to be getting along well. Celebrían might have felt she needed moral support, but she and Gildor appeared to be simply enjoying the company.

If only the dinner tomorrow night could be so peaceful…

“So,” Tindomiel said into a lull. “Tas and Cali said the Gates of Summer is tomorrow night. No one’s going to object if we go, right?”

Anairë wasn’t the only one mildly surprised that the girl was doing what sounded suspiciously like volunteering. She would have expected the exact opposite. And so far as she knew, no one had even suggested having the young pair attend.

Celebrían only had to raise an eyebrow.

“Ondolindë does the standing silence thing,” Tindomiel explained cheerfully. “Which means that aside from dinner with the lords at Grandpa and Grandmama’s, we can’t be inundated with questions or mobbed by half the city.”

Irissë looked delighted, Artanis proud.

Anairë probably should have deplored the reasoning, and she knew Nolo halfway expected her to.

But while Tinwë might be as irreverent as ever, her logic was sound. Turvo’s lords wouldn’t dare ask impertinent questions at the formal dinner at his house. And the standing silence – which nearly everyone outside of her son’s city thought anywhere from odd to ridiculous – would mean that while the Prince and Princess of the Mole would be seen by the whole city, no one would be able to ask or even say anything about it until sometime after dawn.

She had enough experience of Tindomiel’s plans by now that she didn’t doubt Tindomiel would have them scooting right back inside either Turvo’s house or their own once the official part was over and the more general festivities kicked off.

“It would also give the Moles an opportunity to bask in their achievement,” Lómion added. “They kept our presence quiet longer than anyone would have thought possible. Longer than we’d hoped.”

There was something that sounded suspiciously like a giggle from Rillë’s direction. (And a cough from Tuor.)

Anairë looked from granddaughter to granddaughter.

“She isn’t wrong, Grandmother,” Itarillë said, her eyes dancing. “I’m sure Ammë and Atto would be delighted if they feel up to attending the formal dinner.”

“How will they get there?” Eöl asked. “It’s all well and good to say no one can badger them during dinner or after. But I imagine word will spread quickly once they’re seen on the street together.”

“Oh, that part is easy,” Nolo snorted.

“Yes, I imagine Tinu intended to get from here to there her way,” Elrond sighed.

He had never been at ease with Tindomiel’s maia-like ability. Anairë really didn’t see why he fussed so. Tindomiel was a descendant of Melian. She came and went as she would. And Tinwë’s ability was a good deal less worrisome than her older sister’s knack for finding any trouble going and getting right in the middle of it.

“Of course,” Tinwë chirped.

Anairë considered it, aware as she did that everyone – Nolo included – was looking to her for the ultimate approval.

“I think if you feel yourselves equal to it, that would be a very good idea.”

“You will, of course, behave appropriately to the occasion,” Celebrían added firmly.

Anairë pinned her own daughter with a look that prevented any additions from her.

“What will they wear?” Rillë gasped. “The holiday is tomorrow, there’s no time to have anything made for them now!”

“What’s wrong with the outfits we wore to greet our parents?” Lómion asked. “They’re new and no one but Ada, Ammë, Elrond, and Celebrían has seen them.”

“You can’t wear grey to the Gates of Summer!”

Celebrían clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing at Rillë’s scandalized tone. The look on both Artanis and Gildor’s faces told Anairë there had been silent commentary from someone.

“Let’s skip the argument,” Tinwë suggested with a sigh. “Egalmoth sent over new outfits this morning. He said it was a wedding present from the Heavenly Arch.”

Now it was Lómion gearing up to protest – and Anairë did see what Irissë had meant about them being brother and sister.

“He’s made clothes for you often enough to know what colors you’ll wear voluntarily or at least suffer under only mild protest,” Tindomiel continued blithely. “I think the ones he sent fall into ‘voluntarily’. They’re a gray that’s almost silver, only a little brighter than what we picked, with green accents.”

“The ones you showed us earlier?” Elrond asked. “Those seemed a good compromise between Gondolin and Neldoreth.”

Lómion hesitated a moment, just long enough for Nolo to clarify that the boy was probably slightly thrown by hearing Thingol’s kingdom referred to as Neldoreth rather than Doriath, before nodding his agreement.

“Wonderful,” Irissë beamed. “It’s all settled, then. Don’t you worry about a thing, darlings – I’m sure between Elenwë, me, and Ammë, we can sort out all the boring details.”

Tinwë grinned. Lómion started to ask, then thought better of it and closed his mouth without saying a word.

Anairë didn’t doubt there would be more friction before all was said and done, but she would happily take it. It wasn’t quite her entire family together again, but it was close enough for now.