The Findaráto Diaries by Fiondil

---

Chapter 35: Holding Court

---

35: Holding Court

I woke from my meeting with Lord Námo to find myself back in my own bed, cuddling a stuffed toy, much to my annoyance. I had not needed the comfort of a stuffed toy for a very long time. My thoughts were naturally confused at finding myself back in my own room and I decided that the entire episode with Lord Námo must have been a dream, a very vivid one, but a dream nonetheless. I was soon proven wrong....

****

Finrod blinked, focusing his eyes, and he could see that it was early morning. He frowned as he sat up in his bed, wondering how he had gotten there, for his last memory was being in Lórien sitting next to Lord Námo and it had been late afternoon, almost eventide. He shook his head as he gazed down at the stuffed toy he’d found nestled next to him on the bed.

"Must’ve been a dream," he said out loud as he struggled from underneath the bedcovers to look for his houserobe. He wondered why his body servants had not come to rouse him, for he could tell that it was past the time that he normally awoke, but shrugged and went to see to his ablutions.

Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and making his way to the family dining room, the smell of breakfast wafting on the air, setting his stomach growling. He walked into the room and saw his parents sitting in their usual places with several courtiers seated around them, servants bustling about to see that all had what they needed.

"Fair morning, Atto, Ammë," Finrod said in greeting as he started for the sideboard to make his selection.

One of the serving ellith gave a shriek and dropped the plate of scrambled eggs she was carrying and there was a stunned silence throughout the room. Finrod looked around in confusion, wondering if he’d done something wrong — again.

"Yonya," he heard his atar say in a rather strained voice, "how did you get here?"

Now Finrod was really confused but he answered readily enough, pointing towards the door, ignoring the serving elleth on her knees in front of him trying to scoop up eggs and shards of porcelain into her apron. "I walked from my bedroom...."

"No, Finda," Arafinwë said more forcibly. "How did you return from Lórien so quickly?"

Finrod went completely still, staring intently at his atar to assure himself that he was not jesting. "It... it wasn’t a dream then?" he asked tentatively, not sure if his atar would even understand.

He watched as Arafinwë looked at Eärwen, who gave an elegant shrug. Arafinwë sighed and rose from his seat to go to Finrod, taking him by the shoulders. Finrod’s emotions were still confused and he felt a hint of fear welling up from the depths of his fëa as he tried to understand what had happened to him and why everyone was so upset.

"No, yonya," his atar said gently. "It was not a dream. You left five days ago."

"We arrived around noon on the third day and I met with Lord Námo the next afternoon," Finrod offered faintly.

"That would have been yesterday then," Arafinwë said, giving him a searching look.

Finrod shook his head. "My last memory was sitting in a garden with Lord Námo and he... he was singing to me." Several eyebrows went up but Finrod ignored them. "Then I woke up to find myself in my own bed just a little while ago." He eschewed telling them about the stuffed toy as a minor detail about which no one else needed to know.

"And your escort?" Arafinwë asked.

Finrod shook his head. "I don’t know," he said faintly. "Lord Irmo took me in hand when we arrived and I did not see them again."

"Hmmm...." was all Arafinwë said, his expression becoming unreadable to the younger Elf. Then he seemed to come back to himself and he gave Finrod a wry look. "Well, you’re here now so you might as well join us for breakfast."

Finrod nodded, though he was not feeling all that hungry. Out of habit he started to bend down to help the poor elleth still trying to scoop up the eggs and broken pottery but Arafinwë stopped him and nodded toward the sideboard. Finrod got the message and went to fill a plate before joining his parents at the table. Eärwen greeted him gently with a kiss. After a moment’s hesitation, the other Elves resumed their own breakfasts and conversations, but Finrod could not help noticing how every so often one of the nearby courtiers would steal a look at him. He kept his own eyes resolutely on his plate and ate with grim determination not to let anything or anyone upset him. He was not sure how he felt about Lord Námo presumably tucking him into his bed like an elfling, not even allowing him to return to Tirion under his own power and hoped his escort would not be too angry at him.

Thankfully, his parents let him alone and did not importune him with questions he was not willing to answer right then, but as they finished breakfast, Arafinwë dismissed the courtiers and the servants, leaving just the royal family still sitting at table. Eärwen went to the sideboard and refreshed the tea, bringing it back and pouring some into their cups. Finrod refused to look at either of his parents, waiting for one of them to speak first.

Only when Eärwen was seated again did Arafinwë speak. "Will you tell us what happened?" he asked Finrod, his tone gentle.

Finrod shrugged, still keeping his eyes on his plate. "We talked," he replied.

Silence reigned between the three of them. Eärwen started rubbing his back to give him some comfort. "Will you tell us what was said?" she asked.

Finrod sighed. He was tempted to deny their request, but realized he was just being petulant. "Lord Námo reminded me that I am a prince of Eldamar and that I need to take up my duties as haryon. It was the reason I was re-embodied."

"I know you’ve been reluctant to do so," Arafinwë said slowly, "though I do not understand why when you certainly have had the experience of holding court when you ruled your own realm."

"I... I have been afraid," Finrod said, finally looking up at his atar, "afraid of... of making a mistake."

"We all make mistakes, dear," his ammë said soothingly.

Finrod shook his head. "But my mistake led to my death. In the end, my wisdom failed me and... and I died, but more than that, my error led to the deaths of ten others who were loyal to me. They... we died horribly...."

"Shush now, yonya," Arafinwë said, gathering his son in his embrace and giving him a heartfelt hug. "There is no need to torture yourself this way. What happened has happened and there is naught you can do to change it. All you can do is learn from it and apply that lesson to future situations." He pushed Finrod gently from him to give him a searching look. "Did Lord Námo agree with you?"

Finrod shook his head. "He... he said that all good rulers have the same fear of making an error of judgment and that I should take the experiences of my first life and use them to guide me in this one."

Arafinwë nodded. "Lord Námo is correct on both counts," he said. He paused for a moment before continuing. "So, will you take up your duties as my heir?"

Finrod sighed, his expression glum. "Yes, though I do not wish to."

His atar gave him a sympathetic smile. "We’ll start out slowly," he offered. "I will give you cases that are relatively simple and...." He paused, a thought coming to him and he nodded as if to himself. "And if you would like, I will ask Lord Herendil to sit with you."

Finrod gave him a surprised look. "He will not interfere with any decision you make," Arafinwë went on to explain, "but if you desire counsel before making a judgment, he will offer his opinion. The ultimate rendering of the case will still be yours to make."

"Thank you," Finrod said. "I would like that."

Arafinwë nodded, giving him a pleased smile. "I will arrange for your first court for next Menelya," he said, "and I think I will also have young Rúmilion join you as an observer. He shows great promise as a future member of the judiciary and I think he will benefit from watching how you conduct your court."

Finrod grimaced slightly. "He may not learn too much," he said and then a thought struck him and he gave his atar an enquiring look. "Just how much freedom do I have to adjudicate?"

"Do you mean, will I be looking over your shoulders and reviewing your decisions?" Arafinwë asked with a smile. When Finrod nodded, he shook his head. "Whatever decisions you make will stand, although if one of the parties thinks that your ruling was unfair or inappropriate, they have the right to appeal to me. However, unless the decision is grossly inequitable I will most likely uphold it. I meant what I said. This will be your court to conduct as you will."

"And who besides the complainants will be attending?" Finrod asked, for it was customary for his atar’s courtiers to attend court as witnesses to the Noldóran’s rulings.

"We will have some of the junior courtiers attend," Arafinwë replied, "those who are now in positions of authority themselves and who will benefit from seeing you in your role as haryon. Perhaps others will come to observe from time to time. It is my hope that people will see you more as my heir and less as an elfling underfoot."

Finrod blushed at that, realizing that there was some truth to his atar’s statement. Even some of the younger courtiers still treated him as if he were an idiot in constant need of supervision. He knew that that was mostly his own fault. Perhaps it was time to disabuse people of that notion. Lord Námo was correct. It was time and past time for him to start acting in a responsible manner. He had once been a king; he could still act like one even if he no longer wore a king’s crown.

He gave his atar a rueful look. "I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot about all this," he said.

Arafinwë shook his head. "It doesn’t matter, yonya. What is important is that you are willing to take up your responsibilities now. Perhaps you needed this time to mature a little more before you were ready."

"I guess," Finrod replied with a sigh. Then he gave his parents a lop-sided grin. "I think I had better go brush up on ‘Laws and Customs’. I imagine there have been a few changes and additions to it since the last time I looked."

Arafinwë laughed. "That might be a good idea."

****

Finrod waited nervously in the anteroom of the audience chamber that he would be using as his court. It was one of the smaller audience chambers, used primarily for intimate gatherings of a less formal nature than the main throne room. For the time being, though, it was Finrod’s personal throne room. His atar had ordered certain changes to the room made to reflect this: the tapestry hanging on the wall behind the throne that depicted a scene from the time of the Two Trees had been replaced with one showing the First Rising of Anar in all her glory and the Noldóran’s standard was replaced with that for his haryon. Even the red velvet throne cushions and center aisle carpet had been replaced with others in a pleasing shade of midnight blue. Fresh paint had been applied to the walls as well, so that now there was little to associate the room with its earlier function.

"It will be well, Highness," Herendil said soothingly, giving the ellon a smile. "Just take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

"You would think I’ve never done this before," Finrod said with a grimace as he complied with Herendil’s suggestion.

"Well, in one sense you have not," Herendil said. "You were not haryon to the Noldóran’s throne when you left Tirion for Endórë."

Finrod nodded. "Still, it’s not as if I’ve never sat in judgment before," he insisted.

"And that experience will help you here," the other ellon reminded him.

Finrod nodded. The two were alone in the antechamber. Neither of his parents were there and for that he was grateful. "I have my own court to deal with," his atar had told him the night before. "I am sure you will do much better without me breathing over your shoulders."

Finrod was beginning to agree with that. He was about to make a further comment when the door opened and Amandur came in, giving the prince a friendly smile. "They are ready for you, my prince," he said.

"Thank you, Amandur," Finrod said, giving Herendil a nod.

"I will announce you then," Herendil said and exited the room while Amandur remained to act as Finrod’s guard. Then Herendil’s voice carried through the room.

"His Royal Highness, Prince Findaráto Arafinwion," the ellon intoned.

Finrod took another deep breath and smoothed his tunic and robe before stepping out. He had agonized over his wardrobe during the previous week, wanting to make a good first impression. He’d been tempted to wear the blue tunic Morwen had made for him but common sense prevailed and he knew it was entirely inappropriate. In the end, he had settled for a blue and green brocade sleeveless surcoat with a scallop and stars diaper pattern. Underneath this was a green figured silk shirt. An ankle-length overrobe of blue samite shot with silver thread trimmed with ermine completed the picture. It had wide trailing sleeves so that the sleeves of his shirt showed underneath. His leggings were a dark green suede and he wore ankle boots of the same brocade as his tunic. On his head he wore a diadem of gold shaped like leaves with a single emerald in the center.

And he wore warrior braids.

He had thought about it long and hard. It had been years since his abortive attempt to wear them and over that time he had even forgotten about them, but since his talk with Lord Námo, he had put aside his reluctance to be who he was rather than be who everyone else around him wanted or expected him to be, including his parents. He knew his atar might not approve, but he had been told that his court was his to conduct as he pleased and that included how he would conduct himself as well. That meant wearing warrior braids. They were as much a symbol of his authority as the crown that sat on his head and in one sense more so, though the Elves of Aman would doubtless disagree.

He strode into the audience chamber, keeping his eyes steadily upon the throne before him, feeling the comforting presence of Amandur at his back, ignoring the soft murmurs of the courtiers commenting on his appearance as he entered. Herendil stepped aside and bowed as he came to the two-step dais and ascended the throne, shifting his robe as he sat. Then Herendil, still acting as his herald, turned to the spectators.

"The court of his Royal Highness, Prince Findaráto, now commences. Let all approach the throne with reverence."

Finrod gazed about him. Rúmilion was to his right with his two cousins, all three giving him smiles of encouragement. The ellon had a sheaf of papers tucked under his arm and would act as Finrod’s steward, calling each case before him and presenting the necessary details before the complainants were permitted to state their cases. There were others, mostly younger ellyn and ellith of his atar’s court, perhaps a score or so, which was not all that many, all things considered, but perhaps more than he had expected would show up. He noticed one or two of the older courtiers standing further back and wondered what tales they would tell his atar. He dismissed them from his mind, though, knowing that his atar would not listen to anything they had to say.

Turning to Rúmilion, he said, "Present the first case."

Rúmilion bowed and stepped forward even as Herendil stepped back to stand on Finrod’s right to act as his counselor. Amandur was standing on Finrod’s left, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend his prince at need.

"The first case, Highness," Rúmilion explained, glancing at his notes, "is a contracts dispute between Master Aldurilmon, a sculptor of the stonemason’s guild, and Master Silwindil of the carpenter’s guild. Master Silwindil contracted with Master Aldurilmon for a statue of his son, Mirilion, receiving the carpenter’s plane from Lord Oromë, signifying his son’s achievement in becoming a master of the guild."

Finrod nodded and Rúmilion continued. "When Master Aldurilmon presented the statue to Master Silwindil, he did not approve of the statue and has refused to pay the stipulated price agreed upon or to take possession of the statue. Master Aldurilmon is suing for the cost of the commission and Master Silwindil is countersuing for a new statue of his liking."

"Let the two masters approach," Finrod said and nodded to the guard before the door that led to the outer hall where those wishing to have their cases heard were waiting. The guard called for the two masters to come in and Finrod watched with interest as the ellyn approached. A third ellon came behind them carrying a cloth-covered object that Finrod suspected was the disputed statue. He was very curious about what it might look like and why Master Silwindil did not like it.

As the three ellyn approached, Finrod could see one of the masters looking at him in surprise and perhaps even with some displeasure. The other’s expression was more polite while the one carrying the statue — and now Finrod could see that it was a younger ellon wearing a journeyman’s tabard with the stonemason’s adze embroidered on it — looked distressed and uncomfortable. He could sympathize with the young ellon.

"I thought we were having our case heard before the Noldóran," protested the master who had been scowling as he walked up the center aisle. While the other two ellyn had effected bows, this one did not.

"His Majesty has decided that certain cases should be heard by his heir," Herendil explained smoothly. "Yours is one of them."

"But...."

"If you do not wish to have your case heard by his Highness, Master Aldurilmon," Rúmilion interjected, "that is certainly your right, but I should warn you that if you decline to have Prince Findaráto hear your case, you will not be permitted to make a later appeal to his Majesty."

Aldurilmon muttered something unintelligible, his expression one of anger. The other ellon, whom Finrod had to assume was Master Silwindil, simply shrugged. "I have no objections myself," he said.

"Fine," Aldurilmon snarled, giving them all a haughty glare. "Let’s get on with it."

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that. "Master Aldurilmon," he said softly, "I believe you owe this court an apology for your rudeness."

Aldurilmon looked at him in surprise, then seemed to realize where he was. With a muttered oath he gave Finrod a barely polite bow. "I apologize, your Highness, for any rudeness on my part. I was expecting to have my case heard before the king and was not informed beforehand that it would not be so."

"I understand," Finrod said equably, "but I assure you I am as capable as my atar to hear this or any other case." He then smiled at the third ellon. "And who are you?" he asked.

Master Aldurilmon sniffed. "One of my journeymen," he answered.

Finrod gave him a hard look. "I assume he has a name?"

"Ondoher," the young journeyman said in a whisper. "M-my name is Ondoher... Highness."

"Ah... an appropriate name for your profession," Finrod said. "I am assuming that what you carry is the statue in question? Yes? Well, perhaps we can find a table to put it on. I imagine it’s rather heavy or at least awkward to handle." He signaled to one of the guards by the door to the antechamber who nodded and went in search of a table. "In the meantime, perhaps Master Silwindil can tell us the particulars of the contract which he made with Master Aldurilmon."

"My son, Mirilion...." Silwindil began but Finrod interrupted him.

"He is not here today?"

"No, Highness, and I will explain shortly why," Silwindil replied.

"Then please forgive the interruption, Master Silwindil, and continue."

Silwindil looked rather surprised at the courtesy of Finrod’s apology. "As I was saying, my son achieved his mastership in the carpenters’ guild of which I too am a member. I wished to surprise him with a special gift in honor of his achievement, so I went to Master Aldurilmon who was recommended to me by another. I told him I wished to have a statue made of my son receiving the carpenter’s plane from the hands of Lord Oromë."

"And why Lord Oromë?" Finrod asked. "I would think Lord Aulë would be more appropriate."

Silwindil nodded. "While Lord Aulë is the Master Craftsman to whom all crafts look for guidance and instruction, we of the carpenters’ and woodworkers’ guilds also acknowledge Lord Oromë as Aldaron, for trees are naturally our stock in trade, just as stone is Master Aldurilmon’s."

Finrod nodded and gestured for the ellon to continue.

"Yes, well, I gave Master Aldurilmon sketches of my son in various poses. Master Aldurilmon showed me different types of marble and other stone and I made my selection and we agreed on a price."

By now a table had been procured and the statue, still covered with the cloth was placed on it in front of Finrod. He gestured for the cloth to be removed and they all gazed on the statue. Finrod hid a smile when he noticed out of the corner of his eyes the courtiers craning their necks to get a better look. He examined the statue with interest. It stood on a low marble plinth and was perhaps two feet in height altogether. There were two figures, one kneeling with his hands stretched out to receive what appeared to be a carpenter’s plane from the other figure who was standing with a rather imperious, almost forbidding, expression on his face. Finrod had to assume that this was Lord Oromë, though it looked nothing like him; the kneeling figure would have to be Silwindil’s son. He glanced at Silwindil.

"You reject this piece, why?" he asked.

Silwindil pointed to the statue. "That is not Lord Oromë," he pronounced, "and I resent the way my son is portrayed. He would never look so subservient even before one of the Valar. He has his pride and self-respect."

Finrod took a closer look at the figure of Mirilion and now noticed that the statue’s facial expression was not one of a liegeman receiving a gift from his lord but more like a servant receiving a reprimand from his master. Finrod frowned, seeing what the ellon meant.

"And have you ever met Lord Oromë?" he asked the master carpenter.

Now Silwindil looked a bit flustered. "Ah... actually I have not had the honor," he replied somewhat stiffly.

"Then how do you know this is not a true representation of the Vala?" Finrod asked.

Now Silwindil seemed to be on surer ground. "Look at his expression, my lord," he proclaimed. "It seems more appropriate for the Lord of Mandos than the Lord of Forests."

Finrod resisted raising an eyebrow. He was not sure that Lord Námo would appreciate having his name taken in vain in this manner but decided that was neither here nor there.

"Master Aldurilmon, have you ever met Lord Oromë?" Finrod then asked the sculptor.

"No, Highness," Aldurilmon admitted somewhat reluctantly.

"And yet you went ahead and depicted Lord Oromë in this manner without bothering to find out what he actually looks like." Finrod made it a statement and Aldurilmon just gave him a half-apologetic shrug.

Finrod gave the ellon a hard look. Something about all this seemed false to him yet he was not sure what it might be. He turned his attention back to Silwindil. "You object to the statue on the grounds that the expressions on the faces of the figures are not what you wished for. Yet, did you not approve Master Aldurilmon’s sketches which I am sure he must have made prior to actually creating the statue?"

Aldurilmon snorted. "I told him I would have preliminary sketches inside a week for him to look at but he said it wasn’t necessary. He was sure I would do an excellent job, for I had come highly recommended."

Finrod narrowed his eyes and sat back on his throne. "Is this true, Master Silwindil?"

Silwindil grimaced but nodded, not looking at anyone.

"Then I do not see the problem," Finrod stated. "You declined to approve the sketches, and while I’m sure you were expecting something different, you gave Master Aldurilmon implicit freedom of choice in the manner in which he would execute the commission. In short, sir, you got what you asked for."

"Not this," Silwindil protested pointing to the statue. "I admit I was negligent in not checking the sketches first, but beyond that, I contracted with Master Aldurilmon, not with one of his apprentices. This statue is at best mediocre in craftsmanship, not the work of a highly recommended master."

Finrod stood and stepped down to get a closer look at the statue. There was nothing explicitly wrong with it, yet the more he examined it in detail the more he realized that this piece could not have come from the hands of a master of his craft. He glanced up at Aldurilmon and in doing so noticed that Ondoher had gone very pale and was looking extremely embarrassed and even somewhat fearful.

"Master Aldurilmon, how much of this is your own work?" he asked.

"Well, I made the sketches and...."

"Master Aldurilmon, how much of this is your own work?" Finrod repeated and the tone of his voice sent shivers down more than one spine.

Something in the master’s attitude deflated and he shook his head. "Virtually none of it," he answered sourly.

There were gasps and murmurs among the courtiers.

Finrod flicked a glance at Ondoher who was now looking ready to faint. "This is your work, isn’t it?" he asked gently.

Ondoher nodded and then gave Finrod a pleading look. "I’m not very good with figures of people," he confessed. "I do better with animals and plants. Salmandillë offered to help, for she is very good at depicting people, but I knew our master would recognize her work so I had to refuse."

"Salmandillë?" Finrod asked.

"A fellow journeyman," Ondoher replied, blushing faintly.

Finrod suspected that Ondoher had feelings that went beyond friendship for the elleth but did not pursue the matter further. Instead, he turned to Aldurilmon. "You have more than one apprentice under you, Master?"

"Yes."

"Then why....?"

"I felt Ondoher needed more practice in depicting people," the master replied shortly.

"And that is certainly an admirable objective for an apprentice, but I would think having him practice on soapstone would have been a better option. I am sure that foisting the work on young Ondoher and then claiming it to be your own is in violation of your guild ethics and I will so inform the guild about that. I have no doubt the guildmasters will exact their own penalties on you, Master Aldurilmon. In the meantime, we need to address the particulars of this contract."

Finrod turned to resume his seat, catching Herendil’s eye as he did so. His friend gave him a faint smile and a nod of approval and Finrod grinned back, though his expression became more stern when he turned to face everyone else. "Master Silwindil, you admit that you were negligent in not checking the sketches which Master Aldurilmon produced and all things being equal I would say you were bound by the contract to pay the stipulated price and take possession of the statue whether you wished to or not. I am assuming that the statue is still a secret from your son."

Silwindil nodded, not looking at all happy.

"Well, as I said, all things being equal you would be bound, but it appears that Master Aldurilmon is even more culpable than you in that he deceived you in pretending that the statue was of his own hand. Tell me, Master, why did you truly give this assignment to Ondoher?"

Aldurilmon hemmed and hawed but eventually admitted that shortly after receiving Silwindil’s commission Lord Nambarauto came to him with a commission and since Nambarauto was a noble and Silwindil was just a commoner....

"So you made the sketches, no doubt hurriedly and without any real thought behind them, gave them to Ondoher to work on while you catered to Lord Nambarauto’s wishes," Finrod summarized and the master sculptor nodded, looking glum. Finrod turned to Ondoher, the ellon’s expression bleak, and as gently as he could he asked, "Were you aware that this statue was a commissioned piece, Ondoher?"

The ellon shook his head. "Master brought me the sketches and told me that he wanted me to have more practice with carving figures of people," he said. "He told me which block of stone I was to use and said I needed to finish by a certain date. I thought that this was just a... a test of my skill." He sighed, closing his eyes briefly before continuing. "Master knows I’m not good with figures of people. He should have given the assignment to Salmandillë. She’s almost ready for her mastership and she would have done much better than I."

"You followed the sketches faithfully?" Finrod enquired. "You did not... um... add your own interpretation?" He flicked a glance at the expressions on the two figures’ faces.

Ondoher shook his head. "Salmandillë thought the expressions were wrong, and I did as well, but I did not dare change anything from the sketches given to me."

Finrod sat for a long moment digesting all that he had heard. Certainly Silwindil was negligent in not checking the sketches and approving them, but Aldurilmon was absolutely criminal in his actions, not only in cheating Silwindil but in ignoring the talents and needs of his apprentices. He glanced at Herendil who merely raised an eyebrow. Finrod turned back to the two masters, his expression solemn.

"Here then is my judgment: Master Aldurilmon will make new sketches of the statue and Master Silwindil will have final approval of them. Since Master Aldurilmon could not see fit to find out what Lord Oromë looks like, I will provide you with the necessary sketches."

"You, Highness?" Silwindil asked in surprise.

Finrod nodded, smiling. "I have hunted with Lord Oromë and am well acquainted with him." There were quiet murmurs and considering looks among the young courtiers at that. Finrod ignored them. "Once the sketches are approved," he went on to say, "Master Aldurilmon will then do all of the carving himself. He will not assign any part of it to his apprentices, though I am aware that that is a common practice among the crafts. He will also not take on any other commissions until the statue is finished and I will speak to your guildmaster about that." He paused, knowing that what he said next would not be welcomed by the sculptor. "And you will do it free of charge."

"What!?" Aldurilmon exclaimed in disbelief.

Finrod nodded, casting a disapproving glance at the smug look of satisfaction on Silwindil’s face. "You are not getting off quite as easily as you think, Silwindil," he said coldly. "What was the stipulated price of the contract?"

Silwindil muttered a figure. Finrod nodded again. "You will pay half that amount to young Ondoher, for he was the one who did this statue meant for you."

"That’s absurd," Aldurilmon protested before Silwindil could respond. "The money would go to me regardless."

"No, Aldurilmon," Finrod said forcibly. "The money will be credited to Ondoher’s guild account and I will see to that as well. I will also recommend that your guild evaluate your apprentices and determine if they are receiving the proper instructions from you. We all have our talents and unfortunately Ondoher’s does not lie with carving figures of people. Yet, you apparently will not encourage his talents in carving animals and plants. At any rate, Silwindil, the other half of the money owed will be deposited to the royal treasury as payment for wasting my time when all this could have been avoided save for your initial negligence. Master Aldurilmon, you will also pay the royal treasury the same amount. I have not appreciated your attitude during all this. Perhaps next time you will act in a manner befitting a master of your craft. This case is closed."

Finrod gave a wave of his hand in dismissal and Herendil stepped down from the dais and gestured the two masters and Ondoher towards a side door. The masters both looked astounded at the judgment, Aldurilmon sputtering that he would appeal to the Noldóran even as he was herded from the room. Ondoher hesitated.

"What about the statue, lord?" he asked.

"Since you were the one who carved it, you may do with it as you wish," Finrod answered.

"What I wish is to take a sledgehammer to it," the ellon replied with a grin.

Finrod grinned back. "Then that is what you should do."

Ondoher bowed and took the statue and followed the two masters out. Finrod turned to Rúmilion, giving him a smile. "Call the next case."

Rúmilion smiled back and then looked at his notes. "The next case involves a land dispute…."

Finrod gazed around the room as Rúmilion gave them the details. Among the courtiers there were considering looks. For some, he hoped, their estimation of him had taken a positive turn.

Herendil, who in the meantime had returned to Finrod’s side, bent down to whisper in his ear. "Well done, Highness."

Finrod whispered back, "And that was just the first case."

The two shared a smile.

****

Words are Quenya.

Menelya: The fifth day of the Eldarin six-day week.

Aldaron: ‘Lord of Trees’, one of Lord Oromë’s titles.

Ondoher: ‘Stone Lord’.