Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Hold Onto Your...

Anairë knew perfectly well that if she asked her beloved husband, he would say they were guests in their son’s city. That meant it was not down to her to wrangle three sons and one daughter into behaving for a holiday, much less ensuring they were all dressed appropriately. In the case of the eldest of their sons currently present, Nolo would likely also have a few tart words about adulthood.

But she was too used to fussing over Aryo and Anairon - and often Tindomiel into the bargain. She had snapped right back into the habit of assuming Irissë would not be suitably prepared for any public occasion if left to her own devices. (In fairness, it had generally been a valid assumption in the days of the Trees. She had no idea how things had gone in Beleriand.)

She was less sure how to handle her new law-son. She did hope someone had thought to help him find something suitable to wear. It wasn’t as though the newly returned were sent out from Lórien with festival clothes…

“Darling, come back to bed.”

Nolo wasn’t quite pouting at her being with the day so early – not that it was all that early by her usual standards. It was nearly mid-morning. But it was plain he had other things on his mind than who would wear what and how they would behave.

“I can’t.”

“My love, you can be sure Tindomiel and Lómion will be on time in suitable outfits. We settled that last night when Rillë persuaded everyone that the pair of them could attend dinner and the vigil tonight. I also know all of our children are of age and can dress themselves.”

“Nolofinwë Arakano, you know perfectly well-”

“That Irissë and Turvo are in fact capably of conducting themselves acceptably without you constantly intervening. They are both adults. They managed for several long-years without either of us and survived the experience.”

Anairë did not point out that had not ended well. Or question his definition of ‘survived the experience’. From where she sat, she didn’t think that was strictly true in her daughter’s case.

“She’s not ever going to be Tirion’s most proper princess, but she’s hardly in a class of her own anymore when it comes to new and creative scandals. Not with Tindomiel around.”

Nolo did not say out loud that by all reports little Anariel threatened to outdo them both, but he did think it.

“You terrible man, you enjoy watching them cause trouble!”

A little bit. I’ve come to consider the Sindarin notion that we’re occasionally a bit too full of ourselves may be fair!

Anairë sniffed. She didn’t think the Sindar had any room to talk given how Thingol had behaved, on both sides of the Sea. She hadn’t forgotten that he’d called her a kinslayer.

“It’s mostly harmless, my love. Besides, we’re not in Tirion. Any trouble they cause here isn’t your problem. Or Eärwen’s – not that I’ve noticed her fretting much.”

“They’re not her children.”

“No, hers are gleefully egging it all on.”

“Tsk, tsk, love. Ingo’s been a calming influence on Turvo. And if I had to guess, on Artë as well.”

“Artanis is definitely egging on,” Anairë sniffed. “And Eärwen is letting it run in the hopes of dislodging more about Gildor’s youth.”

“Which she might get if Turvo gets irritated enough,” Nolo pointed out with a grin. “Though you should probably tell her about what was shared last night. I don’t think I’d told her that story before – didn’t want to upset her about Finduilas. The two of them were a set.”

“I don’t see how Turvo getting irritated will help her. I don’t think Turvo knows a blessed thing. Wasn’t he already in his city by the time Gildor came along?”

Nolo’s grin only widened as he pulled her back into bed.

“Hold that thought?”

Anairë knew that thought was not what her husband was really interested in holding.

He did have a point that this wasn’t Tirion. She could probably leave it to Elenwë to manage things. Rillë would tell her…

Nolo’s kiss chased any other thoughts of their children or grandchildren right out of her head.

---

“Tinwë and Lómion? Coming here? Tonight?”

Elenwë was astonished at her daughter’s news. Hadn’t they just established a day ago that the pair were not yet equal to public events?

“Yes, Ammë. Don’t fret, no one pressured them into it – Tinwë offered of her own volition! But they won’t be here until just before dinner. As sweet as it was for them to offer, everyone agreed that they’re not up to dealing with the whole city just yet. She’ll use that trick of hers to get here. But she was confident they could manage the dinner with the lords and the standing silence.”

Elenwë fought a snicker. Tinwë’s logic there was crystal clear – with so many royals in attendance, including Turvo’s parents and the High King and Queen, even the boldest of the lords wouldn’t be able to press them. And the standing silence meant no one else could say anything until after the songs marking daybreak. She didn’t doubt Tinwë and Lómion would make their escape right about the time conversation became permissible again.

“You haven’t told your father yet, have you, darling?”

Rillë blinked.

“You don’t want him to know, Ammë?”

“I think we’d better keep it a surprise. He’s already worked up enough about tonight as it is.”

“But why? It’s…”

Rillë trailed off as she realized why he would be.

“Oh, dear.”

“Yes, exactly. Oh, dear. So let’s not complicate things too soon. When Tinwë and Lómion arrive, there will be more than enough family there to cushion Lómion. If Tinwë suggested their attendance, I’m sure she’s up to holding her own , and she's rather good at it. That means you and I can manage Turvo.”

“What about Auntie?” Rillë asked cautiously.

“I think she’s gotten all the dramatics about how things ended in Beleriand out of her system. And I’m told she did generally rise to the occasion over there?”

Rillë thought for a moment.

“She was always at her best at holidays. At least, she was until nearly the point where she insisted Atto had to let her out. The last few holidays she was rather subdued by her standards. Not quite a sulk…”

“Well, then. I think we don’t need to worry about Irissë – at least, so long as Turvo doesn’t go antagonizing Eöl again. But we’ll do what we can to keep them apart. That shouldn’t be too difficult with Ingo and Elrond there.”

“Elrond I understand, Ammë, Uncle Eöl has taken rather a shine to him. But Uncle Ingo?”

Elenwë was rather proud of her daughter, to be able to call Lómion’s father Uncle so quickly after several Ages thinking him what Turvo had claimed him to be.

“Ingo knew him in Beleriand, and what’s more, he’s a calming influence on your father. I’m far more concerned about the other lords’ reaction to Lómion, and to Lómion and Tinwë. Laurë and Ecthelion know already, of course.”

“Egalmoth knows, too,” Rillë said.

“Egalmoth?” Elenwë sighed. “The Heavenly Arch are the biggest gossips in the city!”

“I don’t think it’s known to the whole house,” Rillë assure her. “Only Egalmoth and a few of his senior masters. They made the clothes for them, after all. And I’m sure Egalmoth saw the wisdom in holding his tongue!”

“If he has, it’s the first time,” Elenwë sniffed. “Though I suppose he would realize that too much talk too soon would end in a pair rather unhappy with him and disinclined to call on his services any more than absolutely necessary.”

“It would kill him not to get to dress them,” Rillë laughed. “Though as far as I’m aware, his knowledge is only secondhand. He hasn’t actually seen them yet. I think he’s the only other lord who knows.”

There was a knock on the door.

“My queen, my princess – Lord Rog is asking for a few moments of your time. He begs me to say he would not bother you today of all days if he did not think it important.”

Elenwë nodded, knowing perfectly well Rog would not be put off, and looked at her daughter once the door had closed behind their steward.

“I spoke too soon,” Rillë sighed.

“You don’t know that,” Elenwë protested – but rather half-heartedly. Rillë was more than likely correct.

Rog strolled into the room and made a show of looking around.

“We didn’t expect you so early, my lord Hammer,” Elenwë said. “Dinner guests were invited for dusk. What can we do for you?”

“You can tell me where the boy is,” Rog replied, seating himself jovially on the edge of Elenwë’s desk.

“Boy?” Elenwë asked.

“Nephew of yours, dark hair, about yea high, usually found in company with that one,” he gestured in Rillë’s direction, “when he’s not immured in his workshop.”

“How do you know he’s not immured in his workshop?” Rillë asked with a smile.

“Checked there first. I do know the lad. Which is why I’m eager to welcome him and see how he does.”

“What makes you think he’s back?”

“All the questions Prince Finrod’s brood were asking. Also, the youngest one saying outright they were trying to figure out an appropriate present was what I might call a clue.”

Rillë sighed. She hadn’t asked where the younger Inglorions were dining last night – a mistake, clearly. The Golden Flower would have been the natural place. No one would thought anything of it. But apparently they’d had ideas of their own.

“If you don’t want everyone in the city to find out, you should probably keep those three from wandering around unsupervised,” Rog suggested. “Especially the girl. Charming, earnest, and almost as subtle as our noble king.”

Elenwë couldn’t hold back the laugh.

“Almost as subtle as her father, I’d have said,” she replied.

“After seeing the pair of them, I’d say it’s about the same,” Rillë giggled.

“I’ve not had the pleasure,” Rog snorted.

“You will this evening,” Elenwë said. “They’ll both be at dinner.”

“And Maeglin?”

Rillë and Elenwë exchanged a glance.

“We expect him,” Elenwë said. “But that should not be shared with anyone let there be too much excitement.”

Rog raised an eyebrow.

“The lad’s never been a coward. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong!” Rillë exclaimed. “It’s just…”

Rog waited patiently for her to actually finish the sentence. When the silence drew out too long, he looked slightly wounded.

“Have I not taken good enough care of your precious cousin? I would have said I was the closest he had to a mentor in the city. I acknowledge I failed him in the end, but no more than anyone else did. Can I not be trusted with whatever scrape he’s gotten himself into now?”

Elenwë raised an eyebrow at her daughter. They couldn’t very well let Rog think he was being kept away for lack of trust – or that anyone believed he had failed the poor boy. If Rillë hadn’t realized Sauron had him in his power, she didn’t see how anyone else could have spotted it.

“It’s hardly a scrape,” Elenwë sighed. “He married.”

Rog’s jaw dropped. He was silent for a few moments – then started to laugh.

“The boy’s as hasty as his mother!”

“Yes, well, I think you’ll be less surprised once you meet his bride,” Rillë laughed. “And no, I will not tell you who – you can be surprised with everyone else at dinner!”

“Hm. I have my guesses, but I suppose after two Ages, a few more hours’ patience isn’t too much to ask.”

“Whatever your guesses, I suspect they won’t be correct,” Elenwë told him with a smile. “Besides, you should take care, Lord Hammer – with Lómion married, I do believe that leaves only you and Duilin unmatched.”

“Really?” Rog pretended surprise. “Did Golden Flower and Harp manage to marry without me noticing? Astonishing, I’d have thought the two little girls would have made sufficient noise for the whole city.”

“They may not have announced anything yet, but you know perfectly well they’re a pair,” Rillë said reproachfully. “And they had better consider hurrying things along – my young cousins of the Golden Flower have reinforcements now.”

“Wonderful. I’ll enjoy the show,” Rog chuckled. “Speaking of which, you may be sure I’ll be at dinner. Possibly even a bit early in the hopes of getting a quiet word with the lad and his bride. If nothing else, I want to congratulate him on timing it so he doesn’t have to listen to the wailing from the disappointed ladies of the city.”

He should be careful what you he wishes for… Rillë giggled to her mother.

“Not too early, please, my good lord Hammer,” Elenwë sighed.

He bowed.

“Never fear, ladies. I won’t make any trouble. And I’ll be off, I’m sure you’ve plenty of last minute arrangements given what you just told me!”

---

Tindomiel put the finishing touches on Maeglin’s hair and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

She hadn’t tried any of the more intricate Noldorin styles, but this was something she knew had been worn in Hithlum, which meant it was not so fancy he’d object and also fancy enough that the more persnickety among the Ondolindrim couldn’t say boo. (And if they did, they could answer to a former High King of the Noldor.)

It looked pretty good on him, in her opinion. She’d gotten Aunt Irissë to tell her about a style she could do for herself to match.

“Last chance to back out,” she informed him, grinning to take out any sting.

“It would be foolish not to go. We should attend the festivities. At least, the dinner and the standing silence and dawn song.”

“I figured we’d duck out once the mandatory songs are over.”

Maeglin smiled and kissed her hand.

“You are as wise as you are beautiful.”

Tindomiel managed not to laugh at ‘wise’, but it was a close run thing.

“We make a good pair, then.” She paused. “If you feel overwhelmed or it gets to be too much, you tell me and we’ll blow that popsicle stand.”

As she’d hoped, the California idiom required enough explanation to keep Maeglin’s mind busy with something other than the upcoming family funfest until it was time for them to depart.

There was a very pointed knock before Elemmakil poked his head in.

“My prince, my princess, I believe you are expected at the house of the King.”

Tindomiel bit back laughter. He plainly hadn’t expected to find them fully dressed and ready to go, much less aware of the time.

“Thank you, Elemmakil,” she grinned. “I’d thank you even more if you didn’t sound so surprised about it. Or if you wanted to tell me just what it was Ada did…”

Elemmakil sighed at the latest round of puppydog eyes.

“Flattery is still not getting you any bad ideas or negative influence, princess. And if you don’t get going, you will be explaining to your grandmothers why you are late.”

Tindomiel huffed, but took Maeglin’s hand and took them to the room reserved for her in the House of the King.

“I’m surprised you didn’t argue harder,” Maeglin said in amusement.

He’d been observing his mate’s surprisingly restrained efforts to get Elemmakil to tell stories about her father since the day their parents arrived, and had not expected her to be so patient.

“That wouldn’t work at all,” Tindomiel told him. “I want to lull him into a false sense of security. Then when Anariel arrives, he can deal with her. Not only is she a lot more persistent, she’s not the head of his house, so she won’t have to hold back.”

Maeglin was torn between laughter and feeling sorry for the captain of his guard.

Tindomiel checked her appearance in the mirror, and straightened his circlet.

Grandmama, we’re here.

Elenwë must have been waiting just outside the door to be inside the room so quickly.

“Darlings!”

They were both hugged and kissed, somewhat to Maeglin’s surprise.

What did you expect? Tindomiel snickered. You were nephew, now you’re nephew and grandson. She’s not going to be done fussing over you anytime in the next long-year.

Maeglin blinked.

Only surprise is Gran not ribbing you about being her grandson now. Unless that hasn’t occurred to her yet…

Maeglin somehow managed to keep a straight face, but she could feel she’d thrown him for a loop with that one. Oh, well, at least she’d given him a head start on comebacks.

“Now, darlings, the plan is for you to already be seated at your places when the rest of us come in – no meet and greet or drinks in the reception room before dinner for you. The whole idea is to keep things as relaxed as possible for you.”

Tindomiel grinned.

“You mean we’re a surprise to everyone else?”

“You are going to turn a few heads,” Elenwë agreed cheerfully.

“How many is a few?” Maeglin asked warily.

“Most of the lords,” Elenwë said. “With a few exceptions. Laurefindil and Ecthelion.”

“And Egalmoth,” Tindomiel sighed. “Though he at least should be pleased – we’re wearing his present.”

“Rog also knows Lómion has returned,” Elenwë told them.

“Only that Maeglin returned?” Tindomiel snickered.

“We didn’t feel it would be fair to spoil your best prank yet, darling.”

Maeglin laughed, as much at the way Elenwë was teasing Tindomiel as at the thought of what Rog would have to say when he discovered what Elenwë and Itarillë had left out.

“I’ll send Anairon to get you when it’s time.”

“Not Cali?”

“We’re going to have Laurë’s girls distract your grandfather.”

Tindomiel grinned.

“You know, I think dinner might just be fun.”