The Singer's Girl by Lady MSM

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Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Spring came unusually early that year, which was a relief for everyone as winter had been a lot harsher than usual. I was plenty busy and didn’t have much time for worry, but there was just one thing that kept nagging at me, that I couldn’t figure out no matter how much I thought about it.

See, the thing was, I had met King Finwe before. It’d been a long time since Cuivienen, but I had a somewhat shaky memory of seeing his face when I first woke up. He’d patted me on the back and smiled when he saw how confused I was (he didn’t say anything, but that’s to be expected as we didn’t know how to talk yet). You didn’t forget a thing like that, not when it’s the first memory you have in your life.

And I’d known that when King Finwe mentioned that I looked familiar. I knew damn well where I’d met him. But I hadn’t said anything about it. That right there was my problem. I’d sort-of lied to a king, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.

So I tried, as hard as I could, to put it out of my mind. Sure, I’d lied, but there wasn’t any harm done. And I had more important things to focus on, like the fact that my herb garden needed replanting and that half the girls in the village were having babies. All those engagements last summer were paying off, it looked like.

When the rain had finally let up for long enough for the mud to dry up, I went out to replant my herb garden. It felt good to be doing some proper work outside after having been shut up in that little house all winter. I set to work, whistling one of the songs Maglor had played at the feast—they’d been going through my head nonstop all winter, and I somehow wasn’t sick of any of them.

Trust my trowel to pick that moment to hit a rock and snap in half.

I let out a scream of frustration that probably sent all the animals in the area running for cover. Honestly, I’d had that trowel for five hundred years and it snapped in half now? How the hell was I supposed to get any work done?

After a minute or two of cursing, I finally gathered up the pieces of my trowel and went into town. I figured Rekano would probably know how to fix it—he’d been fixing everything in town for as long as I could remember.

When I showed it to him, he sighed. “Andril, how long have you owned this trowel?”

“Five hundred years, give or take a few.”

“And you’re surprised that it’s broken?” He shook his head. “Take my advice, Andril, go buy a new one. There’s no way I can fix this rusty old thing, and you hold onto your possessions for too long anyways.”

“Fine,” I sniffed. “I’ll take my business elsewhere. I was willing to pay very handsomely for this repair, you know.”

Rekano, unfortunately, remained unmoved, so I eventually gave up and headed to the town square. It was market day, and I knew I’d probably be able to get a trowel there for cheap (no way was I going to ask Rekano to make a new one for me—he’d charge an arm and a leg). I was just in the middle of a good haggle when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Andril, isn’t it?”

I turned around and sighed. “Yes, it’s Andril, and if you don’t mind, Curufin—it’s Curufin, right?—I’m in the middle of buying something.”

“What are you buying?” he asked…no apology or anything.

“If you’re so keen to know, a trowel. My old one broke in half and Rekano wouldn’t fix it.”

“He wouldn’t fix it? Give that here,” demanded Curufin. “It had better be pretty destroyed if a smith would refuse to fix it.” When I handed him the pieces, he snorted. “Please. I’ve fixed older and brokener things than this in my sleep. Come on.” He took my arm and half-pulled me down the street.

“Where are we going?” I wanted to know.

“Formenos. I’m fixing your trowel.”

“I see. And how much is this going to set me back?”

“First one’s on the house; after that it depends. And trust me, you’ll be back. Dad and I are both brilliant at fixing things.”

It sounded like he did this kind of thing a lot. “Fine, but don’t keep me away from home too long. What if there’s an emergency?”

“Is that all you ever think about? If people are stupid enough to get injured let them figure it out.”

“If everyone thought like you, I’d be out of a job.”

We continued to argue this point the entire ride to Formenos. I had to admit, no matter how much Curufin aggravated me, I was having a good time.

When we arrived, Curufin took my arm again (these boys really didn’t understand the concept of personal space) and led me briskly through the house. He threw open the door to a sitting room and pulled me in. Maedhros and Maglor were both inside—the former reading, the latter fingering a lute.

“Look, it’s Andril!” said Curufin. “Entertain her for a bit while I’m fixing her trowel.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

“I assume you’re going to explain what’s going on a little better than he did?” Maedhros asked.

“Well, long story short, my trowel broke in half and Rekano wouldn’t fix it, and then I ran into Curufin at the market when I was looking for a new one and he said he could fix it. So here I am.” I looked at Maglor. “Say, you didn’t jump out of your chair and run to greet me when I came in. Am I to believe you’ve finally calmed down for once?”

“He’s playing his lute,” explained Maedhros. “That means he hasn’t been paying attention to a thing any of us have said. He probably doesn’t even know you’re here. Oy, Maglor, snap out of it! Andril’s here!”

Maglor’s head snapped up. “Andril’s what now? Oh, hello, Andril! When did you get here? For that matter, why are you here?”

“You were right,” I said to Maedhros. To Maglor I said, “I’m waiting for Curufin to fix my trowel.”

He nodded. “That’s a good idea. Curufin’s brilliant at fixing things. Maedhros, remember how Curufin always used to take apart our clock and put it back together when we were kids?”

“Ohhh, yes,” laughed Maedhros. “And how we always avoided going in his room because we didn’t want to step on some clock part and break it?”

“Did your parents really allow him to just take things apart?” I asked.

“Of course. For one thing Dad’s exactly the same way, and for another whenever he took it apart and put it back together it worked a hell of a lot better.”

“Now do you see?” said Maglor to me. “Do you see why I act the way I do? Growing up in a household of geniuses, it’s enough to drive anyone mad.”

“As if you’re not a genius yourself,” said Maedhros. “Andril, you’ve heard his music. Is he or is he not a genius?”

“I’m afraid to answer that,” I replied. “He could use it against me.”

“Don’t worry, I know I’m a genius,” said Maglor. “Although I’m not sure Dad thinks much of my particular brand of genius-ness.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Well, back when I was a kid and it became obvious that singing was really all I could do, he was pretty hostile about it,” Maglor explained. “Once I got older and starting singing in pubs and making some money, he thought a little better of me. Now he’s mostly gotten used to the idea, although it’s obvious that he still wishes I had a career slightly more suited to a Noldorin prince.”

“Look at how confused she looks,” said Maedhros, smirking at me. “I guess out in these parts families are a lot less complicated than ours.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said. “Maybe it’s just because your family is royal.”

Maedhros shrugged. “Could be.” Absently, he reached over, pulled one of Maglor’s curls straight, and sent it springing back. “Boing!”

“Maedhros,” said Maglor seriously, “please stop boinging my hair.”

“But it’s so much fun! Andril, you try.”

“Don’t boing my hair, Andril,” said Maglor, shaking his head.

“Boing his hair,” insisted Maedhros.

“Let’s see, who should I listen to…” I said pensively. “Ah, to hell with it.” I reached out, pulled on one of Maglor’s curls, and let go. “Boing!”

“I hope you’ve gotten that out of your system now,” said Maglor, trying to look stern and failing horribly. “Anyway, here we are talking your ears off about our family, and we don’t know anything about yours! Judging from you they’re a lot more normal than we are.”

“Well, actually, I don’t really…” I began, but was interrupted when Curufin entered with my newly fixed trowel. Relief flooded through me, for some reason.

“Ta-dah. Good as new,” he said sharply, handing it to me. “And it’ll last twice as long as your old one.”

I looked it over. It did look new, like it’d never been broken at all. I had no doubt that it’d probably last for the next millennium at least.

“Thank you very much, Curufin,” I said, standing up. “Boys, it’s been a pleasure, but I’d better go…”

“Nonsense, you’ve just gotten here!” said Maedhros. “Stay for dinner or something.”

“Yes, stay,” said Maglor eagerly. “We haven’t even gotten to the good part of the conversation yet.”

“Oh, no, I’ve been away for far too long. Some poor boy could have broken his nose and I’m not around to fix it! Curufin, could you give me a ride home?”

“Sure,” said Curufin indifferently. He turned and stalked out of the room without waiting for me, and I had to run to catch up.

We didn’t talk for most of the ride home, but right after I got off his horse he said abruptly, “Listen, Andril, Maglor may be an annoying nutcase, but he’s also my brother and I don’t want to see him get hurt. So…just don’t mess with him, all right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied honestly.

Curufin looked at me long and hard, then nodded. “All right then,” he said. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” I said, and watched, bewildered, as he rode off. Since when did Curufin go around giving people advice? And why was I so completely unable to be honest about my age and my family (or lack of one)? There was something funny going on here, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. But there was no time to worry about that, because I had to get back to my garden.

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The Singer's Girl by Lady MSM

Chapter 4