Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Truth and Consequences

Maeglin lay quietly, not quite asleep.

He had been wrong to suspect his friends. Not long after he had made himself comfortable in his borrowed sleep roll, Califiriel had suggested to her sister that they should follow his fine example. When Tasariel wasn’t inclined to do so, Califiriel had pointed out with a tone of suppressed triumph that at least he had the good sense not to argue when it was pointed out how tired he looked. Tasariel hadn’t exactly gone meekly to bed after that – meek was a word Maeglin suspected didn’t often apply to her –  but she had gone.

He was torn – on the one hand, he felt a sense of camaraderie with this unlikely little group. He’d never had a close friend other than Rillë before. He wasn’t sure such friendships had actually been possible in Ondolindë, where he was a prince of the city with Rillë and Laurefindil his only equals by Noldorin lights. And he had never been quite sure how far he could trust Laurefindil, who was not only of an older generation but whose first loyalty was to Turukáno…

On the other hand, he had a disagreeable sense of impending doom. The last time he’d ignored common sense when it tried to tell him something was a bad idea, it had ended with him being dragged bodily to Angband. (Things had gotten considerably worse after that.) Common sense was currently rather emphatic that staying any longer with this group was courting trouble.

He’d been trying to argue with common sense – after all, they were to part with the two younger girls on the morrow, and he, Anairon, and Tindomiel would turn their steps toward Thingol’s realm. How badly could things go if Aunt Melian was present to supervise? Common sense, unfortunately, had the tart rejoinder that she wasn’t with them yet. Anything might happen before she was.

He was still trying to sort through it in his own head when it registered that there was a hushed conversation going on between Tindomiel and Anairon as Laurefindil’s daughters slept – and that it was about him.

“I still say we ought to go to the city with them,” Anairon said.

“No,” Tindomiel hissed. “He doesn’t want to, and I don’t see why he’d change his mind. I’m not going to unsettle him by suggesting it. Don’t bring it up again.”

“He likes you. If you ask him to come, I doubt he’ll say no,” Anairon pointed out. “It would be the sensible thing to do. You know as well as I do that if it comes out there’s something wrong with him, you’ll be blamed. Even we thought you had something to do with it at first, so what do you suppose everyone else is going to think?”

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Tindomiel shot back as fiercely as one could in a whisper. “It’s not a crime to not be ready for the city yet. And if we take him there and he’s overwhelmed, then what? We’d definitely be blamed for that – deservedly!”

“Tinwë,” Anairon sighed. “You know as well as I do something’s not right. The longer you put it off, the worse trouble you’re going to end up in. We should take him to Turukano – he’s nearest, let him decide how to handle it.”

Ice crept down Maeglin’s spine.

His uncle’s justice had killed his father. The last thing he wanted was to survive Angband only to be executed for his betrayal. Though it would be the perfect ending to his tale of shame – perhaps Gorthaur had intended it so all along.

And if it would rebound onto the girl with the light, if she would share in his shame… Would the king have her executed as well? She’d been nothing but kind. Even now she was defending him. He couldn’t allow her to put herself at risk.

Maeglin crept out of the borrowed sleeping roll as quietly as he could – and he was very good at quiet when he put his mind to it. He was already far enough into the forest not to hear the reaction when Tindomiel realized they’d been overheard.

---

Tindomiel swore extensively in both modern Sindarin and California when it proved that Maeglin had moved quickly enough to not be easily found.

“You had to talk about it out loud, didn’t you?” she asked in exasperation. “He wouldn’t have heard us if you’d had the sense to use osanwë. Nienna only knows what he’s thinking now.”

“Sorry,” Anairon muttered, shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to frighten him. But this goes right back to what I was saying – he’s not all right, and he needs help now. I don’t think Estë and Irmo released him, I think he just went for some reason. He shouldn’t be wandering around on his own, or even with just us! If you won’t ask Melian to look in on him, then we should take him to my brother. He may not be your favorite grandfather, and definitely not my favorite brother, but at least he would know what’s normal for Maeglin and might have some idea of how to help!”

“Not Grandpa Turukano,” Tindomiel corrected sharply. “Gramma Itarillë. She knew him better than anyone. If there’s anybody in Gondolin he trusts and would talk to, it’s her.”

She added silently and only to Anairon I don’t understand why he didn’t ask about her, but there must be a reason. He was specific, he wanted Grandmother Melian!

“Potayto, patahto,” Tasariel snorted impatiently. “It doesn’t matter right now either way, so argue about it later. How are we going to find him in the dark? You two geniuses would have to spook him on a moonless night.”

She and Cali had woken at Tindomiel’s cursing, and quickly realized the situation.

“Each of us pick a direction and go,” Tindomiel said, ignoring the implication that she was part of the screw-up. “Meet back here in half an hour, no more. If we don’t find him that way, I’ll yell for Grandmother Melian and deal with all that comes with her help.”

“I’ll go back the way we came,” Anairon decided. “I doubt he’d backtrack, but we should check anyway. Though if I find him, I’m going to call for you, Tinwë. I doubt he’ll want to talk to me.”

He was most likely to talk to you even before this, Anairon added silently to Tindomiel alone. You’re the one he’s spent the most time with. So you’d better be the one to find him, or he may really panic. Given he’s already unsettled enough to go charging off into a completely unknown forest by himself with nothing but the clothes on his back…

Tindomiel gave him a wry look at using osanwë now, and shot back a not quite verbal response about horses and barn doors.

“That’s fine,” she added out loud. “Actually, that might be a good idea in general.”

She turned to Tasariel and Califiriel.

“You don’t have to get within eyesight of him, if you think you’ve found him, let me know and I’ll come talk to him. He can’t have gotten so far that I won’t hear you.”

“I should hope not, considering you could hear us from Tirion,” Tasariel snorted.

“Which way are you going?” Califiriel asked.

“I’ll go in the direction of Neldoreth,” Tindomiel replied after a few seconds to consider. “I think that’s the way he probably went – he was pretty set on finding Grandmother Melian. I don’t know why, but it was important. I don’t think he’ll give up on it easily.”

“Not Thingol?” Califiriel asked. “Thingol’s the king.”

“Yeah, but Melian’s the maia,” Tindomiel pointed out. “She’s who I’d say if I were in trouble, too.”

Actually, she was the one pretty much anyone in the Lindarin branch of the family except maybe Anariel would say if they had to pick one of the two. And Anariel was the exception only because she hadn’t met their maiarin grandmother yet. (She also wasn’t really in the habit of asking for help.)

The Laurefindiel nodded.

“I’ll take the road to the city,” Tasariel said. “It’s not that far from here, and once you’re on it, there’s not much to hide you. If he went that way, I’ll see him even if he has more of a head start than you two thought.”

It also had the virtue of being the least likely direction Maeglin would have chosen.

That left Califiriel to pick a heading more or less halfway between the way they’d come and the way they suspected Maeglin was now going, which was worth checking only in case he had tried to be more devious than any of them seriously thought him capable of at the moment.

“Half an hour,” Tindomiel repeated firmly to the others. “If anyone finds him, let the rest of us know. Osanwë if you can, find a bird to carry the message if you can’t.”

Three nods confirmed it, then the four of them scattered.

Tindomiel barely walked out of sight of the clearing they’d meant to overnight in before she did as Anairon had doubtless expected her to do anyway – reached out to the trees and other living creatures around her, urgently seeking news of Maeglin.

He was indeed making for Neldoreth, and moving more briskly than expected. Unfortunately for his plan of getting away from them, there was no good way for any normal elf to outdistance her. Particularly not when every nocturnal bird and animal in the area was curious about who he was and what he was doing. The birds, always sympathetic to one of Melian’s line, were more than willing to share. One owl had a very clear view of him from a branch at elf height…

She picked up her foot, and when she put it down, she was within sight of him.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to talk him out of whatever state of agitation he was in that made him run in the first place.

---

“Maeglin, wait. Please?”

He froze at the voice behind him.

Not only did he not know how Tindomiel had managed to catch up with him, she somehow knew his name, though he had never said it.

He had managed to avoid giving any name. He would have given his names if asked, he wouldn’t have lied. He wasn’t dishonest. But they had not asked so he hadn’t volunteered it. He had thought they hadn’t noticed.

He turned to face her, filled with a queasy mixture of shame and fear. She was picking her way carefully between the trees. With no moon, there was only starlight to guide her.

“How long have you known?” he asked softly in Iathrin as she drew close enough to make out her face. “And how?”

She blinked in apparent surprise.

“It didn’t take long,” she replied. “I mean, I didn’t recognize you instantly, but I knew you looked familiar. After that it was just figuring out why and putting the right name to the face. I’ve seen your portrait in your uncle’s house, and your grandparents have one too. Even if I hadn’t, I’d have to be blind to miss how much you look like Anairon and his brothers.”

“Anairon?” he asked blankly.

“Please don’t pretend, I know you noticed the resemblance too,” she said reproachfully.

He hesitated, uncertain what to say.

Of course he’d seen it, how could he not?

But he’d had no way to know their shared looks meant they were kin. Nor had he wanted to ask. He had no wish to see the disgust that would cross the younger elf’s face at the mention of the Prince of the Mole.

“He’s your uncle,” she explained somewhat awkwardly. “Your mother’s youngest brother, begotten after your grandfather returned.”

He realized with some surprise that he hadn’t been the only one holding back information. Though he couldn’t find it in him to resent her for it.

He was bemused by the mention of his grandfather, however. Nolofinwë was dead. He knew that beyond doubt. He’d been the one to wash and dress what remained of him for burial.

Why were the worst memories so clear when he’d lost nearly all the best ones?

“But…” he began, his head spinning as he tried to focus on the easier part of what she’d said. “The others-”

“They know who you are.”

Tindomiel said it as gently as she could while leaving no room for doubt.

“They were worried, that’s all,” she continued. “To be honest, so am I. No one’s been able to find out so much as a whisper of you for the last two Ages. Your parents are probably still harassing Namo about it right now. Your mother’s more than a little scary on the subject.”

She drew closer, but gingerly.

Not, he realized with a start, out of fear. She wasn’t afraid. Her confidence was unrattled.

No, she was concerned for him and giving him space – as one might a skittish animal in the forest. She would let him run if he truly wanted to. But knowing he had the option reassured him just enough to stay where he was.

“My mother?” he asked, trying again in vain to recall her face.

Surely now that he no longer needed to hide anything, it should have come back? Had he destroyed his memory forever? The sacrifice would have been worth it had it only saved the city, but to have given up so much to no purpose...

She frowned.

“Yes, didn’t you ever try to find her?”

“Find her where?” he asked.

He might not remember much else about her, but he still knew that she had died. There was no finding the dead.

“In the Halls,” she said, as if it were perfectly obvious.

She was close enough now that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted.

“The Halls?” he repeated in confusion.

Nothing was making sense.

At her slightly bemused nod, his racing thoughts came to a sudden and wrenching halt.

“You mean.. I was in Mandos?”

To his horror, he realized his voice had spanned multiple octaves, in no way concealing his shock. He’d thought his head was spinning before, but to hear he had actually been safe, beyond Belegurth and Gorthaur…

He had died.

Fool, you knew he was a liar, yet you believed him, was his first thought, followed immediately by an almost piteous I had no strength left to resist, let alone to question.

“Yes,” she replied, her surprise nearly the equal of his own. “Where did you think you were?”

He just gaped at her, incapable of reply. It was taking everything he had just to stay on his feet in the face of such a world-altering revelation.

When he did not answer, she reached tentatively for his hand, taking it in hers when he made no attempt to evade it. Her fingers interlaced with his, warm and indisputably real. It helped – the touch anchored him to the world. Without it he’d have either fallen to the ground or possibly floated right away.

Then he felt the gentle pressure of her mind against his. He nearly panicked. But Tindomiel was not insistent, not forcing, nothing like the Enemy had been – though he had the fleeting sense that she could be, had that been what she wanted. As kind as she was, the hint of power was there.

But she didn’t wield it against him. She was asking, seeking to understand, to help. And he was too tired and confused to fight, much less explain why his mind was no place someone like her should be poking around.

She found the answer easily. He couldn’t have hidden it had he wanted to, not in his current state.

“Angband?” she gasped in shock. “This whole time?”

Her eyes were huge.

“It was you,” she whispered in horror. “That was you hiding down there in the dark.”

He abruptly found himself with an armful of elleth, as Tindomiel apparently felt unable to express herself adequately any other way.

He felt her shock, sympathy, comfort, support, regret that she had not done more, along with a fierce determination that he would be just fine now. She was going to make sure of it – and that sense of power he had gotten from her made him suspect she was an invaluable ally. Her spirit wrapped around his, a warmth as tangible and heartening as a fire.

For a moment, despite it being midnight and moonless, the world danced with light.

“Until you saved me,” he said quietly.

“All I did was try to get you to come out of that dark place,” she murmured. “It was nothing.”

“No,” he told her as firmly as he could when he was almost choking on his emotions. “It was everything.”

Without her intervention, he might well have remained there for all time, firmly and foolishly convinced he was still the prisoner of Belegurth and Gorthaur. He didn’t understand how a girl who was very much alive could have done what she did – were not the Halls of Awaiting for the dead?  But he was grateful beyond words that she had.

She still looked miserable, when she of all people shouldn’t – she had done more than anyone to help him, possibly more than anyone else could have done. So despite worrying that it was probably a bad idea, he kissed her.

When his lips met hers, there was little passion in it. It was gentle, and nearly chaste. And yet – it was enough to make him want more. (Common sense was screaming about terrible ideas. But given that he hadn’t listened to it yet, now did not seem the time to start.)

Tindomiel’s surprised little ‘oh’ echoed through his entire being, completely drowning out common sense, or possibly blasting it hard enough that it landed several kingdoms away.

She blinked at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time.

And then she kissed him.

The sound of enjoyment she made when he deepened the kiss very nearly undid him.

Had either one of them been raised among other Lindarin elves their own age, it was possible nothing more would have come of it – that night, at least. They would have already learned the self-control to not be carried away.

But Maeglin had spent the later years of his youth in a Noldorin city where he had been uncertain about the prevailing etiquette governing what was acceptable between the unmarried who wished to remain so. He had lacked any adult kin he trusted enough to ask for guidance. Tindomiel had been several hundred years younger than the youngest elves in Imladris unrelated to her, and spent much of her time since arriving in Aman among the Noldor. Neither of them had any experience to speak of.

Then again, it might not have mattered. Even elves older and more experienced than them had been known to forget themselves when they encountered the mate intended for them by the One.

Maeglin had enough of a lingering sense of unworthiness that he was not the first one to reach for bare flesh, but once Tindomiel’s hands crept beneath his tunic, he gave up any pretense of resisting his instincts.

He was still adjusting to the bliss of feeling her wrapped around him when she moaned the Name in the midst of her pleasure. It wasn’t something he had to even think about.

“Eru,” he murmured in answer, blessing and prayer in one, and surrendered his soul, unworthy as it might be, to bind with hers.