Chapter Text
Nolofinwë tried not to be exasperated at the sight of his son staring morosely at his plate. So much for eating first. Turukano was pushing the food around without actually putting any of it into his mouth, much the way he would when he had landed himself in trouble as a boy.
He had thought he made it plain to Irissë that she was to behave. Repeatedly assaulting her brother could not be considered by any stretch of the imagination behaving. He could no longer continue to look the other way or justify it to himself as being in any way right.
Hush, love, wait until we’ve heard what’s going on, Anairë advised.
She’d be the first to intervene if it had been their youngest son.
Yes, because he has little experience of quarreling with his siblings, and none at all with his sister, she replied sharply. Fortunately, the only danger there is overenthusiasm.
“Darling, what happened?” his beloved added aloud.
“Too much at once,” Elenwë said, unusually tart.
“I take it you mean Irissë?” Nolofinwë prompted.
“Yes, but not in the way you imagine,” Elenwë sighed. “She saw fit to share with him everything she’s learned from Lómion, and Turvo is a bit… overwhelmed by it all.”
“Two Ages, Elenwë,” Turukano murmured.
Ah.
Nolofinwë hadn’t had an easy time with that part himself. For all they’d done in the Halls to try to find the boy, it hadn’t been enough. Not if he’d been hiding in fear the whole time.
And in light of the grilling he had given his son after certain revelations at dinner the previous evening…
“That’s hardly your fault, Turvo,” he said reassuringly.
Even if it is about the only part that isn’t.
Anairë shot him a look, her meaning clear as any crystal. Turvo did not generally hear as much as Nolo’s siblings or Ara’s children would, but in such a raw emotional state he might well hear more than usual.
“That’s not much comfort, though, is it?” Turvo snapped. “Or are you any happier about it, Atto? Seeing as it wasn’t your fault either?”
“My love,” Elenwë murmured pointedly, gripping his hand slightly harder than necessary.
“No, he already covered all my failings last night when he dressed me down after dinner,” Turvo continued. “So I’m quite clear that while I am at fault for the rest of it, my nephew believing himself in Angband for two full Ages is the one part of the entire horrific disaster that had nothing to do with me. Except, of course, in so far as I failed to heed Ulmo’s warning and move my people to safety before Lómion could fall into the power of Morgoth’s wretched creatures. So it is, you see, in fact also my fault.”
Turvo hurled his plate into the fireplace with far more force than was necessary to shatter it.
For a long moment, there was nothing but shocked silence.
“Regardless whose fault it may have been, you do still need to eat,” Eärwen said unexpectedly into the quiet, her tone utterly calm. “And if that requires a command, the High Queen commands it.”
Anairë shot her law-sister a look, but got one of Eärwen’s trademark grins in return.
Turvo missed that exchange entirely, still glaring at the fireplace. He appeared to resent his aunt’s intervention, but he did eventually rise to fetch himself a fresh plate without retort. A lifetime of training to respect his elders – some of it drilled into him in the harsh light of Beleriand – meant he was unlikely to openly defy a direct order without good reason.
Once he returned to his seat, the mechanical way he put food into his mouth indicated he might as well have been eating the ashes from the fireplace.
Heedful of his wife’s earlier insistence that the boy eat before they dealt with him, Nolofinwë kept quiet. His brother did the same until Turukano had worried down a reasonable amount of food.
“I think we might reasonably assign some of the fault for events to Morgoth and Sauron, Turukano,” Ara said thoughtfully. “Or had it entered your head before now that Sauron might possess your nephew before lying to him at the moment of his death, deceiving him into believing he was not dead? It certainly came as a shock to the rest of us, including those who saw Angband emptied and believed we knew the depths of his perversion and cruelty.”
“I believe it surprised even Elrond and Nerwen, and they know more of Sauron and what he was capable of than anyone here,” Eärwen added.
“Who would have thought it possible?” Turukano mumbled, more to what remained of his food than to anyone in the room.
“No one,” Nolofinwë replied firmly. “What’s more, we ought to be grateful he tried that trick only the once. He might have done the same to any of us. You, me, Finno…”
Our dear idiot of a brother, he added silently to Ara, who shot him a worried look. It had only just occurred to him. None of them had seen anything of Naro either. Finno had tracked down Maitimo and his brothers, but only them.
Turvo blanched.
“We might well have believed him, too,” Nolofinwë continued. “Who could possibly think clearly at such a moment, even if they hadn’t been prisoner for months before?”
As close as he was sitting, Nolofinwë caught the memory his son was reliving, though thankfully not the full force of it. Falling, the tower he had built with his own hands crumbing below him, seeing the entire city brought to ruin, so many of his people dying – and screaming defiance to the last for all the good it did.
No, Turvo would not have believed him. Not in that state of mind. Lómion must have been utterly exhausted by the time death finally released his spirit.
“Turukano!”
He waited until his son met his eyes, shocked and shamefaced, but wholly present.
“You need not take all the misfortunes of the Noldor in Beleriand onto your shoulders. The rest of us made plenty of mistakes of our own. Your relationship with your nephew began badly. But his death was not your doing, nor his confusion about his circumstances in the Halls.”
“I failed him,” Turukano said quietly. “I failed all of them, but Lómion most of all. I do not understand how any of my people forgave me. I don’t see how he possibly could. Or Tinwë.”
He sounded downright broken at the idea that not only his nephew, but his descendants would despise him. Nor was it only Tindomiel he meant, though she was the one closest at hand. (And certainly the one who knew Lómion best.) He knew perfectly well things were not right between him and Elrond either. His thoughts veered sharply away from Tindomiel’s older sister.
“You might give them a chance, my love,” Elenwë suggested softly, taking his hand in hers once more. “I think we may trust Elrond at least to understand that things in Beleriand were not so clear as they are here.”
Elrond, perhaps. Anariel would be another matter entirely. But as Turvo hadn’t mentioned her, best to leave that for the time being. There would be time enough to worry about brokering a peace between them when the girl arrived.
“Let us do what we can, Turukano,” Nolofinwë said briskly. “There is wisdom in Elenwë’s words. What’s more, you are not without kin at hand concerned for both of you. I believe the plan was for the happy young couple to make their first public appearance at the Gates of Summer tomorrow?”
He looked to his wife and law-daughter, who both nodded.
“We will proceed with that in mind. You can have a quiet dinner this evening. Perhaps Ingo will join you, but I suspect you will find most of your guests engaged elsewhere. I myself mean to dine at the Mole this evening.”
He waved aside any attempts at protest.
“If the boy finds the sight of me upsetting, better he has the time and space to deal with that in private than immediately before his first public appearance. I can’t see where him reliving whatever bad memories he has before the entire city will help matters.”
You’re as bad as Turvo, Anairë told him in exasperation.
No, just rather more impatient. He got to see the boy as a boy. My only grandson is newly married and I’ve never laid eyes on him. In either of our lives.
Her sniff said that while she was doing her best to help, she didn’t think Turvo had done a very good job with Lómion either.
“Perhaps you and Elenwë should finish your lunch in private,” Nolofinwë suggested. “The rest of us can amuse ourselves elsewhere until dinnertime.”
Ara raised an eyebrow, but did not argue. He probably knew perfectly well that Eärwen was dying to find out from Anairë what she’d missed.
Well, she’d just have to wait.
Nolofinwë wanted to get back to what their children’s utter inability to behave themselves had so rudely interrupted.
---
Turukano nearly cried with relief when his parents, aunt, and uncle finally left.
His mother had been disappointed. His father was, in addition to being upset with him about Lómion, also that shade of annoyed that Turukano hadn’t understood as a child but as an adult had realized meant he had disturbed them at an inopportune moment.
“You’re being unfair, my heart.”
He looked up to find Elenwë looking disappointed also.
“Your parents were concerned about you. And yes, they may have been doing other things, but your father was only annoyed when he thought you’d been quarreling with your sister – and irritated when he thought it was Irissë’s fault.”
“I only ever wanted to make them proud.”
It had rarely been easy. Not with Finno to live up to, not to mention their older cousins. He’d envied Ingo being the eldest. At least he hadn’t been constantly measured against an older brother.
“Is that all?” Elenwë asked softly, taking his hand.
“I wanted to keep everyone safe,” he admitted miserably. “But it all went so wrong!”
He’d wanted her safe, and their darling daughter. His infuriating sister, his brothers, his father, and his cousins, even the kinslaying ones. His friends and loyal followers. And in the end, none of them had been. He had failed completely. They’d nearly all fallen.
“I think it turned out rather well for quite a while,” Elenwë told him.
Turukano wasn’t about to point out it hadn’t worked out in the least – they’d lost her before they’d reached Beleriand.
“Yes, and then we got to the part where everyone died.”
He did his best to close his mind to the memories.
“Not everyone,” she replied softly, taking his hand.
That Rillë and Ardamírë hadn’t was the smallest gleam of light in the general wreckage. And he wasn’t entirely sure their survival had been worth the terrible price Hurin and his children had paid.
“My love, did you not listen at all?” Elenwë asked sharply. “You are not responsible for everything that went wrong in Beleriand. Look what came from those who survived – Ardamírë moved the Valar to intervene! Elrond held out until Sauron was defeated utterly! Elros was the first in a line of kings of Men that endures even now!”
“I notice you don’t mention Anariel,” he said sardonically.
“One problem at a time,” Elenwë sighed, resting her head against his and sounding tired.
He ran a wondering hand through her hair, then caressed her cheek, smiling slightly when she turned her head to press a kiss to his hand.
“You are so much better than I deserve,” he told her sincerely.
“You are so much more trouble than I deserve, yet somehow always with the best of intentions.”
The words were a complaint but the tone was so full of love that he actually felt better.
“How can I make it up to you?” he asked hopefully.
She gave him a look, and he did his best not to wince, because he knew before she said it what it would be.
“One peaceful dinner with your entire family? Please, Turukano? It’s a holiday.”
They both knew he could never hold out for long when she used that tone.
“Even him?”
He was aware even as he said it that he sounded rather petulant.
“Particularly Eöl,” Elenwë said firmly, her eyes steady on his. “My love, you have already admitted that not only were you at fault for Irissë’s death, you misunderstood his actions – very badly. If he is willing to make nice for the sake of his son and law-daughter, you should be able to meet him halfway. Be a cordial host and a decent law-brother. If not for your sister, then for your granddaughter and your nephew. And your younger brother. Irissë says they’ve been getting on quite well.”
He tried not to let his opinion of that show.
She leaned against him, letting him think it over. She knew him well enough to know there was no way he could come up with a good counter. Turukano knew perfectly well he was being managed, but as usual Elenwë had done it so smoothly he couldn’t refuse even if he had been better at turning down requests from her.
“It is the Gates of Summer,” she murmured. “A good time for starting fresh. That was what you meant to do with Ingo, after all.”
Patching things up with Ingo was a far easier problem to deal with than his sister’s dratted husband. Even if talking honestly with Ingo probably also meant talking about their other cousin.
“Your sister would appreciate it. You’re going to want to see your niece. And your younger brother would probably appreciate it also.”
Turukano frowned.
“Anairon?”
“We’ll be seeing a lot more of him if Tinwë and Lómion reside in the Mole,” Elenwë suggested hopefully.
His heart leapt at the idea, but fell nearly as quickly.
“There’s no reason they would,” he said in disappointment. “Why should Lómion do that to himself?”
He wasn’t going to delude himself on that score. There was no reason the boy should choose to spend his time here. Not when the boy was so frightened of him and could not possibly trust him. Tinwë had only just been thawing after that incredibly awkward time in Tirion. She would certainly take her mate’s part.
Nor was there much reason to think his youngest brother would be willing to spend more time with him. He’d meant well leaving Anairon to grow up away from his shadow, but it turned out he’d been wrong about that, too.
“I don’t think your nephew is someone who could easily turn his back on people as loyal to him as the Moles have been,” Elenwë pointed out gently. “And Anairon doesn’t dislike you. He just doesn’t know you.”
“I tried to fix that.”
He’d thought that spell in Tirion would give him time to mend matters there, but it hadn’t worked out. His brother and his granddaughter had proved extremely adept at avoiding him, even before Aryo came back.
It rankled that they were both on excellent terms with his younger brother.
“I know,” his mate assured him. “But you went from one extreme to the other too quickly, love. Anairon is rather like you. Give him some time. And let me invite him more often. I don’t think he’ll say no if I ask.”
“If he’s rather like me, he can’t say no to you,” Turukano sighed.
“Good,” she said brightly, kissing the tip of his nose as she stood up. “It’s settled then. We’re having dinner with your family tomorrow night - all of them. And it will be peaceful.”
“Peaceful,” Turukano echoed weakly.
“Including Irissë’s husband.”
“If I must.”
“I’m afraid you must. Cheer up, love, I’ll go see if Ingo’s come back from the Golden Flower yet. The two of you haven’t actually gotten much time together with everything else that’s come up.”