Maeglin knew his father wasn't at home. He had left some days before for one of his journeys to one of the realms of the Dwarves – the young Elf couldn't remember its name. All he knew was that his father would be away.
And so he put his plan into action.
Nardhon was away with Eol, while Himon and Glavroleth remained at home. He had studied their habits and their movements for days by now. He knew when they would be occupied, whether in the kitchen or in the stables or even in the garden. The only problem would have been his mother. She always knew where he was, what he was doing. More often that not she would let him play or be on his own when he didn't want to be found.
So Maeglin waited for the late afternoon, when his mother too was busy. She had decided to take care of the horses, while Glavorleth cooked and Himon was repairing some objects.
He stayed in the shadows of the house and slipped undetected in his father's quarters. The first room was more akin to a study, with a writing desk near the window, high shelves full of books, and two sofas facing each other in its centre. On the right wall a second door led to the sleeping chamber itself.
Maeglin bit his lips unsure. Would it be here or in his bedroom?
He decided to check the bedroom first, hoping that the door wasn't locked. His father had taught him how to pick at locked doors anyway. After some workings, he managed to open the door and slipped inside.
His heart was pounding in his ears, but he remained focussed. Nobody would look for him for another hour at least. He had all the time to find it. He inspected the whole room. He checked the in the closet, under the closet and under the bed. He even tried to look under the pillows, but with no luck.
Almost desperate, his eyes finally fell on a chest, hidden in the shadows. He examined it – it was beautifully decorated with a leaves-pattern that he recognized. The Sindar of Doriath used it.
With a deep breath he opened the lid.
And found inside only sheets and blankets. He pursed his lips, disappointed. He was so sure it would be there.
Better be safe than sorry. He decided that taking a closer look between those blankets wouldn't hurt.
He plunged his hands inside, he felt under the layers of fabric and at some point in his pursuit he touched something else.
There it is! It must be it.
He took hold of the object and took it out with some difficulty.
Yes, finally!
It was heavy but not as much as he expected. But it was beautiful, dangerously so. All black, it nonetheless glinted in the faint light.
Well, its hilt glinted, for a black scabbard covered the blade. He didn't dare to unsheathe it.
But he was finally holding it. His father's sword. He had it in his hands and he almost couldn't believe his own eyes.
It was the most perfect thing he had ever seen. Even his poorly experienced eyes could appreciate the finesse of the details, the worth of the gems that adorned the hilt, the precision of the carvings.
His hands tightened on the hilt. He was still too young, his hands were too small, he could well see that.
But he was euphoric. He was holding a sword! And not just any sword, but a masterpiece.
He closed his eyes, feeling the leather bindings of the hilt under his skin. He imagined to be… Who could he be?
Yes, I know! I'm the King. But which king?
He tried hard to remember the tales of his mother and his lessons.
Thingol wouldn't do. He's a great king but… Perhaps mother's father? Oh no, I know! I will be her brother, what was his name? The Valiant, that of the songs, who braved the land of the enemy! Yes, Fin… Fin – can? Fincano…Aha! Fin –de –ca – no, Findecano, yes, that's him!
He grinned, elated.
He imagined being that great warrior, riding a swift horse on the plains, the wind in his hair and a famous sword in his hand. He imagined slaying orcs and other monsters and being acclaimed by everyone. Bards would sing of his feats in the taverns, poets would compose songs about him, his name would be known in all Beleriand.
He would protect people and defend the weak against any wrongdoing. He would be well beloved and he would be gracious and generous with all.
A true knight, a hero.
Here it is, for the fourth prompt happy memories/happy moments... a day later!
Enjoy! :D