Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Guess Who?

Turukano squared his shoulders and prepared to go downstairs to be a good host.

“Remember, my love, it’s one dinner. Most of our guests will be off to Tirion after the holiday.”

“You’ve mentioned a time or three,” he sighed, knowing perfectly well what – or rather who – was on her mind.

He had already said he’d do this. It would help if she didn’t seem nervous about it now. And after dinner and the start of the city-wide festivities tomorrow, he and Eöl could peacefully settle into cordially detesting each other from a safe distance as much as possible.

“Don’t worry yourself, Elenwë. Please? There will be enough people here that I will barely have to interact with him. I would do far worse things to make you happy.”

That got him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Ingo talked at you, didn’t he? Remind me to thank him later.”

“He barely mentioned the man. We spent more time talking about Beleriand and Curvo.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

His beloved gave him one of those looks that said they would discuss it later. What a shame they had to go play host... Elenwë looked even more beautiful than usual in her new festival dress. He would have happily had dinner with just her, out on the balcony overlooking their private garden. He rather envied those who had the option of a quiet evening with their mate before the vigil.

“We’d better go greet our guests,” Elenwë sighed. “Please, let’s make this a pleasant dinner, my love? It’s not much to ask.”

“With a good number of my family and all the lords here?” Turukano asked in astonishment. “I know you’re an optimist, my heart, but-”

“But the holiday is only once a year. I’ve been told many times I never saw it as it should be. This year could finally be ‘as it should be’.”

Turukano didn’t argue further. At least one of them was looking forward to this.

“Of course, my love.”

---

Tindomiel nearly jumped a mile when the door to the room opened without so much as a knock.

Maeglin would have chuckled at the reaction – which suggested his mate was rather less calm about the proceedings than she appeared – had it not been for who the unexpected visitor was.

“Eärendil?” he choked.

It had to be. Tindomiel had showed him what her sister looked like, and between that and his memories of his nephew as a child, there could be no doubt who the tall blonde in the doorway was.

He looked rather like Tuor, but beardless, with a bit of Rillë blended in here and there.

“Gramma! Granddad!”

Tindomiel brightened at once.

“No one told us you were coming!”

“That, pumpkin, is because we didn’t tell anyone that we were,” Eärendil chuckled, before turning to him.

“Uncle?” he asked quietly.

There was so much in that single word. But Maeglin was staggered that it had been said at all. The last time he’d seen Eärendil was on the walls of Gondolin, just before…

The hug was as enthusiastic as any Eärendil had given him as a child, but this time he was nearly as tall as Lómion himself and just as broad in the shoulders. It took Lómion a moment of shock before he could return the embrace, so taken aback was he that Eärendil was happy to see him.

He’d taken Rillë’s thoughts on that point as her being less than impartial.

“You’ve grown,” he said in bemusement – and both felt and heard Tindomiel’s mirth.

It would be far more awkward if he hadn’t! He had kids and grandkids – how weird would it be if he’d stayed five year old size?

That was true, and yet it was still hard to credit there being three Ages between the last time he’d seen his nephew and today.

“Tinu,” said a reproachful voice he didn’t recognize.

He turned his head to find a tiny but elegant woman who was so like Elrond she had to be his mother.

“I’m behaving, honest!”

“When you have to say it,” Elwing sighed. “We wish you both joy.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling as Tindomiel said the same thing at the same time.

Elwing turned to look at Maeglin, and he was unsure what to say to her. What did she know of him?

“You’re newly returned, newly married, and Grandmother seemed to think you might appreciate Lindarin reinforcements,” she said wryly. “Aside from that, not much, I’m afraid. I didn’t really get much time to learn family stories from my mother, or even from Uncle Celeborn and Aunt Galadriel.”

‘Grandmother’ means Grandmother Melian, Tindomiel helpfully informed him. Who probably also connived to get them here unnoticed. I can’t think how else they would have done it. The streets are getting crowded by now.

He smiled. He suspected Eärendil would have managed. He’d been quite good at slipping around unnoticed when he felt the need. But Maeglin did appreciate the help from Aunt Melian, and the ‘Lindarin reinforcements’, even if it was really only one Linda. Eärendil was a Noldo, not to mention his nephew.

Also, my grandfather!

“Pumpkin, if you’re going to keep up with asides like that all evening, poor Uncle is likely to either snort wine up his nose or choke on his food,” Eärendil said, sounding like he would probably be amused by either option.

“I understand why…cousin Elwing would come,” Maeglin said, after a moment of trying to figure out the best way to refer to her. “But Eärendil, why? I was told you visit the city but rarely.”

“I thought as you’re back, we might make ourselves a better memory of the Gates of Summer,” Eärendil replied hesitantly. “I don’t think you were particularly happy that last one, and I know I was not.”

“This one’s going to be much better,” Tindomiel said firmly.

“Perhaps we might stand together for the silence?” Eärendil suggested.

“Of course!”

“Oh boy.”

They both turned to Tindomiel in bemusement, as her tone suggested trouble.

“Oh, you two should totally stand together,” she said. “I’m in favor. It’s just that I am definitely standing with my mate, and I’m pretty sure Gran expects to stand with him too…and you know darn well Grandmama will probably want to, too.”

Eärendil dissolved into laughter.

“She does have a fair point. You only have two sides, and one is spoken for.”

“I should like it very much if you took the other,” Maeglin said firmly. “Rillë will have other chances. As will my aunt.”

He rather liked Eärendil’s thought that they should have a newer, nicer version of the holiday. Nothing could wipe out that disastrous one, but they could do better. They both needed that. And if he was honest, now that Eärendil was here, he wanted Eärendil where he could keep an eye on him. Just in case.

“That’s settled then,” Tindomiel said blithely. “Except for the grandmotherly outrage, but they’ll just have to deal. And both of you relax. We know there’s no balrogs, dragons, or orcs here in Aman. There have been a lot of perfectly peaceful Gates of Summers since whenever they started doing it again in the Second Age.”

And by perfectly peaceful, I mean perfectly boring, she clarified for Maeglin only. Honestly, it’s way more fun in Tirion. The standing silence is such a buzzkill.

“Buzzkill?” Maeglin repeated in confusion.

Tindomiel did the mini-sigh he was learning to associate with her forgetting something was California before saying it, but before she could explain there was a knock on the door.

This time it was Anairon, whose jaw dropped when he saw who else was in the room with them.

“You’re really pushing it,” he informed Tindomiel. “Elenwë’s not going to be happy when she realizes she needs to rearrange the seating. And with two more for the family table, she’s going to need to…”

Tindomiel rolled her eyes.

“First off, it wasn’t me. This feels like Grandmother Melian’s idea, which Granddad apparently thought was a good one.”

Maeglin noted Eärendil’s smirk and concluded his nephew actually enjoyed watching his granddaughter’s chaos. It seemed his childhood propensity for mischief hadn’t entirely vanished.

“Secondly, there’s room. We’re not even close to maxing out the great hall with just family and the lords! I bet we can sort it out pretty quick. We’re supposed to go down now anyway, right? So we go down, snag the steward or one of his staff and ask them to add two places.”

“Where?” Anairon challenged.

“Who are we sat next to right now?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been in the great hall yet.”

“No time like the present,” Tindomiel declared cheerfully.

Anairon started toward the door, but Tindomiel snagged him before he went more than a step.

“Nope, we’re going my way. Just to make sure we don’t spoil the surprise for everyone else.”

Maeglin couldn’t help the chuckle at Anairon’s look of exasperated resignation.

---

Eärendil smiled as they emerged in the great hall of his grandfather’s house.

The assistants to his grandfather’s steward putting the finishing touches on the tables before everyone came in to be seated did nothing more than look mildly exasperated before one of them peeled off to inform their supervisor of the change in plans.

Anairon sighed and went to speak to the man who had been placing flower arrangements on the head table.

Eärendil didn’t come to Ondolindë often, but the few times he had the city largely treated him as the little prince he’d been Before. The staff in the house of the King took their cue from his grandfather, who still viewed him as a favored grandchild to be indulged. (He probably should have asked Tinu how her visits ran.)

Oh, I’m pretty sure the only one here right now who doesn’t have experience sneaking around and being spoiled here is Gramma. Even Anairon comes in for his share. He’s just not naturally stealthy.

He didn’t laugh, but it was a near thing. He was feeling better about this by the minute.

It had been a sudden decision to come for the holiday. Queen Melian had only told Elwing that morning Tinu and Maeglin would attend the royal dinner after all. Then again, as Elwing had pointed out, it was possible given how things went in her line that it hadn’t been clear until that morning if the pair would be capable of a public appearance.

He’d already had several weeks already to get used to the idea that his youngest granddaughter had married his uncle. (Thankfully, for Elwing it was less strange. She knew Maeglin for an older cousin, but she had never met him.)

He’d eventually concluded that as he wanted only the best for his granddaughter, he couldn’t very well object.  After all, his uncle was the best. Eärendil had adored his uncle and his unfailing patience as a child. And then Maeglin had fought Sauron to save him. Middle-earth might think otherwise, but Eärendil had known as soon as his uncle laid hands on him who it was trying to kill him.

It might not be the sort of battle anyone made songs about. But all the years since have only made him think it more remarkable that his uncle managed to break Sauron’s hold for that handful of seconds that had been the difference between Eärendil’s life or death.

His uncle had died to give him those few seconds.

Eärendil had seen far worse things later, in the War. But his uncle at the bottom of the walls had been the first dead body he’d seen, and it still stood out in his memory as the worst.

So he needed to see for himself that his uncle was back, and the sooner, the better.

Elwing didn’t mind either way, so she’d left it up to him whether they should come. He’d finally decided mid-afternoon – and discovered once he did that his mate already had everything at the ready. She knew his mind better than he did himself sometimes.

The thing that had decided him was that if Uncle thought he could face the Gates of Summer, having lived through that last one knowing what was about to happen, Eärendil could do no less.

This would be the first one he’d attended since he was a child. They hadn’t celebrated it in Sirion for obvious reasons. To his relief, it wasn’t as popular a holiday in or around Alqualondë, where he had made his home since the Valar handed down their ruling. He’d never been able to bring himself to go to any of the ones in his grandfather’s rebuilt city, or even Tirion. If his parents noticed that he always seemed to have an excuse – generally that he couldn’t be away from his nightly voyages for long – they’d never remarked on it.

Besides, he had missed so much of his grandchildren, he didn’t want to miss what was essentially Tinu’s wedding dinner. Yes, there would be other celebrations, but this would be the first.

The newlyweds looked splendid in their festival robes, a silver bright enough he was surprised Uncle had been persuaded to wear it.

He didn’t have time to object, Tinu informed him, her tone dancing. Egalmoth sent them today as a wedding present. I have no idea how he got them done so quickly.

“Probably by roping half his house into helping,” Eärendil chuckled.

He didn’t visit the city often, but he did know the Lord of the Heavenly Arch would hate to be caught out on such an occasion. He’d do whatever was necessary.

“He better not have bribed them by telling them all,” Tinu frowned. “If Rog finds out because the Heavenly Arch told the world…”

“You both look very elegant,” Elwing observed, cutting off what could have been an interesting threat. “This is a change from the colors your uncle uses.”

“House colors,” Tinu grinned. “Well, sort of. I think Egalmoth got as creative as he dared.”

Tinu’s dress was fitted, and though Eärendil couldn’t have said for certain what era the style was, the result made her look far more grownup than usual. The cloth had white and soft grey accents – and if Eärendil was seeing right, the subtle embroidery that created a shimmer effect as she moved had worked in both wings and moles. (Egalmoth was liable to be exceedingly smug at how well his people had made that unlikely combination work.)

Maeglin’s high-collared tunic matched his mate’s in both color and, interestingly, embroidery. The formal trousers beneath it were a deep dark blue that could not fail to remind the Noldor of Nolofinwë. By the usual Ondolindrim standards it was downright restrained, but brighter than anything he’d seen his uncle wear before. The overall effect was more Sindarin than Noldorin, but Maeglin certainly looked every inch a prince of the city.

“I thought black was the color of the Mole,” Elwing frowned, regarding the pair in some confusion. “Though this is certainly more festive.”

“Yeah, we changed the color,” Tinu said cheerfully. “Grey seemed better.”

“Egalmoth’s probably going to stretch it to silver on the regular since he got away with this,” Maeglin sighed.

“We meaning we, or we meaning you?” Eärendil asked his granddaughter cautiously.

“We,” Maeglin said firmly. “The black was really a prank anyway. I didn’t think Tinu would much enjoy wearing it often.”

“Eh, it wouldn’t have been that bad,” Tinu shrugged. “Black goes with everything is a California adage.”

Eärendil, who had not once in three Ages considered the reason for the color choice might be so ridiculous, laughed until he nearly cried.

“I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you as an adult,” he said when he could finally speak again. “Though speaking of knowing…Tinu, have you told your sister about all this?”

Tinu’s bright smile dimmed slightly.

“I started to,” she replied. “But then I realized that might get El and El all worked up. Also, I don’t know what they’re up to right now...”

More than any other of their descendants, Tinu felt the choice of the Peredhil and the separation of the Sea. They all had to make their peace with it, one way or another. But in Tinu’s case, the Sea did not fully sunder her, nor did the ruling that none who reached the West could return to the Bent World bind her. Come to that, she probably could if she truly wished find where her Uncle Elros and his children had gone.

She had been in the West some years before they broached the subject of her special ability with her. Eärendil suspected she’d told him and Elwing more than she’d mentioned to her Tirion kin. In her view, they deserved to know. (Tinu hadn’t thought much of the fact that the Valar hadn’t been open to bending the rules and had been rather caustic when she learned they had taken a dim view of the meetings at sea in the early Second Age.)

That Tinu didn’t put her ability to use to keep closer contact with her siblings on the far side of the Sea, or retrieve her missing uncle was entirely down to self-discipline on her part. The temptation was definitely there – but so was the knowledge that venturing beyond the protection of Aman would risk not just her own safety, but that of all Arda and possibly other worlds into the bargain.

She couldn’t risk falling into the power of Morgoth, or any minions he might have found beyond the circles of the world. Tinu was painfully aware of the responsibility that went with her ability.

It had occurred to Eärendil more than once that Lord Namo was so patient with her dancing in and out of his Halls because it let her ‘blow off steam’ as she said.

“Anariel is visiting Arwen in Minas Tirith,” he told her. “Keeping her company while the boys are off adventuring to the south.”

He did not clarify that ‘adventuring’ was actually a situation with Umbar that everyone was hoping wouldn’t escalate into war. This was a happy occasion.

“Well if I’d known that,” Tindomiel sighed. “It would have been nice to let Arwen know.”

“You could still tell her later, dearest,” Elwing suggested. “It’s not as if you’ll stop being married.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if it would help, or only make things worse,” Tinu sighed. “Also, I’d have to explain why I didn’t tell them right away… I’ll think about it. But not tonight.”

Eärendil suspected she’d added more privately to Maeglin. He didn’t get a chance to ask, however, because a small shriek from behind him signified his mother had just noticed his presence.

“Ardamírë! Elwing!”

“She was already excited, but I think you may have just tipped Gran into ‘ecstatic’,” Tinu told him cheerfully.

“Pity the poor Ondolindrim,” Uncle added. “So much to talk about right before they have to stay silent for several hours.”