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Egalmoth honestly kind of liked the Amrhosco, though he knew the other Lords thought it was odd. They were cheerful, witty, and never shied away from the darkness in their past. “I killed you,” Amrod had said slowly the first time they’d met in New Gondolin, squinting at him in confusion.

“At Sirion,” Egalmoth had agreed, surprised and a little concerned.

Amrod’s face had cleared in recognition after a moment. “Yes, your sword blade has a curve!”

Egalmoth had merely nodded in bafflement. Amrod, however, had taken this to mean that they were friends, and came to visit him in the transportation administration building every time Amrhosco came to New Gondolin. More often than not, he brought his twin with him, and the redheads charmed their way into the good graces of Egalmoth’s secretary, and eventually Egalmoth himself.

Then they brought word from the Hunt when Maeglin was considering coming back to New Gondolin.

Egalmoth had only shrugged when they asked if he would mind if Maeglin re-established the House of the Mole. The person who murdered you asking if the person who’d betrayed your city could come back changed the question somewhat, he supposed.

Tuor presented the idea at the next council meeting. Duilin shouted about it till he was red in the face. Rog turned white and said nothing. Ecthelion visibly hated the idea and tried so hard to seem magnanimous anyway. Glorfindel actually thought it was a great idea. Salgant avoided everyone’s eyes but couldn’t help his hopeful expression. Galdor frowned and seemed to be considering it logically (unlike the rest of them). Penlod sneered, but kept quiet.

Turgon said quietly, “We failed him, the first time around.”

It silenced Duilin’s shouting, at least. But Penlod said, “He was a creepy little jerk, and he sold us to Morgoth. For your daughter, need I remind you.”

Idril said, “And he learned his lesson, and he regrets it, and he’s working to make amends. Do we honor that, or do we treat every one of you like the worst mistake you ever made?”

“None of the rest of us betrayed an entire city,” Galdor pointed out, entirely reasonably.

“No,” Egalmoth said. “We just treated a child like an orc.”

There was a long silence.

“That’s not fair,” Rog said quietly.

Egalmoth raised an eyebrow. “You were an awkward asshole when you came to Vinyamar, but we made you welcome until you’d figured out how to socialize. Why didn’t we do the same for Maeglin?”

“Rog had been in Angband,” Duilin protested.

“And Maeglin had been with Eol,” Turgon replied.

“You would equate the two?” Duilin asked sharply.

Idril said softly, “You never saw his scars; I did.”

Turgon nodded. “At least with Morgoth you knew he was your enemy,” he said dryly. “Eol should have been Maeglin’s father.”

Rog’s jaw worked. To Egalmoth’s surprise, when he spoke, it was to support them. “I should’ve welcomed Maeglin to the forges,” he said softly. “He was a good kid, there at the beginning, before Aredhel.”

“Once I’d killed his father, he’d never have taken help from me,” Turgon said sadly. “But I should’ve asked you all to take him in.”

“We should’ve done it without you asking,” Glorfindel replied. “But we’ll do it now.”

Duilin scoffed. “He betrayed us,” he repeated. “That’s not the appropriate response to us ignoring him.”

“No one is saying he was right, Duilin,” Idril snapped. “Just that we weren’t completely innocent of things either.”

“And that forgiveness is possible,” Ecthelion added superciliously. “And we should offer him a chance at it.”

“As we have been given,” Glorfindel said. It would have been insufferable if he hadn’t been earnest.

“What did we do?” Duilin muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Um, Alphlond?” Ecthelion said, somewhat incredulously.

Duilin sighed. “I suppose my objections mean nothing.”

“Only your stupid ones,” Egalmoth replied. “Do you have anything other than ‘but he betrayed us’?”

Duilin glared at him. “If he comes back and people are understandably wary, won’t that just compound his feelings of alienation and isolation?”

Egalmoth grinned. “See? You do have useful contributions!”

Duilin made a rude hand gesture.

“He’s prepared to face what he’s done,” Tuor said. “At least, according to Amrhosco. They say he never gets angry or defensive when other Hunters confront him about Gondolin.”

Duilin nodded. “Then, fine. I accept his return.”

“Galdor?” Turgon asked the only one of his Lords to survive the First Age.

Galdor hummed. “I have no objections for myself,” he said slowly. “But I have concerns about the people.”

Turgon gestured, a vague, ‘go on’.

“If we make this decision, what of those who have no say in our policies, who have not yet faced their traumas? It seems unjust of us to force them to.”

“If we restricted his movements?” Penlod offered. “Then everyone who wished to avoid him could be sure of doing so.”

“That seems fair,” Idril said thoughtfully. “I think he would accept that as a condition of his welcome.”

“Welcome may be stretching it,” Duilin muttered.

“That has to stop,” Turgon said, but his voice was gentle. “The snide remarks and muttering.”

Duilin nodded. “Yes, your majesty,” he agreed. His face showed no resentment. He understood.

“Penlod?” Turgon asked.

Penlod shook his head. “Galdor addressed my only question.”

Turgon nodded. “Rog?”

“He will be welcome in my forges,” Rog said. “If nothing else, he and I can surely beat Feanor at something.”

This made them all laugh; Rog and Maeglin were the best smiths in Valinor that had Feanor nowhere in their training or lineage.

Turgon nodded. “Salgant, you’ve been quiet.”

Salgant still rarely met their eyes, even now, centuries after Glorfindel and Ecthelion had tracked him down in the Gardens of Lorien to ask him to New Gondolin. That they’d welcomed him back, asked him back, had made his guilt and shame worse. They were all working on it. He was one of them. “I would welcome him, sire,” he said quietly.

“You were his friend,” Idril offered.

Salgant shrugged. “Inasmuch as either of us were capable of it, in those days.” He had been the youngest of the Lords, not much older than Maeglin, and as awkward in his own way as the young prince. He’d never known anything other than the relative peace of Gondolin, and it had made him overconfident, a misplaced pride that had been thoroughly broken during the Fall. “I’d like to see if I could be, now.”

Beleriand, Egalmoth thought as they concluded the session, and not for the first time, had broken everyone. Befriending Amrod had healed something Egalmoth hadn’t even known was fixable; he thought the return of Maeglin would be good for everyone, in the long run.

Maeglin preferred Tinnuion, it turned out. And he was exactly as awkward as Egalmoth remembered him being the scant weeks before Eol had made it to Gondolin.

But he obediently kept to the areas Turgon restricted him to, and according to Rog, turned into a completely different elf at the forges.

About three weeks after he’d first come, Egalmoth found him beside an ornate fountain, with a furious elleth snarling in his face. He was standing very still and breathing very evenly.

Egalmoth wandered over sort of grimly, waiting to see what was going to happen.

There was something weirdly intent in Tinnuion’s face as he listened to the elleth, like he was cataloguing rather than listening. But when she wound down, his soft, “I’m sorry,” was sincere, or at least sounded so.

“Sorry?” she snapped, visibly winding up again.

Tinnuion nodded slowly. “I know it means nothing,” he said, shrugging. “It can’t stop the nightmares or bring back what we lost.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “But I am sorry, and I’m trying to find ways, if not to make amends, at least be better going forward.”

She deflated. “I hate you,” she said, but almost gently.

Tinnuion nodded. “That’s fair,” he said. “I hate me too, some days. I’m working on that, too.”

She shook her head and stalked away.

Tinnuion sank slowly to the edge of the fountain. His hands were shaking.

Egalmoth sat silently next to him.

“They didn’t feel real to me,” Tinnuion said quietly, staring at the paving stones. “Before. In Gondolin.”

“What didn’t?”

“Elves,” Tinnuion said, shrugging. “Everyone. Chess pieces, to be moved and sacrificed to get what I wanted.”

Egalmoth swallowed. That was… kind of terrible, actually. He said this out loud.

Tinnuion nodded. “I know. I’m working on it. Most people still don’t feel really real, but listening to them helps.” He finally looked at Egalmoth. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Egalmoth shrugged. “I’m not real either?” he suggested.

Tinnuion seemed to consider this. “Maybe. But Amrhosco feel real, after all this time with the Hunt, and they say you’re a good sort. I probably believe them.” He frowned. “You haven’t yelled at me yet.”

“Should I?” Egalmoth asked.

Tinnuion shrugged again. “Feels like everyone else has.”

“Not Ecthel,” Egalmoth said incredulously.

“Okay, no,” Tinnuion agreed. “Not everyone. Not Idril or Uncle Turgon either.”

“Sunshine?”

Tinnuion shook his head. “Does Glorfindel yell?”

Egalmoth shrugged. “He’s yelled at me. I think I said something that offended his husband; to be honest I’m not clear. The yelling wasn’t very coherent.”

Tinnuion nodded slowly. “Are you going to yell at me?”

“I didn’t yell at Amrod,” he said slowly. “I don’t think I’m going to yell at you either. Yelling feels like it would take a lot of energy, and I’d rather use that to move forward.”

Tinnuion hummed thoughtfully. “I think-- and I’m speculating, because I don’t really understand, but it seems like some people need to yell so they can move forward.”

“So you let her yell so she could move forward, and you listened so she’d feel real?”

Tinnuion nodded. “It’s hard, because I really wanted to hit her for poking me.”

“But you didn’t,” Egalmoth pointed out.

Tinnuion nodded. “I didn’t,” he agreed. “Mostly, I think, because I know it would disappoint my mother.” He met Egalmoth’s eyes again. “I know I’m supposed to not want to hit people because they’re people and we don’t hit people. But I think that part of me is broken. So, right now I don’t hit people because it would make Mum upset, and maybe I can fix that part of me eventually.”

Egalmoth hummed. “Who broke it, your father or Morgoth?”

Tinnuion tilted his head in question.

Egalmoth shrugged. “Or, maybe a better question: is it broken, or do you not have one?”

Tinnuion sat back a little, clearly thinking deeply.

Egalmoth patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, and wandered off, leaving him to his thoughts.

“I think you’re real,” Tinnuion announced, sitting next to Egalmoth at a social dinner a week or so later.

Ecthel, Coruneth, Glaur, and Erestor, sitting with him, stared blankly.

“Good to know,” Egalmoth replied. “What tipped me over?”

Tinnuion shrugged. “I had a lot to think about after our conversation,” he replied. “Pawns don’t generally provoke thought.”

Egalmoth nodded. “You’re making them uncomfortable,” he said, tipping his chin at their companions.

Tinnuion looked at them. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m working on sorting out social cues. I’ve never bothered with them before, and the Hunt is…” he trailed off. “Not helpful in that regard,” he finished finally.

“Should we tell you when you’re being odd?” Erestor asked slowly.

“Yes please,” Tinnuion replied. “I don’t usually notice otherwise.”

Coruneth nodded as if this was perfectly normal. “Noldor don’t typically acknowledge or disavow the reality of their conversation partners,” she said helpfully.

Tinnuion nodded. “Do your people?” he asked curiously. “Or is that rude? I get the impression some of the questions people ask you about your tribe are rude.”

“Not usually the questions themselves,” she replied. “Usually the snide implications that we couldn’t possibly be as good as the Noldor hidden behind the questions.”

Tinnuion nodded. He opened his mouth, and then shut it again. “Oh dear,” he said eventually. “I’ve been rude about the Noldor all along, haven’t I?” This last was directed at Egalmoth.

This seemed to crack something in Glorfindel’s composure, and he was suddenly biting his lips to keep from voicing whatever it was. Erestor elbowed him sharply.

Egalmoth nodded gravely, hiding his own amusement. “Yes,” he told Tinnuion. “Intensely.”

“Oh,” Tinnuion said. “Sorry.” Then he looked around. “I think I need to go apologize to Uncle Turgon again. Thanks,” he told them, and wandered off again.

Ecthelion said slowly, “What.”

Coruneth smiled. “He’s learning, isn’t he?” she said cheerfully. “I like him.”

Glorfindel finally couldn’t restrain his giggles. “How’d you get the job of fielding those questions, Egalmoth?” he asked.

Egalmoth shrugged. “Made him think, like he said. He’s... “ he sighed. “There’s something missing in him, the bit that makes you care about other people. He’s trying to care anyway.”

“I admire that,” Erestor said thoughtfully.

“He doesn’t punch people because it would disappoint his mother,” Egalmoth explained. “But he knows he’s supposed to not punch people because they’re real beings with desires of their own, like not being punched. But he doesn’t feel it.”

“We don’t feel real to him,” Ecthelion repeated.

“Chess pieces, he called us,” Egalmoth said.

“Oof,” Glaur said.

Egalmoth nodded. “But he’s trying. I admire it too.”

“And we can help him, by telling him when he’s being odd,” Coruneth said. “It sure helped me, when I was acclimatizing to living among the Noldor.”

“Or at least rude. I don’t know that we care if he’s odd.” Glaur looked between them. “We’re all odd.”

“This is very true,” Ecthel agreed.

Egalmoth nodded, and the conversation wound on.

“I don’t like being yelled at,” Tinnuion announced, coming into Egalmoth’s office and sitting in the chair in front of his desk. His hands were shaking again.

Egalmoth’s secretary stood in the doorway behind him, eyebrows raised.

Eglamoth nodded, and she retreated. “Does anyone?” he asked the younger elf.

Tinnuion considered this.

“That was rhetorical.”

Tinnuion considered this, as well. “I’m tired of being yelled at,” he said eventually.

“I can see how that would be the case,” Egalmoth agreed. “Why are you letting people yell at you?”

Tinnuion sighed. “It seems to make them feel better. Or, at least, no one ever yells at me more than once.”

“So?”

Tinnuion blinked.

“It’s not your job to make them feel better,” Egalmoth said. “In the end, we have to come to terms with our traumas ourselves. Amrod owed me an apology,” he said slowly, “And he owed it to me to try to be better than he was before. But he wasn’t the one who was supposed to stop my nightmares and make me feel safe again. I had to do that myself, and it was work.” Egalmoth frowned. “It was harder, at first, to do it in a world where Amrod existed. And then I got to know him, and knowing he struggled too made it easier.”

“And I’m trying to make it easier for them by being… not whatever I am in their nightmares. Not awful.”

Egalmoth nodded. “Amrod too,” he agreed. “But being not-awful doesn’t mean you have to let them be awful to you.”

Tinnuion looked startled. “That hadn’t occurred to me,” he said softly.

“There are not-awful ways to get people to stop yelling at you, and there are awful ways,” he warned.

Tinnuion nodded. “And they’re already afraid of me, so being awful to make them stop would make it worse.”

“They more real to you now?” Egalmoth asked, since they seemed to be talking about a nebulous ‘them’ who prior to this had been a chessboard to the younger elf.

Tinnuion sawed a hand. “I’m pretending they’re real,” he said. “Until they become so.” He smiled slightly. “Coruneth says you have to pretend till you succeed.”

Egalmoth nodded. “That’s good advice.”

“Oh,” Tinnuion said. He fished a small cloth bag from his robes. “I made this for you!”

Egalmoth accepted the bag and poured its contents into his palm. It was a crystal-glass pendant on a fine woven chain; caught in the glass was a twist of exceptionally fine wire puffed into an unmistakable cloud. The light caught the facets of the crystal-glass, arcing rainbows out from the cloud, and when Egalmoth twisted it in his hand to better see the effect, the shift sent static sparking like lightning out of the bottom of the cloud. “Oh,” he said softly. It was exquisite. He shifted it again just to see the little flashes. “It’s beautiful.”

Tinnuion’s face lit with joy. “You like it?” he said hopefully.

“I do,” he assured the younger elf.

“Rog made the chain, he said I could use it. I liked the way the links looked with the cloud.”

Egalmoth did too, and told him so. “Thank you, Tinnuion,” he said, and put it on immediately.

Tinnuion glowed.

This child, Egalmoth thought helplessly as Tinnuion babbled about the technique he’d used to get the lightning to work, and the piece he was considering making for Idril that made use of it.

“I just don’t know if I should,” he said finally.

“You used to make her things all the time,” Egalmoth said mildly, wanting to see what he would say.

Tinnuion nodded. “And she hated it. I was trying to buy her affection, and it didn’t work. I don’t want her to think I’m doing it again, but I can’t think of how else to thank her.” He shuffled awkwardly. “I also don’t want Tuor to think I… Have designs,” he finished carefully.

Egalmoth smiled. “Have you considered making it for her and then explaining that it is a thank you present?”

Tinnuion shot him a very flat look. “Yes,” he said dryly, a spark of Aredhel in his face for a moment. “I had considered it. I just wasn’t sure she’d believe me.”

Egalmoth shrugged. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t. You haven’t lied to us yet, since you came back.”

Tinnuion considered this for a long moment. “You and she have been the best about drawing a line between before and after,” he said after a while. “If you believe me, she probably will too.”

Eglamoth smiled. “Well you never gave me presents, back in Gondolin,” he teased gently, touching the cloud pendant reverently. “But I trust you.”

“You might be the first, then, besides my mother.”

“That makes me sad,” Egalmoth said.

Tinnuion shrugged. “Sorry?” he offered.

Egalmoth shook his head. “Not your fault,” he assured him. “Just… sad.”

Tinnuion nodded slowly, and then offered a slight smile. “I don’t think anyone’s been sad about me either, except Mum,” he said, a little wondering. “You actually don’t hate me.”

Egalmoth shook his head. “I don’t,” he confirmed, wondering if telling the boy that he was sort of fond of him would help, or just confuse him.

Tinnuion made a little ‘huh’ of surprise, nodding slowly. “Thank you,” he said finally. “For forgiving me.”

Egalmoth shrugged. “You’re welcome,” he said, instead of the many, many explanations he could’ve given.

Tinnuion grinned cheerfully at him, and stood again. “You’re working,” he observed, “And I am going to let you continue, and do some of my own.”

“Have a nice day,” Egalmoth replied.

“I can’t control the day,” Tinnuion said thoughtfully, halfway out the door. “Only how I feel about it. Have good feelings!”

Egalmoth chuckled softly.

His secretary found him a moment later with his forehead against the desk. “Are you okay?” she asked him warily. “I wasn’t sure if you needed me to fetch a guard.”

“I’m fine,” Egalmoth assured her. “He brought me a present,” he explained.

She frowned at him.

Egalmoth just shook his head; she’d managed to get used to Amrhosco, so he figured she would accept Tinnuion eventually.

When a young ellon in apprentice braids and a smithing apron came running up to him in the market, Egalmoth knew something was wrong, but he wasn’t quite prepared for him to wheeze, “Lord Rog needs you immediately.”

Egalmoth handed his one purchase of the morning--a basket of fruit intended for his card game with Ecthel and Glaur that evening--to the boy and said, “Take this to my house.”

“Yes sir,” the boy replied, and Egalmoth strode from the market.

Once he was on less crowded streets, he broke to a trot--the apprentice had been running, so it was likely to be urgent.

Rog’s forge was in the heart of the artisan district, and the chimney poured smoke as usual, but the place was too quiet for the usual pack of smiths generally banging about.

Rog himself stood in the doorway, one hand on a hip and his lower lip between his teeth. “Oh,” he said when Egalmoth jogged up to him. “Sorry, it wasn’t so pressing you needed to run.”

Egalmoth shrugged philosophically. His secretary had been making veiled comments about his waistline of late anyway. “Your apprentice seemed in a rush.”

Rog rolled his eyes. “It’s Mouse,” he explained. “Tinnuion,” he added, when this failed to clarify anything.

Egalmoth shifted to stand beside his friend, following his worried gaze into the forge.

Tinnuion stood at the anvil, hammering at something molten.

Egalmoth didn’t see anything immediately wrong, but assumed Rog would not drag him out here for no reason. “What is it?”

Rog shrugged. “He’s… out of sorts.” Off Egalmoth’s scoff, Rog glared at him. “He doesn’t talk to me,” he growled. “Except about smithing. He saves that for you, and Idril, and I wasn’t dragging her out of Council because he’s in a weird mood.”

Egalmoth sighed. “Yes, fine,” he acknowledged. Then he headed into the smithy.

Tinnuion’s body tilted somewhat in acknowledgement of him, but he didn’t speak.

Egalmoth hopped up to sit on the wooden workbench at the next workstation, watching.

Tinnuion’s hands were shaking, was the first thing he noticed. Secondly, even Egalmoth could tell he wasn’t working on anything, he was just hitting the metal. Thirdly, his face was twisted into a fierce scowl.

“Want to talk about it?” Egalmoth asked after a while.

“No,” Tinnuion said.

Egalmoth nodded. “Why’s Rog call you Mouse?”

Tinnuion lowered his hammer to actually look at Egalmoth. “He does?”

Egalmoth nodded.

Tinnuion frowned, clearly thinking. “He does,” he muttered wonderingly after a moment. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Egalmoth let one corner of his mouth tick up. “So you don’t know.”

Tinnuion shrugged. “I could speculate, about mice and shadows and quiet.”

“It’s ‘cause he squeaks when you startle him,” Rog announced, wandering past with a handful of horseshoes.

Tinnuion, true to form, startled hard and squeaked.

Egalmoth shared a private grin with the younger elf, who looked like he wasn’t sure he liked this explanation. “It’s affectionate,” he promised. “Rog never gives nicknames to people he doesn’t like.”

Tinnuion nodded slowly. “People make me very angry,” he admitted after a beat.

Egalmoth nodded. “Me too,” he agreed. “Sometimes.”

“Most of the time,” Tinnuion disagreed. He ground his teeth. “I’m not supposed to say they’re stupid and they’re petty and they’re cruel,” he growled, “But-” and he broke off to hit the metal again. It was no longer red hot, and his blows did nothing but ring noisily off the walls.

Egalmoth waited it out.

Finally, Tinnuion set his hammer down. “And I’ve been stupid and petty and cruel, but why am I the only one trying not to be?” he demanded.

Egalmoth hopped off the workbench and crossed to him. Slowly, carefully, limb by limb, he gathered the shaking young elf into a hug.

Tinnuion tucked his head into the curve of Egalmoth’s neck. “I’m not,” he said eventually, once his shaking had eased. “I just don’t see their struggle just like they don’t see mine.”

Egalmoth hummed. It came to him suddenly that Tinnuion’s hand-tremors were rage, not fear like he’d assumed. He didn’t freeze when people shouted at him out of some repressed fear-trauma from Eol, he stopped so he wouldn’t lash out in anger.

“Which is why I came here to hammer on things instead of being angry at them,” Tinnuion added, confirming the thought.

Egalmoth hummed again. “Did hammering help?”

Tinnuion shrugged half-heartedly.

“You know you’re allowed to be angry, right?” Egalmoth asked. “As long as you don’t take that anger out on people.”

Tinnuion nodded into his shoulder.

Egalmoth tightened his grip, looking over Tinnuion’s bowed dark head at Rog.

Rog raised an eyebrow at him from across the forge.

Egalmoth glared back.

Rog frowned.

Egalmoth widened his eyes at him.

Rog startled slightly, and then put the tools in his hands down. He crossed to them slowly, and then, very hesitantly, stepped up against Tinnuion’s back.

The younger elf startled just slightly, emitting the small squeak Rog had named him for, and then settled into their embrace almost like melting.

“Proud of you, Mouse,” Rog mumbled into his shoulder. “Figuring out how you fit isn’t easy, and you’re doing hard work on it.” Before the Fall, he never would have said it, but they’d all learned to talk to each other in the years following re-embodiment.

Tinnuion made a low noise, almost like pain, into Egalmoth’s shoulder. Egalmoth wondered if anyone had ever told him they were proud of him before. Aredhel probably. Then he rested his cheek against the boy’s hair until the tension eased out of him.

Something seemed to loosen in Tinnuion after that. Egalmoth saw him laughing with Idril and Tuor sometimes, and fantastically animated little pieces of jewelry started appearing on the other lords as well--Egalmoth was still of the opinion his raincloud was the best of them, but the sparkling eternal cascade of sapphires he’d made for Ecthelion was also impressive. Turgon took to wearing the enameled sun and moon that rose and fell as his cloak pin at every formal occasion.

And Glaur was pretending not to pout that he hadn’t gotten one yet. Rog and Egalmoth both knew this was because Tinnuion couldn’t quite get the flower to bloom and close the way he wanted it to (Rog said it looked fine and Egalmoth was deeply impressed, but he wouldn’t be swayed), but neither of them let on to their friend, too glad to tease him instead.

When Ecthelion turned up to their informal luncheon before the weekly council meeting ashen faced, his clothes askew, and not wearing the fountain pin, Glaur and Egalmoth both knew something was wrong.

“Ecthel?” Glaur asked softly.

Ecthel groaned softly. “Do I look that bad?” he asked.

Egalmoth nodded wryly and opened his arms.

Ecthelion stepped straight into them and rested his head on Egalmoth’s shoulder. “‘M so tired,” he slurred.

“Nightmares?” Glorfindel asked, rubbing his back gently.

Ecthelion made an affirmative noise.

Glorfindel moved the tray of food while Egalmoth guided Ecthelion down on the settee. “Council’s not an hour yet,” he said gently, running his fingers soothingly through Ecthelion’s hair. “Take a nap.”

Ecthelion grumbled a noise that was probably supposed to be some kind of argument, but he was nearly asleep slumped against Egalmoth’s side, so it barely came out. Glorfindel sat at Ecthelion’s hip and started rubbing his back slowly.

Tinnuion had watched this whole procedure with his lower lip between his teeth. Egalmoth was about to invite him closer with a headtilt when the boy slipped quietly out the door. Egalmoth frowned, but focused on making sure his friend actually slept.

Glorfindel started humming softly, so Egalmoth picked up the harmony, soft and slow.

A few quiet minutes later, the door cracked open again, and Coruneth came in, Turgon behind her.

Egalmoth was surprised, but pleased.

Turgon held up two fingers. ‘Two hours?’ he mouthed.

Glaur nodded, smiling gratefully.

Turgon winked and headed out again. Tinnuion was opening the door as Turgon was leaving, and he demonstrated quick reflexes and agility dodging out of his uncle’s way, and then ducking into the room behind him.

Coruneth easily curled herself into the open space at Ecthelion’s front where he was half-curled into Egalmoth.

Egalmoth supported her till she settled, and then shifted just slightly so Ecthelion’s head was on his lap instead of his shoulder and they were both more lying than sitting.

Glorfindel all the while hummed and rubbed Ecthelion’s back.

Tinnuion padded over to the settee on quiet feet and settled beside Egalmoth’s feet. He caught Ecthelion’s trailing right hand and started a careful massage of the palm and wrist.

Egalmoth ruffled his hair briefly before going back to petting Ecthelion.

Two hours later, they woke Ecthelion for council, and as he swore at them for making them late to the meeting, Tinnuion looked up at Egalmoth. “That was right, right?” he asked softly. “You get the people who help, when someone’s upset?”

Egalmoth realized in that moment that neither Turgon nor Coruneth had stumbled across them accidentally, and what he’d thought was Tinnuion leaving was actually Tinnuion going to get help.

“Yeah, Mouse,” he replied, equally soft. “That was right.” He ruffled the boy’s hair again and shooed him out ahead of him to the council room, heart warm in his chest.

Aredhel returned to New Gondolin with little fanfare. Egalmoth didn’t even know she was back until Tinnuion flung himself dramatically into the chair across from his desk and announced, “I don’t know what to make for my mother.”

Egalmoth looked up from the surveyor’s report of the damage to one of the main roads. “Okay?” he said. Perhaps his secretary had grown too used to Tinnuion barging into his office, if she never warned him anymore.

“She’s jealous of Idril’s starshine necklace, the one with the same flicker effect as yours,” he said, waving at the raincloud around Egalmoth’s neck. “And I don’t know what to make her.”

“Is she here?” Egalmoth demanded.

Tinnuion nodded solemnly. “She wanted to see how I was getting on. I think I’ve surprised her.”

“In a good way?”

Tinnuion nodded. “She came in on Tuor teaching me to swim,” he explained, “And I think that was enough shock for two lifetimes.”

Egalmoth grinned. Then he paused. “Wait, you can’t swim?”

“I can now,” Tinnuion said, sounding for all the world like the exasperated adolescent he’d never really had a chance to be.

Penlod and Duillen kept chiding Egalmoth and Rog for treating Tinnuion like a kid, but Rog just stuck his tongue out at them, and Egalmoth had been ignoring them as noisily as he could.

He and Rog had pretty firmly established that Tinnuion had had a pretty decent childhood--that Eol had been away a lot, and Aredhel had worked hard to protect him--but that his adolescence had been all but nonexistent, between his father’s expectations in the forge, the increasing raids from the north, and the growing tension in his parents’ marriage. Tinnuion hadn’t gotten to be an adolescent, and if he wanted to be one now, they would let him.

Egalmoth held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just surprised. But Tuor’s a good teacher, so I’ve no doubt you’re proficient now.”

Tinnuion waved this off. “But I don’t know what to make her,” he said, returning to the issue at hand.

Egalmoth considered how each of the pieces had been carefully designed to suit the person they were made for-- Glaur’s flower, Ecthel’s fountain, Turgon’s sun and moon, his rainbow, even Idril’s shining star--and wondered what he knew about Aredhel. Almost nothing, if he was honest, except that she had a bawdy sense of humor, a tremendous skill at arms, and no real idea how to show the deep love she obviously felt for her family. He hummed softly. “Are you making a pin or a necklace?”

Tinnuion moaned, “I don’t know!”

“Hair clip?” he offered. He couldn’t recall seeing Aredhel wear necklaces or pins, except on formal occasions, but she almost always had something elaborate in her hair.

Tinnuion, slumped over in the chair with his arm over his face, made a noise to indicate he was listening.

“One of those fancy pieces, with the two combs and the ties between?”

One of Tinnuion’s eyes appeared in the crook of his elbow. “That’s not terrible,” he acknowledged

“Thanks,” Egalmoth said dryly. “What about a hunter and a hart?” he asked. “And the sparkly bit could be an arrow between them.”

“Sparkly bit,” Tinnuion said darkly, sitting upright again. He scoffed. “I invent a whole new method of catching light in crystal and you call it a sparkly bit?”

Egalmoth shrugged. “Don’t expect me to have any idea what you’ve done with it,” he protested, without any real heat. “It’s all gibberish to me when you and Rog start going on about annealing and inclusion and whatnot.” While this was not strictly true, his understanding of metalwork was layman’s at best, and what Tinnuion and Rog did was far beyond his ken. “Also, I feel like someone should say something sarcastic about the last time someone invented a new way of catching light in crystal, and the only one here to do so is me, so,” he trailed off.

“I will duly imagine your sarcastic remark about Feanor and the silmarili,” Tinnuion agreed. “Also, mine’s better automatically, because no one is going to kill anyone else to get their hands on my sparkly bits.”

Egalmoth smirked.

Tinnuion rolled his eyes. “Also also, that’s a good idea, for the hair clip.”

Egalmoth nodded. “How are you?” he asked quietly.

Tinnuion met his gaze curiously. “Fine,” he said, dragging the word out as he tried to figure out what Egalmoth was looking for.

Eglamoth shrugged. “Haven’t seen you lose your temper lately.”

Tinnuion shrugged. “I think mostly everyone is done confronting me, so for the most part I’m being left alone now.”

“That’s good. Not too alone?” he checked. Idril had told him about their conversation, back when Tinnuion had first re-embodied and Eol had been put under the Vanyar’s watch. Amrhosco and Celegorm had all gotten close to the boy in his years with the Hunt, and Egalmoth hoped that in their absence, he was making friends in New Gondolin--and not just him and Rog.

Tinnuion shook his head, “No, dad,” he said dryly.

It wasn’t the first such remark, but like all the others, Egalmoth chose not to address it.

Tinnuion continued blithely, “Rog and the other smiths keep me company in the forge, Idril has been teaching me about using politics to help people, and Tuor’s been taking me swimming pretty regularly.”

Egalmoth peered at him. “Notably absent from that list, to my mind, is Salgant. I thought you two were...getting along,” he finished, for lack of a better way to phrase it. Salgant had made very tentative forays into friendship in Tinnuion’s early days in New Gondolin with offers of meals or drinks or walks in gardens that Tinnuion accepted with vague confusion, but they’d discovered together that Tinnuion had a head for economics, and that Salgant wasn’t afraid of rodents like he was of dogs, and they’d been spending a lot of time together of late. Egalmoth had thought things were going well.

Tinnuion drooped in the chair. “I thought we were too,” he said slowly. “But then he ran off three weeks ago and hasn’t spoken to me since. I don’t know what I said.”

“Want me to talk to him?” Egalmoth offered. For most young elves, Egalmoth--not that he had much cause to mentor young elves, but there had been a few over the years in the transportation offices--would have made them talk it out themselves, but for Tinnuion this had the very real danger of making it unutterably and unrecoverably worse, so he figured he’d offer.

Tinnuion looked hopeful. “Will you?”

Egalmoth nodded. “By the end of the week,” he promised. “Now shoo. I have work to do and so do you.”

Tinnuion, shoulders easier and a slight smile on his face, shooed.

Egalmoth managed to catch Salgant in the square two days later. “Salgant!”

“Egalmoth,” he said warily.

Egalmoth held his hands up in surrender. “I come in peace,” he promised, smiling slightly. He opted for the truth: “Tinnuion was worried he upset you, and feared his presence would upset you more, so I promised to act as courier.”

Salgant wilted like one of Glorfindel’s flowers. “Did he tell you what I said?” he asked miserably. “I ruined everything.”

Egalmoth raised an eyebrow. “He was worried it was something he said,” he said slowly. “But he didn’t relay any of the conversation to me.” He looked around. “Come on,” he said briskly, slinging an arm around the younger elf’s shoulders. “Let’s not talk in the market. Come have dinner with us and we’ll work it out.”

“Us?” Salgant asked warily.

“Glaur and Erestor, and Ecthel and Coruneth,” Egalmoth replied. “No Tinnuion, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s dining with Idril, Tuor and the King tonight.”

Salgant nodded slowly. “They won’t poke fun?” he asked nervously.

Egalmoth shook his head. “Sunshine will be obnoxious about it because he has no other setting, but Erestor will keep him in check, and Ecthel gives excellent advice. Coruneth,” he trailed off. She wouldn’t tease him, of course, but she would ask overly personal questions and make comments just to see him blush.

“Yes, fair,” Salgant agreed. Coruneth was Coruneth, and there was little to be done about it. She meant well, anyway.

“Salgant!” Glorfindel cried as they came into the courtyard of the House of the Fountain. “Welcome!”

Salgant ducked his head, embarrassed by Glorfindel’s effusiveness.

“Oh, excellent,” Coruneth agreed. “Someone to help us eat all of this.”

Ecthelion’s house had outdone themselves on supper, and the table was groaning under the weight of the food, far too much for the five of them, or even the six with addition of Salgant.

“He needs advice,” Egalmoth said, “So I brought him along.”

“What kind of advice?” Erestor asked, taking Salgant’s arm and steering him to the table. An extra chair was hastily drawn up, and Egalmoth claimed the one on Salgant’s other side, putting Glaur and Ecthel and Coruneth across from them.

“Love?” Ecthelion said shrewdly, narrowing his eyes at Salgant.

Salgant turned crimson.

Egalmoth leaned back in his chair in surprise. That, he hadn’t expected at all.

“It’s not- I’m not- He-” Salgant stammered.

Glorfindel waved this aside. “Tell us what happened,” he offered gently, and nudged the platter of rolls closer.

Salgant gulped, and spilled the story. He explained about a friend--he didn’t name names, so only Egalmoth knew for sure who they were talking about, but Egalmoth suspected his friends could guess--who he’d been spending a lot of time with lately, who was passionate and thoughtful and never judgmental.

Egalmoth smiled slightly to see this outside view of Tinnuion, pleased to hear others seeing the progress he’d been slowly coaxing along.

Salgant explained that he’d been noticing his friend more and more, and knew he’d fallen for him, because his smile made Salgant’s heart nearly burst with joy and shame and hope.

“Shouldn’t be ashamed of love,” Coruneth remarked.

Salgant shook his head. “Not of the love,” he promised. “Just… of me,” he said quietly. “I’m working on it.”

Erestor smiled at him. “Good; we’ve all made stupid mistakes, and yours don’t define you any more than mine, or Glaur’s, or Tinnuion’s.”

Salgant smiled, head ducking shyly.

“So, you love him,” Ecthelion prompted gently, swiping one of Glaur’s hand pies, and sliding the tray of them closer to Salgant and Egalmoth, fending Glorfindel’s slapping off with his free hand.

Salgant took a hand pie absently, and sighed deeply. “He’s so beautiful,” he whispered.

Erestor very obviously kicked Glorfindel under the table. Glaur scowled back. Erestor had told the story of Glaur’s pining for him enough times for all of them except Salgant to understand the silent teasing.

Salgant shook himself into focus. “And he was talking about his work, and talking with his hands, and I just, I just blurted it out.”

Egalmoth’s eyebrows hiked.

“And he just stared at me,” Salgant finished miserably. “And then he said, ‘Thank you, I think?’ and carried on, so I made an excuse and ran for it.” He buried his face in his hands with a noise of dismay.

Erestor rubbed his back. “What did you say, exactly?” he asked.

“You’re really lovely,” Salgant muttered, muffled into his hands.

“And have you seen him since?” Ecthel asked.

Egalmoth shook his head.

“Nuh-uh,” Salgant whispered.

“So you,” Erestor said carefully, “Told him he was lovely, ran away, and then haven’t spoken to him in…?”

‘Three weeks,’ Egalmoth mouthed to the others.

“Weeks,” muttered Salgant. “I know,” he moaned, lifting his head. “But how can I face him?”

“Salgant,” Egalmoth said kindly, but with some force, “You really think he has any idea what you meant?”

Salgant turned to look at Egalmoth in bafflement.

“You realize his models for relationships are his parents and Idril and Tuor?”

Salgant continued to blink at him, eyes slowly widening. Idril and Tuor, though clearly deeply in love, were reserved in public, and very rarely even touched each other when others were present, let alone exchanged words of affection. And Eol and Aredhel were… not a model of a relationship at all, really. “So he-”

“Probably was genuinely confused,” Egalmoth agreed, “And had no idea why you would bring it up.” Egalmoth considered. “Probably also didn’t really agree with you, because he really seems to have no clear idea what he looks like.” He’d compared himself to a mole once; Egalmoth hadn’t bothered to try to correct him.

“I think you’re in too deep now to play it off, though,” Erestor said thoughtfully. “If it’s been weeks, he’s going to want an explanation.”

“What do I tell him?” Salgant asked softly.

“The truth,” Ecthel said, like it was easy. And he’d be a great hypocrite if he said it was, as it had taken him literal years to confess to Coruneth.

Salgant gulped again.

Egalmoth put a hand on his arm. “He’ll be surprised,” he said. “And he’ll be resistant, not because of you,” he added hastily as Salgant drooped. “But because of himself. Being loved is not a thing he is accustomed to, I think.” He shrugged. “His mother is not expressive, though she does and he knows it, and his father is best not mentioned in such a context, a fact he is equally aware of.”

Salgant nodded slowly. “I would like him to know,” Salgant said suddenly, firming his mouth. “Even if he does not wish anything with me.” His throat worked. “He should be loved.”

Egalmoth squeezed his shoulder. “You’re good for him,” he said gently.

Salgant looked hopeful. “I have your blessing to court him?”

Egalmoth’s heart clenched. “You do,” he said. “If you need it, you have my blessing.”

“Well I’m not asking his actual father,” Salgant muttered grimly.

This made Ecthel and Glaur laugh. “You should write Eol a letter,” Glorfindel said, chuckling, “To see if it will make his head burst.”

Erestor thumped his shoulder. “Stop it,” he grumbled at his husband. “Salgant, you and he could be very good for each other, I think, and I wish you well of it.”

“Thank you,” the young lord said, abashed and grateful.

“Courage, Salgant,” Ecthelion said. “Tell him straight, and tell him surely, and then give him the space to process it. Stay the course,” he advised, “Even when things grow rocky.”

Salgant nodded. “I have to-” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Thank you for dinner, my lords,” he said quickly. “And thank your people, Lord Fountain, for the meal was delicious, but I have much to plan!” And then he was scurrying off.

“How is it,” Ecthelion asked Egalmoth when he was gone, “That despite being the only single one of us left, you are also the only one of us with children?”

Egalmoth threw a roll at him.

Coruneth, who’d remained quiet through the tale said, “No, but Egalmoth, you’re doing a good job with Tinnuion,” she said, more serious than he thought he’d ever seen her. “He needed a good male role-model in his life, and Turgon is too caught up in his mind with his father and his mistakes for that to work out. You make a good one.”

“He has Rog too,” Eglamoth muttered, embarrassed.

“He does,” Erestor agreed. “And between you, you make a better father than he has ever had before. So on behalf of all of us who had no desire to see Tinnuion return to what he was before, thank you.”

Egalmoth grumbled an acknowledgement and Erestor very generously changed the subject, but the warmth in his chest stayed for the remainder of the evening.

Aredhel was the next person to flop into his office chair. She slouched exactly like her son. “I hear you’re my new co-parent,” she drawled.

Egalmoth stared at her; he got why his secretary kept letting Tinnuion in, but Aredhel? “From whom?” he inquired dryly.

“Tinnu, mostly,” she said. “But Glaur made a comment or two.”

Egalmoth rolled his eyes. “He’s a good kid,” he said instead of any commentary on her sources.

Aredhel eyed him shrewdly. “You’d be the first to say so.”

“You haven’t spoken to Rog, then,” Egalmoth replied tartly.

This made Aredhel smile. She was wearing the hunting of the hart hair clasp Tinnuion had made her, he noted with his own private smile. “And I hear you approved of his suitor.”

“Oh, has he started his suit?”

“If you mean ‘have anonymous gifts begun appearing in my son’s rooms at random’ then yes. If you mean has Salgant actually admitted his intent, then no. They did speak, and Salgant apologized for running away.”

“How did Mouse take his confession?” Egalmoth asked, somewhat surprised he hadn’t seen Tinnuion yet over this.

“He was very confused, I think,” Aredhel observed. “He asked me a lot of questions about love, and how I knew, and whatnot.”

Ah, of course he wouldn’t come to Egalmoth with those questions; he couldn’t answer them. “Has he spoken to Idril?” he asked instead of commenting.

“Yes, thick as thieves, those two. I think honestly Tuor was more help than my niece, though. Idril was talking about feelings and heart. Tuor talked about partnership.”

Egalmoth grinned. “Yes, that does sound more up Mouse’s alley. Good, I’m glad it’s working out for him.”

“You approve of Salgant, then?” Aredhel asked quietly. “I hardly know him.”

Egalmoth nodded. “They’re good for each other, I think,” he said. “They’re broken in a lot of the same ways, but Mouse needs some of Salgant’s quiet, and Salgant need’s Tinnuion’s strength.” He shrugged. “Salgant has worked so hard to overcome his own failures at the Fall that he’s let go of Tinnuion’s, and Tinnuion can hardly hold Salgant’s against him after his own,” he explained. “They don’t have to be in the past together, like they do with everyone else. They just get to be.”

Aredhel eased, sinking deeper into the chair. “Good. I can’t-” she shrugged helplessly. “How can I thank you enough, for looking after him?”

“There’s no need,” Egalmoth said tenderly. Gruffly, he added, “I didn’t do it for you, anyway.”

From the doorway, Turgon said, “Egalmoth has a theory that Beleriand broke everyone, and he’s trying to fix us all single-handedly.”

Egalmoth scowled at him. “Your majesty,” he said dryly, offering the most flourishing, obnoxious courtly bow he could manage. “Not single-handedly.”

Turgon scowled back, acknowledging the bow with a head-tilt. Then he raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Egalmoth grumbled. “Mouse is helping.”

“Why do you call him Mouse?” Turgon asked. Aredhel clearly had the same question.

“Because I squeak when you startle me,” Tinnuion said, trailing Turgon in the doorway. Aredhel startled, and made a noise exactly like her son.

Egalmoth sighed; didn’t he have a secretary? “Rog,” he added by way of explanation to Aredhel and the king.

Tinnuion shrugged and sat on the arm of Aredhel’s chair. He held out a single rose for Egalmoth’s inspection. “What do you do with flowers?” he asked, a little plaintively.

“Wear them, or put them in water,” Egalmoth answered. “Why?”

“Why would you give someone flowers?”

“Gesture of affection,” Egalmoth replied. “Courting, usually, or sometimes friendship. Depends on the flower, typically.”

“Roses?”

“Definitely courting,” Turgon said, chuckling.

Tinnuion looked down at the rose. “Why would someone court me?” he asked.

“Cause they like you, usually,” Egalmoth said wryly.

Tinnuion shot him a flat look, which only made Egalmoth grin.

“You’re likable,” Egalmoth said more quietly.

Tinnuion chewed his lip. “How do you… let someone court you? Just, like… let them? Or am I supposed to do something?”

“Depends on what you want,” Egalmoth answered. “You want to court him back, see if you could love each other?”

Aredhel rubbed his back as fear and confusion warred on his face.

“I’ve only ever loved Idril before,” he said softly, “And I don’t think that counts.”

Turgon laughed gently. Teasingly, he said, “Oh, everyone has a youthful crush on attractive older cousins.”

“It practically runs in the family,” Aredhel agreed.

Tinnuion looked between them.

“I grew out of my thing for Finrod,” Turgon said casually, like he wasn’t breaking his nephew’s brain.

“And I eventually decided there were cleaner people for me than Celeg,” Aredhel added.

“Fingon did not grow out of his thing for Maedhros,” Egalmoth observed wryly.

This made Fingon’s siblings laugh. “What about Uncle Argon?” Tinnuion asked them curiously.

“Maglor,” Turgon and Aredhel chorused, and then they laughed harder. “It was the songs,” Turgon added, nodding knowingly.

Tinnuion smiled at them. “Wait,” he said sharply, swinging to look at Egalmoth. “You know who it is?” he demanded, realizing belatedly.

Egalmoth laughed aloud. “Has he not come forward yet?”

Tinnuion scowled at him. “To me,” he grumbled. “I didn’t realize it was known to all and sundry.”

“He came to me for advice,” Eglamoth assured him. “Nothing more.”

“You approve?” he asked tentatively.

“I told as much to him,” Egalmoth replied. “And to your mother, when she came to me with the same question. I think you’re good for each other.”

“Then what do I do?” Tinnuion demanded.

“Do you return his affection or not?” Egalmoth returned.

“I- I want to find out?” Tinnuion said carefully.

“Then give him a flower in return,” Aredhel replied.

“And talk to him,” Egalmoth added.

Turgon nodded sagely. “Communication is key,” he intoned.

Egalmoth and Tinnuion exchanged a long-suffering glance. “If he weren’t right, I’d throw something at him,” Egalmoth told Tinnuion.

Turgon scowled quite theatrically. “I’m your king,” he reminded them loftily.

“Yes your majesty,” Egalmoth answered. “Now get out of my office, I have work to do.”

Tinnuion trotted obediently out the door. Aredhel trailed him with a wave to Egalmoth. Turgon paused in the doorway. “You’re doing it, you know,” he said quietly, back to the room. “Healing us all.” And then he was gone.

Egalmoth smiled warmly down at his desk surface for a moment before reaching for his pen again. Running footsteps made him look up.

Tinnuion darted back into his office and around the desk to hug him tightly.

“Love you too, kid,” Egalmoth murmured.

Tinnuion smiled brightly at him, and ran back out the door.