An Education in Stone by Erulisse

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Chapter 1

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An Education in Stone

 

 

“My Lady! I tried to stop them. I told them you were busy – not to be disturbed. But they insisted they come to see you …” Nerdanel’s Head of Household’s voice trailed off as three familiar voices sounded from the small kitchen garden that separated the main house from her workshop.

 

The sculptor gave a sigh, grasped her chisels and mallet in her right hand and wiped the stone dust from her face with her apron held in her left. Jumping down from the scaffold where she had been perched, she shook her head.

 

“Not your fault. Go. Sneak out the side door and bring cold juice for their Highnesses.”

 

The servant quickly ran off as the voices moved closer to the workshop doors.

 

“She will not be pleased about being disturbed.” Nerdanel smiled slightly, recognizing Finarfin’s tenor.

 

“Nonsense. We have come a long way to see her. She will open her door to us or I will know the reason why not!” The smile on Nerdanel’s face faded as she heard Ingwë’s imperious words. Although she had always been respectfully toward the Vanyar king, privately she had always thought him a bit officious.

 

The third voice chimed in as her door was pushed opened. “It would have been kinder to wait in the main house, allowing her time to clean up a bit.” Olwë was always the voice of reason between the two other rulers, she fleetingly thought, as the three kings barged into her workshop.

 

“My Lords,” she said as she dropped into a minimal courtesy. “I would offer you seating, but as you can see, all surfaces are covered with stone dust at the moment. I’m afraid you will have to stand.” She crossed her arms and stood in the center aisle, her current work-in-progress spotlighted under the skylights near the back of the large room.

 

Olwë strode to her. Taking her hands into his, he kissed the backs of them gently. “Lady Nerdanel, I offer apologies for our lack of courtesy. We have journeyed far to visit you and I hope you will hear us out before dismissing us out of hand.”

 

“Of course I will listen. I am not that rude as to turn any of you away at my door,” she snipped, but she found herself smiling at the gentle Telerin ruler. The two of them had been friendly since he had welcomed her installation of the sculptural array of Fëanor and her sons at their permanent location at the shoreline south of Alqualondë. The king looked upon the location of the statues as a healing gesture between their two peoples, even though not all of his people shared his views.

 

The other two kings had walked to the back of the room to examine her work in progress. They were exclaiming about the sculpture, which happened to be a rendition of the latest winning horse of the Valinor Steeplechase, commissioned by the owner of the beast. Ingwë’s hand hovered over the mane, carved to appear windswept. “Almost alive and moving,” he murmured.

 

As her servant returned with the cold juice, Nerdanel did a quick dusting of several chairs positioned near one of the larger worktables. “Please, my Lords. Come sit, enjoy some juice, and tell me how I might be of service to you.” After the kings sat, she distributed the refreshments, then joined them and pulled off her head scarf, allowing her russet hair to cascade down her back.

 

Ingwë began. “To be brief, we would like to hire you to carve a set of sculptures for us.”

 

He left off there, and after a long pause, Nerdanel asked, “…and the subject matter of the sculptures would be …”

 

He cleared his throat, his voice squeaking a bit as he continued. “The Valar. We - that is the three of us - agree that the Valar seem distant to many of our people. We would like a carven array, a visual reminder of the Valar. It will remind every elf that they exist and what they have done for us over long yeni. By inviting us to live here in the Uttermost West, they kept us safe from their Dread Brother, provided us with the light from the Two Trees, and now they have fashioned the sun and moon that circle our skies, giving us the light that we need for our crops and animals.”

 

Nerdanel decided to skip over the obvious argument about how safe the Valar had really kept the population from Melkor, and moved instead to the lynchpin upon which her possible agreement hinged. “You understand that if I accept this commission, it will be my personal artistic interpretation and not subject to your input. My artistic freedom remains my own. I will not swerve from my inner vision nor change the song that each stone sings to me.” Nerdanel stood and walked away from the kings, toward tall, narrow windows featured along one long wall.

 

“I warned them,” Finarfin said, “but they insist that only you have the skill to do this. I also expressed my personal doubts that you have the appropriate attitude for a work of this scope, but I have been overruled at the highest level.”

 

“Yes,” Ingwë added. “Lord Manwë specifically requested you. We are to look farther only if you refuse this commission.”

 

Nerdanel turned around swiftly. “Really? Lord Manwë himself requested that I turn my chisels to this? Will each of the Valar sit for me?”

 

“Yes, child, Lord Manwë has assured us that each Vala and Valier will sit for you at your request, either here at your workshop, at their dwelling in Valimar, or at their personal estate - your choice.” Olwë sighed and looked directly at her. “Nerdanel, will you accept this commission?” Ingwë leaned slightly forward, anxiously awaiting her response, but Finarfin crossed his arms and legs, creating a barrier between the two family members – the little sculptor and the assigned king.

 

“If my artistic conditions are met, then yes. I will accept the commission. I will arrange things from this point on and will notify you when the array is complete.”

 

* * * * *

 

Long days passed without word from Nerdanel’s studio. Although the kings sent messages or appeared at her door requesting updates, they were forbidden to enter into her workshop to view the work in progress. Finally, frustrated with the many interruptions, she sent word to Lord Manwë, who in turn sent word to all three rulers that it was now out of their hands and they must cease their quest to see the sculptures before they were complete and ready to be unveiled.

 

Nerdanel, in turn, spent long hours carving. When she wasn't sculpting the stones, she was meeting with the various Vala at locations of mutual convenience. Námo, out of consideration for her grief at the deaths of her husband and sons, met with her in the Gardens of Lórien. His wife Vairë, traveled to Nienna’s home on the western shore where the two Valier spent several days with the small sculptor, the three wandering the shoreline, talking and sharing some much-needed relaxation time together. When Nerdanel returned to her workshop after this visit, she felt more healed and refreshed than she had in many long Turns.

 

The sightings of Nerdanel in Tirion or other outlying areas were rare for a long time thereafter. When asked, her staff reported the artist was up at all hours of the day and night, chipping away at what might well turn out to be her life’s work. They often heard her humming a lay that her second son had composed before the Separation. The staff also murmured about times when an otherworldly light lighted the workshop and several voices would sound from within. At least one time Lord Manwë’s primary eagle was seen taking off from the rooftop pinnacle. The sculptures became the talk of Tirion before eyes other than the Valar or the sculptor herself had seen a single piece of shaped stone.

 

Finally the day arrived; the assemblage was ready for viewing. With assistance from Lord Aulë, a platform had been shaped that would allow the grouping to be moved from place to place. Each of the three primary cities would have their opportunity to host the sculptures for a Turn before they would be taken to their final and permanent location, still to be determined.

 

In Tirion, a large clearing had been prepared in the park leading up to the palace of Finarfin. On the appointed day as the sun crested the horizon, the gathered crowd gasped as draped statues appeared in the center of the verdant field of grass. As horns trumpeted welcoming the dawn's light, draperies covering the images faded away and the Valar stood forth frozen in stone, interpreted by their artist of choice.

 

A confused and muttering came from the crowd as they got their first view of the Valar. A few voices raised in outrage.

 

Finarfin, flanked by Ingwë and Olwë strode up to the statue of Manwë, stopping in front of it and staring. “Why are they wearing bindings across their eyes?” he asked the other two kings. “Look, they face each other and each one has their eyes covered.”

 

Olwë backed carefully away to get a better look at the entire array. “Four face away from the others. See? Their eyes are not bound. Make note of the directions each one faces.”

 

The three kings stood open-mouthed gazing at the stone forms carefully arranged in front of them. The larger group of Valar had blindfolds across their eyes, arranged to look toward each other making a blind circle of leadership. Here Manwë stood with his hand atop one of his eagles, Aulë held his hammer ready to strike and the Ladies Nessa, Vána and Yavanna danced together, heads cast back in joy. In a second group, Oromë stood next to Vairë, pointing out something on the tapestry held in her loom's uprights, Lórien and Estë stood back-to-back, arms interlinked and shrubbery arranged around them, and between these two groups, Tulkas sat cross-legged on the greensward in the center of the circle, gazing downward at the ground.

 

Finarfin moved toward Nerdanel, his fists clenched and his temper barely held in check.

 

“What were you thinking, Sculptor!” he spat out. “What reminder of the care and beneficence of the Valar does this joke make for our peoples?”

 

“A true one, I trust,” she responded, unbowed by his fury. “Each of the Valar did I meet with. Each one did I interview, question, and draw. Each one did I ask their feelings toward those who left in the Separation as well as those who were left behind.” She turned and faced the sculptures, pointing each one out in turn.

 

“Four are separated from the remainder. Three look east – Lady Varda, holding the Valacirca in her outstretched hand; Lord Námo, weeping as he holds a broken elvish body in his arms; and Lord Ulmo, turning his back on Valinor and watching from the far side of the Sundering Sea. One looks west – Lady Nienna who turns her back on her brethren and reaches out to aid those who still live here in Valinor. She offers her solace as we are beset by sorrows beyond number. While her brother weeps for the dead, she weeps for the living.”

 

Nerdanel looked at the people assembled in the park. They were beginning to wander through the sculpture array. With excitement, they gazed at the statues of those whom many had never met and only knew as legend, pointing out details to their children and spouses. Each Vala was carefully examined and judged.

 

Ingwë sighed deeply. “I hope you realize, my dear,” he began.

 

Nerdanel interrupted him. “Never in your life have you called me your ‘dear’. Do us both a favor and do not be a hypocrite now."

 

“Very well. Nerdanel. I cannot in good faith bring this display of disrespect to my city. I am extremely displeased.”

 

She nodded her head. Turning fully, she faced the three kings. “And the rest of you? Olwë? Finarfin? What say you? Are you also intimidated by my interpretation of the Valar?"

 

Finarfin shook his head. “No, Lady. I admit, I am appalled at your vision, but I am also looking and listening to the elves here today. They are teaching their young ones about the Valar, talking about when the elves came to Valinor to escape the Hunter who was killing us off one by one. Here we found safety. I do not agree with your interpretation, but I am happy with the result. The statues may remain on display here in Tirion for as long as you desire.”

 

Olwë smiled at her. “Your interpretation, Lady Nerdanel, is not far from my own in some respects. I will happily host the array at Alqualondë when scheduled, and if the Valar decide the final resting place for the statues is on my side of the Pelóri, it will be welcomed.”

 

Ingwë snorted. “Artistic vision? Bah! These pieces of stone are irreverent and are insulting images of the Valar. The two of you are welcome to them but they will never be displayed beneath Taniquetil.” He turned and walked away from the others.

 

“I feel that in many ways the Valar have turned away from those who left us during the Separation, and in so doing they are closing their eyes to us as well,” Nerdanel said as explanation to the two kings still standing next to her. “Such is the vision that came to me as I met with each Vala, and I stand by it.”

 

Olwë reached out and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. “I hope that they, as well as our people, will learn from your vision.”

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

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