A Small (Mis)Adventure by Grundy

A Small (Mis)Adventure

Read A Small (Mis)Adventure

Maeglin sighed.

He wasn’t sure which of them was going to be in more trouble, him or Tuor.

“Pitya?” he called softly. “You should really come out of there.”

He had no desire to explain to his cousin why her son was hiding in the deepest basement level – but if he had to, he’d prefer to have an actual explanation. Tuor had begged him to come out of sheer desperation – he hadn’t even known where the boy was.

It must be very difficult for the Edain to parent when they could lose their children so easily.

When he’d arrived at the House of the Wing, Maeglin had followed his innate sense of his nephew downstairs until he reached the basement, at which point he’d opened negotiations.

So far it wasn’t going well.

“Can’t,” came a mutinous little voice that sounded slightly watery underneath the family stubbornness.

“Of course you can. If you’re still down here in the dark when your Ammë gets home, she’ll be very worried.”

That got a sniffle.

“Could you not at least tell me why you’re hiding?” Maeglin asked patiently.

“You won’t tell?”

“Of course not.”

Ardamírë finally crept out from his hiding place behind several large wine casks. His blue eyes were teary and penitent.

“I broke Ada’s pendant,” he sniffled. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to look at it, but it fell on the floor and shattered.”

“I don’t think your Ada will be upset,” Maeglin said, opening his arms. “He has far more jewelry than he ever wears.”

Ardamírë was willing to be hugged, but not entirely willing to be comforted.

“I know, but he cares about this one. He said it was his Ammë’s.”

Blast. That put a slightly different light on the matter. Tuor had very little left of his parents.

“Suppose you show me, and we’ll see if we can fix it,” Maeglin suggested.

He’d expected that to be his nephew’s cue to head upstairs, but instead one reluctant little hand crept into the boy’s pocket and came out with a leather thong and a handful of…

“That’s glass, Ardamírë!” Maeglin gasped. “Broken glass! You shouldn’t be handling it like that!”

“I’m being careful,” Ardamírë informed him mournfully. “But you can’t put it back together like it was, can you? Ada will still see it’s been broken even if you glue it.”

Maeglin sighed and held out a hand expectantly, waiting until Ardamírë tipped the pieces – carefully, as he’d said – into his upturned palm.

“I will wait until we’re somewhere with light to examine it,” Maeglin announced, putting the remains into one of the small leather pouches he carried. “Come, we’re going back upstairs. You’ve given your Ada quite a scare hiding like this.”

“M sorry,” Ardamírë said, still very much the picture of woe.

“Here, we’ll go faster using my legs,” Maeglin suggested, swinging the boy up onto his shoulders. “Mind your head.”

Tuor met them at the landing to the main level, looking immensely relieved.

“Eärendil, what were you thinking?”

“He was seized by a sudden urge to explore,” Maeglin said, not entirely untruthfully. He doubted his nephew had ever been down to the wine cellars before. “Now that I’ve found him, may I borrow him for a bit? I’m in need of an assistant about his size.”

“I suppose so,” Tuor said, not entirely convinced. “But what will I tell Itarillë?”

“I will have him back by suppertime, so you may not need to tell her anything at all,” Maeglin replied. “Also, Ardamírë has something to say…”

“Sorry, Ada,” his nephew said promptly, sounding so doleful that Tuor hastened to reassure him it was not so very bad to want to explore, next time he just needed to tell someone where he was.

Thankfully, Ardamírë had the sense to wait until they were outside, beyond earshot of his father, to protest that he hadn’t been apologizing for hiding.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to apologize again later, when Ada will know what you’re apologizing for,” Maeglin sighed.

When they arrived at the House of the Mole, Maeglin went directly to the main workshop. Several craftsmen stopped working, no doubt wondering what was afoot.

“Anardil,” Maeglin called. “Do you have a moment?”

“Not really,” the jeweler sighed. “What mischief are the pair of you up to now?”

Ardamírë looked indignant, but Maeglin wasted no time, tipping the remains of the pendant out onto a workbench.

“Can it be fixed?” he asked.

The imploring eyes Ardamírë turned on him would have softened hearts far less tender than Anardil’s.

“Let’s see, my princes,” Anardil sighed, reaching for the pieces.

After a moment he smiled.

“It is only glass,” he announced. “I can trim away this outer section that is broken, and encase the center in clear. It will look much as it did before. Fortunately for you both, it will not take very long.”

Ada will still know the difference, Ardamírë told Maeglin.

Perhaps, but he may also come to value that you added something to this, Maeglin replied.

But I didn’t, Ardamírë protested. Anardil is the one adding!

“Anardil, Ardamírë would like to assist you,” Maeglin announced, to his nephew’s delight.

The baleful look Anardil gave him above the little boy’s head suggested he was going to hear about this at some length later, but the jeweler did turn courteously to Ardamírë and suggest that gloves and protective glasses would be needed if he was to help.

Several hours later, Maeglin was able to escort a still somewhat abashed but also jubilant nephew back to the House of the Wing, where they were just in time to meet Itarillë arriving after an afternoon of meetings in the House of the King.

“What have you two been up to?” she asked, half teasing and half surprised. “I did not expect you to be out and about, Ardamírë!”

“He’ll explain it all inside,” Maeglin said, suspecting it would be easier on the boy to tell it only the once.

Tuor was waiting just inside, and Ardamírë held out the repaired necklace with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Ada, I broke your Ammë’s necklace. But Uncle Lómion and Master Anardil helped me fix it for you!”

Whatever Tuor might have said was lost in Rillë’s excitement about how well her clever Ardamírë had done his first time as a craftsman. Then, of course, it was time for dinner, and afterwards the boy was far too tired from his day for anything more.

As Ardamírë was taken off to bed by Rillë, Tuor turned to Maeglin in exasperation.

“That’s why I couldn’t find him?”