Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 1

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It was a splendid day when I first met him.

 

Of course in that time every day was splendid, one only preferable to another by what we did to fill it. The days were golden and the nights silver; there were no storms, no cold weather, even the rain fell only in small measure, as a pleasant diversion from the day's heat.

There was no rain on that day.

 

I was young then, although I did not feel young: On the brink of adulthood, we are all convinced of our age, our maturity. Our store of experience feels so rich and full that the pleasures of everyday life lose their flavour – have we not seen it all before?

At least I felt that way. I longed for adventure, the kind that my ordinary life could not provide. Not even the wonders of Tirion, its balls and amusements, could excite me, and my craft, which had so far never failed to satisfy me, was suddenly bereft of joys. My parents noticed; when I said that I might like to go for an extended hike into the empty wilds of Aman, they understood. A few days later, laden with provisions, blankets, a water-skin, a small frying pan, knife, spoon and bowl, tinderbox and a dozen other useful things – and my unavoidable sketchbook and drawing utensils – I set off.

 

My journey was uneventful, but I enjoyed the time spent by myself. My eyes, tired of the ordered life in our cities, were delighted by the wild, untamed lands; often I would spend an entire day sitting on some smooth rock, drawing the landscape or some particularly scenic tree or rock formation; when I sat still long enough, I could sketch small birds and hares and foxes without them noticing me. I slept when I felt tired, and ate when I felt hungry. The light of the trees was not as brilliant here as it was in the heart of Aman, but still it shone, and still it was warm. Sometimes I walked briskly for the sheer joy of moving, of feeling my heart pump faster, my muscles tensing and easing. Sometimes I walked slowly; I did, after all, not need to rush. I did not count the days, and so I did not know how many days I had been walking when I found the rabbit.

 

It had been shot. A long shaft stuck from his upper back, fletched with feathers of dark red and freckled light brown. The rabbit was dead, and must have been for a few hours: the blood on its fur had already congealed and turned black, and flies were crawling over it. This surprised me; no hunter would shoot a rabbit and then leave it to rot, nor would anybody abandon a perfectly good arrow. Of course it occasionally happened during a hunt that an arrow did not kill the prey, and it would run off and away until it finally died of the wound and could be found by the archer. But the arrow was embedded deep between the rabbit's shoulders: Impossible that it had run far away after the shot. The hunter could not have been far off when the animal had died. It was not hidden by shrubbery, nor was there a precipice it might have fallen down from; it lay at the foot of a grassy hill, perfectly in the open. Now it threatened to spoil in the heat of the day. It made no sense.

"A mystery," I thought to myself, feeling the tingle in my stomach that had accompanied me through childhood games when we had played at the Great March, or snuck up on our parents to spy on their (usually boring) business. I looked around; there were some bushes ahead where a hunter might have hidden, and I walked towards them, determined to find out what had happened. Maybe the archer had fallen asleep? I laughed at the absurdity of the thought, but I had no better idea.

 

But I did indeed find the hunter when I walked around the bush. He was on one knee, the other leg having disappeared in a hole in the ground, and his back was bent with exhaustion; but he looked up when he heard my footsteps, and cursed viciously. I winced. "Good gracious," he said then, in a strained voice, "but I am glad to meet a sentient creature here. Come, help me get my leg out of this damned hole; it's quite firmly stuck. Be careful; the whole hill is tunnelled under. That accursed rabbit is certainly having its revenge." His face was dirty, smeared with sweat and earth and blood; his fingers, too, were smeared brown and red. "I tried to dig myself out of here," he explained, seeing my terrified look, "but the earth is too hard, it hasn't rained in a while; I only tore my skin."

"Is there a river or lake nearby?" I asked, my terror turning into pity. "I could fetch water, to soften the ground and make the digging easier."

"There is a pond about a hundred paces over there," he pointed towards a copse of trees, "and a nice clear lake another two hundred paces from there to the south, but the pond water should suffice for this. Have you a water-skin?"

"I do."

"Then give me to drink before you go." He did not ask, neither in word nor in tone of voice; he commanded. But I did not blame him for it; it must be very unpleasant to be stuck with your foot in a rabbit-hole, the more so when you were stuck for hours in the heat of mid-day. I let him drink, and then emptied the remaining water onto the hard earth. Then I left for the pond. I must admit that I did not hurry as much as I should have; I had much to think about. I had come to enjoy being alone in the past days; the hunter was unwelcome company. I hoped that he was not too gravely injured, so I did not have to look after him or, worse, carry him back home. Yes, such selfish thoughts went through my head while I slowly made my way to the pond, and filled the water-skin, taking care not to let any waterweed slip inside.

 

"You took your time," the hunter observed, sounding somewhat testy. I shrugged, pouring the water on the ground around his leg. "Perhaps you walk faster than I do," I quipped; he snorted in reply.

When the ground was thoroughly soaked, I tried to help him dig; but the earth was still baked hard, and refused to give way. "If you unstring my bow, you could try digging with it," he suggested, and I complied, although I felt sorry to misuse the bow so: It was beautifully crafted from some light wood, probably hazel, with inlays of gold and dark wood. I commented on it, but he only snorted again. "Still, it is only a tool," he said. "If it cannot help to get me out of here, what good is in the beauty? And if it breaks, I can make a new one. Just dig."

It did help – at any rate, I managed to move some earth without working my hands as raw as his. He soon gave up trying to help me, instead holding his hands out of the way. I glanced at him sideways. With the smeared dirt on his face, and his black hair tied back by a simple lace, lanky streaks hanging down his shoulders, he looked like an illustration of the Avari in our history books, but his clothing did not fit the picture; it was fairly simple, but the materials, cuts and colours were typical of our people. The face, what little of it could be seen underneath the dirt, did not feature the typical soft roundness I – an avid reader – had come to associate with Avarin faces. In fact, the line of his jaw, set in stubborn determination, was oddly familiar, although I could not place it. And he was young, I realised, as young as I (though doubtlessly more childish, as boys usually are).

At some point he became aware that I was studying him, and he returned my gaze with a somewhat scornful look in his eyes, which were grey and piercing. "Yes, tiring work, is it not?" he said with a slight sneer. "Damned be that foolish rabbit."

"You killed it," I said sternly, "one should think that there is no need to curse it on top of that."

He looked at me in surprise, and then laughed: A somewhat high-pitched laugh, betraying his exhaustion, although he was holding up well. "It's not going to harm the beast now," he said.

"In that case your cursing is entirely pointless, and you can as well save your breath."

 

He gave me an amused stare, but did not reply; and for a while I kept digging in silence. Finally the hole was widened enough for him to pull his leg out. He groaned then, his composure slipping for a moment; but the leg carried his weight, although he walked with a limp. From beneath the bush, he pulled out his luggage and a dark cloak. "Well, I am filthy," he said. "I think I'll make for the lake, and take a bath. Is that rabbit" - his eyes gleamed as he looked at me, as if curious whether I would notice that he did not curse this time – "still good for something?" He walked to where the animal had fallen without waiting for my reply and grimaced at the buzzing flies. "See and remember, Nerdanel; there is decay even in the Undying Lands," he said. I blinked. Admittedly it was not too hard to guess my name - while my hair did not have the glaring red colour of my father's hair, it did have a distinctive reddish hue; that, and my famous plainness, must have been a giveaway. "I am afraid that you have the advantage, stranger," I said. "Will you tell me who you are?"

The eyebrows went up. "You do not know me?" he asked in an incredulous tone of voice. I had to stifle a laugh. Boys! I thought. They always think they are the centre of everybody's attention, that everybody knows who they are. It is as though they do not know how many young men there are in the world. Of course I also knew that there were women enough who supported this stupid notion; every young man who was not stricken with features even less attractive than mine was certain to have a throng of admiring young ladies, ready to blush and giggle when he passed them, to sigh dramatically, to compete for the right to begin a dance with him. Well, if he thought I was one of those girls, he was sadly mistaken. I told him so. "No, I don't. I don't have time to remember the face of every young man I ever passed on the street; there are so many of them, and so much I have to keep in my mind."

I don't know what I had expected – confusion, perhaps, or perhaps a dramatic huff – but instead he laughed, loudly. He had a nice enough voice, now that he was not cursing rabbits, I noticed. "I am afraid I will keep the advantage, then" he said, smirking; and I was feeling foolish again – a fate that I had intended for him. "I must insist to know your name," I said, sounding petulant to my own ears. "Otherwise I shall have to call you Stranger."

"Well, call me Stranger then," he grinned. "Very well then," I said, pursing my lips to show my disapproval. "Stranger you shall be."

 

He had meanwhile taken up the corpse and removed his arrow, wiping it on his tunic before returning it to his quiver, then sniffed at the rabbit. "Not exactly fresh," he said with another grimace, "but if I cook it well, it should do. May I invite you for supper, in return for the rescue?"

I raised my eyebrows and tried to ignore the foolish tingle in my stomach, replying more scornfully than necessary. "And what an invitation that will be, to a feast on almost-spoiled rabbit." He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged. "As you wish. Although I know where to find wild onions on the way to the lake, and I have apples in my bag; I could turn it into a feast yet."

My traitorous stomach chose this moment to rumble loudly, and he laughed. "Maybe you will think about it. I am off to the lake." He picked up his bow, the once-polished wood scratched and muddied; and leaning on it as onto a walking-stick, he marched off without another word. I blinked, and found myself hurrying after him almost before I knew what I was doing. "Are you certain that you will be all right?" I asked, feeling a little silly. He glanced at me with an expression of amusement. "I suspect so," he said drily. "I seem to be, so far." I felt my cheeks grow warm with embarassment. "I'll stay with you for the time being, just to make sure," I said, lamely, and then fell silent, not knowing what else to say. He walked fast despite the limp, which gradually grew better as he marched, so at least I could pretend to focus on keeping up with him. He only stopped twice, to dig out some onions and to gather some beechnuts; then he walked on relentlessly. I noticed one or two scenic views I would have liked to stop and draw, but I admit that I was fascinated by the stranger at that point; and so I kept walking beside him until we reached the lake, and he dropped rabbit, pack and bow. He washed his hands meticulously; I winced more than he while he scrubbed the sore tips of his fingers. Next he built a small fire, and prepared a spit to roast the rabbit. I watched awkwardly, torn between the feeling that I should help him, and my still-persistent resentment against this intruder upon my loneliness. I told myself that I was being unfair; I could simply have left, for he obviously managed quite well for himself, and in truth I did not know why I was staying at all. It was not, at any rate, his fault. "Can I help somehow?" I said in an attempt to make up for my grim silence.

He looked up from the rabbit which he had begun to skin and gut and grinned, flashing teeth that were surprisingly white in his still dirt-smeared face. "I invited you, so it would be highly improper if I made you do the work." He rose and gave a courtly bow, very elegantly; in these unsophisticated surroundings it looked absurd. I was certain he was mocking me, and glared. "Keeping your name secret from me is improper as well, and yet you do," I said. He simply laughed and proceeded to cut apples and onions, and the rabbit's heart and liver, into small pieces, stuffing the skinned animal with the mixture. I pursed my lips.

 

When the rabbit was roasting over the fire, he cleaned his hands again, less meticulously this time. "I'll finally take that bath," he said, already divesting himself of his clothing. "The rabbit should be fine for the next moments, but perhaps you can turn it, should it start burning."

"I certainly can, Stranger," I said. He grinned again, getting rid of the last hindering garments, and marched down to the lake. I fixed my attention on the rabbit, but I couldn't help sneaking a glance at his naked body, my eyes drawn automatically to the moving shape, rather more attractive than the skewered rabbit on the spit. The hunter was very nicely proportioned, and underneath his dirty skin there were strong, firm muscles that spoke of regular physical exercise; I remember thinking that I would not mind making a statue in his image. Where his skin wasn't smeared with dirt, it was fair and smooth, except for the left leg, which sported a pattern of ugly dark bruises. But he did not limp anymore; instead, he strode to the water's edge gracefully, waded in until the water reached his hips, and jumped forward. He swam and dived for a good while. The rabbit was beginning to give off an appetizing smell, and I turned the spit so both sides would get cooked well. I thought about getting my sketchbook, but he was moving too much and too fast, flinging himself forward in one spot, resurfacing in a different spot altogether. I shook my head, angry and amused by myself at the same time.

 

Eventually he had enough. I was hard put to pretend that my focus was fixed firmly on the meal as he left the water, rather than admiring the ease and grace of his movements. He was entirely unashamed of parading his naked shape in front of a stranger; and indeed, what should he have been ashamed of, close to the beauty ideals of our people as he was? I snuck a glance at him, my gaze magically drawn to his midsection. Very well-shaped also, I couldn't help thinking, and then turned my head away. My cheeks grew warm again; I hoped that the blush wasn't as obvious as it felt. I busied myself with the fire, shifting embers and adding fresh wood. I had hoped that he would get dressed quickly so I could look at him without danger of blushing again; but he did not do me the favour, instead picking up his worn, muddied clothing and washing it. Really it was a sensible thing to do; this way his skin and hair had time to dry before he dressed again, and the clothing would be able to dry while we ate and rested; but it was a challenge not to stare. When he knelt by the lakeside, bending over to rub the dirt from his breeches, he allowed me a very nice view of his firm backside. My hands moved involuntarily as if to memorise the shape; I had to ball them into fists to control them. I hoped that he would not feel my stare or turn around; just in case I composed my face in an expression of bored disdain. If only his pack contained a set of spare clothing; I knew I would make a fool of myself if he remained like that, naked and... and... pretty until his breeches and tunic were dry.

 

He did have spare clothing with him, thankfully; but I made a fool of myself anyway. When he came to sit beside the fire again, I looked at his face, and my heart missed a beat. It was impossible not to recognise him now; he must think me an idiot. I certainly felt like an idiot. Some part of my mind kept protesting that it was not my fault; with dirt on his face, and wearing simple workman's clothing, how should I have recognised the King's son? I only knew him with impeccably braided hair, adorned with jewels, robed in silk brocades. It was his own fault, really! But that half could not win against the part of me that told me to feel guilty.

I am sure my eyes widened in shock, and my face went white for a change; but he did not seem to notice. "Now this is better," he just said, leaning back against the grassy slope. "And I see our meal is almost ready as well. I brought only one bowl, I'm afraid, but I assure you I cleaned it well after breakfast, so you can use it without fear." I set my jaw, calling myself to order. "I have my own," I said, "so you can keep yours." My voice sounded inappropriately snippy, I realised in dismay. He noticed it too, and frowned. "Fine by me," he said, his own voice cooler now as well. I groaned inwardly. Now he must be convinced that I was intent on insulting him. I looked away yet again and rummaged through my bag for the dishes. My hands fell upon the bread my mother had packed for me, wrapped in a piece of cloth, and I thought of trying for a reconciliation. "Don't you think some bread would go well with the rabbit?" I asked. He did not react favourably. "I do not eat our bread," he said gruffly, lips pursed and brow contracted. I winced. Of course not. "I brought some," I said shily. "The lady Yavanna made it; you can share it if you want."

He studied me for a moment, then, and finally smiled. "Thank you; I will gladly do that."

 

The rabbit was good after all, the juicy stuffing having taken the dryness out of the meat, and the earthy taste of rabbit softened by the apples' sweetness. We ate in silence until I remembered my manners; but when I praised the meal, he merely shrugged. "I would have added pepper, and rosemary," he said, "but I didn't find any around here."

"Well, if you want such additional luxuries, I suppose you should have stayed in Tirion," I said before I could stop myself; then I bit my tongue. He stared at me again – how strange it was to see his face so close to mine, to have him look at me for so long! For although we had doubtlessly encountered each other before, at the balls or market-fairs of Tirion, I must admit that I had never paid more attention than necessary to him; and certainly he had never paid attention to me. It was hard not to turn my face from his bright-eyed stare, but I did not want him to notice my embarrassment. "On second thought, it isn't that bad," he said with  a slight sneer, and finally took his eyes off my face, leaving me confused again. I returned my attention to the food, and again silence fell between us. When the rabbit had all but disappeared, he broke it. "You mentioned bread, earlier."

I had forgotten about that, and felt embarrassed yet again as I found the parcel in my bag and unwrapped it, breaking a loaf in two. "Here, my lord," I said meekly. He snorted, but grinned. "But are not rather you my lady?"*

I winced. He still seemed to believe that I did not know who he was. I felt even guiltier and was tempted to look away again, but forced myself to meet his eyes. "No," I said, "I am not. But if you do not wish to be called lord, should I perhaps say—Prince Fëanáro?"

 

He scowled. "I liked it better when you called me Stranger," he replied, and turned away; and I was confused yet again.

"But that is who you are," I said, "is it not?"

"It certainly is."

I frowned. "Then why would you rather be called Stranger? Yours is an honourable name, and you are much admired."

"Yes," he said flatly. "And now you will doubtlessly turn to admiration as well, and I shall have to bear fawning and flattery for the rest of the evening, and all joy shall be gone from this journey."

 

Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "If that is what you're afraid of, my lord, you need not worry. I have no intention of fawning on you or flattering you. I do not doubt that there are ladies enough who are impressed by your title or your looks; let them do the fawning. To me you are merely a clumsy huntsman who kindly shared his meal with me. I know now that you are not injured badly and can get by on your own; tomorrow we shall part ways, and both of us shall enjoy our journey as much as before." I had spoken hotly again; I could not help but feel angry at his assumption that I was as silly as the girls in Tirion. I was not, after all. I was a girl silly enough to insist on insulting the firstborn son of my people's King.

But the King's son smiled instead of being insulted. "All is well then," he said. "And the clumsy huntsman thanks you again for helping him. And for the bread, of course," and he wiped up the remains of fat and juice in his bowl with it. I returned the smile, but I still felt uneasy, and could not shake off that feeling for the rest of the time we spent on the shore of that lake; but I can safely say that I neither fawned nor flattered. We spoke a little more – or rather he spoke, heaping disdain on the councillors and scholars, the craftsmen and dancers of Tirion, while I listened and nodded or tried to defend his victims, ignorant of his attacks. For all I know he slept through most of Telperion's silver hours, although I know that I lay awake for a long time after we had gone to rest.

 

I said that it did not rain on the day that we met, and that is the truth; but we were both woken by rain early the next day. We packed our things hastily and took shelter in the woods, cursing (on his part) and laughing (on mine). "Look," I said, out of breath, when we had reached a huge oak tree whose towering branches kept the rain off, "the Lord Manwë would have taken mercy on the clumsy huntsman, even if I had not come along."

He gave me an odd look while he brushed the wet hair from his face. "But you did come along; why should Manwë still bother to bring the rain?"

I shrugged. "You may not be the only creature in need of water," I said. "He will have his reasons."

He snorted again. He was rather too scornful for my taste. But then I already knew that he was proud, and quick to pass judgement, and I simply ignored it. Soon I would be free to go my own way again, as would he be; the rain, too, would end. I smiled to myself, and glanced at him. He was no longer cursing, but smiling as well, or at least smirk.

We broke our fast on bread and apples; and when the rain ended, we parted.

Our encounter had been friendly, yet I was relieved to take my leave. I walked out of the forest and into the dripping world cheerfully, delighted by the glitter of Treelight on the raindrops on grass and leaves. The land was wide, and mine to discover; and if I at last should grow tired of it, I would have at least one amazing story to tell at home.

 

 

 

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

*The Quenya word for lady, massanië, literaly means "bread-giver". This is consistent with the etymology of the English words lord and lady, which are derived from "bread(loaf)-keeper" (hlafeard) and "bread-kneader" (hlafdige)/ bread-giver (hlafgifu) respectively. In Quenya, "lord" (heru) is not actually related to "bread" in any way (the making, keeping and giving of bread are all the lady's part), but I couldn't resist the pun. I hope that Fëanor, being a mad little linguist, would have felt compelled to make it as well – even without the Old English history.

In the House of Finwë, the bread-making lady would be Indis. It therefore comes as no surprise to Nerdanel that young Fëanor would not habitually eat bread...

Chapter 2

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Chapter 2

 

But I completely forgot to tell the tale when I finally returned home. That may seem strange to you, but truth be told it was just not important to me. I did not turn my steps home until I noticed a desire to see my family again, and to turn my sketches into sculpture; then it took me several days (although I was now walking fast, the beauties of the landscape having grown familiar) to reach my parents' house. By that time my fingers were itching; I could hardly wait to start working, and only reassured my parents that I was well before rushing to the workshop, mimicking the shapes in my sketchbook in clay before even unpacking my bag. Sure enough my parents and their apprentices, not to mention my sisters, asked many questions about my journey that evening, which I answered truthfully. But none of them asked whether I had met anybody on the road, and without anything to remind me of the encounter I did not think of it. Sarnië, my youngest sister, did indeed ask whether I had not felt lonely, out in the uncharted lands all by myself – but the honest answer to that was no, I had not, and that was all it took to answer her question.

 

The journey proved to have been an effective cure of my unrest; my thirst for adventure stilled for the moment and my hunger for news satisfied I could return to my usual life and work without the slightest grudge. Moreover my art profited greatly from it, though I did not even notice that at first. But when I finished my first project – a sculpture of the fox I had watched for a day, captured in stone in that same pose of alert curiosity the animal had taken when, after hours of sketching, I had stretched my legs and it had turned its face towards me, one leg raised, frozen in mid-step – and gifted it to my father, he saw it at once. "Is it truly a sculpture?" he said, his huge, forge-calloused hands stroking the rough sandstone as if to ascertain that it was indeed stone, not flesh and fur. "Yes," I said. "The sandstone is quite good, is it not? I chose it especially for its colour," for it was a very dark variety, more orange than ochre, veined with streaks of truly dark red. Father laughed. "It is, but it's not the sandstone that caused my surprise! Nerdanel, I don't think I ever saw such a lifelike fox in stone. Had you set it in the garden, I would have tried to chase it away from the chicken, and would have wondered why it did not move until I had realised that it was but a sculpture. It is marvellous; it's like you captured the very essence of the fox. How did you do this?"

 

I did not know what to reply; all I could offer were speculations about insights the long observation of the fox, and the many drawings I had made of it in its natural habitat, might have given me. The fox did look very lifelike, certainly more so than my earlier works; I just could not pinpoint what exactly I had done differently. But naturally I was pleased with the praise.

From the remains of that red stone I made a young squirrel for Sarnië – she was then in the habit of hoarding and hiding sweets, and often enough we wondered about red stains on cushions and found that she had hidden cherries underneath, or discovered a rotting pasty under a cupboard where she had forgotten about her hidden treasure. I thought a squirrel was therefore a fitting gift for her, and she was indeed delighted when I handed it to her, although her delight lessened somewhat when she realised that it was not alive. "I thought you'd caught me a real squirrel," she said, looking disappointed. "It looked like you had."

I smiled. "But little one, how would the squirrel feel if I caught it and you kept it in the house?"

"I would love it very much, and cuddle it all the time; surely it would be happy," she said.

"But squirrels love to run and climb on trees. I don't think it would want to be cuddled all the time, and I don't think it would like living in a house," said I. "Besides, it would steal all your sweetmeats." That, at least, seemed to convince her. And the next day the next page of my sketchbook helped me to begin working on a peacock for my other sister, Erenwen, and after that I was planning to create a rose-bush for my mother, who, though everything else in our garden flourished as much as you could wish for, was eternally unlucky with roses.

 

In other words, I kept busy and had little time for story-telling. If it had not been for Erenwen I might have spent the next weeks thinking of nothing but sleeping, eating, doing my chores and sculpting. But Erenwen, dear soul, conspired with my friends (whom I neglected dreadfully in those days, it is true) to abduct me to a ball in Tirion; and they ignored my protests, and laid out my dancing robes, and belaboured me as I worked, and I gave in.

 

Considering the difficulties they had to drag me along, you might get the idea that I did not value their company, or disliked the dances. Neither is true. I loved them dearly, and I also loved dancing. I was not even a bad dancer. It's just that I did not get to do too much dancing. The pretty girls – my sister; my dear friends Ataralassë and Númiel; my sister's friends; everybody, really – were dancing all the time, of course, only missing a set when they needed a drink or some fresh air. I, alas, was less lucky. Oh, I did get asked occasionally, but that usually happened only when too many others were taking a break, or during a dance with changing partners where it did not matter so much who your started the dance with, as sooner or later you would certainly land at the side of the lady you actually meant to lead. Sometimes one of the apprentices would ask me, doubtlessly aiming to please my father. But there was a clear preference for other dancers. I did not blame the young men of Tirion; of course they all wanted to dance with the beautiful girls, not with someone as plain as me with my hammer-worn hands, who never looked quite at ease in my finery. There was a certain joy in watching the others dance, all those beautiful people moving in unison, with twirling robes and cheerful music. I am an artist after all; I can watch and appreciate beauty without needing to be a part of it. Yet I could not help feeling that it wasn't entirely fair.

 

But I had not been to a ball for a long time, so I gave up my resistance and was sufficiently cheerful as we made our way to the park in which the ball was to be held. Long before we got there, we heard the music, the laughter, and the swishing of robes, and then we turned around the last bend and came onto the festival meadow. It was framed by high trees, offering a retreat for the tired (officially) and for lovers who longed for some privacy (inofficially). The trees shadowed it from the light of the Trees, but their branches were hung with multi-coloured paper lanterns competing in colour and splendour with the robes of the dancers. At the far end, the furthest away from the road, the musicians sat and played. The ball was still in its early stages, with the quick, simple dances that enable people to shake off the day's thoughts and works and to get into the festive spirit. Almost everybody was dancing at this point. Later they would need air, or something to drink, or time to exchange news with friends they had not seen in a while; but they were not yet tired out from too much dancing, and thus only those unlucky enough to have gone without a partner stood at the side, condemned to watch their peers' amusement.

 

In one of them I recognised Aimíriel, a former apprentice of my father. I wondered to see her alone, for she had married little more than a year ago; certainly her husband should ask her to dance, if nobody else did? I steered towards her, feeling a little uneasy but nonetheless curious. The others followed me.

"Well met, Aimíriel," I said, eyeing her face; it looked perfectly content, even happy, so I dared to say more. "What happened to your husband?"

She grinned and said, with the dramatic gesturing of an actress performing a scene of great sorrow, "Alas, he left me for a younger woman!" I blinked, but then I saw Palatáro in the dancing throng next to Aimíriel's younger sister, and I grinned as well. We embraced, and Erenwen asked whether Aimíriel often had to lend her husband to her sister. "Only in dancing," Aimíriel said wryly, and we laughed. Erenwen blushed. I could not help but feel some satisfaction at her embarrassment, for I suspected that she was so interested in that point because she feared that, once she had secured a husband, she might have to lend him to me (it was generally agreed among us that she would be married far sooner than I). I thought I had no intention whatsoever to steal her husband, who would doubtlessly be of the vapid (if fashionable) sort anyway. When we had laughed our share, Aimíriel grew earnest again. "Honestly I don't know if I would have let him go already, but I must be careful about those fast, wild dances," and with a conspiratory wink she touched her belly. I gasped. "Aimíriel! Congratulations! How wonderful for you!"  Erenwen and Númiel, Arinseldë and Ataralassë, Helyanwë and Lisanto all joined in their congratulations. "When will it be born?" asked Númiel, and Lisanto asked, "Do you know whether it will be a boy or a girl?" Aimíriel laughed and answered, and when the set was done and Palatáro and Niëninque rejoined us, he got to hear his share of congratulations as well. Erenwen grew bored of the formalities soon enough, and she began to fidget and scan the crowds for other familiar faces. I humoured her, listening to her comments to keep her from disturbing the others, who were still discussing Aimíriel's belly.

 

"Look what a beautiful torc Lintello is wearing! It's not Father's work, is it?"

"I cannot remember seeing him make it, but perhaps he did while I was away?"

"No, no, then I should remember it, and I don't. It really is quite nice, isn't it?"
It was – from what I could recognise, for Lintello was in the middle of a twirling circle – but when I was ready to discuss its workmanship, Erenwen's attention had already found another victim. "Now Serecálo, what was he thinking? That purple robe looks horrible on him." I sighed. It was indeed an unfortunate colour to go with Serecálo's ruddy cheeks and brown hair, but what business of Erenwen's was it? "Perhaps his betrothed loves purple, and he wears it to please her," I suggested. My sister snorted. "How could anyone be pleased when he looks so silly?"
"Perhaps he simply does not care," I said gently, hoping that somebody would ask Erenwen for a dance soon so she would be busy and stop dissembling other people. I loved her dearly, but sometimes I found her embarrassing. Now I heard her sigh. "There's Fëanáro," she said, and sighed again in that dreamy way many young (and even some of the no-longer young, and happily married) women sighed when seeing the King's eldest son. Erenwen, I'm afraid, was one of those ladies I'd had in mind when I told him I wasn't one of them, only a few weeks ago. "At least he's got taste," Erenwen said. "Doesn't he look splendid in those robes?"

"Yes, well," I said, bored, and added without thinking, "and doubtlessly just as splendid without them," and then I realised what I'd said and blushed.

"Nerdanel!" Erenwen squealed, half shocked and half delighted. Our friends stopped their talk and turned their attention to us, and my cheeks grew even warmer. "What did she do?" asked Númiel cheerfully. "Shut up," I told Erenwen, but she ignored me. "She said that Prince Fëanáro might as well go naked," and now my friends' laughter was directed at me. "I did not say it like that," I protested. "I just pointed out that it doesn't really matter what robes he wears." Erenwen smirked. "Yes, unlike in Serecálo's case," she said, and there was more laughter.

"Well, he is a pretty enough fellow," Aimíriel said good-naturedly, understating things for (I assume) the sake of her husband. "So you've taken a fancy on him, eh, Nerdanel?"

"Nonsense," I said, truthfully enough, but they wouldn't believe me.

"Well," Palatáro said, "You can be certain that he'll dance with you – once," and this time I joined in their laughter. It was a well-known fact that Prince Fëanáro was aspiring to have danced with every woman in all of Tirion with the possible exception of his step-mother, and never danced with any woman twice. To what purpose I do not know; maybe he wanted to prove to himself that no woman could resist him?

"Until that time comes," Helyanwë, one of Father's apprentices, said, "would you grace me with a dance, Nerdanel?" I gratefully took his hand and left the silly bunch talking amongst themselves.

 

Helyanwë stayed by my side for more than just the one dance, and then I rejoined Aimíriel. When the musicians took their first break, Númiel brought a pitcher of wine, and Erenwen had organised some goblets. The dancing had obviously been to her satisfaction, for she was smiling broadly. I envied her then – not for the dancing, which had been just as enjoyable, but for her pretty face, even lovelier now that she was a little flushed and some strands of hair had escaped their braids. But those were silly thoughts; there was little point in wishing for a prettier face, for I could hardly take a chisel to my own nose and chin to improve their plain form. I returned her happy smile. Palatáro joined us soon after, having procured lemonade for his pregnant wife, and we toasted each other and chatted animatedly until the musicians took their places again.

 

Now began the somewhat laid-back part of the ball with its more stately dances - without any running and changing of partners. Each of the apprentices dutifully danced one dance with me, but afterwards they sought out prettier girls. Palatáro was my partner for one of the faster dances but dedicated the slower ones to his wife, as he should. Aimíriel was very careful, so at least I had company most of the time. She wanted to hear about my journey and I recounted it in detail, leaving out only my encounter with Fëanáro, which I now remembered – after my earlier careless remark, she would doubtlessly have understood that entirely wrong, and I did not wish to give any more cause for stupid gossip, no matter how funny a story it would have made, the proud Prince imprisoned by a rabbit.

 

I might as well have told it, and if I'd known what was to happen I would have, for he embarrassed me not much later. The musicians had taken another break, and my friends had gathered again, and we had sat down to enjoy another pitcher of wine and some peaches when my sister suddenly stiffened. "He's coming over here," she whispered. "Who?" Lisanto asked, wiping peach juice off his knife with a formerly white handkerchief. "Fëanáro," Erenwen whispered (loud enough for everyone around us to hear, I thought). I followed her gaze, and true enough he was walking in our general direction. I shrugged. "Perhaps he wants to secure Lanyalossë's hand for the next dance," I suggested; Lanyalossë was one of the most beautiful girls I knew, and had almost as many admirers as Fëanáro had. She was kind enough, too, in the disdainful way of the perfect; I didn't have much to do with her unless I needed new dress and met her at her parents' house (her mother was a weaver and her father sewed our clothes), but whenever we spoke, she was perfectly friendly. And she was sitting among her friends not far from our little group. Certainly that was where the Prince was headed.

"But he's danced with her already." Erenwen, it seemed, was keeping track.

"Perhaps he wants to dance with her a second time," I suggested. "Won't that be something!"

"Unfair that would be. We haven't had him yet!" Arinseldë protested. Erenwen agreed, and I grew embarrassed; they were speaking louder now, and the others would surely overhear. Aimíriel, too, took their side. "Don't you know that he has to dance with every woman in Tírion first? While there are yet some missing he can hardly favour one he's already danced with."

"There will always be at least one missing," I said, rolling my eyes, "for I for my part will never dance with him, not even if I spend all evening standing around without a single partner." Most of them laughed, except for Númiel, who looked at me wide-eyed. "But he's so handsome! Why would you say him no?"

"Because Nerdanel is afraid of handsome people," Erenwen quipped, and I gave her an angry glare. "I am not," I said to Númiel. "I would say no because I refuse to be a name on his list. If he has no other reason to dance with me than that I am a woman, and he must lead each woman in dance once, we may as well not dance at all." I said this forcefully, and they were jumping to their foolish conclusions again.

"Oh hoh," Erenwen said, grinning. "So you want him to ask you – for love? For your hand in marriage?" She batted her eyelashes and blew a kiss at me. I gritted my teeth. "Don't be absurd, Erenwen," I said, "I want nothing of him. He's far too conceited for my taste." Not even Aimíriel believed me, although she only patted my shoulder, sympathetically. "Poor Nerdanel," she said, "you have taken a fancy to him." And then we rose because he had passed Lanyalossë's throng and came towards us, and we curtsied because he was, after all, the King's son.

 

"Well met," he said formally, adding, "Nerdanel. Aimíriel, Palatáro…" He stopped, and I knew that he did not know the names of the others, and blushed because he had named me first and I knew the others would jump to further conclusions. We curtsied again, and there was a bit of awkward silence until I realised that Palatáro was dumbstruck, or at any rate not going to introduce our company. I sighed. "Prince Fëanáro," I said, hastily forcing a smile. "May I introduce you to my sister, Erenwen, and my good friends, Númiel and Arinseldë daughters of Númaitë; Niëninque, who happens to be Aimíriel's sister; Ataralassë daughter of Hallantar; Helyanwë son of Ristando, Sailatulco son of Veurotulco and Alcarincë son of Alcaráco, apprentices of my father." He gave all of them a slight bow, adding a dutiful, "Pleased to meet you. I hope you've been having an enjoyable evening so far." I thought he didn't sound particularly pleased nor particularly interested, but Erenwen giggled delightedly anyway. He, horror of horrors, turned back to me. "Nerdanel, might I ask you for the next dance?"

 

I suppose I should just have agreed and got it over with, and maybe I would have – but I could hardly go back on my words to my friends, who were, no doubt, expecting just that. "Oh," I said, trying to think of an excuse and finally taking the most foolish one. "Oh, I am still a little out of breath from the last dances. I think I need a little more rest." I spoke fast as though I were indeed short of breath, and managed an apologetic smile. "Perhaps you want to ask one of my friends instead?"

He studied me for longer than I was comfortable with, and I thought I saw a glint of resentment in his eyes – at being kept from adding another partner to his list, I was sure. "Very well," he finally said, inclining his head to Erenwen. "May I ask you to stand in for your sister, then?"

Erenwen giggled nervously, and I saw Fëanáro's brow crease; then my sister regained her composure, and said, "Of course you may", accepting his proffered hand. She was practically glowing with pride, turning back to see whether we were watching while he led her to the other dancers.

I sat down heavily.

 

Looking back I cannot say why I felt such resentment towards him then. He had never wronged me; he had been sufficiently courteous towards me; he had spoken no offending word yet. Still the thought of so much as touching his hand made me feel nauseous; dancing with him? Unthinkable. I think it was the way other people reacted to him that made me dislike him so much: the sighing, preening, the battling for his attention and his hand in a dance, the deference, the silent awe. I thought then that he delighted in these displays, that he sought them, dressing prettily so more maidens would swoon at his sight, or agree to one dance – on single dance – with him. I did not want to be thought one of them, and so perhaps I erred on the other side. While he was not perfect, I suppose he was not as evil as I made him.

 

I thought him very evil, however, when he returned with a grinning Erenwen and asked whether I had recovered my breath. I shook my head, told him to ask Númiel, and felt thoroughly miserable. For what if he had danced with all my friends, and still insisted on dancing with me?

 

And of course he did. "I did not see you dancing all that much," he observed crossly. "You cannot possibly be so exhausted."

"Actually, I have a headache," I lied. I was angry now. So he had been watching me, had he? What business of his was it? Perhaps I should just have told him that I would not dance with him, ever, but that would have felt too impolite. He was, after all, a prince. If only he got the hint, I thought. "I think I should go home and rest," I told him.

The resentment made way for a look of feigned concern. "Shall I bring you home?"

My eyes widened, I noticed that, and I hoped he would take it as a sign of that inordinate awe other people displayed around him. Strange, is it not? Though I hated him, I would not have him think me impolite. "Oh no, sir, pray do not trouble yourself. I'll be fine. I am sure I am just tired."

"It is not right that you should walk alone when you are not feeling well."

"It is all right, it is all right!" My voice sounded shrill to my own ears; I felt ashamed of myself. Why should he care? Why could he not leave me alone? "My sister will walk me home, I will be quite all right." Erenwen gave me a surprised and somewhat hurt look, but by now I was feeling distraught enough to truly develop a headache, and so she rose with a deep sigh, and said that of course she would take me home. (And she did; although on the way home she gushed about what a wonderful dancer he was, and how beautiful, and how gracefully he moved. She would not understand why I had not allowed him to accompany me home. I do not quite understand it myself. It was doubtlessly an honour, and it would have made all those sighing, preening maidens green with envy.)

He finally gave in. "Very well," he said, bowing to us – very courtly again. "Next time, then."

"Yes, yes," I said hastily, without thinking, and grimaced in dismay at that foolish promise.

"I hope you feel better soon," he said, perhaps mistaking my grimace for one of pain. "Good night", he told the others, and marched off. I sighed with relief. Now I could have stayed longer – the air felt fresher, the breeze cooler with him gone. But I had fooled him, and frightened Erenwen; I had to continue playing ill lest I be proven a liar. So we made our way home. I was taciturn, she bubbling with excitement. She was proud and cheerful, and I was confused. I do not know what I was thinking. All I knew was that I would have to avoid all dances until further notice.

---

Chapter End Notes

For anyone interested in the kind of dances I'm having in mind for the balls of Tirion: A friend and I are working on a kind of Playford for Middle-earth.

As that is nowhere near completion or presentability, however: The fast dances Nerdanel mentions are inspired by circular folk dances like today's Sciarazula, Ungaresca etc., whereas the slow, stately dances are inspired by Italian quattrocento dances - very stately indeed, and very complicated even once you've mastered the basic steps. In my personal ethnography of the Noldor, actual Playford-style contredanses only really came into fashion after the Flight, although I assume that their roots would also lie in Aman - at a later point in time, however. They'll be danced by the children of this story's characters. ;)

There, that was some really random information, wasn't it? 

 Nerdanel is being rather judgemental here, I fear. This may be partly because I feel that "understanding the minds of others rather than mastering them" is not necessarily as great as it sounds. It requires quite a lot of interpretation and jugement of other people's words and actions, and that can quite easily go wrong. I mean, surely we all know how easy it is to misinterprete someone's actions. Even wise Nerdanel would surely occasionally have erred in her "understanding" of others' minds...

Chapter 3

Read Chapter 3

 

Chapter 3

 

I made Erenwen promise that she would not mention that embarrassing evening to our parents or to anyone else of our acquaintance, hoping that it would soon be forgotten by those who had been present. She promised indeed, and as far as I knew she kept that promise, but I could not stop her from teasing me in private. Part of it was probably genuine puzzlement – she did not understand why I had refused to dance with Prince Fëanáro, nor why I did not wish to attend any future balls. She pestered me about it whenever I was not working on my sculptures. It was not often, for I had delved into my work as though my life depended on it, starting several projects at once – I had ideas enough, and the time to experiment, too. Erenwen had her own projects to mind; she was still in the busiest phase of her apprenticeship, studying painting and calligraphy under the tutelage of our mother and Tanárion the scribe. Nonetheless she used every chance to pester me, and she got more such chances than I liked. There were too many household chores that we had always done together, and I could hardly ask to change the schedule now without offering an explanation. So I had to listen to Erenwen’s teasing and advice while doing the dishes, weeding the vegetable garden, sweeping the hall: An additional chore on top of the usual.

“And he’s so pretty! I really don’t know what you were thinking,” she said while we were setting the table one day, more than two weeks after the event. “And a good dancer, too.” She gave a wistful sigh.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to take my place when he asks me again.”

Erenwen sighed again. “If only. But I doubt it works like that. At any rate I think you’ve really missed out. You shouldn’t have passed up on that chance. He probably won’t ask you again.”

“You think so?” I said, and couldn’t keep the hopeful tone out of my voice.

She gave me a hard stare. “Sis, I really don’t want to hurt you, but I doubt he’s going to run after you.”

I was not hurt at all; instead I felt relieved. What she had said made sense. I was probably worrying unduly. Why should Fëanáro bother, after all? I had refused him once, and he was proud; surely he did not care to have the shock of having a woman say no to him repeated. What had made me think that he’d ask me again? These thoughts cheered me up until I remembered our parting words.

“He said he wanted to dance with me the next time we met,” I said, sighing. “And I said yes, for some reason. I think I really wasn’t feeling well that evening.”

Erenwen rolled her eyes. “No, you really weren’t. But perhaps he was just being polite.”

“Annoying is what he was.”

“Ah, don’t worry. He’ll probably have forgotten all about it.”

She had a point, and I felt relieved again; but then I shook my head.

“What if he won’t take no for an answer? I’m a blemish on his list, after all…”

Laughing, Erenwen said, “Well, there are enough other ladies he hasn’t danced with yet, so you can assume you’re not his topmost priority. Why don’t you simply come along to the next ball so you’ll find out?”

“Erenwen! What if he does ask me again?”

“Well, then you say yes, and dance with him, and that’ll be that. Honestly I don’t see why you’re making so much of a fuss.”

“I told you that I can’t – not after what I said to our friends!”

“What a dilemma. I am certain they’d understand.”

Yes, they probably would, I thought. “Understand – but they’d mock me nonetheless.”

Erenwen snorted. “Well, if that’s enough to deter you from dancing, more’s the pity. I still think you worry without reason. He may yet leave you in peace, and you may yet dance with impunity.” And with that our conversation ended, for the first apprentices had returned from the forge for supper, and soon enough our parents and the rest of the household joined them and distracted us both.

 

- - -

 

Despite Erenwen’s assurances I did not go to the next ball, claiming when I was asked that I was on the brink of finishing a sculpture. And I made some headway on the peacock for Erenwen indeed, although, as the evening progressed and my hands grew heavy from the day’s work, I felt a little regretful about being in the studio alone while all the others were amusing themselves.

But in the next morning I learned that I had been right to stay away from the dances. I did not see Erenwen at breakfast – but she actually skipped her morning’s work in order to drop in on me. “You’ll never guess what happened,” she said by way of greeting, breathless from running.

“What happened, then? Judging by your grin and your blush it must be something good.”

“Did I blush? Oh my.” She brought her hands to her cheeks, there doubtlessly felt the tell-tale heat, and let them sink. “Anyway, it is something good indeed – and I’m saying that even though it forces me to admit that I was wrong.” She leaned in close and whispered in a conspiratorial manner, “Fëanáro did enquire after you, and he didn’t seem happy at all when I told him that you were too busy to come.”

I was silent for a while; what should I say? I hugged myself as though I were cold before I noticed what I was doing. I tried to laugh it off. “My goodness! Who would have thought he’d be so desperate to fill his list! Well, that settles that. Now don’t you have an assignment to complete, or something?”

She shrugged as though her assignments really didn’t matter very much to her. “I do, but I thought I’d tell you the news first.”

“Well, that’s kind of you. But if that’s all…”

“Oh, it isn’t all at all! I told you it was something good, didn’t I? This was just the introduction.”

For some silly reason I suddenly felt afraid. Erenwen leaned even closer as if she wanted to kiss me; all I could see were her eyes: large, brown, and bright with happiness. I tried not to frown. “Well, since I’ll never guess, why don’t you tell me?” I said. The corners of her eyes creased, and I knew that if I could see her lips I’d see them curved in an absurd smile.

“Well, you’d said that I was welcome to take your place, should he ask for you again, remember?” she said.

“Yes. So?”

“So I told him you’d said that.”

I groaned. “You told him? In so many words?”

“Well, I put it a little differently. I said I was standing in for you, and I said it so he’d know it was a joke, but.” She made a dramatic little pause; and then she no longer managed to whisper but half-shouted, triumphantly: “He asked me for another dance!”

 

I don’t know why I didn’t feel happy. Erenwen clearly was, and I should have shared her joy. For my own sister to be so singled out, that was great news, was it not? So far as I knew she was the first woman who had danced with him more than once. To be honest the prince had never actually announced that he would dance with no-one twice, but it had so far been a rule to which he seemed to keep himself. And now: Erenwen! Probably she was the talk and envy of all the fashionable young ladies by now. I should have been thrilled for her. Yet I wasn’t.

I suppose I may have been a little disappointed that he had not been more perseverant, that he had accepted the proxy without hesitation; but certainly that should have been no surprise. In fact I should have been glad to be rid of him so quickly, both my and his pride unharmed! What reason did I have to pine? Surely I was not jealous of Erenwen!

 

I managed a smile eventually, and put more enthusiasm into my voice than I felt. “Erenwen! That’s brilliant news! What an honour for you!”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “How envious Lanyalossë will be, and Morniël and the others!”

She seemed so overcome with excitement that I thought it advisable to caution her. “Don’t make too much of it, Erenwen, or you’ll be setting yourself up for disappointment.”

She clucked her tongue. “Oh, I know, I know. It will all come to nothing. I am no fool, Nerdanel.” She sighed. “But let me enjoy my little triumph for a while! And truly he is so beautiful, I count myself blessed to have held his hand more than once. How you can be blind to his charms I will never understand. I wonder whether you’ve ever actually looked at him.”

 

I snorted. “I’ve seen as much of him as I could ever wish to,” I said, recalling that day by the lake, his naked body in the mingled light of evening. Now as then my hands moved involuntarily, as if they, too, recalled the shape and longed to reproduce it. I clenched them to fists.

Erenwen, who did not know my thoughts, must have believed that I clenched them in anger. “I can’t believe that. No woman who ever saw him could possibly resist him," she said.

I wondered whether I should finally tell her about my chance encounter with the Prince, but again I decided against it. Her mind already was too full of him; it would not do to add to her obsession. “I should hope there’s more than just his looks that make a man irresistible, or not,” I admonished Erenwen instead. “An ugly but honest man would be indefinitely preferable to that pretty player, who only wants to make me another figure on his list of exploits. Give me the ugliest you can think of - as long as he is serious and intelligent, and asks me for love, not sport, I’d gladly dance with him and more.”

“Oh,” Erenwen quipped, “but would an intelligent man ask you for love?”

 

She did not mean to hurt me, I knew. She never did. Surely it was an innocent joke, and I had invited it by criticising her. She had told me that she wasn’t stupid, and I still had patronised her, spoiling her joy. She deserved some little revenge, I told myself, and swallowed my anger. I could not bring myself to laugh, but I could snort disdainfully.

“Indeed, probably he wouldn’t. Well, I feel disinclined to marry anyway. All the young men here are so tedious.”

“He isn’t,” Erenwen insisted. “And I don’t know about serious, but he must be intelligent, too. Remember that he is studying with Aulë, who does not teach fools, prince or not!”

“Would that Aulë kept him at his work, then, instead of letting him dance!”

Erenwen studied me earnestly then. “You truly hate him, don’t you?”

I scowled. “I don’t hate him, I just don’t care for him, and yet I am constantly forced to hear about him! ‘Oh, he is so beautiful’, ‘oh, he is such a good dancer’, ‘oh, he is so intelligent’. Well, maybe he is - but above all he’s overrated.”

 

Erenwen finally saw fit to change the topic. “Well, you are not normally adverse to beauty,” she said, indicating my unfinished work. “That peacock is splendid. If it weren’t marble-white one might believe it were alive – like it would fan its tail any second! Will you paint it when it is done?”

I looked at the peacock again. I would have to put some more work into the plumage, I noticed now that I was less tired; it did not look soft nor light enough yet. Erenwen was too easily impressed. And of course I still had to give it feet; so far it seemed to grow out of the rock. Still, even in its unfinished state I thought it looked better as it was than it would if I painted it, no matter how realistically.

I shook my head. “No, I think not. I think that would ruin it.”
”Pity,” Erenwen said. “It would look truly alive then.”

“Maybe I’ll give it eyes of ruby - then you can claim that it’s an albino,” I suggested, and she laughed. “Yes, do! That would be quite an oddity,” she said, and then she gave me a wry glance. “Like you.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yes, yes, and now I lag half a day behind, but I just had to tell you – even though you’re an awful spoilsport. By the bye, have you seen that Father put your fox in the front yard?”

I hadn’t. As I hadn’t left our grounds in the past week, I had not set foot in the front yard either.

“Well, he has,” said Erenwen. “You should go and have a look; it’s quite startling.”

With that, she finally left me.

 

And I felt cold and lonely. I stared at my clenched hands, at my tools, at the marble peacock. I was tempted to smash it to pieces, folding my arms as a precaution until my bout of anger passed. I knew that I would get no work done here today, and with a sigh I tidied my workplace and left the studio. Perhaps my father had some work for me in the forge, either helping him directly or supervising one of the newer apprentices. I was still an apprentice myself, being not yet ready for the final examinations, but Father gladly employed me as an assistant teacher when my time allowed it. He maintained that the best way of remembering the basics of any craft was teaching it, and indeed I had found teaching just as helpful as practicing – sometimes more so, for sometimes I had not realised why something was done in a certain way – it just was – until someone made a mistake that illustrated nicely why it was not done in another way. Today I would not get on with my own projects, but I might yet turn it into a successful day by helping someone else with their work.

 

I took a detour to the front yard first, however, to see where my fox had gone. I did not find it immediately. As we lived a good way outside the city, we had a lot of room around our house, so what we called our front yard might well have passed for a proper garden within the city walls - as far as space was concerned. But we had put a lot of thought and effort into making it look half-wild, so travellers would not find the transition from forest road to garden too jarring. We had put some sculptures among the shrubbery to give people who came to commission a statue a first impression of what they could expect, and we had tiled the path with cream-coloured stones, but the rest was all untrimmed growth. There was a grove of wild plum trees and a hedge of dog-roses (the only roses my mother got to grow at all) and brambles, there were climbing vines and wisteria in the trees and water-lilies and rush-grass around the pond; there were shrubs with many-coloured blossoms lining the path to our door, and chamomile, juniper bushes and small willow trees to make remedies for the most common illnesses. City folk often believed that our front yard was entirely untamed, ignorant of our constant battles against brambles and nettles and other plants that threatened to spread everywhere and suffocate everything else. In truth, keeping it all in check while still making it look wild and natural was as much work as was keeping the kitchen and the flower garden behind the house in order, and far more work than the fruit orchard.

My father had cunningly put the fox amongst the bushes near the pond, clearly visible from the path but not easily identifiable as a creature of stone. Even I, who should have known, was in the first second surprised that a fox should come so close to the house; then, having tricked myself, I laughed. It looked as though the fox had snuck up on the house, and then been startled by a sound on the path. I was pleased with the effect; I don't think I could have made the sculpture any better if I'd known it would be put in this place.

 

My curiosity satisfied, I made my way to the forge, welcomed by heat and hammerfalls. Father looked up in surprise when I entered. He stood at the anvil with Helyanwë, who nodded in greeting. They both appeared quite absorbed in their work, but Father smiled nonetheless. “Nerdanel! Have you finished another marvellous animal, then?”

I grimaced and shook my head. “Not yet, and I don’t think I’ll do any good there today. I feel a little uninspired. Can I help you instead?”

“One moment,” he said. “Helyanwë, will you re-heat that, please? We’ll have to bend it a bit further, but it’s cooled down too much.” Helyanwë returned the piece they’d been working on to the furnace.

Father wiped his forehead, smearing sweat and soot on his brow. “There we go. You couldn’t have picked a better time, dear – we’re quite swamped with this chandelier that King Ingwë commissioned. I’d like to have it finished before the next feast-day, and I need Helyanwë to help me, so I’ve set the other apprentices to dull routine exercises. Perhaps you could take a look whether they’ve grown tired of twisting wires yet, and come up with something more interesting for them to do? I’m sure I wouldn’t be the only one grateful for that.”

“Yes, certainly,” I said, smiling. “I’ll think of something. Good luck with that chandelier!”

“Thank you, dearest. Sorry I am so curt. – Helyanwë, that should be enough!” Helyanwë took the arm of the chandelier out of the fire and brought it back to the anvil while I made my way towards the workshop. Already the hot air had driven away the cold I’d felt earlier, and my mood had recovered from Erenwen’s thoughtless remark. Father’s apprentices expressed their relief at seeing me although I made them work hard, and that, too, was gratifying. Aside from a short break for lunch I was busy in the workshop all day.

 

Father had more time for talk when we had cleaned up and gathered around the table for our evening meal. "Did you see your fox in the garden?" he asked me when everybody was busy eating.

"I did," I replied with a smile. "You've chosen a good place for it."

"Maybe not," Father said. "Already we've had three warnings about the supposed danger to our chicken."

"One was mine," admitted Lisanto, one of Mother's apprentices, to the laughter of all. "Well, nobody told me! I thought there really was a fox sneaking about the house."

"I cannot blame him," said my mother. "If I had not been forewarned I would have thought the same."

I could not help but be proud, but I was also embarrassed to be praised in front of everybody. "Well, you have to be prepared for all kinds of sculptures around a sculptor's house," I said somewhat lamely. Father shook his head.

"Not that kind of sculpture. You've surpassed your masters," he said. "Perhaps it is time to take your final exams in this field? Not in smithcraft perhaps, not yet; but I doubt there's anything we – or Carnildo, for that matter – can still teach you about sculpture." Carnildo was my other sculpting tutor: In those days we all had two teachers at least, so any over-ambition or partiality on the side of one would be balanced (hopefully) by the other's prudence.

 

"No," I said quickly, terrified by the suggestion, and half-angry that Father had made it before the assembled apprentices. He always did that, reasoning that everybody was relaxed and at ease during supper, that the day's work and the evening's wine lulled people's doubts and made even rivals look at each other more kindly. Normally I saw no mistake with that policy; but then normally I wasn't the one singled out before the entire household. I hastily filled my mouth with food so I could not be asked to speak. But eventually I had chewed and swallowed meat and peas, and Father was still watching me.

"Why not, Nerdanel? I daresay you are quite ready. Remember that you do not need to be perfect in order to be allowed to take the exam – though I cannot think of any sculpture, by anyone, that could best your fox. It just serves to confer upon you the title of master craftswoman, and to make it generally known that you are no longer an apprentice, but a craftswoman in your own right. You could still continue improving, if that is possible, afterwards. And you could take on apprentices of your own."

"No," I said again. "I am much too young, Father! Whoever heard of an underage master of crafts?"

 

"You are almost of age, dear," my mother reminded me. So I could expect no help from that quarter, I thought grimly. "And your father is quite right; you are ready. I assure you Aulë will not count the missing years, but your merits."

Just then I was convinced that I had no such merits whatsoever. The mere thought of having my craft and work examined by Aulë made my stomach turn into a lump of ice; suddenly the smells of the food made me feel nauseous. I pushed my plate away. "I really don't think I'm up to that," I said weakly. Helyanwë gave me a lopsided sympathetic smile, and I knew that he saw himself in my position. It was a question of a few months only until my father would bring up the topic of exams with Helyanwë, here, at the dinner-table. His sympathy was some small consolation.

Father, too, saw my discomfort. "If you absolutely think you're not ready, nobody is going to force you to finish your degree ," he said gently. "But I think that it's something you should consider. Why don't you show Master Carnildo one of your projects when you're done, and see what he says? That doesn't commit you to anything, and it will give you a second opinion – maybe one you'll trust more than that of your partial parents." He gave me a reassuring smile, but I could not feel reassured.

"I'd second Father's opinion," Erenwen said, "if you thought I was any less partial."

Alcarincë, too, spoke up. Like Helyanwë, he was likely to finish his apprenticeship soon, but unlike Helyanwë he apparently did not find the thought daunting. Perhaps it was his age that let him look at the prospect of exams without fear; after all he was seven years older than I. Or maybe just didn't find the thought of my examination daunting, and his own would be a different matter altogether?

"Perhaps I am a little less partial, Nerdanel? Yet my advice would be the same."

I glared at him and at Erenwen, but it was Father whom I addressed. "I'd much rather take the exams in sculpting and smithcraft both at once."

Father tilted his head, frowning. "Then you will have to do twice the work in the same time. Splitting it up would give you more leisure to complete your assignments."

 

He was right, of course, but I could not imagine bringing up the courage to face an examination by Aulë and his Maiar more than once. Much better to have twice the work, I thought, than to have twice the anxiety! But I did not want to discuss my nerves in front of all the apprentices. So I nodded my head, slowly, and sighed. "All right, I'll think about it." I could not muster the strength to fake enthusiasm.

Father reached out across the table to squeeze my hand. "That's all I ask. You'll know best what you want."

With that, conversation finally turned to less distressing things – the chandelier for Ingwë, tomorrow's chores, the latest play Sailatulco and Lindanolvion had seen in Tirion. As everyone's attention wandered away from me my stomach unclenched, but my appetite did not return. Although I had managed to escape having to agree to anything just now, I knew that it was only a matter of time until the question would be raised again. I would have to take the exams eventually, I knew; although I was perfectly happy to assist my parents and had neither need nor desire to be 'a craftswoman in my own right', as Father had put it, I knew that this was not enough, not on the long run. But the idea of ending my comfortable subsistence so soon, so suddenly, was too terrifying to consider. No matter how much I'd think about it, I couldn't imagine that I'd find it within me to follow Father's advice anytime soon.

Chapter 4

I meant to be much further along with the story at this point - but somehow things that appear as brief keywords on my plot outline turn into full chapters in the execution. O.ó I am beginning to suspect that this will end up much, much longer than planned.

Read Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

After that conversation it took a while until I dared to return to my sculptures. I kept the apprentices busy in the forge so Father could finish his work on the chandelier, and I helped my mother to grind the pigments used to mix colours for painting and calligraphy, and accompanied her and her students to the clay-pits to bring home new clay for pottery and modelling, and I weeded the pumpkin patch and cut the brambles back, and I tidied the room my sisters and I shared. All these were necessary efforts (especially the latter), and I comfortably convinced myself that I really didn’t have the time to think about such selfish things as examinations.

 

When a week had passed I finally entered the studio again. The marble peacock stared at me with its empty stone eyes, and I decided that I would really give it eyes of ruby, simply to see the effect. First, however, there was the matter of its all-too-stony plumage to take care of. I experimented on the clay model with chisels of different sizes and shapes until it looked softer to the eye (though it remained stone to the touch; but that, I supposed, could not be helped). Then I had to remember just how I'd managed to bring that to pass, and had to apply that new-found knowledge to the actual statue, which took another two days. One more day was needed to work on its feet and claws and the pedestal on which it stood, which I wanted to look like a patch of dry ground, lumps of earth, fallen leaves, pebbles and all. This was a dancing-day, conveniently, so I could again avoid going to town.

I half-feared that Erenwen would bother me with foolish stories about Fëanáro the following day, but this time she mercifully stayed away. So now I had time to take care of the peacock’s eyes.

 

This turned out to be more difficult than expected for several reasons. The first problem I really should have anticipated, the state of the sculpture hindering my plans: As it was already balanced precariously on its two thin legs, and as the head with its beak and small feather-crown was already fully finished and moreover set upon a long and thin neck, I would have to be extremely careful in order not to ruin the whole thing. The chances of successfully removing such small chunks of stone without breaking anything else if my chisel slipped or I struck it too forcefully were extremely low, I knew. Everybody knew; it was beginners’ lore, really, but I had been carried away and look where it had taken me. Of course there were ways to put a broken sculpture back together, but it would mean additional work, and the overall effect would never be quite the same. I was angry with myself: I really should have known not to plan any changes on the head after finishing the rest of the statue. The easiest way out would have been to simply forego the ruby eyes, of course. But now that I had envisaged the finished statue with glowing red eyes instead of dull white, I could no longer be content without them. After much nail-biting and hand-wringing I decided to try.

 

This was when I encountered the second problem. Even when I had gathered the courage, when I had the chisel in my hand, when I was ready to begin, something held me back. I found it impossible, at first, to set my chisel underneath the peacock's stone eyelids and, with a strong (but not too strong) stroke cut it from its stone face to cleave hollows in which to set the rubies. My own eyes hurt in empathy at the mere idea of what I was about to do. “It is just a statue, silly,” I told myself – aloud, too, hoping that I would believe it when I heard it spoken. “It’s a rock, a lifeless, painless rock! It’s not a real animal! These are not real eyes! You of all people should know!” I gripped the chisel again - and turned away again. I don’t know how long it took until I could finally bring myself to bring that chisel to use. Perhaps the sculpture had turned out too realistic after all. Or, more likely, my mind was just being over-anxious.

 

It was a nerve-wrecking afternoon’s work, but somehow – I have no idea how – I managed, against all odds, to make hollows where the peacock’s eyes should be. Although the actual chopping and hammering I had done had by no means been exerting, I was breathing hard when I was done, and my muscles hurt from clenching and tensing as though I had been carrying big chunks of rock around all day. Still, I had succeeded in something I had thought almost impossible, so I went to sleep exhausted but proud.

 

Making the new eyes was much easier. I used garnets after all, thinking rubies too wasteful, and made two perfectly round spheres that I set in the marble hollows.

For the rest of the day I decided I had deserved myself some rest, so instead of doing something useful like helping my parents or starting a new project, I played around with the red clay we used to make small-scale models for planning sculptures. But I did not do any planning that afternoon; instead I formed the clay into wild flowing and twisting shapes, like brambles or wind-swept strands of hair or maybe like flickering flames, but not exactly recognisable as either. I did not plan to make brambles or hair or flames, anyway. I did not truly think about what I was doing. But I enjoyed working with the soft, yielding clay; it made a nice change from rock, which is hard and does not forgive mistakes. A mistake in clay can always be smoothed out with a little water and a little pressure; and if the result is not satisfying, why, you can start over and turn the same lump of clay into something new. So I let my palms and fingers do what they wanted. I quite liked the abstract thing that came out of it. Although it was abstract and unrecognisable, the shape was pleasing, and I thought that that, too, was a virtue, although of course the truth of it was that I had been wasting my time.

 

When evening came I got myself a sack barrow - the peacock was too heavy to carry – and wheeled the sculpture outside and to the garden. I waylaid Erenwen when she came out to fetch water to fill the washing basins, and showed her the finished peacock.

She broke into a broad grin. “You did give it red eyes! Brilliant!”

“Yes, I thought it would look more lifelike after all.”

“It does! Oh, it’s beautiful! It looks so real – I would not be at all surprised if it started walking around, and picking at the grass!”

“And screech,” I said gravely. There were peafowl in Yavanna’s gardens, and the din they made at the mingling of the lights was unbelievable – loud, keen cries that echoed off the mountains and, for some reason, sounded desperately sad, as if the birds didn’t understand the beauty of the softer light and didn’t know that it would grow strong again soon enough.

Erenwen laughed. “And screech, yes. It’s pretty enough to be forgiven some screeching.”

I almost commented on her regrettable tendency to forgive a pretty creature anything, but bit it back at the last moment. I did not want to hurt her. On the contrary – I had made her a present, hadn’t I?

“If you like it, it’s yours,” I said, smiling all the broader to drive away the ugly thought. She stared at me.

“You’re joking, right?” she said.

“Not in the least. I made it for you – unless you don’t want it.”

The water-buckets clattered to the ground, and I found myself enveloped in a tight hug. “Oh, Nerdanel, of course I want it, it’s beautiful.” She stared at me again. “What did I do to deserve such a gift?”

I clucked my tongue. “You’re my sister, silly,” I said, and she hugged me again and planted kisses on both my cheeks. “You should’ve made something small, like Sarnië’s squirrel. This is too much – you should sell it to the King, or gift it to the lady Yavanna!”

 

I laughed. “What would they want with it? King Finwë would laugh, I daresay, if I offered my services to him. He can ask any master sculptor that he wishes if he wants a carved rock for his garden! And Yavanna needs no animals of stone. You, on the other hand, are my poor little sister, and have to make do with my craft – and can’t escape it.”

Erenwen shook her head and clasped my hands, studying my face earnestly. “Oh Nerdanel, you are either jesting or blind. King Finwë would be hard put to find another sculptor who could’ve made something quite like this. However did you manage to make that delicate crown? And the feathers!”

I felt my cheeks grow warm, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “See?” I said, trying to laugh it off. “From you at least I get some flattery, and count myself well-paid. Now, where shall we put it? The front yard, too?”

“Oh no,” she protested, accepting the diversion. “It’d disappear in the undergrowth there, and besides I can’t see the front yard from our room. Put it on the lawn near the window where I can watch it – I expect it’ll run away soon!”

We found a spot on the lawn near the apple trees that we thought would do well, although we had no time to see whether the view from our window was any good: Erenwen was late with the water now, and I had to hurry to bring the sack barrow away and help setting the table.

 

Erenwen would not speak of anything but the sculpture I’d made for her at the dinner table, and when the meal was over and Father had allowed us to rise, she rushed outside to show the apprentices what she was talking about. I stayed behind to avoid the embarrassment of hearing their reactions, and helped Father clean up. He was unusually silent.

“A peacock, Nerdanel?” he said eventually. “Don’t you think that’s a little cruel?”

I frowned at him across the table. “Cruel?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I certainly don’t need to tell you that, beautiful though they are, peacocks are generally associated with vanity and perhaps a little foolishness, or do I? It seems somewhat cruel to give your own sister a gift that that suggests that you think her vain, or foolish.”

He had a point, of course; I hadn’t chosen a peacock for Erenwen by coincidence. But I’d meant it in a harmless way, the way that she told me I was no beauty or the way that I told her she was silly. I said as much while we carried the used plates to the kitchen. “Besides,” I added, “it’s not like every sculpture I make must needs say something about the person I made it for!”

Father sighed. “A squirrel for Sarnië, and a fox for me; the idea that you made a peacock for Erenwen because you thought it fitted her especially well does not seem too far-fetched under these circumstances.”

Father took the pot of hot water off the fire, and mixed hot water with cold until one could bear to touch it; then he began to wash the dishes. I took a towel and dried the clean plates he handed to me. “But foxes are said to be sly and secretive, yet you took no offense,” I pointed out.

He gave a small smile. “Well, I assumed you were alluding to my nickname with the fox, and not to any base qualities I may or may not possess. I am not so certain about your motivation this time. I know that Erenwen sometimes behaves in a somewhat silly manner, but you mustn’t forget that she is much younger than you. It’s normal to be a little silly at that age, and overly concerned with one’s beauty and charms. Not everybody can pass from childhood to maturity at your speed, you know.”

I looked away, ashamed. “I assure you I did not mean to insult Erenwen,” I said softly. What if she, too, thought that I’d given her the peacock in order to tell her she was vain and silly? I didn’t want to hurt her, annoying though she could be! The thought that she might think my gift motivated by malice was enough to make me want to cry. “I love her, and though I admit that I believed a peacock would suit her well, it was still not meant to hurt her. I only wanted to make a gift that fit her.” My hands shook a little; I quickly put the plates away lest I’d drop them.

 

Father put a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Ah, now. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t mean your sister any harm – not do harm myself! Please understand I am not criticising your work – I’m sure you delivered something splendid, just as you did with the fox or the squirrel. But I was worried that you wanted to, how shall I say, put Erenwen in her place with it. And that seemed rather cruel to me. I’d hope we didn’t raise a vicious daughter.”

“You didn’t,” I said, and hated my voice for quivering. He pulled me into a hug. “No. Of course we didn’t.” He still held me close. “I am sorry for suspecting you wrongfully. And perhaps Erenwen won’t be as foolish as I was, and will be happy with her gift as she should be. I’m sorry, dear; I did not mean to hurt you.” I nodded, dully, and so we were reconciled; but I did not sleep well that night, and brooded over my work and Father’s words. He would not, after all, suspect me of cruelty wholly without reason. Had I done anything that suggested that I thought myself so superior to Erenwen that I’d want to ‘put her in her place’, as Father had put it? One or two instances did spring to mind. Would Erenwen suspect the same, then?

 

I spent a miserable night awake (though I pretended to be asleep when Erenwen got up early), and instead of working I took to the forest the following day, avoiding the garden where the peacock would tread on my conscience, avoiding people who might mention it, and avoiding above all Erenwen or my parents (though I’d left a note saying that I was going for a walk, so they would not worry). I came back home late, very late, when the others were already asleep. When I came to my bedroom, I found a painted leather binder on my pillow and in it three sheets of manuscript.

 

My favourite poem is the one Rúmil wrote about how, at the end of the Great March, our people reached the bliss of Valinor and passed through the Calacirya and saw for the first time the light of the two Trees, brighter and more beautiful than anything they’d known or imagined before. It’s a very powerful and very moving poem, I think, and no-one has quite Rúmil’s way with words.

The parchment sheets contained just that poem in very fine calligraphy, illustrated and illuminated. Our bedroom faced away from the Trees and was never well-lit at night, so I couldn’t see all that much, but the illustrations seemed painstakingly detailed and gloriously beautiful even in the dim light, and I could hardly wait for the morning when I could study them properly. On the final page, almost hidden in the margin decoration, Erenwen had signed her name.

I surmised that she was not offended or angry if she left me such a gift. That night I slept much better, and with the words of Rúmil’s poem in my dreams.

 

---

Chapter End Notes

 

I suspect "Rúmil's" poem will get written at some point, though I'm afraid neither I nor the English language can do it justice.

 

Chapter 5

Plot is finally on track again. Yay.

Read Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

The topic of examinations had not been raised again, but I suddenly found it dwelling on my thoughts nonetheless. Perhaps, I caught myself thinking, Father and the others were right after all; perhaps I was ready to take that step? Had I not created three sculptures now that had made people marvel how well-executed, how lifelike they were? Had I not, in belatedly changing the peacock’s eyes, accomplished something considered nigh impossible even by my father? Of course it had been sheer luck that I’d succeeded, but it had taken a skilled hand to qualify for such luck in the first place!

Before I even admitted it to myself I began to plan my final project for Master Carnildo, the one that would make him burst into cheers of delight, the one that I would then bring to Aulë to show that I was indeed ready. Inspiration had come easily when gifts for my family had been concerned, but now it abandoned me. Another animal? But which? And might that not be thought presumptuous, to bring a beast of stone to the halls of Aulë and Yavanna? And what stone, anyway? It should not be too heavy, for I’d have to bring the sculpture to Carnildo’s house in Tirion, and after he approved of it, to Aulë’s halls. For the same reason it could not be anything too large to carry on horseback. I could, of course, work in Aulë’s halls from the start, and ask Carnildo to judge my work there. Several of Father’s apprentices had done just that. But that would mean asking Aulë’s permission in the first place, so he’d know about my aspirations and expect to examine me soon; and what if I then failed to produce anything appropriate? No, I wanted to keep my attempts secret until I was fairly certain that I'd succeed.

I leafed through my sketchbook again, and found nothing useable. I looked at the strange forms I had shaped of clay, and thought about something abstract, and again could think of nothing feasible. I paced the studio up and down without any idea, and when I grew anxious that I should be seen I withdrew to the forest. I tried to sit still on a rock and wait for inspiration to hit me, for perhaps another animal showing up for me to study and capture in my sketchbook, but none came by. Perhaps they sensed my agitation.

 

Still, that day’s excursion proved fruitful after all. Ironically I had given up hoping that inspiration should strike, and was on my way back home, when I suddenly knew what to do. I suppose it was watching the sparrows fly that did it, for suddenly I saw the perfect scene before my mind’s eye: a small pool with three small birds, bathing or drinking. A common enough scene, nothing exciting, I admit that; making a sculpture of was maybe a strange idea, for anyone who wished to see bathing sparrows just had to look at a pond for long enough. But while it was a simple scene, executing it in stone would be a challenge – there were lots of small details like ripples and droplets of water, and the birds themselves. I would depict three different kinds of birds, I thought, maybe a sparrow, a finch and a titmouse – that way I could show that I was capable of faithfully capturing even fine differences. Again I would not paint the finished sculpture; while colour would maybe make the scene more realistic, the naked stone would better show the craft. Or so I hoped.

 

I sketched the scene that very evening, and still liked the idea the next morning. But before I could match deed to thought Father asked my help in the forge again, for King Ingwë had liked Father’s work on the chandelier so well that he had commissioned another piece, and the younger apprentices needed busying for another week. I was surprised to find that I was loath, for the first time, to put my own work back for the sake of Father’s; but I told myself to be reasonable. So my days were filled; and while I tried to get at least a little work done after dinner, I was too tired for any real progress. I may have been a bit testy in those days; I certainly almost drove poor Lindanolvion to tears when he repeated the same mistake three times on the knife-blade he was supposed to craft. It was not fair of me to take my impatience out on him, though he really should have known better. I think we were all relieved when Father took over the tutelage of his apprentices again.

 

When I was finally free to start on my own project, I took my sketchbook outside to make sure I had not missed any important detail. I watched our pond for a while, but that part of the garden was strangely empty of small birds. It took me a while to realise that they had apparently not yet found out that the fox was not real. I felt sorry for the poor little things, but at the same time I felt a little proud had having fooled even the sparrows who, as Yavanna tells us, see the world differently from us and thus might have recognised the deception where people didn't.

Instead of staying in the garden I thus had to take another walk. I came upon a puddle in the road soon enough. I felt a little silly, sitting by the wayside staring at a puddle as if waiting for Ulmo to step out of it; but fortunately nobody else walked that way while I was there, or at least I saw no-one. And as it grew warmer, the first swallows appeared, soon followed by other small birds. They moved too quickly to sketch them properly, but I could study just how they moved, how they hopped and flapped their wings and preened themselves, which was helpful enough, and after a few hours I decided I had watched enough and made my way back.

 

I was almost home again when I heard voices, half-muffled by the shrubbery. That was not unusual - our household was large enough to account for people conversing in the front yard, maybe to escape the noise of the forge. But I thought I recognised King Finwë’s voice, and he was certainly not a frequent visitor. The second voice, too, sounded somewhat familiar. I slowed down and snuck closer to the gate, peering half around a dog-rose bush.

King Finwë was indeed in our front yard, seated upon a fine but skittish horse; and with him  was a groomsman on an equally skittish mare, and Prince Fëanáro, controlling his horse better. I shrank back into the bush.

“… not actually real,” Fëanáro was saying. “If you look closer, you’ll see that it is made of stone.”

“Are you certain?” his father asked. “It certainly looks real to me.” His horse gave a low, nervous neigh. They were talking about my fox, I surmised.

“Oh, the form is real enough, I’ll grant that. The posture, too. But look at the fur – or rather the lack of fur. The texture is all wrong. Some stone chosen for a certain superficial similarity in colour – a dark variant of sandstone, unless I’m much mistaken.”

“I doubt you are, dear,” said the King, cheerfully. “But I admit it fooled me.”

“And me also,” the groomsman said.

“And your horses,” Fëanáro added dryly, taking the lead decisively, and when his horse pushed forwards, the others’ horses took the hint and stopped prancing, and followed him.

I glared at his back through the leaves. A certain superficial similarity! The way he lectured his father! And the worst of it was that of course he was right – it was a sculpture, not a real animal, and a sculpture made of a dark variant of sandstone, too. How clever he must think himself!

 

I waited until I had not heard any more conversation from them for a good while before entering the yard.

The groomsman was still there. Having found a spot for the horses to graze and tethered them there, he had apparently decided to see for himself whether the fox was real or not; he had fought his way through the shrubbery (trampling a few cornflowers and delicate astilbes in the process) and now crouched in front of my sculpture, hand half-stretched out as though he still didn’t quite dare to touch it. How stupid, I thought; any real fox would long have taken flight when approached like that. And if Prince Fëanáro had spotted that there was no actual fur from the path, it should certainly be visible from so close.

When he heard my footsteps he turned around, and coughed – probably in embarrassment, I thought, when he realised how odd he must be looking. I kept a straight face and nodded to him. “Greetings.”

He rose with a sheepish smile and returned the nod. “Greetings, madam.”

I smiled as well. “Can I offer you tea, or some fruit? We may also have some cold lunch left. Or if you’d like to come inside and sit and rest…”

“I must watch my lords’ horses,” he replied, “and I am not hungry. But some tea would be lovely.”

I thought to myself that the horses could surely look after themselves for a while, but only said, “As you wish.”

 

The house, when I entered it, was in uproar. “Nerdanel, Nerdanel, did you hear? Prince Fëanáro is here,” Erenwen told me when I came into the kitchen.

“King Finwë is here,” I corrected her, “and happens to be accompanied by his eldest son. And they left their poor groom outside in the heat.”

“Their groom!” Erenwen turned to Roitariel, who laughed. “She clearly did not hear. Prince Fëanáro is gracing your house; who cares about the groom?”

I rolled my eyes and put the kettle on the hearth to make tea. “And why would Prince Fëanáro, as you say, grace our house?”

Erenwen’s face fell. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He wants something from Father, I suppose; they haven’t finished talking.”

“They are in Father’s study then?” I asked. Erenwen and Roitariel nodded, and I made a note to avoid the vicinity of the study until I knew the King had left our house and taken his son with him.

“Perhaps the King wants a statue of his son,” Roitariel suggested, and Erenwen replied, “Who doesn’t?” They giggled, and I rolled my eyes yet again. “I’m sure Father will let you keep the sketches when he’s done,” I told Erenwen. “Though I warn you – if you put them up in my room, I shall burn them.”

“You wouldn’t! Besides, it’s our room, not yours alone.”

“What grievance do you have with Prince Fëanáro?” Roitariel asked, bright curious eyes boring into mine, and I almost groaned. In my annoyance I had forgotten that she was listening.

“None but that my sister won’t stop talking about him,” I said. The kettle began to whistle, so I was spared further discussions: I poured the tea and found some small cakes and took them out to the waiting groom.

 

He had by then made his way out of the shrubs, and had apparently washed his hands and face in the pond; the collar of his tunic was still wet. “I brought you some cakes, too,” I told him. “If you don’t mind sitting on the steps, there’s shadow on the porch.”

“I don’t mind. Thank you kindly,” he said, brushing some stray petals off his sleeves, and came to the porch. I set the tray down beside him, and he helped himself to some tea. For a while we were silent. I felt a little foolish. I have never been good at small talk, and moreover I had maneuvered myself into an awkward position: should he wish to talk until his master returned, I would have no chance to avoid meeting Fëanáro. I did not entirely know why I was so afraid of meeting him, but afraid I was. I should have sent Erenwen. She would doubtlessly have known how to entertain the young man, and enjoyed it, too. I, on the other hand, had no idea what to do. “A nice day today, is it not?” I said lamely for the sake of saying something at all. Of course it was a nice day.

He glanced at me – I think he looked me over – and half grinned. “Perhaps a bit too warm.”

“Yes, very warm, isn’t it?” I said, and rolled my eyes at myself. He gave me another amused glance, and seemed to suppress a chuckle.

“What brings the King out to this distant place in this heat?” I tried to amend my clumsy first attempt. “Was he visiting the Lord Aulë and chose to rest at our house?”

“Oh, no. He came here specifically to speak to Master Mahtan. Specifically because his son desired to speak to Master Mahtan, I should say,” he said, and took a sip of his tea. I couldn’t prevent my eyes widening in surprise. “Is that so? We are honoured,” I said.

My words lacked conviction. He replied, “You are. It seems that Prince Fëanáro has chosen Master Mahtan as his second tutor, to continue his education in forgecraft.”

I blinked, and felt cold despite the hot afternoon. “He what?”

“Has chosen Master Mahtan as his second tutor. That is, right now he is requesting that Master Mahtan be his tutor. But if you ask me, he might as well command him; it’s unlikely Master Mahtan will say no either way.”

“I should hope that my father can keep his own counsel,” I said coldly, and he gazed at me yet again.

“You are Nerdanel! I should have guessed.”

Yes, you should have, I thought; there are not too many young women who share my unfortunate features. “Indeed,” I said aloud, and then said no more, folding my arms, glowering at the beautiful flowers, at the bumblebees and ladybugs and all the other creatures who did not have to make conversation with a cocky servant.

Perhaps he realised that he had offended me, and perhaps he felt a little apologetic, for it was he who spoke next. “That’s an impressively life-like statue over there by the pond,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly, not quite reconciled. He peered up at me again, but this time the amused glint was absent from his eyes.

“Wait - you made it?”

“Yes,” I said, and managed not to grit my teeth.

He tilted his head. “Amazing. You must have great skill, for such a young woman.”

“If I must.”

He smiled again. “Come, do not be angry because I did not recognise you at once! It’s much too hot for thinking.”

I was not angry because he hadn’t recognised me. I was angry because he acted as though he knew everything and was superior to others, even my father whose decisions he presumed to foreknow. He was only a servant, who did nothing productive, created nothing, only did tasks that were beneath the King and his family. And yet he was arrogant because he was living in the King’s house and he was handsome, and I was not. Then again, if he was Fëanáro’s manservant I suppose he couldn’t help but take after his lord. I decided to give him another chance.

“It is,” I said. “Wherefore I would like to return to my cool workshop, if you need nothing else.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind the company, but I don’t want to keep you from your work. Though I can’t imagine a forge is a cool place, even on a day like this.”

“I said workshop,” I said. “Not forge. Our sculpting workshop has thick walls of stone, and a high ceiling, and no furnace; it’s nice and cool there. Even on a day like this.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” said he. “I am not familiar with these technicalities. Well, I’ll probably become so.”

“What do you mean?” I said, with dread in my heart.

He laughed. “Why, when my lord Fëanáro comes to live here, I expect I shall accompany him. Someone has to wash his clothing and clean his tools and all that, after all.” He shot me a wry glance. “Unless of course you are volunteering.”

 

I snorted. “Certainly not. I will not be a housekeeper – I, after all, have skills beyond that.”

“A sting!” he said, but did not loose his annoyingly cheerful air. “I suppose I deserved that. But let’s not be enemies, Mistress Nerdanel.” He leaned back on his elbows and glanced up at me with what he doubtlessly thought was a charming smile.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Let’s not,” I agreed. This had taken much too long; surely the King and my father must be done with their talks soon. I picked up the plate that had held the cakes; I left the tray where it was, for there was still tea in the man’s cup.

“I shall return to my work and leave you to yours then,” I said.

“Then I thank you for the tea and the company,” he said, rising and bowing to me, suddenly polite. “Until we meet again.”

“Yes,” said I, and added in my thoughts, I hope that day is far off.

I brought the plate to the kitchen where Erenwen and Roitariel were still talking and giggling, now reinforced by Mother’s other apprentices and by Lindanolvion, but I managed to stay out of their discussion. I escaped to the studio instead. It was indeed nice and cool, and occupied only by Sailatulco, who was working on a marble bust he had begun months ago.

I finished my sketch and then went to take a look at our store of stones to see whether we had anything fitting there or whether I would have to take a trip to the quarry. I was lucky; there was nice block of alabaster left over from some long-finished project, too small for most purposes but of suitable size for what I had in mind. It was a bit on the brownish side, but it felt nice and smooth and slightly warm to the touch. And it was not too heavy. I lugged it over to my working table so nobody would be tempted to use it now of all times.

“A pedestal?” Sailatulco guessed, looking up from his work.

“No,” I said, “just a small sculpture.”

“A pillow?” he said. “Hey, would that not be clever? A rock pillow that you can place in someone’s bed, and they’ll think it’s a nice soft pillow to bury their head in…”

“That sounds painful,” I said.

“I suppose,” said Sailatulco and grinned, “but at least it’s warm.”

We laughed, and with this and other silly jests we passed the time until the fading gold outside the window told us that it was time for supper.

King Finwë and his son had been invited to stay, I heard, but had declined the offer and instead returned to Tirion. I also gathered from the discussions that were going on among the apprentices that nobody had been told what the purpose of their visit had been. I could have told them, but I figured that Father would have told them himself if he’d wanted them to know. Instead I filled Sailatulco in on what he had missed, for he had worked all day and the uproar had passed him by.

 

That dinner began uncharacteristically quiet: Everybody seemed to be waiting for Father to speak, while Father appeared to be lost in thought. It was I who broke the silence, in the end.

“Father?” I said. “May I ask a question about the King’s visit here today?”

Father looked up from his plate.  “Certainly.”

“Did Prince Fëanáro ask you to take him on as apprentice?” I asked – and suddenly there was no more silence. Whether or not this option had been discussed in my sister’s theories, it certainly was discussed now. “Is he not too old to begin an apprenticeship?” I heard on my left, and “Imagine! Fëanáro living here with us!” I heard from Roitariel’s direction, followed by squeals and giggles.

Father waited until the general din had died down, giving me an amused look. “Yes.”

“What did you say?” Erenwen burst out.

Father took his cup and drank a deep sip; then he set the cup down, but kept studying it as though he had discovered a flaw in the glass. “That I will think about it, and let him know of my decision within a fortnight.”

I was glad to hear that he had not agreed right away; now he just had to be convinced not ever to agree. “I thought he was studying with Aulë,” I said, frowning. “Why the sudden change?”

“I am not entirely certain whether that is all there is to it, but what Fëanáro said was that studying with Aulë was all very well, but that he – Fëanáro – is no Maia, but a Noldo, and now desired to study the Noldorin side of our craft. And apparently I was judged the only appropriate teacher, which of course I find flattering. That alone is almost reason enough to accept him.”

 

Mother laughed, and I knew why. There could be no doubt that Father was the best teacher possible if you wanted to learn - really wanted to learn – forgecraft from an Elvish master. There was no need for him to be flattered; but even he, it seemed, had been gripped by the admiration that befell most people who had to deal with the prince.

I shook my head, slowly. “Think about it, Father. You see what effect the mere mention of his name has upon our household; there should be no more work possible if he were present in the flesh.”

Erenwen gave me a look that clearly meant ‘Shut up’. “We are only excited now because we see him so rarely,” she said in her most reasonable voice. “If he were just another apprentice whom we saw every day, we’d be used to his presence.”

I snorted. “’Just another apprentice’ – yea more! He’d still be the prince. Even if you got used to his presence, he’d still have to get used to our kind of life. I mean, he’s surely used to all kinds of luxuries. Here we all do our share of the work – would he do that, too, or would we others have to deal with his chores on top of our own?”

Father smiled. “It is very judicious of you to think of that,” he said, “and I admit I asked the same question.”

Helyanwë said dryly, “I suspect there are some present here who’d be more willing to do his share of the chores than they ever were to do their own.” I couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Is that so?” Father pretended to be oblivious to the excitement that wasn't limited to the female occupants of the table only. “No, of course that would not do. Fëanáro said that he was quite willing to help around the house, whereas the King suggested instead that he send a servant along to take care of the menial tasks, which I think is a more reasonable approach.”

 

There was nodding and shrugging around the table. I couldn’t believe it. “But that would underline his status as something special – and would always mark him as an alien to our household,” I pointed out. “If he cannot handle the, as you say, menial tasks as well as the venerable, he should stay in Aulë’s house, or the King’s court.”

“He needs a second tutor to become a master craftsman,” Sailatulco said.

“I am sure one could easily construe that Aulë more than replaces two of our own,” I said, “even if there were two like Father.”

That earned me a bemused glance from Father. “You may well be right, dear, but you seem very set on excluding the poor fellow from our house. Is there anything I should know about? Has he slighted you? Has he hurt you?” He appeared seriously worried.

“Nonsense,” I said, and felt my cheeks grow hot. I hoped that they were not in truth as bright red as they felt. “I have nothing to do with him.”

“And would prefer to keep it that way, it seems?” Father said. I was embarrassed. It had been a mistake to broach the topic at the dinner-table.

“It’s not like I care,” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster. “I merely doubt that it would be wise to throw our tried and proven ways over in order to accommodate an idle prince.” Underneath the table, Erenwen kicked my shin.

Father tilted his head. “Shall we not try first, and see whether he is truly so idle - whether the disadvantages truly overcome the merits?”

 

“Merits,” I said flatly.

“Yes, merits,” he repeated. “For prince or no, idle or no, it cannot be denied that he is talented.”

“Of course he is,” Erenwen whispered to Roitariel to muffled laughter from all around. Mother gave them a stern glance, and they shushed.

“I have seen some of his work,” Father continued, “and it is extremely promising; and I have examined him a little, today, and his knowledge of the craft is already extensive. Indeed I doubt that he is going to stay for more than a year or two before he’ll take the exams, and teach apprentices of his own. A year is not so very long, is it, Nerdanel?”

I had to admit that it wasn’t.

“So what I think I'll do is accept him. You have raised excellent points, Nerdanel, and I assure you I’ll consider them. I can make his apprenticeship conditional. But if, for example, he agrees to be treated no different from any other apprentice, and to work as hard as any other apprentice, and to accept the degradation life in our house may be, compared to what he is accustomed to - why, then I do not see why he should not be welcome here.”

I could hardly protest without raising further suspicions, so I shrugged and nodded. Erenwen clapped her hands, which Sarnië promptly copied, though she probably hadn’t understood a word. I chanced to look Helyanwë’s way, and he grimaced; maybe he, too, saw the downsides of Fëanáro joining our household – someone to seriously challenge his position as Father's best student, if nothing else. But we were clearly overruled; the others were in disgustingly good spirits. Father looked quite pleased, though he cast me a questioning look. I shrugged and smiled to show that it didn't mean much to me, either way.

And indeed it shouldn't have meant anything to me. Fëanáro's presence might interfere with the ordered life we led, but I could always withdraw to pursue my own studies. I need not see him at all except for mealtimes, and surely after a while the others would grow tired of gushing over him. Even if they didn't, maybe I'd learn to ignore them. It really didn't matter all that much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

Read Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"He wasn't at the dance yesterday," Erenwen said, tearing me out of my concentration. "Again."

I was in the process of giving the feathers of my alabaster birds the proper structure, which was taking forever. They were so small - I had made them life-sized - that I was constantly terrified to break some tiny but important detail: a wing feather, or a droplet of water, or a delicate toe. Accordingly, Erenwen's presence in my workshop was a source of distraction in itself; if she wanted to talk on top of it, I would have to pause in my work. I ignored her, hoping that she would take the hint.

She didn't. "That's the fifth time," she said, "and I know that he's in town."
I sighed audibly to signal my annoyance, and put my chisel down with a clang. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Erenwen," I said without bothering to keep the testiness out of my voice.
She gave me a stare of wide-eyed innocence. "Why, Prince Fëanáro, of course."

I sighed again. "What makes you think that I care about his attendance, or lack thereof? I have work to do."
"That's exactly it," Erenwen said, taking a seat on Sailatulco's abandoned workbench. "You've locked yourself up in this workshop for a week. You've even slept here twice. I haven't seen you outside except for dinner, and I am worrying that you'll turn into a bat or one of those slimy cave lizards if I don't bring you news from the civilised world every so often."
Truth be told, I had been a bit of a recluse that past week. I had worked on my final project after all, and once I had begun, I found that it took far more time and patience than I had thought, and all my skill. Of course I could have taken all the time I wanted - it was, after all, my own project, no commission that had to be delivered at a certain date. But now that I had decided to brave the exams, I wanted to take it and have it over with quickly before my courage had a chance to fail. I had only left the workshop - grudgingly - for my chores, for food, and occasionally for sleep. Perhaps I was turning into a cave bat. I tried to curb my impatience.
"How sweet of you. The civilised world is surely not limited to Prince Fëanáro, however."
"No, but he hasn't been to any dance ever since that one time - you know, when he danced with me for the second time." Her cheeks reddened.
"So?" I said, hard-put not to roll my eyes. "Perhaps he's roaming the country. Perhaps he's studying with the Lord Aulë again. Perhaps he broke his leg. What is it to me?"
Erenwen gave me a reproachful stare. "I told you that he's in town. He's applied to study with Father so he's currently free of tuition. He didn't have a broken leg six days ago, and he's been missing the dances for five weeks." Disbelief was in her voice - how could anyone miss so many dances for no apparent reason, unless one was her odd big sister?
"I still don't see how this touches us," I said, reaching for my chisel. Erenwen jumped up.
"Oh fine, be that way!" she cried. "I am trying to get a load of my chest, and you care more about your work. Work on then!" She turned to run.

But now it was my turn to worry about her. "Erenwen, wait!" I called, and when she did, I caught up with her. "I did not realise that it was so urgent. I'm sorry. Of course you're more important than a statue." I tried to smile, to show that I did not care about my interrupted work at all. "So what is wrong?"
"I told you!" she said. "Prince Fëanáro hasn't been to the dances ever since that time he danced with me, and..."
She briefly paused, then burst out, "And I'm afraid it has to do with me!"
I took a deep breath, stroking her shoulders. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if he's always been at the dances before, and now he's missing them, and it's begun ever since he danced with me those two times... doesn't that mean that there's a connection?"
"There might be one," I admitted, "but that is by no means the only explanation."
"But what if it is?" Erenwen insisted, clasping my hands. "What if I offended him?"
"Then surely you'd know."
"But what if I said something stupid? Or did something stupid, without realising it? How would I know then?"
I couldn't help but smile. "Erenwen, he's a proud young man. If you'd done something to insult him, surely he'd have complained about it. You would know."
That seemed to convince her; at any rate she calmed a little, and nodded. "All right." She looked away. I tilted my head. "What else?"
"Nothing."
"Come now. You're my sister. I know there's something else. Hm?"
Erenwen still didn't look at me. "Nothing. Just... stupid talk."
I still kept my voice gentle. "What kind of talk?"
Now she looked back at me, eyes glinting defiantly. "Just talk. Stupid talk. See, Carnissiel for example, she says that he's hiding from me because, because I keep forever harassing all the pretty young men and I went too far with him, and Orónion says so too, and there are others..." she sniffed angrily.

I took her in my arms then. "Oh Erenwen, you know that's nonsense."
"Is it? Is it? Haven't you said the same, often enough?"
I felt a little guilty, I admit that. "Well, you are too easily impressed by a pretty face in my opinion - but you're hardly alone in that. Carnissiel of all people shouldn't talk, she's fawning over young men all the time. And young men in turn fawn over pretty women. That's probably normal. Probably I am strange for thinking otherwise."
Erenwen sniffed again. "But you do think I think about him too much."
I shrugged - I could hardly deny that.
"I bet you think I counted all the times he didn't show up to the dances, don't you? I didn't. It's Carnissiel who brought that to my attention. It's true, but I didn't keep track of it." She gave me an angry stare. "I'm not stupid, Nerdanel. I like him, of course I like him, but I don't expect him to like me back. Of course I'm flattered when he talks to me - but I don't have a crush on him, not really. I just don't want to be the reason he doesn't go dancing anymore. I don't care whether he dances with me. He can dance with Carnissiel, or Lanyalossë, or anyone he pleases. There's no need to hide from me."
"And I'm sure that's not what he's doing," I said. "Whatever it is he's doing. That'd be just stupid."
Erenwen's eyes widened. "You have to talk!" she cried. "Isn't that exactly what you're doing?"
"Nonsense," I said, looking away quickly. "That's different."

Erenwen had managed to put me off work for the day. I did not worry about the prince's attendance at the dances, but I certainly did not want people to say ugly things about my own sister - though I had no idea what to do about it.
Luck was on my side, however. As I did not work that day, I figured I might as well do something useful. That useful thing turned out to be an errand for Mother, picking up newly-made robes at the house of Nusí­rilo, our tailor, on the road to Tirion. And who else but Lanyalossë should open the door for me?

"Ah, Nerdanel," she said, smiling. "Come in."
I followed her into the parlour, looking at her back with the usual mixture of resentment and envy. She had a beautiful face, and she had a beautiful body, and her hair was dark brown and slightly curly and went down to her waist. She moved gracefully, too. She was the sort of person artists asked to model for them. To make matters worse, she was also friendly and reasonably likeable, so I could not even hate her. She wasn't exactly brilliant, I suppose, but nobody ever looked at people's minds.

"You've come for your parents' robes, I assume?" she said, offering me a chair. I sat down and felt, as always in her presence, graceless. "Or a new dress for you, perhaps?"
I felt my cheeks grow warm. As on most work days, I was wearing breeches and a long, no longer entirely clean tunic; I doubtlessly looked as if I was in desperate need of proper clothing. Which was nonsense. I did have proper clothing. There just was no point in scorching it in the forge or ruining it with stone dust in the workshop. I'd probably need new formal robes for my examinations - I had festival robes, of course, but those were meant for dancing and celebrating, not for a solemn examination of knowledge - but I could hardly order them before I knew I was even admitted to the exams. "Not yet."
Another smile. "I'll go and fetch your parents' things, then; Father is currently visiting a customer. But you must be thirsty after the long walk. Would you like something to drink in the meantime? I just made tea."
I did not wish to make meaningless conversation with pretty Lanyalossë, but it would have been impolite to decline. Besides, I was thirsty.
So I took the cup she offered me, breathing the jasmine-scented steam that rose from it. She returned with the robes, wrapped in silk paper, soon enough, and sat down opposite me, filling her own cup.
"I haven't seen you in a long time," she said, after we had exchanged our opinions on the weather. "Not even at the dances. You must have been very busy?"
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. The weather, and dancing, studies, food, clothing, perhaps a journey to the coast, and inevitably pretty young men: that always seemed to be the extent of conversations between young ladies. How boring, and how predictable. But I smiled.
"Indeed. I've been preparing for my exams these past weeks..."
Lanyalossë tilted her head, wide-eyed. "Your exams? Already? You will take them this year?"
"This month, I hope," I said, and thought, I must be insane.
"Already! It'll take another year for me, at least," she said with a somewhat mournful look. Lanyalossë was almost ten years older than I.
"Well, only in sculpting," I said quickly, in case she thought I meant to brag. "I'm not yet ready for the exams in smithcraft - that'll surely take a couple of years yet."
"'Only' in sculpting!" said she. "I'd never be able to turn a rock into a statue, no matter how long I studied, and you say 'only'."
Comparing my broad, ruddy hands with her pale, slender fingers, I wondered whether she could even hold a hammer. My fingernails were always clipped short, and more often than not dirty with soot or clay or stone dust. Hers were filed into white crescents - though as I looked closer, I saw that they were by no means as perfect as I would have thought. There were strange little nooks in the nails of her index and middle fingers, and it took me a moment to guess that they were left there by warping and stretching threads of wool or linen or silk with her hands. The materials might normally be soft, but then, so is a bowstring - until it is strung. I had never thought about it. Perhaps we had something in common after all.
"Well, most people can't make sculptures. I, on the other hand, am far too impatient for weaving. It evens out," I said. Not that I thought she truly felt bad about not being a sculptress, but she had been polite to me, so I figured I ought to be polite in turn.

Lanyalossë smiled. "It's kind of you to say that, but surely if you can sculpt stone and metal, any other craft would be easy to learn."
I wrinkled my nose, but didn't voice my doubts. She went on, "At any rate, that certainly explains why we haven't seen anything of you for so long. Not like our other mysterious missing case..."
Oh no, I thought. Having dealt with the first of the standard topics, we had promptly progressed to the next staple, pretty young men. Why did people think I was interested in gossip? Why did they feel the need for it in the first place? I never understood the attraction of discussing the doings of other people, unless of course these doings concerned the people discussing them directly. I rolled my eyes. "Ah, yes. I heard about that," I said.
"I am sure," Lanyalossë said with a sly grin, and suddenly I found it easier to dislike her. Of course your little sister told you, her grin said, she would do that. It took some effort to keep my face straight and my expression indifferent; and then I had an idea, and had to struggle to keep my lips from creeping into a smirk.
"Yes, well," I said in the most matter-of-fact tone I could muster, "I suppose he's preparing for his new apprenticeship. You know that he applied to study with Father, of course?"
Of course she didn't, and her grin promptly froze. "He has? Then he will come to live at your house?"
"I suppose so," I said indifferently. "If Father agrees to teach him, that is; he hasn't decided yet. He has too many apprentices as it is, really."
"But Prince Fëanáro wants to study with him?"
"Apparently."
"How strange..." Lanyalossë said. Then she turned red. "I do beg your pardon. That wasn't directed against your father - Master Mahtan is a brilliant craftsman, of course. It's just..."
She fell silent, but I guessed her thoughts. Perhaps Lanyalossë had believed Carnissiel's theory. My news had disproved that. If the prince was avoiding my sister - absurd thought! - he would hardly apply for an apprenticeship in her father's house. I couldn't keep a smug smile of my face and busied myself with the packed robes so Lanyalossë wouldn't see it. The uppermost package seemed to be for Father, containing men's shirts in simple cuts and colours. I approved. Of course, high-collared shirts were going out of fashion, but what should we care about that? Mother's dress was more elaborate, made of soft grey linen with a pretty border in brown, white and honey-yellow. I praised the design and quality of the border, knowing that those were usually Lanyalossë's work, and so we finally steered away from gossip. I was quite satisfied with myself. Lanyalossë would surely spread the news I had told her, and that would put an end to Carnissiel's talk. My little sister was avenged.
Thus satisfied, I found the motivation to continue my work. The next evening, I could put my chisel aside for good. I polished the finished sculpture - first with fine sandpaper, then with a soft cloth - and treated the "water" with linseed oil so it looked almost translucent; and then I was done. It was not perfect, of course, but I had put all my skill and a lot of effort into it. If it was not good enough, I couldn't help it.
It was my turn to do the dishes the coming day - Aulë's Day, an auspicious day for my purpose - but I swapped my chores with Helyanwë so I could ride to Master Carnildo's house. I told him that I was in need of inspiration, and would be gone for a walk all day; I did not want anyone to know about my endeavour - yet.

Master Carnildo's garden, like ours, was decorated with sculptures; but the garden around it was tamed better, more suitable to the outskirts of Tirion than our wilderness. When I unhorsed (carefully, so I would not jolt my little sculpture too much - I had it wrapped in cloth and carried it in a basket, but I was still anxious about it), I was greeted by a young apprentice whom I did not know. He recognised me, however, and promised to take care of my horse while I took care of my business.
The entrance hall in Master Carnildo's garden was likewise full of sculptures, but here he also displayed the works of his students, not all of them as good as the sculptures shown outside. There were several very simple pieces, exercises made by beginners, and I was embarrassed to realise that some of them were my own, made years - decades - ago. I had indeed learned a lot since then, as had the others whose youthful transgressions were preserved here. Perhaps Master Carnildo displayed this collection to encourage his new apprentices: See, now your work looks like this, but so did the work of (say) Alcaráco, who is now a famous sculptor. And one day you will make something as beautiful as this.

I had sufficient time to study the sculptures: Master Carnildo was busy, caught up in a lecture and asked pardon unless it was very important business. I told his wife - who brought me the message - that I could wait.
"What brings you here, then?" she asked curiously.
"I need an expertise," I said. I felt awkward about explaining the true reason of my visit, so I kept it to myself for the time being. She gave me an odd look as if to say 'You are Mahtan's daughter, why don't you ask your father?'
"A second opinion," I said before she could ask. That satisfied her, and, after providing me with tea, she went off again.
Master Carnildo had no time until noon, so I was invited to share his household's lunch. This gave me an opportunity to meet his other apprentices - the boy I had met in the gardens, whose name was Lí­retauro, another boy of roughly the same age, who was called Cermion, and a grown man by the name of Timosanwë. I had known none of them personally so far, though of course I had seen Timosanwë in town before.
But we shared a craft and thus got along well. For the most part, Master Carnildo and Laitarnis his wife questioned me about my studies, and my family, and my father's apprentices.
"Well," Master Carnildo said when the meal was over and the table cleared, "what can I do for you?"
"I would like to hear your opinion on a little sculpture I made, Master Carnildo," I said, suddenly feeling as shy as I had years ago when he came to take a look at my finished sculpture. I never liked to have my work scrutinised. Either I had done something wrong, which was frustrating; or I had done it right and was praised for it, which was embarrassing, especially under the eyes of the other apprentices who were less lucky.
I tried to push that feeling of anxiety away - I was almost a grown woman now, after all, no longer a child - and unwrapped the birds in their alabaster bowl. "What do you think?" I said, and was glad that my voice was even and business-like and didn't betray my nerves.

Master Carnildo studied the sculpture for a long time, twisting to look at the bird's legs (very delicate, with the scaly structure bird's legs have; the finicky details had taken forever to craft, with a file and a needle when my finest chisel was no longer fine enough) and their downy bellies (I flexed my hands involuntarily, remembering the cramps those had caused me). He brushed over the milky surface of stone feathers, the oil-smoothed "water", the drops that lay, like pearls, on the wings of my tiny swallow (I was particularly proud of them); and all the while he said nothing.
"What is it for?" he finally asked. "A fountain?"
I shrugged. "I don't know, really. Just an exercise, so far."
"Hm," he said. "So what do you want to hear? If you hope that I have any advice on how to improve this, I must disappoint you." He stroked the little sparrow that whetted its beak against a pebble, and shook his head.
I felt my cheeks grow hot. "I was wondering whether I was ready for my final examinations." There, I'd said it.
Master Carnildo began to laugh. I bit my lips.
"You are wondering?" Master Carnildo said, giving me an incredulous stare. "From the looks of this, you should've taken the exams years ago. Most sculptors wouldn't manage such detail - such realism! - before they'd been master craftsmen for decades - if then. My goodness." He studied the little birds again. "Even the down... to be honest, Nerdanel, I doubt I would manage. You are how old now?" He frowned as he tried to remember. "Sixty?"
"Forty-eight," I said with a blush.
"Forty-eight," he repeated thoughtfully. "How many attempts did it take until you got it right?"
I frowned slightly. "Just the one," I said.
The disbelief in his eyes gave way to something that looked almost like awe. "One attempt," Master Carnildo said. "And all this from one stone!" He took my hands. "But surely you had to make repairs? Surely something broke, and you had to stick it back on again? Please tell me it is so!"
The intensity of his speech scared me. I tried a smile, which turned out rather lopsided. "You know that the alabaster would betray me, if it were so," I said.
"Yes," said he; but he didn't even bother to check for any revealing tears or lines in the stone (not that he would have found any). His face was turned in my direction, but his eyes seemed to be focused on something in the far distance. He was silent for a while. He still held my hands. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and shifted a little; and Master Carnildo's attention returned to me. He sighed.
"I am an accomplished craftsman," he said. I nodded. I knew that, of course. He continued, "Yet now I am very much afraid that one day, when I am asked about my greatest accomplishment, I will have to say, 'I taught Nerdanel'."

That was too much - too much by far! Surely my face was burning red; it took all my presence of mind to make light of his words. "Ah, don't flatter me, Master Carnildo. You have taught many apprentices, and you have made many great works, and surely will continue to do so."
He snorted. "That is not the point. But I cannot explain it to you, I suppose. Perhaps one day you will feel the same." He looked at my birds again. "Probably not. But perhaps you will understand nonetheless." His eyes, which were fixed on mine, had filled with tears. His praise, I know, should have made me feel proud. As his apprentice, I had always sought his approval, and now I had it in abundance. But I could not feel proud when I had hurt him so.
"I am sorry," I said awkwardly. He shook his head.
"Don't apologise. Excellency is not something you should apologise for. It is not your fault that you are better than others, and you cannot constantly feel sorry for those less fortunate." Finally, he smiled. "Only forty-eight. My goodness, but what a responsibility." He let go of my hands. "Take those exams, Nerdanel. You do not need them, but the world is full of fools who look at titles and not at skills, and when you have taken the exams, they must acknowledge you."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. I still felt awful.
"Do not listen to jealous fools," Master Carnildo went on. "You will have to face scorn and insults, no doubt, but they can only be born from envy, not from true superiority. Try not to let them hurt you. Do not listen to pandering, either. Surround yourself only with the people who are worthy of you." I wrapped my arms around myself awkwardly. He saw my discomfort, and gave another sad smile. "I am scaring you. I'm sorry. You asked me for advice on your craft, not for my thoughts on society." He rose, and I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yes, you are certainly ready to face the exams," he said. "You have my blessing."
I tried to smile. "Thank you, Master Carnildo."
He snorted. "Do not call me Master," he said. "That is no longer my place."

I should have been proud, but instead I felt scared while I made my way back home. The poor horse must have thought I was crazy: I could not decide whether I wanted to be home at once or whether I wanted never to return at all, and thus I kept changing pace, spurring him into a gallop only to halt him moments later, trotting along for a while, then back into a gallop. Eventually he stopped and turned his head and gave me an exasperated look, plainly demanding that I make up my mind. I called myself to order and let the poor animal walk at his own pace. I think I cried a little. I would have to show the sculpture to my second tutor - my father - and I didn't know what I would do if his reaction were the same.
Back at home I put the offending piece back on my worktable, removing the wrappings. Such an overflow of emotions, I thought, over a bowl of water. For that was all it was, in the end. A water-bowl, and three birds: A sparrow that whetted its beak; a swallow taking a bath with wings spread, water forming drops on its feathers; a titmouse taking a drink. I had put a lot of work in it, of course, so that the birds were recognisable by their feathers and their stance, and the water moved liked real water would, as though time had stopped and petrified the little birds. But when it came down to it, it was nothing special. A scene that, with slight variations, could be watched at every little brook or pond or puddle. There was nothing magnificent, nothing to justify Master Carnildo's reaction - no waves of Ulmo, no eagles of Manwë.
He had overreacted, I told myself, tired perhaps from a day of teaching his young apprentices how to use a gouge. It's good work, certainly, but not that good. Master Carnildo will laugh at himself, this evening, and perhaps feel silly because he got carried away like that.
Over a bowl of water.

I barely tasted my food that evening - a shame, as Alcyo and Lisanto had made the little vegetable pies that normally belonged to my favourites - and didn't manage to pay attention to the chattering around me. Someone must have told a story that was hilariously funny, for suddenly everyone burst into laughter; my belated reaction betrayed me to Mother, who gave me a worried look.
"Are you all right, dear?" she asked, giving me a searching look. "You look rather out of spirits."
"I'm just tired," I said quickly.
Father, too, studied me now. "That's not all, though," he observed. Sometimes I wish he were less perspicuous. A smith and sculptor needs a keen eye, of course, but sometimes it would have been easier if he could have left it in the forge. Once Sarnië had overheard me saying something to that effect to Helyanwë, and she had taken it literally; she had been terribly confused (not to mention horrified) until I had explained the metaphor to her. Remembering that incident I had to smile, forgetting the scrutiny I was undergoing. I really was tired.
"I visited Master Carnildo today," I explained. I would have preferred to wait a few more days before I told anyone, but I had no choice now. "To talk about my final project."
Father tilted his head. "And what did he tell you?"
"He seemed to be of the opinion that I should have taken the exam already."
"Good man," said Father. "What else?"
I felt my cheeks grow hot again. "I'd rather not repeat it," I said. "He was rather too enthusiastic about my work, I think."
Father gave me a thoughtful look. Perhaps his keen eye now told him that prying further was no good idea, for he didn't ask further questions about Master Carnildo's enthusiasm.
"You know that I think you are ready," he said instead. "It is time for your exams. Will you not take them?"
I sighed. "I suppose I must."

 

Chapter 7

Read Chapter 7

Thus the next day found me and my birds in Aulë’s Halls – if “halls” is the right expression. Halls, to me, imply a process of building common to our own houses: a wooden framework, walls of cut stone or brick or clay, a roof of tiles or reeds or wood. None of that applied to Aulë’s Halls, which rather gave the impression of magnificent caverns raised from rock. Their pillars did not look as though they had been hewn out of stone but as though they had grown out of the mosaic floor and the domed ceiling. The passages from hall to hall reminded me of the tunnels in which we delved for metals. “Caves”, I think, would have been a more appropriate term.
But then a cave sounds like an unsophisticated place, inhabited by animals or uncivilised folk like the Avari who stayed behind in Middle-earth. The caves here had jewelled mosaic floors, and their walls had been smoothed to perfection, and they were brightly lit. And one could hardly call Aulë and Yavanna and their court uncivilised. So perhaps “halls” was not too far off the mark after all.

Of course I had no thought to spare for semantics while I waited for my verdict. I suppose that I was showing poor trust in Father and in Master Carnildo by being so nervous – they would hardly have sent me here if they had thought that my sculpture would not pass muster – and I certainly was showing poor trust in my own skills, but I could not help it. I was not my father, who had learned the craft from Aulë and thus was used to having him examine and judge his art. I had always learned from Eldarin teachers, and even though Aulë had been ever friendly and cheerful when I had met him, I was intimidated. The grandeur of my surroundings did nothing to assuage my anxiety. The time I spent waiting felt much longer than it really was, I think – though I had no certain way of measuring it, without seeing the light of the Trees.

Finally Aulë emerged from his study (if, again, that was the right word). I sank into a curtsy, but even before he spoke, I felt my fears abate - for before I had bowed my head, I had seen his face, and he was smiling. Now I was fairly certain that my sculpture had passed.
But Aulë did not say so, not in so many words. Instead he observed, “You have waited long, young Nerdanel. Most apprentices apply to be examined before they are this close to the fullness of their skill…”
I blushed. I found all this talk of skill embarrassing. “I am not yet of age, my lord,” I pointed out cautiously.
Aulë gave me a long, probing look. “But I am not here to examine your age.”
“I know, my lord, but it is customary…”
To my relief, he smiled at that; but he also waved his hand dismissively. “These customs have been made at a time when your people did not foresee that there ever might be someone so young so skilled. I do not let their lack of foresight concern me; neither should you.”
What was I supposed to say to that? “Very well, my lord.”
With a smile, Aulë continued. “I had to think for a while about what to choose for your final project. The work I have seen shows me that I cannot, as I might usually do, ask for something small and complicated to test your skill and understanding of the delicate balance between precision and generalisation. You have proven both already. It seems more sensible, then, to have you do proper work – a commission, and something large at that. As it happens, a good opportunity has just arisen.”
He paused, and I dutifully asked, “What do you want of me, then?”
“Your king Finwë has recently come to desire a statue of his children.” Another indulgent smile: “I think he has realised how quickly you young people grow. At any rate he has commissioned a sculpture. To the best of my knowledge Alcaráco desires to work on it, but I think this is just the right project for you.”

I did not share his confidence. Not that I was afraid of making a sculpture of people, as such – I had made busts and sculptures of people as exercises before. It was, after all, the most common application of our craft. Parents wanted sculptures of their children, and children of their parents, and lovers of their beloved, and Valar of their Maiar, and everyone of the Valar. No, it was not the project as such. It was just that this wouldn’t be an exercise, but the sort of project normally taken on by experienced masters of the craft – like Master Alcaráco, or Master Carnildo, or my father. Nobody would ask an apprentice to carve their children’s likeness in stone. Least of all the king.
I could not keep a frown off my face. “That does not sound like something that should be done by an unexamined apprentice,” I said, trying to sound measured and reasonable.
“It would be part of the examination,” Aulë pointed out calmly. “We hardly need another demonstrative exercise from you. It is clear that you have skill enough to begin working; why waste that skill on a piece purely for examination?”
I was chewing my lips like a scolded child. “I just can’t help wondering whether it is at all appropriate. It isn’t customary…”

Aulë sighed. “Ah yes, your customs. I told you that these customs have been made by people who knew only the ordinary. They are good for ordinary people and ordinary occasions. But you are not one of the ordinary, Nerdanel. Not even now, and even less in years to come. So remember the customs, but think beyond them.” He smiled again. “You are, after all, an artist.”
It seemed that my protest would avail nothing. I gave up. “Very well,” I said, trying to put at least a little enthusiasm into my voice. I failed dismally. Aulë laughed then, gently. “Ah, young Nerdanel, do not be afraid. I have no doubt that you will do well.”
“If I get to do it at all,” I couldn’t help saying. “After all, if Master Alcaráco has already applied, the king has doubtlessly given him the commission, and why then should he let me do the same?”
“Hm,” Aulë said thoughtfully. “If they do not want to see your work, I will find something else. But when I send word to Finwë that I think you should have your try, I do not think that he will refuse it.”
No, he probably won’t, I thought, and probably I shouldn't, either. I sighed and nodded. Aulë smiled.
“I will send a messenger forthwith,” he said. “So they will know to expect you.”

It was foolish to be downcast, I knew, when I had just passed the first part of my exam. It was foolish to be afraid of the second step, even if it was unheard of to ask a proper commission of an examinee. It was, after all, what I was working towards anyway. I would just start one step earlier than other people – but after decades of learning, why should one step matter so much?
The truth of the matter was that I simply didn't feel ready. I was too young. Whatever Aulë had said, there must be a reason for waiting until one had come of age! Perhaps in a few years’ time, neither the idea of exams nor the thought of doing a commission for King Finwë himself would be so daunting.
And another little truth, though it was an embarrassing truth that I did not like to admit to myself, was that I resented this commission because it would – rather sooner than necessary – throw me into Prince Fëanáro’s way again. I had successfully avoided him for weeks, and had begun to feel confident that I’d be able to avoid him for most of the time even if he came to live at our house; but I could hardly make a statue of him without seeing him for (I grimaced at the thought) extended periods of time. No doubt but he would assume something stupid, that I was there for his sake or somesuch. The more I thought about it, the less I liked it. My load, my bowl of birds, seemed to grow heavier and heavier as I made my way outside, led by a cheerful Maia who politely pretended not to notice my bad mood.

I barely noticed when the artificial light of the Halls was replaced by the leaf-filtered daylight of Aulë’s woods; I barely noticed when the friendly Maia took his leave. I paid little heed to my surroundings, though I normally loved the many trees, each different (it was said that every sort of tree that could be found in the world grew in Aulë’s woods, exactly once – and Erenwen and I had often tried to count them while Father was discussing business with Aulë, when we had been younger). I did not look at them now. Lost in thought, I almost ran into Yavanna, who came along the same path from her gardens.
Fortunately she took no offense, instead smiling down at me. “I have gathered the first gooseberries,” she said. “Would you like some?”
I accepted her offer. The berries were hard and sour. I grimaced a little.
“Yes,” Yavanna said, laughing, “these are better for cooking than for eating fresh. I only picked the smallest berries, today, so that the others may grow bigger and sweeter.”
“Ah,” said I, a little embarrassed; I really should have known, for we did the same in our garden. But I did not feel too bad about it. It was hard to maintain a bad mood in Yavanna’s presence. She radiated a nurturing warmth, making me – even out here on the forest path – think of a kitchen hearth; and the subtle scent of honey, of apples and nuts, of rosemary and walnut leaves that ever seemed to surround her soothed my worried mind.
“You have been to see my husband, I see?” Yavanna continued, nodding at my wrapped sculpture.
“Yes, my lady,” said I. “I’ve shown him my first project for – for the exams.”
I had expected that she would ask how it had gone. Instead she observed, “How swiftly you’ve grown.” And then, “May I see it too?”

Even though she did not at first say anything to me, there could be no doubt that she liked my little birds. She stroked them as she would have stroked real animals, and whispered to them in the chirping tongue of small birds. A gust of wind shook the branches above us, and the shadows of the leaves danced on the alabaster, making it – for a moment – look as if my sculpture was moving. I suppressed a gasp.
When Yavanna spoke, it was in a very quiet voice. “How beautiful,” she said. “I do not think I have ever seen my feathered friends so depicted. What will you do with them, now that you are moving on?”
“I’m not quite certain yet,” I admitted. “Find them a place in our garden, I suppose.”
She smiled. “They will like that,” she said. “Could I ask you to make something like that for me? Not now, of course, you will be busy with your exams; but maybe later?”
I blinked, surprised. Not that I wasn’t flattered by her request – of course I was – but it seemed a little absurd.
“But my lady, could not the lord Aulë make something like this for you, and better?”
Yavanna shook her head. “He would, of course, if I asked him to; but not like this. He cannot see the birds as I do—as we do. And I would have to ask; he would not think of it on his own.” She brushed a droplet of water off my little swallow’s feathers – or would have, had it been a real droplet on real feathers. Her smile was still bright, as though she did not mind at all. Nonetheless I felt a little sorry. It must be hard to have a husband so different from oneself, I thought. Unyielding rock can hardly understand the supple growth of trees. But Yavanna’s voice remained cheerful. “The fact alone that you thought of showing your skill with this – something many would think small and insignificant – makes you the right person to make it.”
Perhaps it did, though the thought of trying to reproduce my little water-bowl was enough to make me worry again. I was not at all certain that I should manage to find such a well-suited stone again; or if I found one, that I would manage to put all that painstaking work into it to make feathers and beaks and leathery little bird-feet grow from stone; or if that, that it would be as good as this was. Sculptors rarely craft the same thing twice if they succeeded with their first attempt. If you wanted to produce the same sculpture over and over, you used a cast and molten metals, but never stone. And for good reason. No two stones are the same, and no project is the same - perhaps rocks were more like trees than I had at first thought. I was honoured, but I did not wish to try the same thing again.
“Would you like to keep this one, my lady?” I suggested instead. “I am certain that you will find a good place for it.”
Yavanna had been smiling before, but now the smile grew broader and brighter; the honey-and-herbs scent intensified as though its source had moved from the shadows into the full light of Laurelin. Even the birdsong around us seemed to grow louder, happier.
“That is a generous gift,” Yavanna said happily. “Be assured that I will honour it.”

And so I returned home without my birds, carrying instead a basket of gooseberries – for Yavanna had insisted on giving them to me, regretting only that they were so small and sour.
Her regret was unjustified. When I tried the berries at home (intending to make jam from them), it turned out that though they had grown no bigger, their skin had softened and their pulp ripened in that brief moment of joy. Never in my life have I eaten sweeter gooseberries than these.

I rode to Tirion the next day, taking only my sketchbook along. If King Finwë gave me the commission, I would later on have to bring clay for models and – worst of all – have a sizeable chunk of marble delivered to the palace (or perhaps the king would take care of that? I had no experience in these matters). But for today, the sketchbook would do. I still wasn’t happy about the prospect. My father, of course, had been delighted, and one or two of the apprentices had just barely managed to hide their jealousy. Mother was bursting with pride. But then, they didn’t have to get up early and make for Tirion before Laurelin was fully alight.
Nor did they have to explain to the servant who opened the door – of course it was my particular friend, Prince Fëanáro’s groomsman – what they wanted. I am not truly shy, nor am I usually lost for words: But on that morning I stuttered and blushed like a child.
Finally I’d spoken my piece, angry with myself for being so awkward. The servant, no doubt, was terribly amused – at any rate he was smirking, and it was hard to meet his eyes for the scornful gleam in them. He kept his voice neutral, though, saying only “Very well, I shall inform my lord; if you’ll follow me, please?”, and led me to an antechamber, where he bowed, and knocked on a door, and disappeared. I was certain that he was inwardly laughing at me the whole time. My cheeks were still hot even when he had been gone for a good while.

I tried to distract myself by studying my surroundings. King Finwë’s palace was well worth a visit for the architecture alone. When it had been built, all the master craftsmen of our people had competed fiercely, each of them showing off their full skill and the full range of possibility offered by their craft. “At first I did not believe that we’d ever get it built,” Father said, laughing, whenever he told the tale. “Nor did I believe that we would ever get all the separate pieces to match.” For of course every craftsman had his own preferences, every craft its own style; and although everybody agreed that the king’s house should be splendid, it had apparently been hard to get everybody to agree on just what sort of splendour to strive for. Even now, I thought, there were bits and pieces that didn’t quite match: The patterns in the coloured glass of the windows didn’t suit the patterns of the ceiling mosaics, which in turn didn’t quite match the muted colours of the marble floor. Only the capitals of the high pillars brought them together, both patterns repeated in the same marble that adorned the floor. I smiled because I recognised my father’s handiwork in them, and I knew that he had sacrificed the display of his superior skill for the sake of bringing harmony into an otherwise chaotic mix of styles, as a good artist should. And a good artist should also consider the comfort of those who use his art, I thought, for while the chairs in the antechamber were beautifully crafted and marvellous to look at with their high carved armrests and their straight backs, they were also exceedingly uncomfortable.

I was torn from my thoughts by a child, a young boy in his early twenties, who ran and slid along the polished marble in silk stockings until he noticed my presence and, with a guilty look, changed to a more dignified gait. He was terribly overdressed, wearing the long silk shirt and layered brocade robes of a grown man on a high holiday, complete with precious jewellery, and his dark hair was combed back and braided and adorned in a manner more befitting a bridegroom on his wedding day than a mere child. He would be a handsome man one day, no doubt, and then all this finery would suit him well: But just now it looked absurd, unnatural, though the robes had been tailored to fit the boy perfectly and the colours were tastefully matched, various shades of blue and grey and silver that were mirrored in his jewellery.
At least I could recognise him as one of the King’s sons at once, in that attire, and so I rose and curtsied as he reached me.

He looked up at me curiously. “You are Nerdanel, Master Mahtan’s daughter, aren’t you?”
I smiled. “So I am, my Prince.”
He nodded, satisfied, and climbed onto one of the dreadful chairs. I winced, thinking of the strain he was putting on the delicate silver thread of his robes.
“Yes, I knew you by your hair,” he said, oblivious to my worries about his garb. “Fëanáro has been talking about you.”
That was unpleasant news. “Has he, now,” I said somewhat lamely.
“Yes!” The prince was grinning and stood up, and I winced again, for though the chairs were uncomfortable, they were cushioned with very fine fabric, pearly white with gold and light blue woven in. But when I glanced at the boy’s feet, I saw that my concerns were unjustified; his stockings were impeccably clean. Of course. This was not, after all, my father’s house, where for all the cleaning we could do there always was a certain layer of stone dust and soot.
He really had a handsome face, I could see that now that he almost reached my size: Already the childish roundness was mirroring the noble features of his father, and I had no doubt that in another twenty years he would be as popular with the fashionable ladies as his older brother was now.
“Fëanáro says you saved him from a killer rabbit,” the prince continued cheerfully, tugging at the uncomfortable collar of his shirt. “He said that was the best day of his journey.”

“Shut up, Nolofinwë, before you make a fool of yourself and your betters,” a sharp voice interrupted. “Where have you been all this time? Master Alcaráco is waiting for you.”
For while I had been distracted by the little prince, Fëanáro himself had joined us. Like his brother he was dressed up in full regalia, brocades and jewels and coronet and all; but unlike his brother he was old enough to look good in them. In truth, good was too weak a word: He looked splendid, beautiful as a newly-cut gem and radiant as a Vala, and I had sunk into a low curtsy, my cheeks burning, before I even realised what I was doing – quite as though I were one of his vapid admirers! At least I was not giggling, I thought, angry at myself. I rose as quickly as I could.
“We were just talking!” Prince Nolofinwë protested. “And Master Alcaráco hasn’t called for me yet.”
“He asked me to send you to him just now,” Fëanáro said, still sharply, “so off with you, and stop pestering our guests!” Nolofinwë looked as though he were about to cry, but he jumped down from the chair and ran off instead of further arguing. His brother turned to me, and his angry frown turned into a smile. “Mistress Nerdanel,” he said, perfectly amiable now. “Well met.”
“I am no mistress yet,” was the first thing I could think of saying, trying to compensate for the absurd, overpowering awe I had felt at his appearance. “I am no mistress, and you needn’t have been so brusque with your brother. He wasn’t pestering me at all.”
“My half-brother,” Fëanáro said, “has a regrettable tendency to speak of things quite beyond his experience and understanding, and he can become extremely annoying. I am glad if he hadn’t reached that point yet.”
I pursed my lips. “Not at all.” I didn’t quite dare to add that I was finding the older brother far more annoying.

“Well, Master Alcaráco was requiring his presence either way,” the annoying older brother said dryly, “so I still had to send him over. We have to sit for that foolish statue Father commissioned, you see – that’s why we’re spiffed up like that.”
He sat down in one of the horrible straight-backed chairs, which I took as a signal to seat myself as well. While I sat perfectly upright (as the chair forced me to, and as was proper anyway), however, he slid half-way down into a relaxed posture, resting one foot on his opposite knee, as though he weren’t in his father’s palace but leaning against a tree in the woods, wearing not fine robes but simple stuff that didn’t mind being rumpled. Like little Nolofinwë’s, his stockings were of silk, and immaculately white. I glanced down at my own stockings, which had never been properly bleached in the first place (to what purpose?), and taken on a decidedly greyish tint since then. I wished Fëanáro would leave me alone.
“Doesn’t Master Alcaráco require your presence as well?” I asked, hoping to get rid of him that way.
But I had no such luck. “No, he’s done with me for today, praised be Aulë,” Fëanáro said. “I was going to get out of these torturous robes just now, but then I saw that you were here and thought I’d keep you company. These chairs are a horror, aren’t they? Shall we not go for a walk? I could show you our gardens.”

Despite my dislike I couldn’t help beginning to feel a little flattered. Fëanáro, firstborn son of King Finwë, wet dream of most of Tirion’s ladies (and some of the gentlemen, too), was delaying his release from his ‘torturous robes’ in order to keep me company! And offering to show me the royal gardens! Ah, if Lanyalossë and Carnissiel and the others could be here!
“No, thank you,” I said, however. “I am not here for my pleasure.” His lip quirked at that, and I felt angry again – I certainly hadn’t meant him! “I am waiting for his Majesty, for I have business to discuss with him.”
Now he tilted his head, his eyes glinting with curiosity. “Business?” And then his face lit up, and he jumped up from the chair. “Oh!” he cried. “Have you come to let us know your father’s decision? Does he accept me as his apprentice?” He was biting his lip in his eagerness.
And I was torn between a variety of impulses. There was amusement, for now he looked as absurd in his fine robes as his brother had – a child dressed up to look like an adult. There was puzzlement, for after my conversation with his page, I had gained the impression that Father’s decision was considered practically foregone, Fëanáro’s application a mere act of courtesy – as the page had said, he might as well command it. But Fëanáro himself appeared a lot less certain, standing before me with his teeth worrying his lips.
There was, foolishly enough, titillation, for like him or not, he was disgustingly handsome, and paying me a lot of attention, and my mind very inappropriately imagined him in the privacy of his room, getting rid of the heavy robes, stretching, perhaps washing himself - and I remembered that day by the lake and his fair skin and fine build, the firm muscles, the — my cheeks reddened most embarrassingly. There was something intoxicating about him, I decided, and I vowed to judge the fawning ladies a little more kindly in the future.
Finally, however, there was resentment – as though Father would send me of all people, not a simple letter or a messenger or someone more expendable than me! It won out, in the end.
“I am not my father’s errand-runner,” I said stiffly.
“Of course not,” he said. “But since you said you had business to discuss with Father, I’d hoped… well, perhaps you still know how Master Mahtan decided? Yes? Will he take me?”
He really was worried, I realised. I liked that – yes, I know, a cruel thought, but somehow I found it delightful that someone so mighty and so arrogant longed so much for my father’s approval.
“I cannot say,” I told him – not as kindly as I could have, I suppose. “My father’s council is his own to keep, and he will let you know in good time.”

His face fell, and he actually sank to his knees, his hands gripping the armrests of my chair. This was most unsettling! My face was hot again. He stared up at me much like Nolofinwë had, but where Nolofinwë had been curious, his eyes were now filled with mingled anger and pleading. I could see the elaborate braids on his head, held with clasps of gold and ruby (none of them my father’s work, I noticed, but of excellent make: perhaps the lord Aulë himself had made them?). His robes, gold and copper and dark red, contrasted absurdly against the simple green linen of my dress.
“So he will not have me,” Fëanáro said. “He rejects me. For otherwise you would tell me, would you not?”
“My lord,” I said in an attempt to remind him of his station, leaning away from him as far as the chair would let me, “I honestly cannot say. Father has not yet made his decision known.” And he hadn’t. Oh, true, he’d said that he was tempted to accept Fëanáro although he already had more apprentices than was common – but being tempted didn’t mean you were actually going to do it, after all!
Fëanáro stared at my face intently; I found it hard to return his keen gaze, rather than turn my head away. For a while he did not move, and I was terrified that his brother or his page or someone else – worst of all, the king! – might come upon us like that. “You will tell your father how important this is to me, won’t you?” he said, jutting his chin as if to give his words more force.
“Yes, yes,” said I, embarrassed out of my wits. “I will tell him.”
“Good,” he said, sighing, and finally let go of the chair, although he did not get up. With a sigh of my own, I abandoned my seat to sit on the floor next to him – it was really too embarrassing to have him at my feet, what would people think of me?! The marble was cold, but no more uncomfortable than the chairs.
Fëanáro was tracing the swirls in the polished stone with his fingers. I still couldn’t understand why he was so upset, but I felt slightly ashamed of having enjoyed his anxiety earlier, so I spoke gently now. “Why does it matter so much, my lord?”
He stared at me, his bright eyes boring into mine. “What a question, Nerdanel. I thought you were a craftswoman – do you not know, then, how much the approval of other craftsmen means? How I suffer, waiting for your father’s answer?”
Quite melodramatic, the poor boy, I thought, but at least he was showing more respect to my father than his servant had done. “But surely the lord Aulë would continue to teach you, and you do not need my father’s approval at all – or have you angered him?” I shivered at the thought – but he laughed, at last. “Not that I know of!” he said. “But you see, Nerdanel, Aulë is a Vala, which I am not—“
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I couldn’t help quipping.
He only snorted. “Which I am not. Oh, he is a wonderful teacher, no question about that. But he has possibilities that we Eldar are, by nature, lacking - and in turn he has limitations that are alien to us.”
I frowned. I knew nothing about such limitations. But Fëanáro went on at once; he had recovered from his bout of self-doubt quickly, it seemed.
“So it is only reasonable that I should finish my apprenticeship by a master of my own kind – and no, before you can say that I should apply with someone else, that will not do. I have studied all their work, and discussed it with Aulë, and I have come to the conclusion that it must be Master Mahtan.”
“Such praise,” I said, since I could not think of anything else – but father would like to hear that. Fëanáro shrugged. “Yes, well. But you still haven’t told me what you are here for.”
I took a deep breath. “The lord Aulë wants me to make a sculpture for the king for my exams. Of you.” I blushed yet again. “I mean, plural you. You and your siblings.”*
He raised his eyebrows. “The sculpture that Master Alcaráco is preparing to make?”
“Yes, that,” I said, grimacing. I did not mean to doubt the lord Aulë’s wisdom, perish the thought, but I couldn't help feeling unhappy about it.
Fëanáro studied me again. “You must be very good, then,” he stated flatly, in a way that seemed to sound rather doubtful to me. My pride stirred.
“Well, maybe I am!” I said.
He laughed with a small snort. “No doubt. You are, after all, Master Mahtan’s daughter.”

I did not know what to reply. Fortunately I didn’t have to, for the door finally opened, and the page appeared – I wouldn’t have thought that I might ever be so glad to see his face, even though he raised an eyebrow to see me sitting on the floor with his lord!
“King Finwë has time for you now,” he said to me, with a look of mild scorn on his face. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, Wintillo,” Fëanáro said, rising and offering his hand to help me up with a gallant bow, playing the perfect gentleman. He appeared entirely unembarrassed. I would have liked to ignore his offer, but that would have been too impolite. His hand was stronger than it looked at first, and it had not (as I had heard tell) the texture of velvet, but felt just like a normal hand – calluses included. His skin was very warm, though. I let go as quickly as I could in order to wipe imaginary dust off my dress.
“Very well,” I said, composing myself. “My thanks for the company, Prince Fëanáro. I am certain my father will inform you of his decision very soon.” I curtsied, and then turned to the page, who was now smirking openly. “Please lead the way.”

---

Chapter End Notes

* This problem would not actually occur in Quenya, where the second person singular and the second person plural are clearly distinguishable, but I could not resist the opportunity for further embarrassment...

Chapter 8

My goodness! It's an update! And once again the story refuses to behave as planned. Oh well.

Read Chapter 8

Compared to his sons, King Finwë was dressed downright poorly in a long, pleated robe of dark blue silk. I was surprised to see that his wife was present also, sitting in a soft chair with a book in her lap – I had not expected that there would be witnesses to this conversation. Worse, the smirking page also remained in the study, although he stood by the door next to some other servant while I walked towards the king's desk. I bit my lips, and clasped my hands in case they decided to tremble.
King Finwë and Queen Indis both smiled in a kindly manner, and answered my curtsy by inclining their heads towards me.
"Welcome, young Nerdanel," said the Queen. I found her voice very pleasant – I had not given much thought to her voice whenever I had heard her before, if I had ever consciously heard her before, but right there in the king's study my mind seemed intent on paying attention to the slightest detail. I remember thinking that I would have expected someone of Indis' slight stature and Vanyarin colouring to have a higher-pitched voice. Instead it was a soft alto that I found very reassuring. I could not help but return her smile.

"Welcome indeed," said King Finwë, nodding again and gesturing at another cushioned chair that stood, empty and expectant, before his desk. "Please make yourself comfortable."
For all the smiles and the queen's friendly voice, I could not imagine ever being comfortable in their company, but I sat down anyway and tried to keep smiling. I wondered what I could say, and finally decided for, "Thank you for agreeing to see me, your majesties."
They exchanged a glance, and smiled again.
"But of course," the king said. "Lord Aulë reccommended you very highly. I must admit that I am a little surprised at your youth, however..."
He is going to tell me no, I thought, and felt relieved – surely it was relief? I had not wanted this commission after all. I wanted to do some meaningless, showy piece as other apprentices did.
"… but I have been told that your talent is rather beyond your age, and that-" he glanced down at a letter that lay atop another surprisingly disorderly stack of papers on his desk- "'such talent is no longer to be wasted on mere practice pieces', as Lord Aulë put it."
I could not stifle a sigh. No doubt Aulë meant well, but I found it embarrassing to be advertised so – like an apple by a market-woman.
"Now unfortunately," the king went on, "his recommendation puts us into a bit of a conundrum, for as you may have heard, I technically already gave the commission to Master Alcaráco. Naturally I am now hesitant to insult him by taking this work away from him..."
And putting a mere girl in his place, I thought – but he did not say that. He was very polite, really. Talent or no, in his eyes I could hardly be more than a child – he could just have said "no", as simple as that, instead of explaining himself at length.
I felt I had to contribute something to the conversation. "I understand that perfectly well, my lord, and I assure you that I shall accept your decision with good will," I said.
Indis gave me a kindly smile. "You expect to be rejected, then?" she said.
"Well, yes," I admitted.
"I must admit that I considered that, initially," said King Finwë. "Which is not to say that I doubt your skill – but Master Alcaráco has already begun his work, and it would be unjust to send him off now, even at Aulë's request." His lips stretched in a grimace that looked almost apologetic.
"Of course," I hurried to say.
"But fortunately my beloved Indis had a splendid idea," the king said, smiling at his queen. "She suggested that you both create your own version of my commission. Only afterwards will we decide which sculpture to keep. Is not that a fine compromise?"
I stared at him – at both of them – in dismay. I knew that my thoughts must register clearly on my face, for I did not find the strength to smile or even just look blank. I could not help it.
"That... sounds rather like a contest," I managed, and heard my voice betray my feelings also.
"Well, in a way," Queen Indis said, and despite her mild voice I hated her, quite childishly, that moment. "But in a friendly way. Only you two will take part, and there will be no hard feelings. After all, even if you loose, you will still have done your part for the examination!"
She was smiling, and still I felt myself flooded with dislike. No hard feelings indeed. Making me compete with an accomplished master sculptor, even just in a friendly way, was a cruel thing to do!

Then I chided myself for such childish thoughts. As Indis had said, I did not need to win. I could pretend that Aulë had asked me to present a sculpture of the King's children for my final exam, rather than seeing the project as a real commission. A group was unusual, as an examination piece, but I could bear the idea of an unusual project – much better than the idea of a contest. I breathed deeply, and found my smile again.
"Yes, that sounds like a wise solution," I said, and added, "Thank you for giving me a chance."
"Gladly," said King Finwë. "Will you stay for dinner? Master Alcaráco is still at work now, but I am certain that you will wish to discuss things with him later on– surely he can give you some useful advice, too! And I still have some guild requests to look into. We can settle the details this afternoon, however, when you have spoken with Master Alcaráco. What say you?"
I bit my lip. "To be honest, my lord, I think my family will wait for me back by afternoon – I had not expected to stay here for so long..."
"Oh, that should not be a problem; if you wish to stay, I can send a messenger to let them know. You will not have to ride home on your own at night – I shall give you reliable company, of course."
I was not worried about riding on my own – what should happen? - but of course King Finwë, like my father, had grown up in Endorë (1), where loneliness could well be deadly. Apparently it was still a matter of worry for him. I for my part merely did not want my family to wonder what was taking me so long.
"A message to my parents would solve the problem, thank you very much," I said.
"Then it is decided?"
I nodded and smiled, although the idea of discussing things with Alcaráco wasn't overly thrilling and the idea of dinner with the king's family was downright daunting. But he was right – there were still details that had to be settled, such as when to work so that Alcaráco's and my schedules would not overlap too badly, and how much marble to order, and where to put up my make-shift workshop – I would have to work here at the palace, I realised with dread, for such a large sculpture could not easily be transported from my father's house to Tirion later on. Yes, there was much to discuss. So I accepted his invitation.

"Very good!" he smiled. "Wintillo, you will see to it that Master Mahtan will be informed of his daughter's whereabouts?"
"Certainly, sir," Wintillo said.
"And be so good as to find some entertainment for our guest, until Master Alcaráco has time for her, please..."
Wintillo was looking somewhat doubtful. King Finwë did not seem to notice.
"We have a wonderful library," Indis said, perhaps more observant than her husband.
"I should like to see that very much," said I, deciding that I did not dislike her so much after all.
"Very good," the king repeated. "Until later, then."
I curtsied, they nodded, and Wintillo held the door open for me.

I was grateful for the cool solitude of the library. Although I could hear the scratching of quills and some whispered conversation from the adjacent scriptorium, there was a peaceful atmosphere to the high-ceilinged, shelf-lined hall. I did not mind the giggles of the young scribes, nor the occasional reprimands from the older scholars; they blended into a friendly background hum. After Wintillo excused himself, I sat down with a book in one of the cushioned window-seats, but I was not truly there for reading. I stared at the elegant lettering without seeing it. Instead I made plans so that, when Master Alcaráco and the king had time to discuss further specifics with me, I would be able to speak wisely.
Not long after Laurelin's brightest hour, one of the young scribes came in to ask whether I wished to share their lunch. In all my excitement I hardly felt hungry, but I agreed nonetheless, assumig that the talks of the afternoon might well prove taxing and the promised dinner yet far away. Apparently the royal household only gathered for dinner, while the other meals were taken at everyone's leisure or as their tasks allowed. But of course they had people who had nothing to do but prepare food, while at a house like my father's we shared these duties on top of our usual work, and thus needed fixed times lest anyone go hungry, or any meal be uneaten.

The scholars took their lunch in the courtyard outside the library. They sat down in the lush grass while I sat on the stone steps of the gateway: It would not do to appear to the dinner later on with grass stains on my dress, for although it was green, surely such stains would have a different hue. One of the older scholars was Quessincë, a good friend of my mother – they had been students under the same tutors once. She sat with me, and introduced me to her two apprentices, Yestaro and Parmandil the son of Tanárion, my sister's other tutor. Both were cheerful and very likeable young men.
Despite the informal circumstances, the meal itself was very nice, a light soup of vegetables and grilled and skewered trout with toasted bread. Quessincë asked about my family and my studies while her students did their best to get me out of my pensive mood, and eventually succeeded. I even dared to use them as a test audience for my ideas about my work – to see if they, familiar with the life and circumstances of the palace, caught any vital thought I had missed, or had further advice. They had some, mostly concerning questions of workspace and materials, so I could refine my plans in my head.

Out of gratitude for their help, but also out of curiosity I let them show me what they were working on after the meal was finished. Yestaro's project was particularly fascinating: He was copying Rúmil's early accounts of Noldorin history. The difference between the sober original and Yestaro's ongoing work - much more elegant, each page adorned with an illuminated frame of intertwined branches – was striking. We hold Rúmil's words in such high respect, but seeing the undecorated pages and the unpracticed letters of his chronicle, I understood well why a better copy was needed for the king's library. Even Yestaro, a mere apprentice, could produce something more impressive than the uneven writing of these first accounts.
I praised Yestaro's hand accordingly. "Although the words themselves, of course, we owe to Rúmil's genius alone," I added before Quessincë might think me disrespectful.
"A cumbersome genius, for all that," said a scornful voice behind me, and I turned around to see the face of Prince Fëanáro. I barely suppressed a groan.
The prince had by now changed into more comfortable clothing, although in a chamber filled with dark-robed scholars the bright red of his tunic nonetheless made him stand out. Yestaro frowned while Quessincë merely gave him a good-natured smile, perhaps used to such antics. "Why cumbersome, Fëanáro? Have you been quarrelling with Rúmil?"
"Not in person," Fëanáro said with a shrug. After a glance at Yestaro's writing he added, "You left out a paragraph there."
Yestaro's frown deepened as he stared down at the page. "Where?" Quessincë and Parmandil also bent over the dark letters.
"Right here, after Heceldamarello. See?" Fëanáro pointed at Rúmil's original. "This line and that one both end on Heceldamarello, and you just jumped to the second incidence and left out everything in between."

That sort of thing was a reasonably common mistake that could happen even to experienced scribes, but Yestaro was mortified nonetheless; his face darkened, and his teeth worried his lower lip. Now that the error had been noticed, he would have to copy the entire passage anew, either using a new sheet altogether – which meant copying the back of the page, and spending long hours reproducing the elaborate frame and initials – or by trying to scrape the ink of the erroneous paragraph off the parchment, which was also tedious and might ruin the page; at the very least, it would leave traces. I felt sorry for him, and could not help giving Fëanáro a disapproving glare.
He raised his eyebrows. "Better to catch the mistake now than later on, with the book finished and bound, is it not?" he said in an innocent tone.
"Yes, of course," Yestaro said, his voice calm despite the colour in his face.
"After all," Fëanáro added, with a look in my direction, "we strive to work to the best of our abilities."
He was right, but I still felt sorry for Yestaro. His mistake might never have been noticed, for likely no one would read his copy next to the original, and the three lines he had left out – I checked – were not so vital that any potential reader would be confused by their absence. The sentence was a little unwieldy as Yestaro had written it, but not so badly that future readers would think less of him, or of Rúmil, if they even noticed the slight obliquity. It was a mere coincidence that someone had looked at the two versions side by side, and caught the tiny omission at a glance. How Fëanáro had been able to compare the two pages so quickly I could not tell, anyway.
"So we do," Quessincë said. "Thank you for paying such attention, Fëanáro – it might well have slipped mine." Yestaro sat down rather heavily, pushing the erroneous page away.
A small smile appeared on Fëanáro's face. "Surely not, Mistress Quessincë," he said pleasantly, though I thought that his smile rather agreed with her. "My eyes are no sharper than yours."
But you think your mind is, I thought angrily, and felt resentment like a cold weight in my chest. "Why, Prince Fëanáro, I thought that you were a smith, not a scholar. Are you certain that my father's house would be the right place for you?"

I was speaking too loud, for a scriptorium. The other scribes, who had so far paid little attention to our corner of the room, now all looked at us, some with disapproval in their eyes, some – particularly the apprentices – with curiosity. Fëanáro replied in a softer voice, his eyebrows raised in feigned innocence.
"Whyever not? I do not have to follow both ways at the same time, after all. Although I daresay I could – Mistress Istarnië (2) is, I believe, of the scholarly profession?"
"Of course she is. But are you not the one who insists on learning only from the best? Or does that apply only to smithcraft?"
Fëanáro shrugged. "I have not studied your mother's work yet, but since she and your father appear to be happily married, I take it that she cannot be wholly incompetent."
"That makes no sense at all."
Quessincë interrupted our argument. She was smiling, as yet – amused by our youthful silliness, I assume. "You give your mother too little credit, dear Nerdanel. Your father's reputation may shadow hers, but that makes her no less capable. But may I suggest that you continue your discussion outside? This is a workplace, after all..."
I bit my lip, embarrassed. "Yes, of course. I do beg your pardon."

"It makes perfect sense, of course," Fëanáro stated when we were out in the courtyard. "I do not believe that any marriage – any relationship, really – can be fortuitious if the partners are not on equal terms as concerns their skills, temperament and intellectual capacity. Roughly, at least. Any great difference, though initially overlooked, will sooner or later breed resentment – unless maybe one partner is too foolish to notice her, or maybe his, inferiority. I find it unlikely that your mother is so foolish, and I find it unlikely that someone like Master Mahtan could love a merely mediocre craftswoman. Thus Mistress Istarnië must at the very least be good, if not excellent at her work."
I could not help but laugh. "You speak with such conviction, Prince Fëanáro, but I must point out that you cannot have any experience concerning marriage. You speak beyond your age and knowledge."
He pursed his lips, clearly dissatisfied. "I can observe, and draw my conclusions, no matter what my age." His eyebrows went up, and his bright eyes stared into mine directly. "You should know that age is not essential. A greater than common mind may reach greater wisdom, much younger."
I tried not to laugh again. "Since you speak from observation, I take it your stepmother is as wise, and indeed as great a leader as is your father? After all, they appear to be happily married..." It was a foolish thing to do, provoking him like that. But it was, I thought, a simple way to prove him wrong.
His brow contracted in scorn, and he waved his hand dismissively. "She is of the Vanyar, and they love to worship those greater than themselves. I was speaking of purely Noldorin marriages, of course."
"Of course."
"You may not wish to believe me, Nerdanel, but I am quite confident that I am right." Again that disconcerting stare. I think he was challenging me to look away first. I did not do him the favour, but stared right back.
"I must pity you then, my lord," I said, "for if you are so very great and will not marry beneath your own... capacity, I must fear that you shall remain a bachelor forever."
I was not certain whether that gleam in his eyes was surprise or scorn or something else entirely. I certainly tried to put scorn into my own stare. His lip quirked, briefly, and at last he turned away. "How did your business with my father go?" he asked as though the argument had never happened.
"As well as I could hope, I suppose," I said, accepting the change of subject. "The queen has made a very sensible suggestion that will permit both Master Alcaráco and me to create a sculpture, rather than disappointing one of us."
"A contest? Between you and Alcaráco?"
"In a way. A friendly contest."
"That does not sound sensible at all."
I shrugged. "You only say that because you dislike Queen Indis." I began to walk, slowly.

Fëanáro fell into pace next to me.
"I do dislike Queen Indis," he agreed, "but I would say what I said even if I loved her. You must realise that her suggestion makes rivals of you and Alcaráco, and in the end, one of you will be disappointed."
I shrugged again. "I can bear the disappointment, I am sure."
"You could, maybe," Fëanáro stated in a flat voice. "But what about Alcaráco?"

I stopped in my tracks. I laughed, half nervous and half surprised. That thought had briefly crossed my mind, and I had banished it quickly, for wasn't it sheer arrogance to even think that I might surpass Master Alcaráco, even if I was not to be an apprentice much longer? Of course it was, and so I had not dared to think of it. Hearing it voiced by someone else – moreover by Prince Fëanáro, who could not be interested in flattering me – was a relief.
"That is highly unlikely," I said airily.
"Unlikely is not impossible."
"We do not need to discuss semantics."
Fëanáro clasped my hands. My first impulse was to tear free at once. I managed to resist it, but he must have guessed that his touch made me uncomfortable, for he let go of my hands and took a step back. The memory of his warm hands lingered on my skin.
Meanwhile, he began to pace again. "You do realise that I am right, however?"
I shook my head. "It will not happen."
"It might."
"I do not want to consider it now. I will think of something, if only I get some time for myself."
He had noticed that I was not walking along, and so stood and turned to face me again.
"So you mean to say that I keep you from thinking?"
"From sorting my thoughts, yes."
He snorted. "You were not sorting your thoughts in the library either."
I folded my arms across my chest. "I was before lunch."
"Did it help?"
"Quite."
"That is good to hear." A slight smirk crept over his face. "If you are done thinking, my offer to show you the gardens is still good, by the way."
I shook my head, more violently than I had intended. "I do not wish to go too far away. I am just waiting for Master Alcaráco to finish his work for today, for I need to discuss some things with him."
"Are you going to ask him not to be angry if you do better than he?"
"Assuredly not."
"I don't think it would help, anyway. But it's hopeless to wait for him, I think. He's been keeping me all of yesterday, and several hours this morning. Obsessed with details. I believe he counted my every hair when he sketched me." I rolled my eyes at such an absurd story.
"And now he's started on Nolofinwë, the little pest, so I doubt he's going to be available before dinner."
"Prince Nolofinwë is smaller than you are. And possibly less loquacious."
"Now that is not only unlikely, but, in fact, impossible. He may talk less sense, however."
If Master Alcaráco asked little Nolofinwë to sit in silence, the child would very likely obey as best he could, I thought. If he asked the same of Fëanáro, he would probably find himself in a lengthy discussion of the term silence. Or of rank. But I did not voice these thoughts, instead asking, "So how long has Master Alcaráco been working on this commission?"
"I told you. Since yesterday."
"So he took care of the composition and sketched you and your siblings(3), and then he worked with you alone?" That made much more sense than the hair-counting story. But Fëanáro shook his head.
"No. I had to pose for him, all by myself, all day." He mimicked a traditional modelling pose, hands raised as if to underline some unspoken point, hip slightly tilted, left foot forward, a rather vacant look on his face. Then he returned to his usual posture and shrugged. "As Nolofinwë now poses alone."
"So Master Alcaráco grouped you at some other time?"
A frown. "There was no other time. He started yesterday, with me." He spoke slowly, stressing each word, as if annoyed to repeat himself.

Now this made no sense at all. If Master Alcaráco was taking such detailed sketches already, he must have decided which posture and position each of the children would take in the finished sculpture. This in turn suggested that he had taken preliminary sketches of them together, or at any rate let them pose together in order to plan the next steps. Of course he could skip any such composition sketches if he simply lined them up in the sculpture, one next to the other. That was perfectly possible. But it was an uninspired thing to do – not something you'd expect on an important commission for the king himself. Unless perhaps Master Alcaráco could visualise the composition so perfectly before his mind's eye that he already knew exactly how each child should stand or sit, without seeing them perform his ideas.
That must be it, I decided. He was, after all, an accomplished sculptor.
But even then, even before I had rightly decided on what exactly I would do, I knew that I would not follow his example.

---

Chapter End Notes

(1) Dark, dangerous Middle-earth.

(2) Istarnië is, strictly speaking, a name for Nerdanel in some of the earlier drafts. As the published Silmarillion goes with Nerdanel, however, "Istarnië" was sort of in the open. Naturally it might just be Nerdanel's father-name or somesuch, but why waste a perfectly good name for something that is never used? So I decided to kidnap the name and use it for Nerdanel's mother. I think I'm not the first fanficcer to do that. :)

(3) Assuming that Nerdanel has not yet reached the magic age of 50, that Fëanor is younger than she, and that Fingolfin is in his early twenties, "the others" must be Findis and Írimë (or Finvain, but that doesn't seem to fit linguistically with the rest of the bunch). Finarfin, according to the Annals of Aman, wasn't born until Fëanor was 61 and Fingolfin 40. Pity, I would've liked to include toddler Finarfin in this. But I figured I should try and stick to the timeline for once. As for Faniel, I'm so confused by the different versions (is she Finwë's third child or the youngest or is Faniel just yet another name for Írimë?) that personally I'm going to assume that she would be even younger than as-yet-unborn Finarfin. Your mileage may vary.

Chapter 9

Another update! And we are still not moving from the spot. Instead, we're having dinner. Oh well, what can you do?

Read Chapter 9

I was unimpressed by the brief talk I had with Master Alcaráco, I must confess. Perhaps it was because I was prejudiced after the squabble with Prince Fëanáro. Or maybe it was that Master Alcaráco kept me waiting until shortly before dinner, and told me to be brief.
"I wish to wash and change my clothes before dinner," he told me, stacking several sheets of sketching paper on a trestle table.
I looked after poor little Nolofinwë, who slipped from the room looking pale and tired after what must have been hours of boredom for him.
"I understand," I said. "I promise not to waste your time."
Indeed, I rather felt he was wasting mine. The conversation was pointless: None of the advice Alcaráco gave me was new, much of what he told me I had already figured out by myself (or by discussing the matter with the scribes), and he behaved in such a patronising manner that I felt quite angry by the end of it. Of course I was merely an apprentice, but I did have some experience and was about to take the exams, after all. I was certainly no longer a child. There was no need to act so condescendingly. Father would never have spoken like that even to the rawest beginner!
When Master Alcaráco offered his sketches for my perusal, I found it easy to refuse that offer. Had I accepted it, he would no doubt think that I was incapable of making my own, and that whatever I produced would be indebted to his groundwork.

"Thank you, I think I have no further questions," I said as soon as I could, and almost ground my teeth when he gave me another sweet smile.
"Oh, they will surely come once you start working," said Master Alcaráco. "Feel free to ask me, whenever it is necessary. Just do not disturb me at work, please – the king expects my best, after all - but the evenings are perfectly fine, if you keep it short!"
You are not the only craftsman I know, I thought, but still tried to be polite. "Thank you," I said.
"You are very welcome. I'm always happy to help young people rise, of course! An expert's advice is invaluable on your first real project."
I smiled, feeling nothing but my teeth.

The dinner hall in the palace was huge, and for once I was grateful for the presence of Wintillo, who showed me where I would sit. The seat of honour on the queen's right-hand side was naturally reserved for Master Alcaráco, he told me.
"Of course," I said, my smile sincere this time. I would be perfectly happy to sit among the craftsfolk at the lower end of the table.
"But we found something suitable for you nonetheless," Wintillo said, destroying my hopes. "As honourable as Alcaráco's place and quite possibly preferable – right next to my lord Fëanáro."
"Oh," I managed.
I couldn't say I was thrilled. I cast longing glances to the end of the hall, where among the unknown faces I could see Mistress Quessincë as well as Yestaro and the other scribes. Yestaro was looking cheerful again, having apparently recovered from the shock of his error. How I wished I could sit with them! Spending all evening next to the prince, after I had just barely managed to escape his company, was an unpleasant prospect.
Then I called myself to order. I should see this as the honour it was, no more and no less. I probably wouldn't have to do much talking, so close to the king and queen.
"Very well," I said.
Wintillo raised an eyebrow. "You are probably the only maiden in all of Tirion to look unhappy at what I told you. Shouldn't you be blushing and giggling?"
"Should I?" I retorted. "I see no reason for that."
"Hm. I guess that explains a fair bit," he said, but when I asked him what that was supposed to mean, he just smirked, made a bow, and disappeared.

I surveyed the hall again. At home, one table was enough for the entire household, but here there were three: the high table on the dais, where the king and queen and their honoured guests would eat, and two long, long tables perpendicular to the high table for the rest of the household. There were silk-cushioned chairs – beautiful, with intricate carvings, and as uncomfortably straight-backed at those I had encountered in the morning – for everyone, some cushioned with additional pillows for (I assumed) children. There were no extra cushions on the chairs at the high table; either little Nolofinwë and Írimë would have to eat with only their noses reaching the table, or they were placed at the lower table. That, too, was different from home, where Sarnië (and before her, Erenwen and before her, I) had sat right between our parents until she was old enough to eat on her own without too much of a mess. But I suppose you couldn't have small children with a tendency to throw tantrums, upset glasses or drop and smear morsels of food sitting on the king's high table. Nor could the king and queen humour a child while they had to entertain guests and the court. But Prince Fëanáro would have to grow used to seeing Sarnië play with her food if he came into our house, I thought with a certain spiteful satisfaction.

The royal family did not arrive before most of the seats were taken, and pages had gone around filling glasses with sparkling wine. The three youngest arrived first, Írimë accompanied by a young woman in the ink-black robes of a scholar and Nolofinwë by another woman who was probably his nurse. They were indeed taken to the pillow-cushioned chairs at the low table. Princess Findis no longer needed extra cushions, but she nonetheless sat with her little siblings. Poor Nolofinwë still had his hair braided and jewelled, although at least the stiff brocade robes were gone.

Prince Fëanáro and the royal couple appeared last. The king and queen walked along the left-hand table while Fëanáro walked along the right. He had not bothered to replace the simple red tunic he'd been wearing in the afternoon by something more formal. Instead he had tied an embroidered scarf of ochre silk around his waist like a sash, its fringed ends dangling down to below his knees. It looked like a costume, though I couldn't have told you what he meant to portray.
Just like his father and the queen on the other side of the hall, he spoke to every person he passed – a few words of greeting, a few comments on the day's work, a few compliments, I assumed. He seemed to be doing well, I was surprised to see – there were many smiles, and neither awkward pauses nor offended looks. Then again, everybody knew how people fawned over the prince. He could probably spout the dullest nonsense, and would still be rewarded with smiles and congratulations on his wit.
Then I remembered that I'd resolved to judge people less harshly. Who knew, perhaps I was doing him wrong after all. I should probably give him another chance – and what better time than now, when I had to spend the evening at his side anyway?

"Good evening, Nerdanel," Fëanáro said when he eventually reached his seat. His smile, even from close up, looked genuine enough. "It has been a while since we last dined together."
Wintillo had reappeared from wherever he had hidden, to push the prince's chair forward as he sat down. Then he stepped back again to where to other pages were waiting for the royal couple.
"Indeed, my lord," I said.
There was a brief pause, as if he was expecting me to say more. Then he said, "But maybe I will have the pleasure more often, now?"
I bit my lips, and saw him frown at that. "No doubt, since I am to work here for a while," I said, hastily adding, "That is, if I have the... honour... of sitting up here again."
He was still frowning. "Yes, of course. But I rather meant that I would have the pleasure once I was Master Mahtan's apprentice."
I had to smile at that. "My lord, you know I cannot tell you my father's decision. I assure you that flattering me will avail you nothing, however."
Prince Fëanáro sighed. "You insist on misjudging my meaning," he began, but before he could say what meaning that was, the king and queen had reached their places, and everybody – including the prince – rose. I noticed that he very pointedly looked at his father while he made his bow, turning half his back towards Queen Indis – not an easy feat, from so close. He really hates her, I thought, inwardly shaking my head. I pointedly curtseyed to both of them, and when I caught the queen's gaze, I smiled in the friendliest way I could.

King Finwë raised his glass, and we all did the same. The king smiled. "Greetings again to you all! After this beautiful and productive day, I wish you all a pleasant and inspiring evening. Welcome in particular to a new addition to our table: Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan the smith, who will work on her examination piece in my house." He held his hand in my direction. Everybody's attention turned towards me and there was some polite applause. I curtsied and was annoyed to realise that my face was burning.
"Now let us enjoy the fine meal that has been prepared for us," King Finwë continued. "Eat, drink and be merry!" He sat down. Everybody followed suit.

While the pages started serving bowls of soup and fresh bread, I became aware that Prince Fëanáro was looking at me intently. I almost grimaced, but caught myself in time. I remembered our interrupted conversation (if you could call it conversation) and wondered if that was the reason for his stare.
"You said I was misjudging your meaning," I said by way of taking up the thread. "What meaning would that be, then?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I can tell you what it is not."
"What, then?"
"Flattery."
"What else, then?"
With a snort, he said, "What if I meant it?"
"Why should you?" I said before I could help myself.
He gave an exasperated sigh. "You figure it out," he suggested, and turned his attention towards his soup, ignoring the bread.
I ate as well.

After the soup, we were served a light dish of quails with fruit and grilled cheese, and afterwards, a spicy pie filled with chard and carrots. Prince Fëanáro appeared offended and did not deign to speak with me throughout these courses. At first that suited me just fine. Unfortunately, however, my neighbours to the left were making animated conversation amongst themselves, so I sat in isolated silence.
In the end, I found it too awkward; I tried talking to Prince Fëanáro again.
"You are wearing quite a catching costume tonight," I said.
He looked me up and down, then said, "What is this – flattery?"
I sighed. "Merely an observation. I meant 'catching' in the sense of 'unusual'. It caught my attention. That is all."
With a thin smile, he said, "Worth something, then. Yes, it is unusual here, I suppose. After this morning's ordeal, I could not be bothered to dress properly. But this is, after all, my father's palace – so I tried to spice this overly casual apparel with a sash. Shamelessly stolen from the Teleri, to be honest – I saw their fishermen wear this style of clothing when I visited Alqualondë a few years back. Not in these colours, of course, but blue does not suit me well. What do you think?"

As I had observed before, he could really wear whatever – if anything – he chose and it would look dashing. But I could hardly say that. Besides, it would not do to praise his looks – he'd take it as flattery, and mock me again.
"No doubt it will soon be the latest fashion, if people see you wearing it," I said – that seemed neutral enough.
"Probably," he acknowledged with a shrug, and fortunately did not point out that I had not exactly answered his question.

The empty plates were taken away. After the sweet red wine we'd drunk with the chicken and pie, we were now served a dry-ish white wine. We never bothered with more than one choice of drink at home. I secretly wondered how Prince Fëanáro would feel about that.
But that was not a topic that I wanted to touch again, so over the next course – cured salmon on salad – I changed the topic entirely. "So you have been to Alqualondë?"
"Several times, yes. You haven't?"
"No. They don't seem to have any use for sculptors there, so we never went."
"You should go some time. You'd appreciate the beauty of the cliffs, I'm sure. And of course the sea is always worth a visit. And you are wrong: They make fine driftwood statues. Worth studying, if sculpting is your craft."
His words made me feel strangely unsophisticated. Driftwood statues had never been mentioned in any of my studies, but of course I could have done some research of my own.
"That sounds interesting," I said, somewhat embarrassed. "I should like to take a look at them."
"Maybe I'll take you, when next I go there," Prince Fëanáro said, smiling.

I felt my brows contract. "I am perfectly capable of travelling on my own, I am sure!" I said.
He sighed. "Of course. And again you misread me, for I had no intention of suggesting that you weren't – as you should know."
"Oh, should I?"
"You should indeed. Or have you forgotten our encounter on your last journey?"
Would that I could, I thought! Out loud, I put some disdain into my voice as I said, "I remember that I had to save you from a killer rabbit, as your brother so nicely put it."
"As my half-brother so naïvely put it," he corrected. "But yes. So I have no reason to doubt your capability."
"Fair enough," I conceded. "But if you enter into apprenticeship with my father, you will have no time to go to Alqualondë for quite a while."
With a shrug, Prince Fëanáro declared, "If I have that privilege, I shall forego the pleasures of Alqualondë willingly for as long as it takes," And then he turned to me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "They eat raw fish there, you know."

I looked down at our plates, which we had by now cleared of their contents. "What of it? We have just eaten raw fish," I pointed out.
"That was cured," he said. "They like it raw and uncured. Mussels as well. And seaweed. And..."
I cut his list short. "If they like eating it, I must assume it tastes well. Are you expecting me to be shocked?"
He smiled. "Most Noldorin ladies are. As are Noldorin gentlemen. And Vanyar of either sex, come to think of it. But you speak wisely." Did I detect pride in his voice? How absurd – as if I was a student of his!
"Except when I misread you, of course," I said drily, and he sighed.
"Indeed. That appears to be your one shortcoming. I wonder what that means?"
"Do not worry, I have other shortcomings also," I said, feeling my cheeks redden again. "I am not singling you out."
"More's the pity," said he.
We were fortunately interrupted then, for now large plates of fruit and pitchers of clear water were brought to the table. After the different wines, I was grateful for the water, and the fruit smelled sweet and delicious. And either Prince Fëanáro had forgotten our line of thought (unlikely), or he chose to let it rest: At any rate he did not ask about my other shortcomings, or harp on about how I misread his meaning.

Instead, King Finwë now turned to me.
"Well, young Nerdanel, I trust you have found your conversation with Master Alcaráco fruitful and educative?" he asked, smiling. Master Alcaráco also smiled – but where the king's smile looked friendly and inviting, the sculptor's smile appeared unpleasantly condescending.
I tried for a diplomatic answer, but my semi-argument with Prince Fëanáro seemed to have drained me of diplomacy – or maybe it had made me bold. I surprised myself by saying, "I have had fruitful conversations with several people today," and just barely bit back the addition that Master Alcaráco was not among those people.
Apparently the implication was clear enough, anyway. The king's eyebrows went up in surprise, while Master Alcaráco pressed his lips together in resentment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Prince Fëanáro grin – he counted himself to those whose conversation had been fruitful, no doubt. Insufferable fellow! Astonishingly, Queen Indis also appeared to be hiding a grin behind her napkin; her eyes, at any rate, were lit with amusement.

"Well," King Finwë said, no doubt meaning to cover the embarrassing moment, "I am glad to hear it. So to what conclusion have you come? How will you go about your work, and when will you begin?"
Master Alcaráco smiled again now. I almost grit my teeth when I saw it. I found myself disliking him more and more. Perhaps he hoped that I would now display my utter ignorance. In the brief time he had granted to what he obviously considered my education, I had not outlined my plans to him. That was because he had given me no chance to do so, but he probably thought that I had no precise plan yet.
I had to disappoint him. "I can begin with the sketches at your – and your children's – earliest convenience, my lord," I told the king. "As soon as tomorrow, if you wish. I will need one session with all of them together, and then one with each of them separately. Once I have my sketches and know what I want the statue to look like, I shall travel to the marble quarry at Alastondo* for a suitable piece of marble. I take it that you will grant me a place in the palace where I can work?"
When the king nodded his agreement, I continued, "Then I shall have the marble delivered here. In the meantime I will prepare clay models of what I have in mind – that will take about a week. You can ask for changes or improvements then, if you wish. Once that is done, and I have my work-room readied and the stone at hand, I will start on the actual statue. That will take the longest, of course."

"There are several ways of speeding up your plan," Master Alcaráco said.
"Possibly, but I do not have such a tight time limit – that I know of," I said with a look at King Finwë.
"Not as far as I am concerned," the king said.
"Still, you could first order the marble – as I did," said Master Alcaráco. "Once I have all my sketches, I can begin my proper work right away."
I frowned. "Then I would have to match the sculpture to the stone, instead of choosing a stone suitable for the sculpture," I could not help pointing out. "I do not want that."
The king raised his eyebrows again. "Is it not said that a sculpture merely frees what is already in the stone? So is not the sculpture matched to the stone anyway?"
I almost rolled my eyes. The little dictum about how we only made visible what was already there was something that all apprentice sculptors were told, of course, but it was not to be understood literally. But I controlled myself, and merely smiled. "All the more reason to choose the right stone."
"Hear, hear," Fëanáro said in a dark voice, as though he had argued that point before. I shot him a perplexed glance, and he raised his eyebrows as if to say 'What?'
"I see," said the king. "Well, you are certainly welcome to start on the sketches tomorrow. In fact, that may be wisest, as we'll only have to clean and press the children's festival robes once. I believe it is the girls' turn tomorrow?"
Master Alcaráco inclined his head. "Indeed so. In the afternoon, I should be done with the first – Princess Findis, maybe? - and young Nerdanel can begin her work then, while the girl is still in her finery."

I could well imagine Princess Findis' mood after sitting for Master Alcaráco all morning – the poor girl would be exhausted and peevish. Besides, I wished to see the siblings as a group first in order to be able to decide how to depict them together. I said so.
"So it is better if I only start once Master Alcaráco no longer needs his models – the day after tomorrow? - But you need not worry about the finery," I added. "I wish to try something different anyway. So when the children-" I could not help glancing at Prince Fëanáro at this point, to see how he took being referred to as a child; he did indeed purse his lips at the word – "when the children pose for me, I want them to wear something unfussy and comfortable – simple shifts will do." I did not bother to see how Prince Fëanáro took that piece of news.

"How... unusual," Master Alcaráco said in a stiff voice. "It is common to take portraits and sculptures of people looking their finest."
"I know," I said. "But as I understood it, King Finwë wishes a sculpture of his children, not a sculpture of the Princes and Princesses of the Noldor?"
"Which means the same thing," Master Alcaráco pointed out.
"Well, yes," said I. "But they will always be the Princes and Princesses of the Noldor. They will not always be children. So I wish to depict them as they are now – as children." I turned to the king. "What sort of clothing would your children wear on a perfectly ordinary day, when they have no royal duties and simply go outside to play in the gardens?"
King Finwë smiled. "Fëanáro wears what he wishes," he said, his eyes resting fondly on his eldest son. "He is almost a grown man after all." I heard regret in his voice, and knew then that I had judged his desire right: to have a reminder of his children's youth even when they were grown.
"The others," the king continued, "wear the same shifts other children wear for play. When everything is said and done, we are a family like any other."
"And therefore," I said, "I would like to sculpt them as children in children's play-shifts. Even Prince Fëanáro, if that is at all possible."
Prince Fëanáro rolled his eyes. "The things we do for art," he said, his tone of voice suggesting that he was being extremely generous.
The king, at least, looked thoughtful. "Yes, you may have a point."
Master Alcaráco did not like that at all. "Your thoughts are sweet and touching, Nerdanel, as behooves a young woman. But this is not the way these things are done. Craftsmen have always chosen formal clothing for such occasions, long before you were born. It is a well-established tradition." His smile was triumphant.
Now I was seething inside, but I did my best to look innocent – sweet and touching, if you so wish.
"That is so. But must we always bow to tradition? I believe that art is only worthwhile when it contains some element of surprise."

Master Alcaráco snorted at that. Prince Fëanáro could not keep his mouth shut, either.
"What about that fox in your father's garden?" he asked. "Where is the element of surprise in that?"
I was perplexed. What did he mean by asking that question? If he thought I had no answer, he was sorely mistaken. "Well, my lord, I hear that some people are surprised to learn that it is not a living fox," I said, somewhat stiffly.
And the king laughed – loud and happily. "Indeed, I am not ashamed to admit that it fooled me," he said, while Fëanáro looked satisfied – he, I knew, had recognised it for what it was at once. He did not speak up to brag about it, though, which was something, I suppose.
"But wait," the king said, "that fox is your work?"
"It is."
King Finwë smiled so broadly that I forgot, in that instant, his age and office – he could have been any cheerful father.
"Now I understand why Aulë sent you here! And I am very much looking forward to seeing your sculpture. You shall have your shifts, young Nerdanel, and whatever else you see fit!"
Now it was my turn to smile triumphantly; I lowered my head to hide it. But even as I did, I could see that Master Alcaráco gave me a narrow-eyed stare.

I could only hope that he would not try to make things difficult.

---

Chapter End Notes

*Roughly, "marble rock" – a place name of my own (not particularly creative) invention.

Chapter 10

Holy crap, I can't believe I haven't worked on this story in almost two years! That's disgraceful. Have a new chapter.

Read Chapter 10

For Alcyo's sake, I tried to keep my thoughts about Master Alcaráco to myself when, at breakfast, I got peppered with questions about my day at the palace. I put the focus on my conversation with the King and Queen, on my plans, and on the dispirited children in their elaborate festival robes. Of course, Roitariel asked whether I had seen Prince Fëanáro. I told her that I had not only seen him but spoken to him at length, and sat beside him for dinner. That was a bad idea, as she and Erenwen would not stop giggling and whispering until Mother clucked her tongue and told them to stop. They shut up then, but you could see that they were still obsessed with the matter: Erenwen was shaking with suppressed giggles, and Roitariel kept poking her side to provoke further laughter, which in turn made Lisanto drop his spoon. He disappeared under the table to pick it up, and the two girls burst out laughing again.
"See, Father, and that is precisely why I think you must reject him," I said when they had begun to regain control over themselves. "If normal conversation is impossible with the mere thought of him in the room, however would our meals look if he were present in person?"
Father gave me a wry smile. "My dear, it would be a pity to let his talents go to waste just because some people insist on being silly."
"Hey!" Erenwen protested.
"You are being silly, dear," Mother said.
"I will banish them from the table if they continue to behave in this manner," Father continued, "but I am certain that I will have to do no such thing."
"Indeed, Father," said Erenwen meekly, and "Yes, Master Mahtan," said Lisanto and Roitariel.
I sighed. "You have made up your mind to accept him, then."
"Yes," Father said. "As soon as I have one less student to look after."
"Please, Father --"
"Nerdanel, now you are being silly. I understand your concerns, but in the end, we must do what is best for our craft; and I have a feeling that one of my greatest contribution to the craft will be teaching young Fëanáro."
"That is absurd, you have contributed so much already," I said, but my heart was not in it. In my head, I heard Master Carnildo's voice: One day, when I am asked about my greatest accomplishment, I will have to say, 'I taught Nerdanel'. I wondered whether Father had spoken with Master Carnildo since my visit. I could only hope that he hadn't; the mere thought made face burn again. I looked up and saw that everybody was looking at me.
"Well, he will be ever so delighted to hear it," I said between grit teeth.
Helyanwë grimaced in sympathy.

I was entirely unproductive for the rest of the day, brooding and fretting and annoyed with myself. It was silly indeed, but I figured that some silliness was pardonable in a young person. I looked through all my old sketches and plans, feeling slightly nostalgic and slightly embarrassed for the shortcomings of my younger self. I wandered through the garden aimlessly, smelling the herbs and flowers and watching the bees buzz around the bramble blossoms. Eventually, their sense of purpose and efficient movements lulled my fretting mind.
And when I rode to Tírion the next day, I was determined not to be provoked or embarrassed again, neither by Master Alcaráco nor by Prince Fëanáro nor by myself.

My resolve was tested as soon as I entered the palace, where I was waylaid by the prince. I say waylaid because he really seemed to have waited for me. I stepped through the door, and he stepped out from behind a pillar; surely that was no coincidence!
Today, he was wearing a simple white shift, just as I had requested. It was a little too small, particularly around the shoulders: Although it had been generously made, the pleats that gave it width only began at chest-level. Children were not expected to have craftsmen's arms, after all. It was too short, too, barely reaching his knees, the sleeves ending half-way down his forearms. Clearly it had not been especially made for the occasion; he had probably regularly worn it a couple of years ago, when it had better suited his age, and dug it out again for the sake of my sculpture. The only nod to adulthood was a belt that structured the otherwise loose garment a bit. It was somewhat ridiculous, I had to admit, even though he seemed to wear it gracefully enough.
I could not help but purse my lips, and curtsied in greeting to hide my expression. If he noticed, he did not show it; instead, he gave an exaggerated courtly bow in return to my genuflection.
"Good morning, Nerdanel," he said. "You are early."
"Good morning, my lord," said I. "Not early enough, it seems: You have been waiting, unless I am much mistaken."
I was convinced that he would deny it and tell me that I was assuming too much, but he did no such thing. "Indeed," he conceded instead. "I wanted to be the first to greet you."
"Oh. I am honoured, I suppose," I said, and heard how wooden my words sounded.
He duly rolled his eyes. "Of course. But that is not what I meant. I said that you were early because Alcaráco has suddenly discovered that he misplaced his sketch of my half-sister; he is even now making a new one. So if you still intend to begin with all my father's children present, you will have to wait until Írimë is released."

Ordinarily, I might have laughed at the way in which he insisted that he and his siblings were distinct entities: no 'my sister', no 'us', no, it was 'my half-sister' and 'my father's children' all the way. But as it was, I was struggling not to let my shock show. I was certain that Master Alcaráco had not misplaced the sketch at all. Rather, he was actively seeking to sabotage my plans. I knew how that sounded – I was, after all, a mere apprentice, hardly worth such schemes – but this was too great a coincidence. I could not keep my thoughts to myself: I had to confide in someone or I would start chewing my fingernails or running in circles, and so, against better judgement, I spoke to the one person close enough to listen – Prince Fëanáro.
"Would you think me pretentious," I said, trying hard to keep my voice even, "if I uttered the thought that he is doing that on purpose?"
The Prince gave a lopsided smile, which almost endeared him to me. "No; I would think you astute," he said. "It seems that our grand Master Alcaráco is afraid of the competition."
I massaged the bridge of my nose. "Wonderful. Now Princess Írimë will be exhausted and annoyed by the time I get to start," I said. "This is precisely what I wanted to avoid."
"That is precisely why he is doing this, of course," Prince Fëanáro said helpfully.
"That is not fair!" I said before I could stop myself. "That is no way to treat an apprentice, competition or no!"
"I suppose you could take it as a compliment: He clearly does not consider you an apprentice anymore. In a way, it is a covert vote of confidence."

I snorted angrily. "I can do without such compliments," I said. "I find it hard enough to – to come here and work on a real commission. To face an examination." The urge to run away was becoming overwhelming; at the very least, I had to walk. The Prince immediately fell into pace beside me. I was not certain whether I found his presence aggravating or reassuring. He said nothing, simply pacing along as I walked further into the palace, then stopped as I realised how pointless that was. I turned around. "I apologise. I was not thinking. I will go and come back tomorrow. Thank you for informing me. Good day, my lord." The words gushed out of my mouth like bubbles spilling over the brink of a washing trough. All I wanted to do was run away and hide and cry with disappointment, and then send word to Aulë that I was not ready to take the exam after all.
Prince Fëanáro tilted his head. "I know you do not want my advice," he said, "but I would like to offer it nonetheless."
I shrugged. "It can hardly make matters worse."
He ignored the gracelessness of my reply. "If you come back tomorrow, you give him another night to think of ways of hampering you. If I were you, which I know I am not, then I would stay and make the best of it – nay, better! Who is he that you let him discourage you?"
"A petty man who cannot handle the idea of being bested by a young woman," I said, clenching my fists. "You are right. I will stay and face whatever he plans to throw in my way."
"Excellent!" Prince Fëanáro clapped his hands. "Since it will probably take a couple of hours before Alcaráco tires of his game, may I entertain you until then?"
"That is really not necessary." The reply came automatically.
"It would make me very happy if you allowed me to distract you," he insisted. "My offer to show you the gardens is still good."
"Maybe later," I said. Maybe Master Alcaráco would be done soon – or so I hoped. "First, I would like to see where I am supposed to work. I'd like to get all surprises out of the way at once, if it's all the same to you."
"Fair enough. I can show you the way. If you would follow me, please?"

He led me along the great hallway and up a grand staircase, then along further corridors, around a corner. Initially I was surprised – surely we had left the public part of the palace by now and strayed into family territory – but then I came to expect that my workspace would be some sort of broom closet in the hindmost part of the palace.
What I had not expected was the bright, spacious studio into which Prince Fëanáro eventually showed me. My mouth fell open as I looked around. "You must be erring," I said. "I have seen Master Alcaráco's workshop, and it is not nearly as generous as this one."
"Let's consider it poetic justice," the Prince said dryly. "It is supposed to recompense you for any inconveniences you might suffer."

It was rich recompense indeed. The room had large windows that spanned three walls, so that the golden light of Laurelin could fall in from all but one side. Unlike the corridors and the other rooms that I had so far seen, its walls were plastered with simple white clay, though polished to perfect, marble-like smoothness – no distracting mosaics or paintings. The ceiling beams and the way in which the door fit into the corridor wall suggested that it had been a later addition to the palace, designed specifically for artistic work. The floor was laid with simple terracotta tiles that had been scrubbed meticulously, but showed the tear and wear of a workshop - scrapes left by sand or stone or furniture that had been moved around, a smear of paint or enamel here, some discolorations as if caused by droplets of very hot metal there. There was hardly any furniture in it except for some chairs and a large work-table made of oak, with drawers in which one could store one's utensils. I opened a drawer and found inside the key to its lock. So I would be able to leave my tools and my sketches here without Master Alcaráco having access to them. The only disadvantage was – in fact, no: The windows from the wall that faced away from the door could be opened so wide that even a large block of stone could be moved through, for which purpose there actually was a crane-like construction with pulleys and sturdy ropes. In short, it was a perfect studio.

I said so. "Your father has been most generous," I added. "I am aware that this is an exceptional favour, and I am deeply grateful for it." Master Alcaráco would have to work outside on the porch, I knew; the room in which he had been working was neither big enough for the kind of marble block that he would need, nor lit well enough. I wondered whether he knew that I would be working here. If so, I almost had to forgive him for trying to sabotage me: By assigning me this beautiful studio, the King had pretty much explicitly said that he wanted me to win. I hoped that Master Alcaráco had no idea.
Prince Fëanáro tore me from my musings. "I am glad that you find it satisfactory," he said. "What about the gardens, now?"
"You really need not inconvenience yourself," I said.
"It is no inconvenience at all," he said. "I, too, cannot do anything useful until Alcaráco is done – except keeping you entertained, if you allow it."
I grimaced. "Are you certain that Master Alcaráco will be taking so long?"
With a dismissive wave of his hands, the prince said, "He did not say so, but he took half a day and more for each of us in the first go. But I can ask Wintillo to bring us word as soon as my half-sister is released; she will have to change anyway, and that will give us time enough to return here."
"All right," I heard myself say. "In that case, I suppose you may as well show me the gardens."

The palace gardens were impressive, no doubt. Hedges had been cut into geometric patterns, flowers had been planted, arranged by colour, in symmetrical waves or circles or triangles; there were perfectly rectangular pools of water, covered in large water lilies; there were artificial hedgerows and bushes trimmed into sculptures; there were imacculately cut lawns of grass or chamomile or thyme, and there were decorative fountains. No doubt many gardeners were working very hard on maintaining this garden. I could appreciate that. But it was not the kind of gardening that I liked, at all; at any rate, it was too much of a good thing. Not every garden had to be as wild and close to nature as our own was at home, nothing was wrong with some trimming and some ordering, but here, I felt that they were trying too hard.
Still, I politely praised the careful arrangements – I could hardly tell my host the prince that I did not think much of the garden he had been so eager to show me.
"It is the latest fashion in Vanyarin gardening, I am told," Prince Fëanáro said in reply. "They put much effort into it."
"Most impressive," I said.
"I must admit that I find it surprising that they still work with real flowers," said he, "it would save them much pain if they just sculpted and painted everything in the way they want it."
I imagined a garden in which all the flowers were in fact sculptures. As an experiment, it might be interesting, but above all I thought it would be unsettling. Here the plants moved in the wind, grew leaves out of line or refused to flower symmetrically – that, at least!
"I do not think they want an immutable garden; they just want to shape it their way." I said. "Surely this is their way of appreciating living plants."
The prince gave a snort. "A strange form of appreciation, is it not?"
"Well, I appreciate stones and metals, but I do not leave them in their natural shape," I pointed out.
"So you like it?"
Why did it matter so much to him whether I liked his father's garden? I shrugged. "As I said, it is most impressive."

We ambled on for a while without speaking, following a long pathway overarched by rosebushes with huge, many-coloured blossoms that gave off a sweet, heavy scent. Prince Fëanáro seemed to be brooding, clearly disappointed by my reserved reaction. Probably he had expected gushing enthusiasm. Well, I was getting used to disappointing his expectations. To some extent, I was glad about the discordant mood – it took the innuendo out of the beguiling scent of the roses, the petals that gently rained down upon us whenever there was a gust of wind, the patterns the leaves painted with their shadows. I was acutely aware of the romantic implications of the situation – two young people, the roses, the dancing light – but as long as my companion shrouded himself in offended silence, there was no danger in them. Perhaps the prince felt the same, for as soon as we had stepped out of the rosebush alley, entering the less significant territory of a kitchen garden, he spoke up.
"I would like to show you something," he said in a somewhat terse voice. "A different corner of the garden."
The regularity of the garden, I have to admit, was beginning to get on my nerves. Even the vegetables had been arranged in geometric patterns: rings of onions and carrots growing around diamond-shapes made up of cabbages; perfect rows of peas and spinach. I could see the attraction of arranging plants in certain ways, but the king's Vanyarin gardeners had gone over the top as far as I was concerned – this was not art, it was artifice, and it was getting absurd. I was not sure that I could stomach anything more.
But I suspected that the prince would be displeased if I did not look at whatever corner of the garden he wanted me to see, and after the way in which he had born my lapse of composure in the morning, and in which he had encouraged me to stay, I supposed he deserved some gratitude. I sighed.
"Yes, very well, if it does not take too long," I said.

It did take a while to reach his treasured corner: It was at the opposite end of the garden, far enough from the palace that I was beginning to suspect we had left the grounds altogether. But it was worth the walk. I found myself in a delightfully untamed, overgrown part of the garden. There had probably been ornamental pools once, but they had long since lost their circular shapes; if the oak and beech trees had ever been trimmed, they had now outgrown their symmetry, growing high and close so that their crowns hid the sky and blocked out the bright daylight. Little fountains murmured between the rocks, feeding the pools. Maybe it had been a rock garden once – aside from the fountain-washed rock heaps, there were larger standing stones visible here and there – but most of it was now covered in moss and leaves and shadow-loving weeds: I could see the golden star-flowers of moneywort, the small blue bells of campanula and the huge purple blossom-clusters of foxgloves, as well as ferns and rushes. Ivy crept up the treetrunks and along the rocks. Somewhere, a nightingale was singing.
I thought it was utterly beautiful. Even if I had not been so tired of the overregulated palace gardens, I would have loved it: The shade was a pleasant contrast to the day's heat, the trees and pools promised peace and safety. It was like a place that had been forgotten by time, pristine, enchanted. I had almost forgotten about the prince, too; now I turned to see what he was doing. In his simple, artless shift, he fit into these surroundings very well – if I had intended to create a sculpture of, say, young Finwë in Cuiviénen, I could not have asked for better inspiration. The only thing that did not quite fit was his expression, which was rather grim, his eyes boring into mine as if he was trying to see into my mind.

But he clearly did not succeed, for now he asked, "Well? What do you think?" He had folded his arms across his chest, standing his ground, his mouth set in a gruff expression that suggested he felt personally offended by this patch of wilderness amidst the well-ordered gardens of his father.
Even at the risk of offending him more, I had to be honest. "I suppose that some might find it too wild and too dark," I said, "but personally, I think it is charming – a blessed relief after all the overwrought flowerbeds I've seen before!" I bit my lip at once: I had not meant to speak so ill of the palace gardens, only to praise this little spot of paradise. But now it was out.
Prince Fëanáro reacted in a way that I had not foreseen: The tension went out of his shoulders, his arms dropped to his side, and he grinned, a broad and unconstrained grin that made his eyes light up. "Blessed relief indeed!" he said. "Oh Nerdanel, I am so glad that you like it." I blinked: I had not expected that at all.
"This used to be my mother's private garden," the prince continued, sitting down in the moss, "and it is now technically mine – but I am perfectly happy to leave it as it is. When I was younger, I used to play that this was Cuiviénen..." He stuck his feet into a pond, creating little ripples that licked against the stones.
"I thought of Cuiviénen, too," I admitted. Suddenly, in this place, I found Prince Fëanáro quite likeable. I did wonder why he cared what I thought of his mother's garden, though. If I had expressed the dislike I had thought he was looking for, what would it have mattered?
I decided that he probably just wanted confirmation for his view of things. Well, in this particular case, he could have it.

The image of the ponds and fountains under the high canopy of leaves stuck with me even later when I was back in the wonderful study, surrounded at last by the princes and princesses of the Noldolië. More precisely, it was the idea of a sculpture of young Finwë, and maybe of the other Eldarin leaders in Cuiviénen, that still lingered in my mind. I called myself to order. I had a commission – a real commission! - to begin, and here I was already daydreaming of another project. That wouldn't do. First things first!
I put a smile on my face for the sake of the children, who were looking a little forlorn (or, in the case of Nolofinwë, downright frightened). I hoped I had not appeared too unwelcoming while lost in thought.
"Thank you all for agreeing to pose for me," I said. "I hope I will not keep you too long, but just in case, I'd like you to be as comfortable as possible. Would you like something to eat or drink?"
"Lemonade!" Princess Írimë cried out, which Prince Nolofinwë echoed at once. "Oh yes, lemonade!"
"Very good!" I said cheerfully, turning to Wintillo who stood at the back of the room, watching the proceedings. I figured he might as well make himself useful. "Could you please get a jug of lemonade and some glasses?"
"I would prefer a cup of tea," Princess Findis said. "Peppermint, please."
"Peppermint is a tisane, not tea," said Prince Fëanáro. "And the children are not supposed to have lemonade except on special occasions."
I raised my eyebrows. "Today is a special occasion, is it not? But you have not let Wintillo know your choice of beverage."
"That will be lemonade for two, one peppermint... tisane, and one cup of real tea with honey and a slice of lemon," Wintillo said, making Prince Fëanáro smirk. "And what would you like, Mistress Nerdanel?"
"Nerdanel. I am no mistress yet," I reminded him. Tea with honey and lemon didn't sound half bad, but I could hardly ask for it now that it was what Prince Fëanáro was drinking. "I'll partake of the lemonade. And if you could find some sort of snack for the children, too?"

While Wintillo was on his way, I asked the Princes and Princesses to go and fetch some toys that they liked to play with. Prince Fëanáro shook his head disapprovingly. "You can be glad if they find their way back here within the hour," he said. "And then they'll have their heads full of child's play. Already you have lost half an hour – what do you think you're doing?"
"As I told King Finwë, I want to depict you all naturally, and as children rather than like dolls that have been lined up for presentation. So I need to see you play – the way you'd pass your time when there is no sculptor present."
"I am too old for playing children's games."
"Well, you don't have to – you can just watch indulgently, if that's what you do."
"It isn't." He was pursing his lips, disgusted by the mere thought.
I sighed. "Well, do whatever else you do when you're alone with your siblings."
That made him snort. "I avoid being alone with them." He tilted his head, a glint in his eyes. "I thought you wanted us to look natural? I naturally would not be present when my half-siblings are at play."
I was hard put not to roll my eyes. "That is all fine and well, but your father wants a sculpture of all of you. Can you please not make this any harder for me and just do what I'm asking? Please?"
He did not answer immediately; perhaps he had to wrap his mind around my outrageous demand. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath. "The things we do for art," he said. "Do I have permission to read, at least?"
"By all means!" I said, masking my relief with cheerfulness. "Reading sounds like a perfectly natural pastime."

Prince Fëanáro had been wrong, anyway: Whether they were eager to play, or eager to get their lemonade, or even eager to find out what I was planning, the little prince and princesses were back even before their elder brother had returned from fetching his book. They began to set up a hunting scene with beautifully carved and painted wooden animals, but stopped when Wintillo arrived with his tray. The two younger children then gorged themselves on the almond cakes and lemonade. Princess Findis looked a little embarrassed. "They do have manners, you know, it's just..."
"It's perfectly fine, my lady," I said, helping myself to some lemonade before none was left. "I understand."
Prince Fëanáro returned, looked at the sticky fingers of his little brother with distaste, and ignored his steaming teacup.
"I will sit down over here," he announced, drawing up a chair far away from the forest scene the little ones had set up. "Unless the artist minds, of course."
"That will do fine – for now," I said.
"Where would you like us to sit?" Prince Nolofinwë piped up. "Master Alcaráco will have me sit in front of Findis, and Írimë in front of Curufinwë."
All in a neat square, diagonally sorted by gender. How uninspired! That thought I kept to myself. Out loud, I replied, "I am not certain yet, my prince – I'll see what best fits once you get to playing."
That earned me confused looks from three of them, and a raised eyebrow from Prince Fëanáro.

When they had eaten and drunk their fill, the two younger ones finally began to play at their hunt. Princess Findis, too, sat down on the ground with them, carefully placing her teacup out of the immediate reach of her younger siblings. She occasionally offered advice – "Look, Nolwo, you'll have to chivvy the deer through that gap over there!", "Írimë, where are your dogs?" - and sang a hunting song with the children. Prince Fëanáro, on the other hand, ignored them as well as he could over the noise they were making, apparently so absorbed in his book that he did not even notice when Prince Nolofinwë snatched his little sister's hunter away to prevent her from being first to the kill. Princess Írimë jumped up, scattering deer and dogs, and made a grab for her little wooden hunter; but Prince Nolofinwë ran away with it, laughing. His little sister ran after him, protesting and demanding that he stop, which of course he did not do. Soon I would have to interfere, I thought; Princess Findis was already frowning at me – if I did not stop the children before their squabble got ugly, she certainly would. Prince Nolofinwë was now taunting the little princess, running backwards to show that even so, he was still faster than she was, always holding the hunter just out of her reach, mocking her futile attempts to grasp it. But the little boy was forgetting his surroundings, and before long, he backed into a chair – precisely the chair that Prince Fëanáro was perched on. Seeing his reading interrupted, the prince was taking a deep breath, doubtlessly preparing to give his brother a harsh rebuke.
And I, in a flash of inspiration, saw my sculpture come to life.
"Stop!" I called out, afraid that an argument would ruin the moment. "Stay as you are! This is perfect."

Chapter 11

Read Chapter 11

My outcry had the desired effect: Prince Nolofinwë froze in his tracks, and Prince Fëanáro's mouth fell shut again. It did not matter that Princess Írimë, encouraged by her brother's sudden stop, jumped forward to grab her huntsman from his hands: I had seen what I needed to see.
"Excellent," I said. "This will make a fine lively scene! Princess Írimë, would you mind if Prince Nolofinwë took your doll again? Just until I have finished my sketch – you can have it back afterwards, I promise. Princess Findis, can I ask you to come a little closer to your brother's chair?"
'Half-brother!' Prince Fëanáro mouthed while Princess Findis obediently scooted over.
"Thank you," I said. "Now, Prince Nolofinwë, can you hold the huntsman as if you wanted to keep your sister from reaching it again; and Princess Írimë, can you pretend to reach for it, but not take it?"

They seemed to be enjoying the game, or otherwise they were good-natured enough to play along for my sake; at any rate, they made very good attempts at recreating their earlier motions, and with some help succeeded. I reached for my drawing utensils. "Prince Fëanáro, please look startled again. Now, everybody please try not to move – I'll make it as quick as I can..."
I felt the familiar tingle of excitement go down my spine as I set to work. I had found it! Figuring out what I wanted my work to look like was always the hardest part for me. It may sound absurd, as no doubt most people would find it harder to chip away the pieces of rock that don't fit their vision; but that followed easily, I felt, if only I knew what exactly I was aiming for. I knew it now. The sketch that I made only served as a reminder, not as an exact copy of what I was seeing – a depiction of the postures, of the angles at which they held their heads and limbs, was sufficient for now. The most important thing was taking the measurements; for that purpose, I had brought a knotted rope, with every knot marking a yard. Having written down the heights of the children, the distances between them, and so on, I was done - before the children's arms began to cramp, I hoped - and told them so.
"Really?" Prince Nolofinwë duly said, wrinkling his nose and letting his arm sink.
"Really," said I. "I'll have to draw each of you separately, too, at somewhat more detail – but the preliminary sketch is done."
"Can I see it?" Princess Írimë asked.
"Yes, certainly," I said. I did not think she would understand the sketch, it was after all very basic; but she was allowed to have a look, of course.

"Oh, it's just lines and circles!" the little princess commented – just as I had expected. "I thought you had really drawn us."
"That would have taken a lot longer, my princess," I said.
"Well, yes, I suppose," Princess Írimë said, sounding disappointed. "But how do you know what's what?"
I had to smile. "I just know. And there are the more detailed sketches that I'll make of each of you to help me, of course."
Princess Írimë nodded, slowly. "Will you draw these sketches now?"
I glanced outside. From the colour of the light, it was still a few hours to go until the children had to attend dinner. "I should have enough time to draw one of you," I told Princess Írimë. "Would you like to be the first, or would you rather have time for yourself now and come back tomorrow?" It was impolite, of course, to leave the choice to the little princess rather than her oldest brother; but to me, it made perfect sense. Prince Fëanáro was old enough to wait and mature enough to understand that art took its time, and to come in for another session without complaining. Princess Írimë, on the other hand, had already been more patient than I had expected.
"I would like to see how you draw Nolwo," she now said, surprising me again. "He can keep my huntsman for the time," she added graciously.
"Very well! If you don't mind, Prince Nolofinwë?"
I saw Prince Fëanáro shake his head with an exaggerated pout. On second thought, he might not be that mature after all!
But his younger brother nodded. "I don't mind at all," he said.

Princess Findis took her leave as Prince Nolofinwë – all by himself, the dear little fellow! - took up his pose again. I had hoped that Prince Fëanáro likewise go away, but no such luck. He slid off his chair, but only to empty his previously neglected tea-cup. Then, just as I had begun to outline his little brother in more detail, he ambled over to the worktable to look at my preliminary sketch.
"That really is very basic," he announced, making me stop in my work and Princess Írimë turn around curiously.
"You must have an excellent inner eye if that's enough for you to know what's what," Prince Fëanáro continued.
I shrugged. "It's only a reminder. But a good inner eye is indispensable in an artist, one should think," I pointed out.
The prince smirked. "In that case, what does it tell us that Alcaráco seems to require more help for his inner eye?"
Prince Nolofinwë was frowning, trying to puzzle out the answer to his question. I pursed my lips in disapproval. Whatever I privately thought about Master Alcaráco, I really should not speak about it – certainly not with the children present, who might innocently blab on what they heard here.
"That is hardly our business," I said coldly. "And nothing that we ought to discuss here." I tilted my head the tiniest bit towards Princess Írimë, who, too, gave the impression of thinking about what her brother had said.

Fortunately, Prince Fëanáro got my drift. "You are right," he said in a shockingly mild voice. "I was just thinking out loud."
Too easy, I thought to myself. But as the prince held his tongue now, I continued to work.
I was now drawing at a lot more detail – hopefully, Prince Fëanáro would crack no comments about that - rapidly fleshing the outline out with the exact shape of Prince Nolofinwë's face and hands and bare feet, the way his little shift hugged his chest and belly as he leaned back, the fall of his hair. Princess Írimë watched every movement of my charcoal pencil. The way her eyes roamed reminded me of a kitten that was watching a moth: I half feared that she'd pounce the pencil.
She did no such thing, however; she merely exclaimed in joy, "Oh, now it really looks like him!" when I had completed the nose. More mournfully, the little princess added, "I wish I could draw like that. Náro also makes such lovely drawings..."
"Then maybe he can teach you, when you are a little older," I said with a glance at Prince Fëanáro. As I had expected, his eyes widened in horror at the idea. "I think not," he said in a flat voice. "She has tutors enough, should she desire drawing lessons in the future."
"That is beside the point. All children want to do what their older siblings are doing, and it's so rewarding to help them learn!" I said with all the authority of having tutored two younger sisters.
The prince did not seem to believe me; one eyebrow went up in doubt, and he sniffed in distaste.
"I'll gladly forego that reward," he said. "If Írimë wants to learn to draw, she'll have to take care of her own lessons."

The little princess did not throw a tantrum, or cry, or even just pout – all of which I would have considered natural reactions to her brother's harsh words. All she did was chew her lip a little. I still felt sorry for her and decided to tell Prince Fëanáro off.
"You know, you will have to tutor younger apprentices when you come to study with my father," I said.
My arrow went wholly amiss. "'Will', and 'when'?" he repeated, as if he had not heard the rest of my sentence at all.
"What?" said I.
"You said that I will have to tutor them, when I become your father's apprentice. Not 'would' and 'if', but 'will' and 'when'."
Yes, I had said that indeed. But then, I had thought that he'd already received the good news – well, good for him, anyway.
"How perceptive you are," I said in my coldest voice. "You'll get a letter with the details soon, I am sure."
His eyes lit up then. They were always bright, but now with a flash the light in them turned wild, almost terrifying, like the white glow of incandescent metal; I was torn between looking away and staring in fascination.
"Yesss!" he said between clenched teeth, and then it was he who looked away. "If you'll excuse me for a moment?"
I shrugged – I really did not care for his presence, after all – and he left, closing the door very, very quietly. I grinned when he was gone. I imagined how his composure would drop as soon as the door had clicked shut, how he would run along the corridors, singing with joy like a child that had been promised a pony or maybe an exciting journey, possibly running into corners or hugging random passers-by. An unlikely scenario, I'll admit, but it certainly amused me. I did, as he had guessed, have quite a vivid inner eye.
Then I shook my head. I had work to do, after all. If at all possible, I wanted to complete my sketches of Prince Nolofinwë today – and it really would not do to dwell too much on Prince Fëanáro.

The next day was spent entirely with the two princesses, who both cooperated very nicely after their own manner. Of course, Princess Findis was a lot more simple to draw. Not only was her posture less dynamic, she also posed without fidgeting, sudden urges to jump up and run through the room, or insistent questions, all of which I was expecting from her younger sister. We spoke about my craft, which seemed to interest her (on a theoretical level), and about poetry, for which she cared deeply. She had read a great deal more poems than I had. Fortunately, she agreed that Rúmil's Song of the Trees was a masterpiece, although she personally was partial to contemporary Vanyarin poets whose names I had never heard before. After our session, however, I felt that I had at least a vague idea of the current trends and talents. She also professed her hope that she might one day be a celebrated poet; but when I asked whether she would let me read her poetry, her face flushed and she looked down (which did not matter at that point, as I was drawing the way her legs rested upon the floortiles).
"I don't feel confident enough to share it, at the moment," she said. "My tutor thinks that it is not in fact my place to write my own poetry, until I have learned everything there is to learn about the work of proper poets."
I raised my eyebrows. "There will always be more to learn," I pointed out. "If you have poetry inside you and you want to write it down, you are a proper poet – albeit a budding one! Why should you not write?"
"Well, I only just began learning about meter and modes," Princess Findis said meekly.
"You have to practice in time," I said. "Even if it isn't much good – and maybe it is – a beginner should be allowed to try her hand just as much as a celebrated champion. All poets were beginners, once!"
The princess grimaced again. "I suppose so. But I mustn't disobey my tutor. She is so much wiser than I am!"
I secretly thought that what she'd told me about her tutor didn't sound all that wise – pedantic was the word that came to my mind – but I held my tongue. I was a sculptress-in-training, not a poet; what did I know about the way they learned their craft? Still, to me it sounded as if you told a young apprentice sculptor or smith all that there was to know about every tool ever invented, and every type of stone, metal or other material that we knew, without ever actually letting them touch a chisel or shape a lump of clay.
But it was hardly my place to lecture the princess or to speak ill of her tutor, so I swallowed my doubts and just gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. "Your time will come, my princess. I am sure of it."

Unsurprisingly, Princess Írimë was a less patient model. I made the best of it - I let her run around and look out of the window when she could no longer stand still, assuming that it would save me time and nerves in the long run; I answered her many questions and reminded her to hold her pose when she let her arms sink because she forgot what she was supposed to do. In her way, she really tried hard, and I appreciated that. She was, after all, a very young child, just barely in her teens; it would have been unfair to demand the same self-discipline from her that Princess Findis had shown. No two of my sketches looked quite the same, as it was impossible to get the girl into quite the same pose twice; but that was alright. I would figure out which version I liked best later on, and think up the rest from there on out.
"You are a lot nicer than Master Alcaráco," the little princess announced as a reward for my efforts. "He wouldn't let me move at all and gave me an earful whenever I forgot about it. I had to sit like this allll the time-" she climbed onto Prince Fëanáro's chair and sat down very primly, her hands folded in her lap, her feet parallel, her back very straight, before I had a chance to stop her. "It was so boring!"
"I am glad that I don't have to keep you sitting like that all the time, then," I said. "But I must ask you to get off the chair..."
"Oh yes! Sorry!" She slid down and pretended once more to try and grasp for something that somebody else was holding just out of her reach. "See? I just keep forgetting that I mustn't move! I'm not doing it on purpose!"
"I know, my princess," I said, trying to give her an arch look nonetheless but failed when I saw her impish smile. "I have a younger sister, only a little older than you are, so I know what young girls are like."
"Really? What's her name?"
"She is called Sarnië."
"What a funny name! She must be a very funny person. I wish you could bring her along, so we could play together!"
I bit my lips to keep from laughing at the idea of taking Sarnië to the palace. "I don't think that would be a good idea, my princess," I said as cautiously as I could. "You would give me no chance to draw you at all, if you had another little girl to play with!"
"Oh, that's true." She rubbed her nose in thought, forcing me to interrupt my sketching yet again. "Maybe you can bring her along when you no longer need to draw me, though!"
"Maybe," I conceded. "I will ask my parents whether they can spare her for a day, if you'd like."
"Yes please!" said the princess. And then she said, "Oh sorry, I'm not reaching, again!"
I took up my pencil and continued.

Prince Fëanáro's session was a day later – two days after his half-brother – but if he still held a grudge about it, he did not say so. Instead, he sat down with his book, and to my astonishment accepted all my requests to lean forwards a little, to tilt his head a bit, to pull up his legs as if startled. Once I was satisfied with his pose, he sat unmoving, apparently absorbed in his book. I briefly wondered whether I should try to make conversation. Some people carried books with them as conversation-starters – you were supposed to ask them what the book was about, and they would tell you at great length, and you would compare it to a different book that you had read, and they would recommend you to read what they were reading. It was better than perpetually talking about the weather, but I always found it a bit silly. I decided that if the prince meant for his book to be the subject of conversation, he would have to start any such conversation himself. He did not; either he was in turn expecting that I would ask, or he was actually reading for the sake of reading, as one ought.
For a while, all was silent. As I was busy, I did not mind it at all; I was happy to hear only the scratching of pencil on paper. The studio was filled with light, making the prince's white shift glow. Instead of the belt that Prince Fëanáro had worn the other day, he had again tied the long scarf around his waist, which I had to admit was a good idea. It looked softer, more comfortable – and more interesting. I took care not to praise him for it, though. No doubt he'd be far too satisfied with himself if I acknowledged that a choice of his had improved my art. He was quite satisfied enough with himself as it was.
And I, it seemed, was getting too confident as well; for I decided that something was missing, a sort of counterpoint to the dangling ends of his scarf. I realised what it was; and before I properly knew what I was doing, I had stepped closer to open the ribbon which he had used to tie his hair back.

I realised my error as soon as I actually touched his hair; it was like touching searing-hot iron – not because of the heat (which was only the normal warmth of dark hair under Laurelin's glow), or because it was unpleasant to touch (which it was not; his hair felt as silky as it looked), but it made me withdraw my hand just as swiftly, my fingers burning with the pain of embarrassment. We do not touch each other's hair, of course, unless we are closely related or intimate friends. I was not related to the prince, and we were certainly no friends. I cannot tell you what made me act so recklessly, or why I did not catch myself sooner; I really believe that I had become so focused on my work that I forgot all decency and decorum until it was too late and all I could do was jump back. It must have looked quite comical, from outside.
I saw Prince Fëanáro raise an eyebrow, as if to say Who do you think you are?
"I... I apologise," I stammered. "I meant no indecency. I... there... there should be something to mirror the ends of your sash. A loose strand of hair. I overstepped myself. I didn't want to..."
"To intrude. Of course." He pursed his lips, seemed to chew on something, then bit it back down – it almost looked like a smile, but more likely it was a scathing reply. "Well, I suppose such is the prerogative of an artist. Arrange your strand, then."
I could not believe my ears. "Oh no, I can guide you--"
"It will be much simpler if you just do it yourself, instead of trying to explain to me what you mean," he insisted. "Go ahead. It won't burn you."
My fingers told a different tale; my face, too, was burning. "If you are quite certain," I nonetheless said.
"By all means," said he, lowering his head towards me. His hair, now loose, fell around his face like a hood; his eyes glinted dangerously from the shadows.
My hands were trembling. Still, I managed to part a generous strand of his raven-black hair from the rest. I could not do much arranging while he did not hold his head the way he was supposed to. "There we go," I said. "You can tie the rest back again."
He did not even dignify me with an answer; instead, he just held out the red ribbon. I blinked, frowned, blinked again. He thrust the ribbon at me again, impatiently.
I figured that this was my punishment. I had touched him inappropriately; now he made it last. All I could do was to try and get it over quickly. I bit my lip and took the ribbon. I managed to meet his gaze, still piercing, but (I thought) not without a certain amusement in it. I took a breath to steady myself, and combed his hair back with my fingers (taking great care to leave one strand hanging free). It was, as I said, as soft and sleek as you could wish for, and scented of some spiced oil; I thought I could discern orange flowers and cloves; if this hadn't been so fundamentally wrong, I might in fact have enjoyed it. As it was, I was glad when I had tied the ribbon back in place, and could step back from him.
"I apologise again," I said. "That was a very indecent thing to do."
He gave a half-laugh, half-snort; but the glint in his eyes seemed to have softened. Or maybe it just looked less dangerous now that the light from outside could reach his face again, which seemed to have taken on an almost gentle expression on the whole. No - it must be a trick of the light.
But his words were also – almost – kind. "If I have a choice between your indecency or my half-siblings tearing on me, I'm certain I'll choose the former any time."

That seemed to be all, for the moment. I could not believe that he would let me off the coals so lightly; but it seemed unwise to question his words out loud. I had misbehaved enough for one day. (My fingers were still tingling, and I clenched them into tight fists because I half feared they might reach for his hair again.) The best road, I figured, was to pretend that nothing had happened, to get my sketches finished – and to hope that I had not made an enemy. For little though I wanted to be his friend, I certainly did not need him to join the ranks of Master Alcaráco. I was certainly glad now that I hadn't risen to the bait and spoken ill of my rival. I really had to learn to tread more carefully.

---

Chapter End Notes

The nicknames I used are (as far as I know) my own invention; there is no basis in canon for them (except the other nicknames that we know). It just makes more sense to me that a little sister would have nicknames for her siblings, rather than using their (quite complicated) proper names. You're welcome to adopt "my" nicknames if you so desire.

Chapter 12

Read Chapter 12

Initially, Prince Fëanáro's revenge appeared to be limited to letting that damn strand of hair dangle free at all times, or whenever I saw him, at any rate. It did not matter whether he was wearing his hair sloppily tied back, or neatly braided and pinned up with golden clasps: that one streak was always loose, mocking me. At first, I quickly looked away whenever I caught sight of him, and blushed too. Then I realised that nobody but myself knew what it meant, and nobody seemed to wonder. Presumably, the prince often sported odd fashions, like that shawl-sash, following some sudden burst of inspiration; he did, after all, consider himself an artist. I could not help the blushing, but I no longer averted my eyes. If that was all, it was a kindly form of revenge, really.

And initially, I really believed that was all. Well, our dinner-table conversations might have grown a little colder. It had become no less than was polite, but no more than was necessary from his side, all formulae and staples that could have come out of a small-talk phrasebook. But that suited me fine: The dinner-table was no place to discuss my immoral deed, anyway, and other than that I had no desire to speak much with him. In fact, maybe his formal small-talk was a result of my coolish responses to his attempts at conversation. I felt, I must admit that, a bit out of my depth at that table. Once had been an experience, but now I dined at High Table every evening. That should have made it more normal, but instead, I felt that although I had managed not to make a fool of myself in front of the entire court, surely the likelihood of that happening were rising with every dinner I attended. One of these days, I was bound to drop a morsel of food on my décolleté, or throw over a glass of (red, naturally) wine so unluckily that it would ruin at least three people's wardrobe. I even went so far as to tell Wintillo that surely I had been honoured enough, that my proper place was more likely among the other craftsmen.
"I can speak to my Prince on your behalf," Wintillo said with a frown, "although it is ordinarily the host's place to decide on such matters."
"Indeed!" I said, and, "please do not trouble Prince Fëanáro about it, and above all do not tell him that I asked for it! But if you maybe could drop some hints that you think I might do something embarrassing, or that I just don't fit up there, maybe he'd feel that he had made the decision himself."

Wintillo gave me a doubtful look; but he must have spoken to the prince, for the next evening I was transferred from my unwelcome seat. Unfortunately, however, Wintillo did not show me a nice, cozy place somewhere at the end of the low tables, but rather the place that had so far been Master Alcaráco's – the seat of honour on the queen's right-hand side, no less in the spotlight than my old place had been.
At least Master Alcaráco, when he arrived, greeted me with a polite nod and a smug little smile, so I assumed that he was quite pleased with his new place – my old place on the left-hand side of Prince Fëanáro – and that I would have to fear no great repercussions from his side. And as I no longer had to spend the evening paying attention to the prince's talk and trying to make witty or snappish replies, I could focus more on my table-manners, on the positions of the glasses and everything else that could have embarrassed me. Somehow, I found it a lot easier to converse with Queen Indis. Part of it surely was because she truly attempted to put me at ease. She asked amateur questions about sculpting which I could easily answer – all the more easily because she genuinely appeared to be interested. I for my part was curious about the Vanyar and about life in Valmar, which she described in a very lively manner. She could create images with spoken words the way I created images out of stone; it was a delight to listen to her. I thought to myself that if Princess Findis had inherited even just part of her mother's way with words, her poetry could not be half bad and was more likely quite good. On the third day that I sat next to the queen, I dared to say that out loud, and was surprised to see that one so stately and adult could still blush with pleasure. "I happen to agree with your assessment of Findis' poetry, but of course my judgement is not to be trusted – I am her mother, after all. But she wrote me a poem for my last begetting day which I think truly shows promise; she has a good grip of meter, and she skillfully avoids the pitfalls most fledgling poets fall into. Maybe you would like to read it? I must beg you not to shatter my illusions, however, should you find it lacking."
"I promise you to do no such thing, and I am honoured by your offer," I said. "Princess Findis was hesitant about letting me see her poetry, saying that her tutors would not approve, so I am all the happier to get a taste of her talent through you."
The queen bit her lip – another gesture so natural, so youthful, that I would not have expected it in her. I really had to remember that the king and queen were just ordinary people, too!
"That is unfortunate, then," the queen said softly. "I do not like to go back on what I offered, but if Findis feels uncomfortable having her poetry read, I can hardly counter her express wishes. I must apologise."
"Not at all," I said, although I felt a little disappointed. "You are right, of course; we should honour her wishes. I understand."
"Thank you," said Queen Indis. "You know, it really is a pleasure to talk with you. I am so glad that Fëanáro has taken it upon himself to entertain Master Alcaráco."
Small wonder, I think, that I much preferred my new place!

Meanwhile, my work was making good progress. I was now modelling clay according to my sketches, to give me three-dimensional models of the young princes and princesses. This was a vital stage; I would now see if anything that had seemed like a good idea during sketching turned out to be unrealistic or impossible or just plain ugly, and I could arrange the finished clay models until I had the perfect small-scale version of my sculpture. So far, everything was going according to plan. Some sculptors dislike this part of their work, either because the sticky clay will smear their hands and dry the skin (but you can always wash your hands, and there are dozens of lovely unguents to soothe dry skin) or because it feels like yet another tedious road before one finally got to the actual sculpting. But to me, completing the little clay models meant seeing a first glance of my finished work; with every touch I applied, I felt more confident in my idea. I felt so confident, in fact, that I invited Queen Indis to have a look. She asked whether she could bring the two younger children, who were apparently extremely curious about their depiction and quite impatient to see the end results of Master Alcaráco's and my efforts. I agreed, and spent a gratifying hour hearing their delighted squeals and happy rambling.

"It really looks like Náro," Princess Írimë said when she saw my little version of her oldest brother (I had gotten the most unpleasant part out of the way first). "Just like him! Will mine look like me, too?"
"I do hope so, my princess," I said, exchanging a smiling glance with the queen.
"Well done," she later said when the children had returned to their tutors, not without begging that they might come again to see the other scale models once I was done with them. "It is very kind to let us see your work; I know that most artists won't agree to that."
"It's not something I'd normally like to do, either," I said, "but it seems awfully hard on the children to wait for so long."
"That is true. They gave up a lot of their spare time for these sculptures, so naturally they want to know how they will turn out. Still, that is hardly an artist's concern."
She studied the scale models of the two elder children. "What will you do with these, once you no longer need them? I hope they will not be destroyed."
"Oh no, my lady," I said. "Technically, they belong to my employer and my employer gets to decide what to do with them. I'm..." I stopped myself. I had almost said that I was sure she could keep them, if she so desired, but that might not be true. "I'm not quite sure whom I should consider my employer, on this one. It might be the Lord Aulë, or it might be you and your lord husband." I rubbed my nose – my hand still smelled slightly boggy, like the clay I had been working with – and frowned. "I don't know whether you will get to keep these, or whether they go to some sort of archive, or what," I said. "I will try to find out, if you wish."
"That would be lovely – if you have the time. I should very much like to put these in my study, or maybe in the drawing room... they deserve a nice place, anyway. And I must say that I am now very excited to see your finished sculpture; I believe it will be wonderful."
Now it was my turn to blush again. "Please don't tell anybody, just yet," I said. "I'm finding this competition thing very hard to do."
The queen tilted her head. "And it is my fault. I must apologise, then." Before I could assure her that this was not what I'd meant, she smiled again. "I cannot promise that Nolofinwë and Írimë will hold their tongues, but I promise that your secret is safe with me."
Which was good enough for me. I doubted that Master Alcaráco would pay a lot of attention to what poor little Prince Nolofinwë and Princess Írimë said.

At any rate, I was quite happy with my work, and all the more baffled when one morning at breakfast, Alcyo put on a sympathetic face and said "So, Nerdanel, you're finding your commission a bit of a challenge, I hear?"
I blinked. "I cannot say--" I began to protest, and then I called myself to reason. Alcyo was a friend, and Father's student, but he was also Master Alcaráco's son; if I told him that I was actually getting along just fine, I could as well have told Master Alcaráco himself. I felt my face heat up as I wondered how to react – I could barely lie, but the truth was clearly not a good idea, either. Fortunately, I did not have to say anything: My interrupted beginning was taken as my full answer.
Father gave a small smile. "Well, nobody said that the exam was easy," he said. "But I am certain that Nerdanel will rise to the challenge."
"Prince Fëanáro seems to think otherwise," Alcyo insisted. I had tried to continue breaking my fast. Now I choked on my piece of bread. Tears filled my eyes – entirely due to the coughing – but my audience did not realise that.
"Now, now, that is no reason to cry," Mother said and put her hand on mine, gently squeezing. "Maybe he just does not understand what you're doing."
"No," Father said with a frown, "he knows enough of sculpting to understand the process. If he's got the impression that you are struggling, then maybe he is wiser than we are. You are not telling us much about your project, Nerdanel – you would tell me if you needed help, wouldn't you?"
"It's nothing that I cannot handle," I had to defend myself now. "As you said, nobody said the exam was easy."
"Of course, you do not have to be as brilliant as a seasoned sculptor," Alcyo said in an attempt at helping me out. "Maybe Prince Fëanáro merely finds you lacking on comparison."
"Maybe!" I said, feigning relief and smiling modestly. In my heart, I was seething; and when I came to the palace that day, it was fortunate indeed that Prince Fëanáro did not cross my way. I was sorely tempted to punch him, or at least to throw a nice, heavy lump of clay in his disgustingly pretty face.

I did see him a day later: Apparently, his little siblings had insisted that he take a look at my pottery for so long that he had given in. He gave a nod that I might once have thought satisfied, although he said out loud, "I do look a little unfriendly, the way you depicted me."
"I depicted you in the way you behaved," I said. My anger was no longer seething hot; rather, it had grown into a hard, bitter lump in my heart that just now threatened to wander up my throat.
"Unfair!" said he. "Given the circumstances, how else could I have behaved?"
"You could have played with your brother and sisters. Or read to them. Or shown in some other way that you don't just consider them a nuisance." I saw little Nolofinwë wince; but surely I hadn't said anything that he didn't know.
"My half-brother and half-sisters," he corrected. I no longer found his little shibboleth amusing. "You mean, I should have lied?" he went on. "Then your sculpture would no longer be true..."
"If it is true, what then are you complaining about?"
Prince Fëanáro gave a shrug. "I don't rightly know. It's perfectly adequate, I guess. I just suppose that I expected a miracle from you." He grinned, wryly, with his head half-tilted; the dangling strand of hair cast a line of shadow across his eye and cheek. A few days ago, I might have thought his expression friendly; now I knew it was false.
"You will get over the disappointment," I said curtly, while I could still trust my voice. "You can speak to your great friend, Master Alcaráco, about yet another way in which I'm coming up short."

The prince opened his mouth as if to protest, glanced at his siblings who were watching our argument in awkward silence, and pursed his lips tightly. "You heard, then."
"Master Alcaráco's son is my father's apprentice. Did you think he would not tell me?"
Prince Fëanáro snorted. He did not bother to defend himself or justify his words (which I still thought unjust). "Well, I suppose there is nothing else to say, then," he said with a sneer and turned on his heels.
"Yes, there is!" I called after him, realising in dismay that I truly was close to crying now. For no good reason, either – I was just so angry! "Why are you doing this to me?"
He turned to look at me, looked pointedly at the little prince and princess, and rolled his eyes. "You figure it out," he said, and then he left for good.
I might have cried if not for the children, whom I did not want to further discomfort. It was shameful enough that they'd had to witness this scene, and more shameful that little Prince Nolofinwë actually made an attempt to comfort me, rather than the other way round.
"I don't think you have done anything wrong, Mistress Nerdanel," he said in his quiet, childish voice. "That's just the way he is."
"I know," I said, putting on a smile for the boy's sake; but my hands were kneading my apron in dismay. "And I really should not care – it's just that I feel so betrayed."
The shadow of a smile slid over Prince Nolofinwë's face. "Yes," he said, nodding with an earnesty that was far beyond his tender years. "I know." He suddenly looked at the floor. "To be honest, I am a little happy that he treats you like that, too. At first, I thought that he must really like you, since he gave you his studio to work in and everything, and so I thought you would be unfriendly to us, too. But you are really very nice."

I paid no mind to his compliment – I was too shocked by what the little prince had revealed. "He gave me -- this is his studio?"
"Of course!" Princess Írimë piped up. "You didn't know? We're never allowed to go in here normally, but he had to let us in because you were working here. I thought he told you!"
"He should have," I said, feeling lost and confused. Now nothing made sense anymore. This was Prince Fëanáro's study? Very well; why had he given it to me? And if, as Prince Nolofinwë said, it had been because he liked me (absurd thought!), then why had he turned on me? True, I had not thanked him for his generosity, but then, I had not known that I owed him gratitude!
You figure it out, I heard his voice in my head. Yes, I should have figured it out. Why should I get such a wonderful working space if Master Alcaráco got a little spare room next to the inner courtyard, where he was now chipping away on his block of marble? Who should have arranged it, if not somebody who knew about the craft, and happened to have the means? Who would have thought to provide me with a key, so I could hide my work from jealous eyes? Surely not the king, nor even – for all her kindness – the queen. No; it was Prince Fëanáro who had, for some reason, decided to champion me. Except I had not realised that; I had not thanked him for it; instead, I had been friendly to the siblings that he detested; and the only thing I had done that did not suggest I deeply disliked him was so grossly inappropriate that he knew as well as I that it had been an accident.
To be fair, however, with my pre-occupied mind, I could surely be forgiven for not questioning my good fortune too much. If he wanted appreciation, he simply should have said "This is my studio, which I cleaned for your use, enjoy working here". Waiting for me to guess at his thoughts and deeds, and being offended when I failed to do so – that was really rather silly, even childish.
But of course, he was little more than a child.

Even though I had now put Prince Fëanáro's betrayal (as I thought of it) down to hurt pride and childishness, I could not help fretting over what he had apparently told Master Alcaráco. I had believed that I was making good progress and producing good work, but what if I was fooling myself, if I was blind to my shortcomings and too generous with my achievements? Sure, the queen and the small children had praised what they had seen, but then, they knew nothing of sculpting. What if Prince Fëanáro, who after all had some knowledge of the craft, however basic, had seen some serious fault? What if I was in so far over my head that I did not even realise that I was drowning?
The reasonable thing to do, of course, would have been to take a step back, take a deep breath and ask for a second opinion. I could have asked Father and he would have been happy to take a look or give advice; I could have asked Master Carnildo, too. I even could have turned to Master Alcaráco for help, as he had offered and no doubt expected. As long as they did not complete my work for me, asking others for opinions or advice was perfectly legitimate.
But nonetheless the mere idea felt like cheating, and I entertained it only as a very last resort – if I really ran into obvious difficulties. I could have put my doubts at rest at once and faced any faults directly instead of endlessly worrying that they might be there without being able to recognise them; but I could not bring myself to confide in anyone, even Father. I suppose that was silly and childish of me.

Be that as it may, I did not have to make a decision right away. I had completed the scale models so I could now arrange them to see whether the measurements I had taken with the children present were correct, or whether I had to adjust them; and when I was done with the necessary arithmetics, it was time to journey to Alastondo to get my marble block. A week ago, I had been looking forward to this day: No matter how much I enjoyed working with clay, it was always delightful to finish a step on the way to completion, and Alastondo would have been a welcome break from the palace in general and my constant labour in particular. Now, full of confusion, self-doubt and anger, I worried that I had overlooked something in my youthful enthusiasm; and the excursion to the quarry no longer looked like some days of relaxation, but rather like several days in which I could do nothing to assuage my doubts or correct my mistakes.

Chapter 13

Nerdanel is clueless, and I seem to be on a roll. I hope it lasts!

Read Chapter 13

Alastondo was a tiny village, and a world unto itself. It was utterly unlike Tirion, utterly unlike the households that I knew from my father and my friends' families, which were all ultimately small version of the palace. In Alastondo, there were a couple of small houses in which the quarriers and their families slept; there was a communal house, in which they ate, talked, played, sang and danced; there was a guest house in which customers could spend the night, and there was a bath house, which had several tubs in which you used cold water to wash the dust away, and one great basin filled with hot water in which you could afterwards luxuriate and chat. There were a couple of small gardens in which the workers grew such produce as didn't need a proper field, for which there was no room between the marble walls of the mountain and the dense forest. There was a walled well, and the river, and the road. It was the simplest place I had ever been to. If it had not been for the fine marble sculptures that grateful craftsfolk had gifted to the village, you could have thought it utterly out of place in the Blessed Realm – I always thought that this was what an Avarin settlement might look like, if they were lucky enough to have fixed settlements over in those untamed lands.

I had been to Alastondo before, but never on my own. So far, I had always accompanied Master Carnildo or my father on their business, and once, Alcyo, Helyanwë and I had felt brave enough to journey there without a master, taking the cart that brought wine and grain to Alastondo once per week. I could have taken that cart now, too, but that would have meant making conversation with the driver, and I did not feel up to that. It would be hard enough to put on a smiling face and answer the curious questions of the quarry workers. They deserved some news from the great city as well as some insights into the project to which their hard work contributed, and I would give it to them; but I could not bear the thought of having to share gossip, jokes or even songs on the road, too. In fact, once I sat upon my horse and followed the road South, I got so distracted by my own thoughts that I took longer for the stretch than I should have. You could make the distance between Father's house and Alastondo between one Mingling and the next if you rode at a good pace, but I was far slower than that. When I saw the sheer wall of the quarry loom behind the trees, Laurelin was already well on her way to full bloom on the second day. Under her golden light, the marble gleamed like pale honey.

I took care of my business first (I was not, after all, arriving at dinner-time), which in this case meant describing my plans and telling the measurements I was looking for to Lotóreo, the master quarrier. They had no slab of that size around, which was not surprising. Master Lotóreo promised that they would begin cutting a slab to my specifications the very next day, and would ship it down the river to Tirion as soon as they had succesfully liberated it from the mountain. It no doubt helped that I told him that I was working on a commission for King Finwë himself, which he found impressive and exciting – it certainly was not the cake I had brought as a gift, for they were used to greater presents. I did not feel ashamed of it, for I knew that one day I would repay them in a more fitting manner, but I did feel a little ashamed that I did not tell him of my doubts and troubles. He was so enthusiastic that it would have been cruel to dampen his happiness, I told myself. At any rate, he seemed not at all amazed that I in my youth should work the the king; he was just happy that a second slab from his quarry would be used for a royal commission, so shortly after he had delivered one to the palace on Master Alcaráco's behalf.
I smiled, feeling only my teeth.

After we had shaken hands, I went to the bath-house to wash off the dust from the journey and the quarry. It was almost empty, aside from four women who were apparently enjoying some peace and quiet while their children were out playing and their husbands were at work. At this time of day, most of the quarriers were still working; the muted ping-ping and tok-tok of their hammers made a soothing backdrop rhythm as I waded into the hot basin. The quarrier's wives looked up curiously; they knew all their neighbours, of course, in such a small settlement. They also knew me, from earlier visits. "Hullo, Nerdanel," one of them said – to be honest, I had completely forgotten her name, if ever I knew it. "Where's the old fox? Still biting marble dust?"
The old fox, that was how they'd nicknamed Father. They loved nicknames and had one for most of their customers. They probably had one for me, too, though I did not know it; presumably, it was something along the lines of "little she-fox".
"No, Father is back at home," I said, sitting down on the smooth submerged stones until only my head and shoulders remained over water. Steam hung in the air, shrouding everything in a steady mist. With their features obscured by the steam and their hair darkened to a uniform black by the water and shadow, my interlocutors all looked the same to me. "I'm here on my own business, this time," I told them.
"My goodness!" one of the women exclaimed. "Has it been so long? The next thing you'll tell me is that you're married and got seven brats running after you!" That made the others laugh as if it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. I found it too absurd to be truly funny, but still smiled politely. "I don't think I'm the marrying type," I said, "and nobody's got seven children."
"Just you wait!" said the woman who had first spoken. "Our Ravië's got a touch of foresight. She might be right before long!" The others, including Ravië, laughed again: Clearly I was not supposed to take them seriously. I laughed along.
"But guess who did marry?" I said when we were done.
"The little old queen?" Ravië suggested at once.
It took me a moment to figure that one old. "Exactly, Aimíriel," I said then. "She married Palatáro a bit over a year back."
"Well, all I can say is that I hope she knows that children aren't made with hammer and chisel!" said the woman whose name I still didn't know, to general mirth.
And so the afternoon was passed.

You may find this sort of conversation coarse, but remember that the quarriers of Alastondo had to use what means they had to make the day more interesting. They had made a sort of pastime out of speaking nonsense, without caring for what the people of Tirion consider refinement. Here, where every day was very much like the next, without the variation of life in Tirion or even the diversion of new plans and projects, you had to take care of your own excitement. Only rarely did a couple of young people and one or two of the seasoned quarriers ferry a raft full of marble downriver to Aulë's court or to Tirion, and only for the high holidays did they all travel to the city. Other than that, they had little distraction from the confining walls of their quarry. It was far more annoying when the people of Tirion, who really could have spoken of more worthwhile things, had nothing better to do than exchange gossip. I had no patience for that. I probably would have tired of it here, too, but as I only spent the briefest time among the quarriers and their families, I could well bear it. On this occasion, it also provided a pleasant distraction from the upheavals in my mind. I was half-tempted to stay a bit longer, simply to empty my mind entirely of anything serious. But I had to be responsible; already, I had taken a day longer than I had planned, and I had no way of sending a message home to my parents until the next cart came. If I tarried yet more, they would worry and believe that I had fallen off my horse and lay somewhere by the wayside, helpless, or that I had been crushed in the quarry. Somewhere in the back of their minds, they were still in wild, dangerous Endorë.

I soon wished that I had stayed longer, for who crossed my way just a few hours before I reached home but Prince Fëanáro? Against the gleam of the Trees, I at first only saw a silhouette upon horseback and thought that it was some other craftsman on the way to the quarry. But then he came closer, and eventually I could recognise details: The finely-cut face that I had not long ago reproduced in clay, the broad shoulders and strong hands that should have looked out of place on a young nobleman but somehow didn't, and (of course) the loose strand of hair. I wondered briefly whether he had waylaid me, and then discarded the ideas as absurd; but it turned out to be true.
"Nerdanel," he said as we had reached each other, putting warmth in his voice as if he wanted to rival Laurelin. "I was hoping that I'd find you on the road."
"My lord," I said primly. "I was hoping that I'd find solitude."
He let his horse turn and fall into pace next to mine. "You are still angry. I was afraid of that. Which is why I am here, of course."
"To make me angrier, my lord?"
He clucked his tongue, which made his horse shake its mane wildly. For a second, I hoped that the prince would fall off. He did not do me that favour, of course. All the better, I suppose; if he had injured himself in the fall, I would have been stuck with him for good.
"No," he said. "To speak with you in private – to deliver you from your apparent ignorance."
"Ignorance," I repeated. If his voice rivalled Laurelin, then mine evoked the frozen outer lands in the furthest North.
"Yes, ignorance. I find it hard to believe, since I was under the impression that you had quite a nimble mind underneath that fiery hair of yours, but since it seems that you've been incapable of grasping what I've done for you, I hoped that I would have a chance to make it clearer."

I pursed my lips. "I am aware of what you allude to," I said, keeping my gaze straight ahead although my eyes were begging me to turn away from the golden brilliance. "All I can say is that I am indeed most grateful for the studio; but if you wanted exuberant thanks, you should simply have told me that it was your studio and your doing."
"That is not what I meant at all," he said in a tone that began to sound annoyed. Good. His fake warmth had been disgusting to listen to; goosebumps of revulsion had risen on my skin as I'd heard it. "Who told you?" the prince continued.
Naturally, I would not betray poor little Prince Nolofinwë. "Please," I said. "Give me some credit, even if my mind is less nimble than you'd like."
"Hmpf," made he. "I had hoped that it would remain my secret."
"That makes no sense at all, my lord. You suggested just now that I owed you gratitude. You cannot expect gratitude for what you keep secret."
"Not for that!" Prince Fëanáro said. "No -- for keeping Master Alcaráco off your back!"
"I beg your pardon?" I said sharply. What in the wide expanse of Arda was he talking about?

He sighed. "Why do you think Master Alcaráco has made no further attempts at putting obstacles in your path?" he asked in the very patient tone of voice that I would have used to explain something to Sarnië that I had already explained to her a dozen times, such as Why we cleaned our dishes after dinner instead of waiting for the ants to do it.
"I assume that he has come to his senses and realised that it is beneath him to bar the way of a struggling apprentice."
The prince laughed, loud and sharp. "Hah! No; Alcaráco is a very petty man, and no paltry game is beneath him."
"Your words, my lord, not mine."
"Your thoughts, if you have any of the sense I thought you had."
"My lord, please do not convince me that the crown prince of the Noldor is the type of person who will kiss up to whoever he is talking to, and who will speak ill of the same person as soon as their back is turned. That sort of game should be beneath you."
"You still don't understand, do you?" he said, incredulously. "Yes, it is beneath me, and yes, I am doing it anyway – but only with Alcaráco, and only for your sake!"
I tried to make head or tail of his words. "No, I do not understand," I had to admit. "Do make yourself clearer. I have no mind for political games."
"If you can play at diplomacy, you can play at intrigue," he said dismissively, "but very well. I shall spell it out for you, if that is truly necessary. I want you to win this little contest my father's wife has so foolishly thought up. Your rival is not playing fair, and as you are too innocent to repay him in kind, I am doing the dirty work on your behalf. I am telling him that you've bitten more than you can chew, so that he will think it does not take further efforts from him to sabotage you. I am telling him that you work endlessly on your barely adequate sketches so that he will not question why he never sees you working in the courtyard. I am telling him that the children run wild during their sessions, so he can smirk and shake his head and spend no further thought on you. I am even bearing his tedious company at dinner so that he will not realise that we are allies! That sort of game is beneath me? Yes, it should be, but I am playing it for you!"

I could no longer bear the light; I turned my head away, away from the road, away from him. Golden specks danced before my vision like sparks off beaten steel; they did not make thinking easier. What he said made sense, in a way – and then, none of it made sense. Why would he do such a thing?
"I did not ask it of you," I heard myself say.
He sighed. "No, you did not. But I had still hoped that you'd appreciate the effort."
"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't know what to think." I turned to face him; I suppose I owed him that much, at least. There was anger in his eyes, and hurt, and something that I could not place; maybe it just was a trick of the light. "Prince Fëanáro, I just do not understand the why. Why would you want to be my ally?"
Another exaggeratedly long sigh. Suddenly he sounded very tired.
"I think I have done enough spelling out for today," he said. "I take my leave, and hope that you may at some point understand. Just one thing, maybe, to help me think: Why would I want to be your enemy?"
I stopped my horse.
"Oh, there are many reasons, aren't there? I had to rescue you from a rabbit, and thus saw you humiliated. I refused you that one dance. I get along well with your stepmother and with your little siblings. I did not thank you for giving me your studio, or for having me sit next to you at High Table. I do not welcome your company nor your conversation, but I --" even under the gleam of Laurelin, I could feel my cheeks grow hot from within – "I touched you, uninvitedly. Is that not enough to make you my enemy?"
He tilted his head, and now I really could not interpret the glint that was in his very bright eyes. "Maybe," he conceded, "if I were Alcaráco – or if you were any other person." He flashed me a rakish grin. "Good day, Nerdanel. I'll see you in the palace, of course." He ducked his head as a parting bow and let his horse turn off the road, plainly planning to ride cross-country towards the Calacirya instead of further shadowing me. I was grateful for that, at least.

I rode the last stretch of the road in a wild galopp, as if trying to escape from something. Maybe I was. I knew that it would take me a couple of days to stomach this conversation, at any rate. I still had no idea what to think, and my mind circled around my confusion endlessly. It was true, I supposed, that he had no true reason to be my enemy – I had hurt his pride, but maybe he cared less about that than I would have believed. But in the end, there was still no getting around the other question that he had refused to answer: Why would he want to be my friend?

Chapter 14

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Chapter 14

One thing now was certain: I could no longer handle this alone. The encounter with Prince Fëanáro, his astonishing claims, all the doubt and turmoil of the past week had grown overwhelming; I had to speak with somebody or I would be torn apart by my overwrought nerves. I still would not speak with Father or some other craftsman about my work – I had not changed my mind on that: it would be cheating – but I could do what any reasonable person in my situation would feel compelled to do: I could run to my mother.
And that is what I did when I came home: As soon as I saw a chance to speak with her in private, I more or less ran down her study door, fell down at her feet and cried on her lap. (I am hardly even ashamed to admit this.)

Mother listened to my tale, interrupted by racking sobs and sniffles; she stroked my hair and waited until I grew more intelligible before she asked questions; and she did not once tell me that I was being silly. Even before the tears stopped flowing (and believe me, they flowed so hard that I began to suspect that there was a fountain behind the bridge of my nose), I felt my heart ease, and my head was beginning to feel pleasantly empty. Eventually, the sobbing subsided, and there was nothing left to cry about.
Mother pulled up a chair then, and poured me a cup of herbal tea that was still pleasantly hot thanks to a small candle-warmed stove on her desk.
"My poor dear," Mother said when I had sat down and clasped the cup between both hands. "I thought there was more behind your opposition to Prince Fëanáro's apprenticeship. You're a little infatuated with him, aren't you?"
"What?!" I almost spilled the tea, so quick was I to jump up. "No! Not one bit! I can't stand him! Mother, what made you--"
"Please calm yourself, dearest," she said in her warmest, most gentle voice. "I am sorry if I read you so wrong. I thought you cared so much for his opinion because--"
"I care for what he told Master Alcaráco because it is so unjust! Or maybe it is true, and then I am a worse artist than I've come to believe, and a lousy judge of my own skill. That's why I care! Other than that, I would not give a toss for what he thinks – of me or anything else in the world!"
Mother stroked my knee. "I am sorry. For what it is worth, you should know that you are a very fine artist, and a harsher judge of your own skill than anybody else who has seen it – as all good artists are. So his tales truly must be unjust, and I understand that they upset you." She gave me a lopsided smile. "But maybe he told you the truth after all? Maybe he is only telling these stories to help you."
"But that is absurd, Mother; there is no good reason why he should do that."
Mother tilted her head. "Maybe he is a little infatuated with you?"
"Don't be absurd," I almost snapped at her. Mother was not named Istarnië for nothing; she ordinarily was wise and astute judge of people. I wondered how she could be so wrong – twice in one day.

Meanwhile, Mother did not seem to worry about her error at all, nor was she put out by my incivility. She continued to pat my knee. "Very well. We cannot guess at the prince's motivations, but maybe we can figure out how you want to deal with the situation. Maybe it would be a good idea to take a rest for a couple of days?"
"I don't know," I said, croaking after all the sobbing. "I can't well let my work down, and they would think that I truly was unable to finish the project..."
"Just a short rest, dearest. You sound hoarse, and I believe your forehead felt very hot just now; we can say that you are a little feverish, maybe some sort of cold you caught on the road. That will give you a chance to recover and to sort your thoughts, at least. Nobody can think ill of you if you take a rest when you're running a fever. I'll ask your father--"
"No, don't tell him!" I cried out, upsetting my tea-cup after all. "Please, let it be a secret between the two of us."
Mother picked up a rag she usually used to clean her quills, mopping up the tea that had landed on the floor. She continued to speak as calmly as before, as if nothing had happened. "Of course. I won't breathe a word. I was going to say that your father means to ride to the palace tomorrow, anyway – to discuss the terms of Prince Fëanáro's apprenticeship. That is, I can ask him to re-assess his decision, but then I will have to tell him what happened..."
I shook my head. The pleasant emptiness was giving way to dull numbness; I could not bring myself to care, just as long as nobody learned of my disconcertment.
Mother smiled her gentle smile. "I thought not. Well, as Mahtan is going to Tirion anyway, I meant to ask him to explain about your illness – while he is going anyway."
I managed to nod. "He should bring Sarnië," I said. My voice sounded as dull as I was feeling, but at least I remembered that much. "Princess Írimë would like to play with her."
Raising her eyebrows, Mother said, "You seem to have friends as well as enemies in the palace, then. We'll see if Sarnië wants to go. And we'll see when you feel fit to go again, too."
I gave another half-hearted nod. I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. I am not my father's errand-runner, I had proudly told Prince Fëanáro. Now my father would serve as my errand-runner.

The next morning, I was excused from breakfast due to my supposed fever. Although I was by no means as ill as poor Erenwen seemed to believe (she even brought me porridge with applesauce as well as chamomile tea between doing the dishes and beginning her lessons for the day, dear soul), it was undeniably pleasant to forego the curious questions and the general prattle. I did not feel that I could handle the company just now. I asked Erenwen whether she had read any interesting books recently, and she gave me an adventure story about a couple of young Avari lost in the wilderness. (The heroes of all our adventure stories were Avari; the heroes of all our romances were Vanyar.) It really was quite an exciting read; that is, of course I felt sorry for the poor people who lived in such a dangerous land, and had to struggle so hard and face incredible dangers before they made it back to their tribe at last, but reading about their tribulations in the warmth and safety of my bed was quite enjoyable. I felt that lovely tingle of excitement crawl down my back, and almost forgot to drink my tea. It had been a long time since I'd taken the time to read a book; in the past weeks, there always had been something more pressing to do.
When in the evening Erenwen and the apprentices had gone out to dance, I dared to come out of the bedroom and go to the kitchen for more tea (and a snack more hearty than the porridge that had been my supper, too). As I sipped the first taste of the not yet wholly steeped tea, I took in the uncommon sensation of our house so empty, so quiet, without even the noises of chairs scraping or water poured into washing-bowls, without the filtered hammer-sounds from the workshops, without the rustle of paper or creaking of chairs from the studies above. It was peaceful, but it also felt rather lonely. The sudden noise of hooves and footsteps tore me out of my reflections: Father was coming home. I grabbed my teapot and cup and quietly hurried back into my room.

Mother came to see me later, after Father had spoken with her about his day. "Are you feeling a little better, my dear?" she said, making it sound as if I truly had been thrown down by a fever rather than just a feverish mind.
"Quite so," I said, and admitted, "I went down to the kitchen a bit earlier, and I managed to eat some bread and ham."
"I am glad of it," she said. "I hope I will not risk your recovery by bringing you news from Tirion; but some of it, I feel, might help to solve the puzzle that has been so tormenting you."
"If that is so," I replied, "it will aid my recovery rather than risk it."
"I thought so. First, however, I'm afraid I must give you Prince Fëanáro's regards; he made Mahtan promise, so he in turn made me promise. Apparently, he is very anxious that you recover soon."
I feel back into my pillow. That certainly wasn't helping me. "Did I need to hear that?" I asked.
Mother raised a reproving eyebrow, even though she smiled. "A promise is a promise, dear. At any rate, your father is convinced now that Prince Fëanáro is desperately eager to begin his apprenticeship here. His entire demeanor must have been quite modest, he agreed to follow all our rules, including that he will do the most menial tasks himself and that he will bring no servant with him – he would agree to anything, Mahtan felt, in order to be accepted. I admit that I for my part am surprised; I would have expected that he would have some conditions of his own, and that he would demand some allowances to his status. But the only thing he objected to was that he would have to wait until one of Mahtan's present apprentices become a master – so impatient is he. Other than that, he appears to be perfectly willing – eager, even – to be an apprentice like any other. Now that we know that, does not his behaviour begin to make sense?"
Maybe I still was a little under the weather; I had no idea what she meant. "I knew that he was desperate to become Father's apprentice; he pestered me again and again, trying to get me to intercede on his behalf. Naturally, I didn't want to." I rubbed the bridge of my nose – my nervous fingers needed something to do.
"Well, don't you think that explains why he would champion you?" Mother asked. "I now believe that his purpose is to endear himself to Mahtan by supporting his daughter. Does it not all make sense in that light? And it is working, to some extent; your father was exceedingly pleased, for instance, that the prince expressed sympathy for your condition and asked him to convey his best wishes for your reconvalescence."
I scowled. I hadn't meant to help Prince Fëanáro endear himself to Father, after all! Then again, Father had already been quite taken with the prince; it probably made no difference.
At any rate, mother's idea made a lot of sense. "Yes," I heard myself breathe. "Yes, that would explain it!"
Mother smiled. "I thought so, too. Is that not a relief to know?"

And it was. Over the past day, all the anger and confusion, the self-doubts and fear had melted into one big ugly lump in my mind, which said: Either Prince Fëanáro lied to me on the road, and I really am as rotten a sculptress as he and Master Alcaráco believed; or Prince Fëanáro had spoken the truth, in which case all my worries were unfounded. But the latter scenario seemed unlikely - unless he had some kind of motivation. Everything had hinged on that question of motivation. Now it seemed that we had found it. To a manipulative mind, it probably looked fair enough: Aid the daughter and the father will be grateful; nobody would be hurt (aside from Master Alcaráco, perhaps). Prince Fëanáro had not initially known that Father had made up his mind pretty much at once, so he might well have decided that he should try and boost his luck. I suppose I had to be grateful that he had not abandoned the game, so to say, after I had let it slip that the decision had been made in his favour – especially since I had proved such an uncooperative pawn. Then again, he still could not want me to stand against him: Daughters tended to have their father's ear. That also explained why he had gone out of his way to defend himself – otherwise, he might have feared that I might implore my father to change his mind, and who knows, Father might have given in if I had pleaded enough. The prince could not risk that. Why he wanted to be Father's apprentice so badly, I did not quite grasp. Surely it was not just the reason he had given me in the palace, that Father was the only Noldorin smith worth learning from. Maybe Prince Fëanáro had argued with Lord Aulë in his pride, or he had fallen out with Master Rúmil or another tutor. Maybe he just wanted to get away from Queen Indis and her poor dear children; the palace was certainly large enough to go out of their way, but maybe that didn't suffice for him. Not that it mattered. For me, all that mattered was that he did greatly desire to come into Father's household. He had himself told me that it was so. So Mother was surely right.

Yes, it all made sense; and it meant that I could trust Prince Fëanáro, for the time being, as my unlikely ally. It also meant that all that talk about me being out of my depth was a machination of the prince; more, since somebody as proud as he would certainly not stoop to champion a loser, however secretly and whoever that loser's father was, it might mean that he saw a real chance of me winning. Now that was a thought to which I could well fall asleep! I felt as though I had bathed in sweet relief: My weary limbs were weary no more, but rather longed to run and jump and grip hammer and chisel at once. I actually had to wrestle down the temptation to ride to the palace at once – there was no point, after all, since my block of marble had not even been delivered yet. No, I could rest a while longer, for I now knew that I could leave my models alone – there was no fault so grave that I had to act at once. All was well. And when the note from Alastondo arrived, I would be able to return to my work with a mind unweighed by doubts.

Underneath all the relief, however, I felt a strange undercurrent of disappointment. I did not truly know why. Perhaps somehow, I had expected something more spectacular – something more than she is her father's daughter. My fingers were brushing through my hair, anxious and unsatisfied. I had been looking for something worthy of song or at least a short poem – that was why I had overlooked the obvious in the first place. Oh, of course I was happy and relieved, yet somehow – well. I don't rightly know what it was. Perhaps it just stung to realise that I was a mere pawn in the game of Becoming Master Mahtan's Apprentice.
I chided myself for such petty thoughts at once. What did it matter? Besides, nobody said that I had to be a pawn. I was, after all, the master's daughter. If I had to be a piece on the board, surely that qualified me for the position of queen?

Chapter 15

Wow, two years again? And all I have to show is this ridiculously short chapter. Oh well. Let's hope the words will come more easily for the next chapters...

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Chapter 15

It took more than a week until I received note that my slab of marble had been delivered to the palace – time enough to recover, even time enough to get used to the idea of Prince Fëanáro as my ally. I was glad to have such an ally when I entered the palace again, and the first person I met was Master Alcaráco. He greeted me with a smile that was all teeth and condescension.
"Ah, young Nerdanel, there you are! How badly ill you must have been to miss a whole week of work, poor girl," he said.
"Thank you for your concern, Master Alcaráco," I said, trying to keep my voice friendly. Poor girl indeed! "I have been feeling reasonably well the past couple of days, but I had no work to do until I got the note from Alastondo. I got it yesterday, so here I am." I gave the most harmless smile I was capable of.

Master Alcaráco's expression turned into a frown of worried puzzlement. It reminded me of a rather disappointing play I had once seen perform in Tirion. It had been as dreadfully overacted as Master Alcaráco's face was now. The dismay in his voice was horribly exaggerated as well. "Oh my! I am certain I would have noticed if a sizeable piece of marble had been delivered here – unless you're planning a miniature?" In spite of his display of worry, there was no mistaking the smugness hiding underneath it.
For a moment, I lost my calm, instead feeling panic rise within me. But I had received the note! Had there been a mistake? I had been certain that I could trust Master Lotóreo and his experienced quarriers, but though I knew for certain that they hadn't delivered it to Father's house, maybe they had brought the marble to Master Carnildo's workshop instead of the palace? That made little sense, as Master Lotóreo had been so pleased to hear that I was working for the King, but maybe one of the ferriers ---

Then I managed to get my mind back under control. No, surely all was well. After all, Master Alcaráco expected me to work in the inner courtyard, behind one of the guest studies – where he, too, was working. No second slab of marble had been brought there, so he believed that I had been misinformed and would be disappointed. That didn't mean anything. Surely my marble was waiting for me up in Prince Fëanáro's studio. I almost grinned in relief, and quickly forced my brow into what I hoped would pass as an anxious frown.
"Oh dear," I said slowly. "There must have been some sort of mistake." My words sounded insincere to my own ears, but Master Alcaráco did not seem to notice or care.
"My goodness, how unfortunate," he said. "Such trouble for your examination piece. I hope it will not cost you too much time to find out what happened."
"Yes," I said with an awkward laugh. "I hope I can sort it out." I began to wring my hands a little, just for good measure, as if I was trying to figure out where to begin. "Well. Um. Thank you for warning me, Master Alcaráco."
This time, his smile was genuine. "Oh, very gladly, young Nerdanel. Good luck!"

My slab of marble was beautiful: A massive piece of promise, shining white except where Master Lotoréo or one of his assistants had scribbled for Nerdanel; to Finwë's palace in Tirion onto the roughly-hewn surface for the ferriers. It had been left underneath the pulley upon a sturdy wooden pallet, so that it could easily be brought out of the studio once I had finished my work. I let out a long sigh of relief. The encounter with Master Alcaráco had made me more tense than it should have, and I was glad to find that all was well. I rolled my shoulders and felt as though a heavy load was dropping from them.

I could not begin to work at once even though my fingers were itching. I simply had to see Prince Fëanáro first. I could not find Wintillo, so I asked a friendly maid I met on the corridor. I claimed that I had to make some urgent last-minute corrections to my sketches. The servant promised that she would find the Prince and send him my way, and indeed, after I had spent perhaps an hour drawing the outlines of my planned skulpture onto the rock surface, there was a knock on the door. I went to open it, and there he was.
"Last-minute corrections? You could have done that days ago," Prince Fëanáro noted by way of greeting.
"Good morning, my lord," I said, ignoring his reproof. "Please come in. Actually, that was only a pretext."
He raised an eyebrow and said nothing, and I felt my newly-found confidence flounder.
"What are we going to tell Master Alcaráco?" I asked with an awkward grimace.
"'We'?" he said.
"Well, I. Or you. One of us," I said, wringing my hands in earnest now. "I met him when I arrived. He noticed that no marble for me has been delivered to what's supposed to be our shared work-space. I told him that there must have been some sort of mistake and that I'd try and figure it out. He is happy to believe that right now, but he won't believe forever that my slab hasn't turned up. So what are we going to tell him? He's clearly expecting to see me at work in the courtyard soon."

Prince Fëanáro looked out of the window for a short while. Then he shrugged. "Why not stick with your story? There has been a mistake – clearly, the ferriers or servants thought that such a splendid piece of marble must be for me. So of course they had it brought it to my studio." He thoughtfully began to pick at the markings with his thumb. The clay-dyed wax flaked off easily. Prince Fëanáro stopped, frowning in disgust at the red smear that had caked under his thumbnail. "Well, you'll chop off the writing soon enough, anyway," he said with another shrug. "At any rate, somebody must have thought that it read 'for the Prince'*. Sarati can be so tricky."
I tilted my head, looking at the smeared script. For Aranel; to the palace in Tirion - it really looked like that, if you didn't look too closely. It was a little shock how easily Prince Fëanáro had come up with such a lie, but I couldn't deny that I was relieved.
"I suppose it might work," I said. "And then?"
He heaved a great sigh. He was probably tired of having to think for me. "Then I'll say that in my boundless generosity, and having seen how much you're already struggling, I have decided to let you work here. Instead of forcing you to remove that heavy slab, you see. It's your lucky day today, Nerdanel."
"Mahtan's daughter," I immediately added, to show that I had figured out why he was helping me. He gave me an inscrutable look, saying nothing. It made me feel uncomfortable again, and suddenly I wanted him to go far away, now that the problem was solved.
"Boundless generosity indeed," I said with a curtsy. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord."
Again he sighed, exaggeratedly. "I have my lucid moments, you know."

Laurelin was already at her most golden when I finally took up hammer and chisel. Then I worked as though intoxicated. I only stopped when the need to pee had become so urgent that I could no longer ignore it. I put down my tools and realised that the lights were already past mingling. Hours had passed and I hadn't even noticed, working without pause. Now, I sorely felt that my shoulders wer aching, and that my throat was parched, my stomach empty. My bladder, on the other hand, was full to the brim.
When I returned from a most undignified but absolutely necessary dash to the lavatory, which was fortunately not too far off, I saw a woman standing in front of the studio door. I thought that a servant had come to ask whether I would attend dinner, but when I called out "I am here, wait a moment!", it was Queen Indis who turned to look at me. Embarrassed and out of breath, I did not know what to say next.

Fortunately, I did not need to say anything.
"I assumed that you had succumbed to the Noldorin condition," the Queen said kindly, "so I took the liberty of informing your parents that you would be staying here for the night."
My parents! Of course I had forgotten them too, absorbed as I had been in my work. I felt my cheeks redden even as Queen Indis continued, "Fëanáro said that I am being absurd and that they would naturally understand that you might not return home until your work was done, being craftsfolk themselves. But he is young and does not realise how parents worry. So I sent a messenger anyway. I do not mean to suggest that you have done wrong, but I hope you will not take it amiss either."
"Not at all!" I managed to say. "Not at all. I am very grateful. They would worry. I don't know what came over me."
Queen Indis smiled, her eyes sparkling almost mischievously. "I do. I call it the Noldorin condition. I have observed it many times – in Finwë, in the children, in any Noldo I have ever seen at work. Getting so involved with your work that you forget everything around you. I think it is why great inventions are made by Noldor – because you are your work. You live it, you breathe it, and you think of it day and night. You are never satisfied unless you create something new, something better. Your entire being rests upon your work, and that is why you excel at it, and why you improve your crafts beyond anything even the Valar may imagine."

I blinked. What she said rang true and made sense, but I had never given it any thought. Perhaps one had to come from outside to think about it so clearly, to analyse what came over us when we tackled a project that just wouldn't let go of us. Yes, we did get obsessed with every piece of work, though different people dealt with it differently. My mother, for instance, never neglected us or our household, although she hardly ever stopped talking about whatever project she was working on. Others – myself included – indeed had a tendency to lock themselves in their workshop until they were done, and then fretted until they had something new to work on. I briefly wondered whether this Noldorin condition was a curse or a blessing.

The Queen seemed to have read my thoughts, for she said, "It makes your work great, but it can be hard on the people around you. Even if they are Noldor themselves. I am not, so I sometimes wring my hands when Finwë will not close a council meeting before they have found the perfect decision. But I have come to understand that it cannot be changed; it is how you have been made, or how you have been taught. Do not worry, young Nerdanel, I do not mean to tear you away from your work. It would only make you unhappy, which is not my intent. But I've had a few things delivered to your working space that I hope you will make use of, before you drop from exhaustion, starvation or both." She winked at me, and I returned her smile. I could not for the life of me understand how Prince Fëanáro could believe that she was foolish.
It was this thought that made me more forward than I had any right to be. "You may not be a Noldië, but wise you are²," I said.
I saw her eyes widen in surprise and fully expected that she would point out that she hardly required my opinion, but instead, she gave me a smile that appeared almost grateful. "You are kind."
"As are you," I said warmly, relieved that my cheekiness hadn't given her offense. "I thank you for all that you have done for me."

And she had done a lot for me, I thought when I returned into the workshop. Prince Fëanáro might consider himself a great ally, but he was not the only one who supported me. He'd probably snort in disdain, but I owed his stepmother as much as I owed him. Without her, King Finwë would likely have sent me right back to Aulë, never giving me a chance to work on his commission. Competing against Master Alcaráco was terrifying, but I was beginning to enjoy the challenge – the game, as Prince Fëanáro called it. Although the thought was unbecoming, I had to admit that I believed that I could win. What a start to my career as a master craftswoman that would be! And it was entirely the Queen's doing. On a smaller scale, she had also done what I had forgotten to do and set my parents' mind at ease. Of course they would guess that it was only work, no accident or illness, that kept me from home – but they would nonetheless worry, and I really should have thought of informing them in time. Last but not least, she had taken care that even though I had missed dinner, I would not go through the night hungry. Sweet summer apples, redcurrants, rich buttery cheese and cold ham were waiting for me. A covered basked contained a loaf of bread, still warm, which filled the studio with its appetizing smell of roasted grain, coriander and cumin seeds when I removed the cloth cover. There were hard-boiled quails' eggs and some leftover pastries. My stomach rumbled greedily.

Queen Indis had performed a miracle: I did no more work that day. I did not light any of the candles that had been supplied plentifully. Telperion's silver gleam was too soft for complicated work, but it was perfectly sufficient for supper. As I ate in solitude, I felt a warm and comfortable tiredness settle on me; and as a camp bed had also been delivered to the workshop, I lay down when I had finished my meal. I did not draw the curtains, for I had planned to rest just a little, but I fell into a deep sleep and did not wake until the light of Laurelin was bright in my face and tore me from my slumber.

---

Chapter End Notes

*Strictly speaking, Quenya aranel is glossed only as "princess", with no direct male equivalent to be found; however, the Sindarin word ernil - clearly derived from aranel - is translated only as "prince", with no female equivalent. So I'm guessing that both aranel and ernil can be used for either sex. Literally, it can be translated as "king-offspring", so there's no reason why it shouldn't go either way. (There are other Quenya words for "prince", but it's impossible to misread Nerdanel as cundu or haryon, however you look at it. Aranel is reasonably feasible.)

²The Quenya words for wisdom, nolwë (for insight) and nolë (for book-learning), are of course closely related to the name of the Noldorin people. Nerdanel is making a little play on words that gets lost in translation.

Chapter 16

Nerdanel finally finishes her work for Finwë's family. What a relief.

Read Chapter 16

It took me the better part of summer to finish my sculpture, even though I worked almost ceaselessly. Following my conversation with Queen Indis, I took care to eat dinner at home once in the week, but I was always eager to leave again. My parents, I was sure, understood - after all, they were craftsfolk themselves – but I still felt guilty. I just couldn't resist the urge to return to my work for long. I observed myself closely, curious whether at some point my enthusiasm would falter, but that never happened. Instead, I dreaded the day when my work would be done.

Yet that day came - brought about all the sooner by my feverish working, of course. I should have been relieved to have finished my grand project. I should have been happy to return home and pick up the life I had virtually abandoned. I told myself that I was; but stronger than relief or happiness was the strange empty feeling in the mental place that had been occupied with my work. I would miss it. I realised that it was more than the usual wistfulness at the end of a project, that it was something deeper, something defining. Of course there would be other projects – better ones, possibly! - but I suspected that nothing would ever compare to the anxiety and excitement of a first commission, in the way that no journey could repeat the thrill of one's very first travelling experience, or in the way it was said that no measure of intimacy could ever compare to one's first true kiss (although I felt that people made altogether too much fuss about romance).
And then there was something else that made me feel downhearted rather than proud when I looked at my sculpture: I would have to face judgement now.

I was not afraid of Aulë's assessment, I realised with some surprise. I was normally quick to be dissatisfied with my work, but this time, I was content – not only that I had done my best, but that my best was truly good. I had done the king's children justice and copied their features perfectly. Moreover, I felt that I had captured their spirit – Princess Írimë's exuberance, Princess Findis' mature and caring nature, Prince Fëanáro's arrogant beauty – and depicted them in a lifelike and dynamic scene. Although my chisel had slipped a few times, there was no lasting damage done – there were no noticeable flaws anywhere. I could have been proud. There was no doubt that I would be allowed to stand the exams.
What I was doubtful about, and what ruined my enjoyment of my finished sculpture, was the contest with Master Alcaráco. What would the consequences be? Without having seen Master Alcaráco's sculpture, I was nonetheless fairly certain that I had a good change of winning. If the king decided that Master Alcaráco had fulfilled his expectations more closely (as was perfectly possible: Master Alcaráco was a seasoned sculptor and faithful to tradition), I knew I would be disappointed. But if King Finwë actually did prefer my work, I would likely not be happy, either. From Master Alcaráco's behaviour so far, I was very much afraid that he would never accept defeat gracefully, but rather use any chance to punish me. And there was nothing I could do about it.

No wonder that I hesitated to declare my project finished! As long as I could hide in Prince Fëanáro's study, the future was blissfully unwritten. Still, I could not put it off forever. In fact, after three days I realised that I was playing into Master Alcaráco's hand by making everyone think that I needed more time. There had been no deadline, but everybody had noticed that I was working pretty much incessantly. If, in spite of that, I let yet another week pass, it would make me look like a very slow worker indeed.
So I gathered my courage, and attended the king's dinner, and announced that I had completed my commission. And the next morning, my sculpture was carefully lowered onto the broad terrace in front of the palace, where Master Alcaráco's work had been carted the day before.
„Impressive,“ Master Alcaráco said with an oily smile while I anxiously watched the pulley being worked, terrified that a rope would break and cast my precious sculpture down onto the pavement. „I completed my own work only two days earlier than you did. Not bad, not bad at all!“
I could have kicked myself.

Master Alcaráco's sculpture was worthy of a master craftsman. From a technical perspective, I could not fault it, though it was lacking in originality. He had worked out the children's features and the elaborate details of their clothing perfectly; he had imitated the different textures of skin and hair, cloth and jewellery as well as was possible in marble. I wasn't surprised, of course. I wouldn't have expected anything less, and I really wished Master Alcaráco didn't act so astonished in his turn while he examined my work. He took his time checking all the spots where insecure or unexperienced sculptors might be unable to achieve perfection, or where even experienced sculptors might cheat because no ordinary observer would notice. The longer he took, the more anxiously I watched. Had I overlooked something after all? Had I been deceiving myself? But the fact that Master Alcaráco said no word suggested that he couldn't find anything amiss, no matter how much he peeked into the shadows and hidden nooks.

Master Alcaráco wasn't the only one who kept silent. King Finwë was lost in the contemplation of our sculptures as well. He walked around mine; he walked around Master Alcaráco's. And again. And again. He stood back; he rocked from the balls of his feet to his heels; he paced around the sculptures again. Someone was snickering. Prince Fëanáro was whispering to Wintillo. Princess Findis gave me an encouraging smile. Some of the other courtiers were looking less friendly. Curious onlookers were ascending the stairs to find out what was going on, too – our little friendly contest was getting quite the audience. I tried not to fidget under the cursory glances and open stares, a task made harder when Master Alcaráco abandoned his attempts to find mistakes or shortcuts and came to stand by my side.
„You must be very pleased with yourself,“ he hissed unter breath.
„Should I be?“ I asked as innocently as I could, and received no answer.
To be honest, part of me was really pleased. For once, I did not doubt my work at all. It was a strange feeling – I was normally among my harshest critics – but it felt good, almost exhilarating. Yes, I was pleased with what I had accomplished. I genuinely felt that I deserved to win. My sculpture was as well executed as Master Alcaráco's, and more inspired. The more King Finwë examined our sculptures without giving an opinion, the more convinced I became that he, too, preferred my work. If only he had finally said something!

When at last he came over to speak with me, however, his expression was stony. „Well. That's quite the quandary you've put us in.“
I felt as though he had poured a bucket full of ice-cold water over my head. Gone was the kind and jovial man who had laughed at my witty replies at the dinner-table, replaced by a stern and rather intimidating king. I felt a lump rise in my throat. I wasn't certain whether it was fear, or rather anger. I hadn't done anything wrong, after all!
I decided to say so. „I don't know what you mean, my lord.“
The king looked at the gathered audience, at Master Alcaráco, then back at me. „A young apprentice cannot outdo a seasoned master.“ As you just have was the unspoken addendum.
My competitor didn't protest or show surprise in any way. He said nothing. He had expected this. He knew that he was beaten. I could barely contain the triumph that filled my heart, despite the circumstances. I had won! The thought was so intensely sweet that I could taste it on my tongue. My exam piece was better than the sculpture made by an experienced Master. The King had acknowledged it. Master Alcaráco knew it. I could barely breathe for excitement.

Then I returned to my senses. Master Alcaráco was furious. He was silent, staring ahead with hard, cold eyes, but I knew that he would not hold his peace forever. I could practically feel the anger he was exuding. The king, too, was angry. As I thought about what he had said, I began to see why. As the judge of this contest, it was his duty to crown the person who had delivered the better sculpture the winner. As the king of the Noldor, he had to uphold the social order. If an apprentice bested a master, albeit in a friendly contest, then who was to say that servants ought to obey their masters? Who was to say that Elves could not rise against Valar? The king was right. It was a quandary, and he would have to solve it.
Maybe I could help. I did not want to be trouble for anyone. I had my exam piece. I had even tasted victory, for a brief moment. That was enough, really. If by yielding my victory to Master Alcaráco I could win back the king's good humour, it was worth it.

„I know,“ I heard myself say.
„Explain yourself!“ King Finwë said sharply, turning upon me as if to bear me down with the weight of his gaze. For a second, I was terrified. But then the king's posture and face softened. „Please explain.“
I took a deep breath. I could not explain openly what I meant to do, since that would have meant acknowledging that I was the victor, which we could not do. So I acted as if I took the king's statement literally. „I know that an apprentice cannot outdo a master, my lord. I never expected to. I did my best, but of course it cannot measure up to Master Alcaráco's work. I accept that, with goodwill.“
Master Alcaráco gasped, turning to give me an incredulous stare. There was a hum among the onlookers. Prince Fëanáro was shaking his head vigorously. The king studied me with a frown on his face.
Did he believe me? Hardly. I had tried to say my piece as though I believed it, but the king surely saw through my protested modesty. I could see the muscles in his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth. He did not know what to do. The situation was beginning to get awkward. The audience was awaiting a decision. In fact, the audience had probably figured out who had won, simply because Master Alcaráco was not crowned winner yet.

Queen Indis came to our rescue. She walked briskly to her husband and whispered into his ear, and I could see the king's features relax. „Yes,“ he said softly. „That is true.“ And then, at last, he smiled.
„I cannot make a decision,“ he announced. „These sculptures are too different to compare. Both are, in their own way, perfect. One,“ he gestured at Master Alcaráco's work, „depicts all that is great about our culture – our sophistication, our traditions, our pride. The other,“ now it was my sculpture's turn, „depicts my children as they are – young, carefree and full of life. I love them both. I will not choose one over the other, and I trust you will not make me.“

It could have been a rhetoric question, yet he paused, looking from Master Alcaráco to me. „Of course not, my lord,“ I said. Master Alcaráco took a little longer to open his clenched jaw. „No, my king,“ he eventually said.
King Finwë's smile grew broader. „You will both be honoured, of course. My beloved queen had an excellent idea. When I first envisioned a sculpture of my children, I wanted to have it placed in the marketplace. This shall be done – with Alcaráco's statue. It shows the princes and princesses of the Noldor in their splendour, and will fit well in a public space where all will see it.“ Prince Fëanáro, on the other hand, was looking as though he was trying to drill a hole into the back of his father's head with his eyes. He caught my glance and shook his head again, pointing at me and mimicking speech, telling me to protest. I ignored him, returning my attention to the king.
„Nerdanel's sculpture is too intimate for such public display,“ he continued. „It will forever remind me of the children I had, even when they have grown into adulthood. I will keep it in my house, where I cannot forever keep my children. It may be a less prestigious place, but I hope you will not resent it.“ Was I imagining the pleading quality to his gaze? There was no need to plead or hope. I was perfectly happy to have created a sculpture for the king's private rooms. I said so. Then I glanced at Queen Indis, giving her a grateful smile.
„This, then, is my judgement,“ the king finished his speech. „I hope you will find it just.“

„Well and wise,“ a mighty voice boomed over the polite applause that greeted the king's decision, and Aulë came marching towards us through the crowd. People made way for him hurriedly. Some looked worried or disturbed, but most of them appeared delighted at what promised to make an already entertaining spectacle even more interesting.
„Lord Aulë,“ the king said when the Vala had joined us on the terrace. „You do not object to my decision, I hope?“
Aulë smiled. „That's none of my business. They're your sculptures and it's your choice. I am merely here to determine whether young Nerdanel has delivered. Ah, yes. Excellent vision and execution. I expected no less. Well done, Nerdanel.“
„Thank you, my lord.“ It did me well to finally receive some unadulterated praise.
Aulë turned to Master Alcaráco, still beaming broadly. „You're a fellow sculptor, Alcaráco – what do you think?“
Master Alcaráco needed quite a bit of time for thinking. „The girl is undoubtedly talented,“ he eventually managed.
„Isn't she just!“ Aulë said merrily. I wondered whether he was ignoring Master Alcaráco's bad mood on purpose or whether he was genuinely oblivious to it. Unbidden, my memory provided Prince Fëanáro's words about Aulë: He has limitations that are alien to us. Perhaps understanding our irrational moods was one such limitation?
„Well, that's settled then!“ Aulë cheerfully concluded. „Shall we have her theoretical exam on the first day of Yavië*, then?“ Important, life-changing events were traditionally held at the turning of the seasons. It was considered fortuitious; the impetus of the new season could thus be taken into the new stage of life.
„If you say so, Lord Aulë,“ said Master Alcaráco. And that settled that.

I expected that Prince Fëanáro would pay me a visit as I gathered my tools and cleaned the studio, but when there was a knock on the study door, it was Queen Indis rather than her step-son.
„Nerdanel,“ she said in her kindly voice. „How do you feel?“
„Relieved,“ I said at once. „It has been an honour working for you, but it has been a long time. It will be good to return to my family.“
The queen smiled. „They must have missed you. I only hope that you will harbour no hard feelings towards Finwë. He did not want to slight you, but he did not want to set a precedent--“
„I understand perfectly well, my lady. Please tell him that I apologise for causing him such a headache. I think you found an excellent solution. I'm happy to know that my sculpture is going to be kept in the palace – in fact, I think it is the better place. So I for my part see no reason for ill feelings.“
„I am glad to hear it. I feel awful about suggesting this contest in the first place. I did not expect this outcome, and I certainly did not expect that Alcaráco would take it so to heart.“

I shrugged. I wasn't sure that I would have called it 'taking it to heart', but it probably wasn't proper to say out loud that Master Alcaráco was behaving childishly. Prince Fëanáro wouldn't have hesitated to do so, I was certain, but then, he did not seem to care about people's feelings all that much. „I would not have had the opportunity to work for you at this early stage, my queen, so I must thank you for the suggestion. And you found an excellent way out of the... the quandary we found ourselves in.“
„I hope so. But I am very sorry that your sculpture received such a tense greeting. It is wonderful, Nerdanel, and we should be able to simply say so.“
I really did not know what to say. Yes, it would have been nice to receive direct praise. The king had found kind words for my sculpture, but they had been overshadowed by considerations of propriety and by anger about Master Alcaráco's ruffled feathers.
I tried to put reassurement into my smile, and went for a craftswoman's reply. „I am glad that my efforts meet your approval. If you have need of a sculptress again, I hope you may remember me.“
„Most assuredly,“ the queen said, kissing my brow before she left.

Having taken my leave, I went to the stables for my horse, believing myself free at last. My heart sank when the man who led my horse outside was not some groom, nor even Wintillo, but Prince Fëanáro himself. I should have figured that he wouldn't simply let me escape, I thought.
„You took your time,“ he said by way of greeting. „I've been waiting here for hours.“
So far, I had been able to contain my frustration. It was petty, to be sure. As I had told the queen, I did not need the title of champion, or a pedestal on the marketplace. I didn't need public acknowledgement that my work wasn't just as good, but in fact better than Master Alcaráco's, did I? But in my heart, I was disappointed: I should have received that acknowledgement, instead of being accused of causing quandaries and being snapped at to explain myself! It was unfair to take out my anger at the king's son, but I could not take yet another unfair allegation.
„If it's important, you could have sent word.“ I snapped. „I did not know that you were waiting. I was cleaning your studio.“ I reached for the bridle.
„That's Wintillo's work.“ The prince deliberately kept it out of my grasp.
„Not where I come from. In my father's house, we clean our workspace ourselves.“ I crossed the distance with three brisk steps and all but wrested the reins from his hands. Without looking at him, I added, „If you don't like it, don't come.“
I felt guilty as soon as I had turned my back on him, and fully expected that he'd complain about my injustive or remind me of what he had done for me. Instead, he surprised me by saying, „You're angry. You should be. That's why I wanted to talk to you.You should protest Father's decision.“
„To what avail? To antagonise Master Alcaráco even further?“
„To keep Father from being unjust! He should have crowned you the winner. It was obvious that your work was the better. Alcaráco knows it, he knows that he's winner only by your grace! Father shouldn't have played along. I really don't know why he did.“
„He said why he did. 'An apprentice mustn't outdo a master craftsman.'“ I had begun to walk out of the stables and down the road, but Prince Fëanáro wouldn't leave my side.
He snorted. „That's absurd. Everybody could see that you had --“
„I had, and I couldn't be rewarded for it. Don't you see, my lord? If apprentices are allowed to best their masters, others might be encouraged to outdo their betters as well.“
„They should be, if they are better than their betters.“
„But they cannot determine that!“ I cried, quickening my pace, dragging the poor confused horse behind me.
„That is why Father should have determined it. You deserved it.“
„Your father's duty is towards all the Noldor, not to me personally. If social order is at risk, personal feelings have to take a step back.“
Prince Fëanáro snorted again. „The peace of the Noldor resting on your slender shoulders! You should have shrugged them.“
„Why should I break the peace? I am no rebel.“ I was sick of this talk. „Please, my lord, let us not argue. I agree with the king's decision.“
„I don't.“
I stopped running away, putting my hands on the saddle to hoist myself up. „Discuss it with your Father, if you must. But leave me out of it. Now please, let me return home.“
He studied me with his keen grey eyes for a moment. Then, at last, he nodded, and turned away.

I regained most of my equilibrium on the ride back home; and when I entered our house and found everybody gathered for dinner, looking up in surprise as I came through the door, I was so flooded with love for these familiar faces and our simple table and our modest food that all lingering anger was washed away.
„Nerdanel!“ Mother exclaimed, rising to greet me. „What a pleasant surprise! We did not hope to see you again so soon.“
I fell into her warm embrace. „Neither did I. But I finished my sculpture. I'm done. I'm back.“
There was cheer and applause around the table. „At last!“ Father shouted, grinning. „Did you pass? Will you be examined soon?“
„Too soon!“ I said, rolling my eyes. „On Yavië first.“ Tomorrow, I would begin to worry. Tonight, I didn't care that I had only two weeks to prepare.
„Well, nothing to worry about. You know everything you need to know,“ Father reassured me.
„I guess so,“ I said with a shrug, too tired to protest.
„What about the contest?“ Alcarinquë asked. „Whose sculpture will be gracing the marketplace, eh?“ He was looking at me with honest curiosity. He looked so much like his father, only without the resentment. I hoped I would be able to keep it that way.
„Master Alcaráco's, of course,“ I said as though there had never been any doubt about it. „But mine will be kept in the king's house. It was a draw, actually. King Finwë wanted us both rewarded.“ I felt this was close enough to the truth, and hopefully close to what they would hear once the news got around.
Without the bitterness of the afternoon, it sounded like a good outcome, and my parents were delighted. „Well done!“ Mother said, and Father rose to hug and kiss me, beaming with pride. „Congratulations!“ said Alcyo, smiling sincerely and clasping my shoulder. Helyanwë and the others apprentices banged their hands on the table, and Sarnië danced around me, singing a happy song without proper words.
What more did I need?

Chapter 17

Aaand it's time for Nerdanel's exam to start... not yet.

Read Chapter 17

The two weeks leading up to my exam were so busy that they seemed to pass twice as quick as usual. I attended a few lectures for young sculptors held by different masters, in case anything had dropped my memory. Father warned me that examiners liked to ask elementary questions, since many examinees prepared only for advanced matters and neglected the basics. I assured him that I would prepare for every aspect of the craft, although I had to admit that I didn't see why the examiners wouldn't focus on more complicated issues, which were after all more worthy of examination.
„Because all young people prepare for those,“ Father explained. „But they forget that they will not only be craftspeople, but also teachers. And when you introduce a beginner to the craft, you need the basics.“
That made a lot of sense, so I made sure to go through all my notes, even those from my childhood days. I read up on tools and materials, on the principles of composition, on famous sculptures of the Noldor, on the history of sculpting from Cuiviénen to the present.
I discussed the different tasks that would be posed in the exam with my father. I felt confident about most of them, but one really terrified me: The prospect of having to give an expertise. I really, really didn't like to judge other people's work. I wasn't sure that I was ready to give a professional opinion, either. I certainly did not trust myself to guess at the ideas that had inspired somebody's sculpture, at the thoughts behind somebody else's design choices. Above all, I did not want to voice my opinions about the quality of somebody else's sculpture, unless that opinion was very high. Even when asked by a panel of examiners, I didn't want to hurt some fellow craftsperson's feelings, not even Master Alcaráco's.

Father smiled and assured me that I could voice my misgivings in a diplomatic way, and that surely I would have no great difficulty intuiting the ideas behind a sculpture created by a sculptor who had been taught the same things as I had, who was following the same artistic traditions. „And even if you can't, it's perfectly fine to talk about what the artwork makes you feel. You can make things up if all else fails. The larger part of an expertise is about your personal reaction to it, anyway.“
That might be correct, but I still hated the idea. Still, it was something I had to prepare for, so I read expertises that Father had written about sculptures I knew, and I looked up all expertises that had been put on public record to get a better grip on the typical phrases and the general content. There was no general, objective truth to discern. I tried to console myself that I might now already have read a professional expertise about the very sculpture I would be asked to judge, so I'd be able to paraphrase from that.

I also went to see Nusírilo about my exam robes. He was busy with another customer, so he sent me to his daughter. Lanyalossë was chattering eagerly as she took my measurements.
„How exciting that you're going to be a craftsmistress soon!“ she said cheerfully.
„We don't know that yet,“ I cautioned. „I might fail.“
„I doubt it,“ she said matter-of-factly while noting down the length of my arms. „Unless your nerves fail you, I suppose. I heard your practical exam went really well.“
„You heard?“
Lanyalossë smiled, returning with her tape measure to take my shoulder width. „Of course I heard. It's the talk of the town. One exam piece in Yavanna's garden, and the other in the King's house. What a start to your career.“ She gave a wistful sigh. „I wish I got an opportunity like that – of dressing somebody famous. Nobody would care about my youth then. No examiner would dare to let me fail if I had clothed the king!“
That was an interesting thought – but not one I could believe. I knew at least one examiner who would be only too happy to let me fail. „Maybe you'll get the chance.“
She sighed. „I doubt it. I'll get to do an ordinary exam piece that will never make it out of the guild-house. And it may be years before I get to make it.“ The tape measure went about my hips, my waist, my breasts. „I know!“ Lanyalossë suddenly exclaimed. „You're sort of famous! Let me design a special exam gown for you! It'll be spectacular. That'll show Father and the others that I'm ready for my exams!“
I frowned. „Why don't you just tell him that you feel ready?“
„I did – a dozen times! Always the same answer. I'm too young, and it's preposterous to ask. But you're younger than I am!“
„I am,“ I said, feeling guilty that I would have to refuse her request. „But that's exactly why I mustn't have a spectacular exam gown. I'm challenging tradition enough as it is – believe me, a lot of examiners are going to be very cross about that, work for the king or no.“

She heaved a sigh. „Yes. Of course. I'll sew something dull and ordinary, then. No problem.“ Of course it was a problem.
I was sorry, I really was. I had no idea whether she actually was ready to try the exams – for all I knew, her father might be right – but I did sympathise with her. I wanted to help her.
And I had an idea. „You know who is going to be examined in a couple of years' time? Prince Fëanáro! He's coming to study with Father soon, but Father is certain that he will not be an apprentice for very long. He can wear a special design of yours. He likes challenging traditions, and no examiner is going to fail him.“ Of course, I had no idea when Prince Fëanáro would be examined. He was no older than Lanyalossë. But if Father thought he'd be ready for the exams in a year or two, I doubted that the prince would want to wait much longer.
„That would be marvellous,“ Lanyalossë said. Then she gave me a sly glance. „You know him well, do you?“
Better than I care to, I almost said, but I managed to remain civil. „I had to make a sculpture of him and his siblings, so I got to spend quite a bit of time with him.“
„Some people have all the luck,“ said Lanyalossë. I didn't bother to say that I hadn't felt lucky at all. She wouldn't have understood. But she had a fine set of grey robes ready for me two days before my exam, solid and unassuming, just as I liked it.

The last week of summer was rainy and cool, creating a spectacular mood when the raindrops reflected the light of the Trees. The world was shrouded in a shining curtain of gems. I sat in my room, trying to prepare the perfect answer for every possible question and longing to dance out in the rain. Giggles and laughter wafted up to my window when Sarnië jumped from puddle to puddle, when Mother's apprentices splashed along the muddy path on their way to lessons, or when Lisanto slipped on the wet ground on his way to feeding the pigs, landing on his butt with kitchen waste raining down around him.
I was wondering whether the title of craftsmistress was worth this seclusion from the world. How strange: I had not missed the rain or the chores or even the company when I was working on my sculpture, but I was missing them sorely now! Maybe it was a good thing that Aulë had appointed my exam to be so soon – in a few days, life would return to normal, either way.
At the same time, I wished I could postpone the examination forever, even though I was looking forward to the end of it. It was confusing and terribly frustrating.

I couldn't fall asleep the night before my exam. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, watching Telperion's light grow in intensity and telling myself that in order to think quickly and answer well, I needed my sleep. It didn't help. It wasn't that I wasn't tired, but my mind was too busy to drift into slumber. Even as my body relaxed, I kept rattling off the different properties of different stones and metals, the development of Noldorin sculpting, and the phrases used to describe and analyse a statue, bust or scene. My room was growing darker as Telperion began to fade, and still I could not sleep. The more I tried, the less it worked.

When the gleam on the ceiling took on a golden hue, I gave up. I went to the window to look outside. It had stopped raining. A gentle mist was rising from the grass and the woods in the early morning's light; it would be a beautiful day. I washed with icy water, hoping that the shock would banish the exhaustion I felt after my sleepless night. I usually did not think much about my looks, but I braided my hair with great care that morning. The exam robes lay ready for me. They felt both reassuring and alien, cool on my feverish skin.
When I came to the kitchen, I found out that I wasn't the only one up so early. Mother was already preparing breakfast as if she had guessed that I might not sleep. The sweet smell of rice pudding, cinnamon and sugared cherries, normally so appetizing, was enough to make me nauseous.
„Good morning, Nerdanel,“ Mother said, smiling as if it was just any other old morning. „Did you sleep well?“
„Good morning. I didn't sleep at all,“ I admitted, and expected to be told that it was a bad idea to go to an exam over-tired.
But no. „Most of us don't,“ Mother said. „You'll catch up tomorrow. Would you like a cup of tea?“
Tea sounded safe. Mother handed me a cup of vervain tea (or tisane, as Prince Fëanáro would doubtlessly have insisted; and how annoying that he wouldn't stay out of my thoughts!), and I could breathe in the fresh, earthy scent without any protest from my anxious stomach.
„I know you do not feel hungry, but I'd still recommend you eat something. In my experience, you're not hungry until the exam, but just before the first question, you'll suddenly feel ravenous. And your brain needs food.“
„And sleep,“ I said distractedly.
„Well, yes. But what's done is done. You can still make sure that if it's tired, at least it won't be starved.“
I managed to swallow a few spoons of rice pudding, aided by the stimulating vervain tea. I even managed not to spill anything on my good robes.

Unlike the Vanyar, for whom examinations were private affairs, our exams were public, and in theory, everybody who cared to could attend and listen. In general, however, this sort of public entertainment wasn't particularly popular. Families and friends would be present, and of course any teachers that had invested in the examinee's preparation, but that tended to be it. Aulë's court, where the examinations of craftspeople took place, was theatre-shaped in order to hold many observers, but normally, only the very first row of stone seats was taken. I had sat there often, watching one of Father's or Mother's apprentices taking their final exam. Now it was my turn to be grilled in front of everybody's eyes.
As I slowly made my way into the middle of the arena, towards the table where my three main examiners would sit, I could see that my audience was rather larger than expected. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, of people I had nothing to do with. I wondered what had brought them here. Maybe they had been on the king's terrace and decided to find out how the story was going to end. They hadn't come because they knew me and felt they ought to show me support; they were there out of pure curiosity.

There were familiar faces as well, of course. My parents, Father looking uncommonly solemn in his grey robes, with Sarnië sitting on his lap. Her fingers were toying with something stuck to Father's robes; I could not see it at the distance, but I knew that it was a fox-shaped brooch made from hammered copper wire, an ancient piece that Father had made when he was hardly older than I was now. My parents' apprentices were also present, as were Ataralassë and Númiel, waving at me from their places in the second row with Erenwen. I recognised Lanyalossë and her circle of friends - they were an unexpected addition, although after Lanyalossë's interest in my career, I possibly should have guessed. I could also see Master Carnildo, who, having been my tutor, was as little allowed to examine me as Father was. When he caught my eyes, he put his hands together in a gesture of encouragement. I tried to give a brave smile in return.
But one face that was missing from the still-growing crowd, and that was the face of Prince Fëanáro. I should have been glad of it – after all, he tended to make me either nervous or angry – but somehow, I felt let down. It wasn't that I wanted him present, but after he had insisted in supporting me at the palace, I would have expected him to attend my exam as well. Sure, my sculpture was done and he had got what he wanted, but it would still have been decent to stay until the end, wouldn't it? What kind of ally stayed away when their purported friend needed all the support she could get? The nausea in my stomach turned to anger. Quite a bit of that anger was directed at myself. What did I care whether Prince Fëanáro deigned to watch my exam or not? I should have been relieved, not disappointed!

I sat down heavily on the lonely seat in the middle of the arena and tried to ignore the many eyes at my back. Ahead of me stood the table where my three main examiners would sit; further behind, the stone seats for the other master sculptors. On my right-hand side, there was another table for the Maiar who would take notes of the proceedings. On my left, I could see something high and narrow covered by a canvas sheet. So there truly would be an expertise asked of me. I tried to discern any features of the covered sculpture through the cloth, but there was nothing to give me even the smallest idea, not at this distance. I went through all the expertises I had read, trying to match the corresponding sculptures with the pole-like appearance of the hidden thing. No, nothing seemed to fit. I would have to judge an unknown sculpture. I tried not to get too upset about that. Instead, I forced myself to sit straight, as though I wasn't weighed down by fear at all. I closed my eyes, and breathed deep, and told myself that I didn't need to be nervous. I was well-prepared. I knew as much about my craft as could be expected. As long as my voice or my nerves didn't fail me, as long as the examiners didn't ask anything too obscure, I would be fine - even if the expertise went completely wrong. And half of Tirion was present to see that in spite of my youth, I was ready to pass.
The gentle hum of the audience's conversation was swelling. I opened my eyes, thinking that Aulë and the board of masters had arrived, but nothing was happening in front of me. I turned around towards the audience to find out what the buzz was about, and saw Queen Indis descending the stairs. People rose and bowed as she passed. A complete stranger sitting in the first row gave up his place for her. Father was raising his eyebrows at me: You seem to have made an impression. I forced the corners of my mouth into another smile that didn't reach my eyes.

My examiners seemed intent on making me wait, but at last they came: All the master sculptors in their high-collared, grey robes, and the lord Aulë, standing out among them by sheer size and because he had chosen to dress himself in reddish brown hues. His hair and beard were also more chestnut-coloured than usual. I assumed that this was meant to be a vote of confidence, and wondered what my audience – and above all, my examiners – would be making of it. My heart lurched sickeningly when I saw that Master Alcaráco was to be one of my main examiners, sitting down next to Aulë. The third person at the table was Master Ercoirë, whom I knew only in passing. The others sat down in the stone seats on the other side of the arena. They were mainly here to witness the exam, although they were technically allowed to question me as well, should they be dissatisfied with the main examiners' work. I tried to fathom the mood of my judges. Master Alcaráco gave me a glare, his lips firmly pursed. He was just as angry now as he had been two weeks ago. I wasn't surprised, but I wasn't happy, either. Even more worrying I found that some of the other examiners looked likewise stern – whether because Master Alcaráco had fomented animosity against me or whether they had their own reasons, I did not know. Some of the others – including Master Ercoirë, to my relief – were looking earnest but not unfriendly, with none of the harsh lines between their eyes that I could see on the brow of Master Alcaráco. That was some small consolation. Some of them even smiled as I met their eyes.

Aulë raised his hands, and the hum from the audience stopped. From previous exams that I had witnessed, I knew that even his softly spoken words could be heard even in the uppermost row of the stone seats, because the theatre had been designed to carry and amplify all sounds made in its middle. Even my most helpless 'um' would be heard from the front to the back row.
„We have gathered for the first theoretical examination of Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan and Istarnië, apprentice sculptress,“ Aulë began. „If there be any reasons why this examination should not take place here and now, let them be voiced now. Nerdanel, are you feeling fit and healthy enough to stand the exam? If you answer 'yes' now, you cannot later plead illness, so think well.“
I thought well. I hadn't slept, at least one examiner hated me, and my innards felt like a ball of wool in the paws of a litter of excited kittens. But exam fright was hardly a proper illness. So I cleared my throat, which seemed to have forgotten its function, and said, „Yes“. It was barely more than a whisper, but I could still hear it reverberate around the stone rows.
Aulë gave me an encouraging nod. „Is there anything else that we need to take into account?“ he asked, a little louder now. At once, Master Alcaráco rose to his feet.
„There is. I wish to caution my learned colleagues – and the lord Aulë, again – that the examinee is not yet of age, and should thus be considered too young for the honour of becoming a craftsmistress,“ Master Alcaráco said. Some of the other masters nodded their agreement.

Master Ercoirë stood up. „Disagreed,“ he said, and I felt better at once. So my other examiner was on my side (or at least not directly opposed to me). „There is no law that states a minimal age for examinees. It is determined that an apprentice is eligible for standing the exam and earning the title of master or mistress as soon as both tutors and the lord Aulë find her ready, if she passes a practical test of skill. These conditions are met. We can continue.“
In the back of the arena, Master Yánanto rose. „Ercoirë has a point, but I agree with Alcaráco. Nerdanel's youth is incompatible with the dignity of the title of mistress. A test of character would have been in order before admitting her to this examination.“
„Agreed,“ another master craftsman whose name I couldn't remember in my growing distress said. „I propose that this examination be postponed until all of us have found Nerdanel suitable in spite of her young age, or until she turns 50.“
„Agreed!“ Master Alcaráco shouted triumphantly.
„Disagreed,“ I heard Father speak up behind me. I could hear puzzlement in his voice. „How should such a test of character be set up? But if any assurance is needed, I attest to Nerdanel's maturity of character and to her supreme level of skill, which should, in this place, matter more.“
Oh, Father, I thought, feeling my cheeks grow hot (quite immaturely). I remembered every single instant of childish behaviour in the past weeks. There were quite a lot of those. I hardly deserved such a strong vote of confidence.
Not that it would be of use, if Master Alcaráco got his way. „Your assurance is worthless,“ he spat out. „You are her father; you are biased.“
The masters exchanged troubled looks now. Some were shaking their heads. I hoped they were shaking them at Master Alcaráco's behaviour, not at me, but I didn't dare to assume anything at this point.

Another voice from the audience. „Then I hope my words will be considered more trustworthy.“ That was Queen Indis' reassuring alto. My heart flew out to her. „During her practical test, I have had plenty of opportunity to observe Nerdanel's behaviour and character, and I have found her mature, constant and polite even under adversity. I assure you that her maturity and steadfastness could put many a grown man to shame.“
I imagined that the last words were underlined by a pointed look at Master Alcaráco, but I did not turn to check. I sat passively, my hands in my lap, as though none of this were of any concern to me. I did not know what else to do. I had prepared to be questioned about my craft; I hadn't expected to sit in the middle of Aulë's court while the master sculptors argued among themselves. I was hoping that maybe if I didn't move, they'd forget that I was here.

Master Yánanto rose again. „The intercessions of Master Mahtan and Queen Indis are sufficient for me.“
„For me as well,“ said the master whose name I had forgotten. „I withdraw my motion. We can continue.“
„Agreed,“ several masters threw in. I suppressed a sigh of relief, which everybody would have heard.
„Agreed, but I think that Nerdanel's youth should be taken into account in another way,“ said Aimíriel, getting to her feet. Her tight robe was showing that her belly had begun to grow. „I propose that should she fail this examination, she should still have two attempts once she comes of age.“
You had only two chances to stand the exam, normally; if you failed the second time, you would never become a master of your craft. So Aimíriel was meaning well. Nonetheless, I did not think her suggestion wise. It would turn this examination into nothing more than a monitored exercise. Besides, I didn't want to think about failing!
„Disagreed,“ Master Alcaráco shouted. „That would reward her for her audacity!“
„Agreed,“ one or two others said at once.
„I disagree with Mistress Aimíriel's proposition, but I agree that Nerdanel's youth should be taken into account,“ Master Ercoirë said, his calm, composed voice contrasting with Master Alcaráco's red-faced fury. There was no hostility as he looked at me, but I nonetheless felt frightened. If Master Alcaráco had turned my second examiner against me, I was lost. This would be no longer about testing my understanding of sculpting, merely about proving a point and embarrassing me in front of far too many people.

Master Ercoirë continued, „I propose that she may stand the exam and gain the right to call herself a master sculptress if she passes, but that she be constricted from teaching apprentices of her own until she leaves her father's household.“
This time, I couldn't keep a sigh of relief from escaping. I had no plans of teaching my own apprentices anytime soon, so this constriction would not be hard to bear. There were mutterings and hisses in the audience, but nobody opposed Master Ercoirë's petition out loud. Aulë turned to me. „Nerdanel, do you accept Ercoirë's suggestion? You do not have to. As has been said, no minimal age for the examinations has ever been laid down. You have every right to take it, and if you pass, you have every right to every privilege of a tried and true master craftswoman.“
Master Alcaráco jumped up again. „But you must see that it is sensible, Lord Aulë! She is too young!“
Aulë's laughter made the stone seats ring. „To me, Alcaráco, you are all very young. I can but judge you by the maturity of your behaviour.“
I was ready to display such maturity, if only to finally end this fruitless argument. I came to my feet. „I accept Master Ercoirë's suggestion.“
„No apprentices until you leave your father's household,“ Master Ercoirë repeated, watching me closely.
„As you say, Master Ercoirë,“ I said in my most peaceable voice. „Until I leave my father's household.“ I thought by myself that there was no minimal age for leaving the house of one's parents, anyway. Most people only left their parents' house when they married, of course, but technically, I could move out as soon as I saw fit. So if the urge to train my own apprentices became overwhelming - stronger than my love for the comforts of home - before I came of age, I would simply have to find a little house of my own. Not that I expected that to be necessary, but it certainly made it easier to give that promise.
„In that case, I am satisfied,“ Master Ercoirë said, giving me a nod. I bowed my head in return.
„Agreed,“ others joined in.
„Very well,“ Aulë said, shrugging his shoulders. He was clearly tired of this banter; streaks of grey were appearing in the russet of his hair and beard. „Is there anything else?“
After the heated discussion, the silence, punctured only by a few whispers, sounded strange and unsettling.
„Then we can – what now?“ Aulë said sharply, frowning at someone in the audience at my back.
„I have a petition to make,“ a clear, confident voice rang through Aulë's court. „I propose that Master Alcaráco be removed from the board of examiners.“
Prince Fëanáro had arrived after all.

Chapter 18

Nerdanel finally gets to take her exam.

Read Chapter 18

Chapter 18

I could have kicked him. Just when my examiners had finally stopped discussing whether I was even allowed to be there, just when the exam had finally been about to begin, he had to start it all over again. I understood that he meant to be helpful. But at this point, I was willing to endure Master Alcaráco's injustice if only I could get the examination over at last. Instead, another round of arguments would surely begin, and I was not at all certain that it would help my case.
Master Alcaráco was also dissatisfied with Prince Fëanáro's interference, and unlike me, he didn't keep his annoyance to himself. „Preposterous!“ he thundered. „I have more place on this board than young Nerdanel has to be examined!“
Master Ercoirë clucked his tongue. „Calm yourself, Alcaráco,“ he said. His brow was creasing in a worried frown as he looked from his colleague to me, but his voice was still even. „I agree that this is most unusual, but Prince Curufinwë has made a formal petition, and we must look into it.“ He now turned to Aulë. „Mustn't we?“
„Indeed,“ Aulë sighed. To my surprise, I felt something like pity for the powerful Vala. He had clearly been looking forward to this exam. Unlike the Masters, he seemed to find the idea of a very young master craftswoman exciting. Instead, he was getting endless boring arguments. Then I decided that I was indeed being preposterous. Who was I to pity Aulë?
Meanwhile, the argument went on. „Very well, Fëanáro. You must be aware that you are making a very serious request. What are your reasons?“

Prince Fëanáro answered promptly. „Examiners are supposed to be neutral and have no close personal tie – friendly or otherwise – to the examinee. That is why Master Mahtan and Master Carnildo are not allowed to examine Nerdanel, isn't it? Master Alcaráco also lacks neutrality. He is biased, and must therefore be removed from the board of examiners.“
Master Ercoirë exchanged a glance with Aulë. „Alcaráco has volunteered to be a chief examiner today. Are you saying that he has a personal interest in the outcome of this examination?“
„Not merely in the outcome,“ Prince Fëanáro said, his voice flat. „He has a personal interest in the entire process of the examination. As you must be aware, Master Alcaráco and Nerdanel both made a sculpture for my father in a contest that... the queen devised.“ Poor Queen Indis, I thought. Now she was getting dragged into this, too. And she had felt so guilty about the whole contest, anyway.
Prince Fëanáro did not sound the least bit sorry. „As you should know, Nerdanel crafted an extraordinary, truly inspired sculpture. In truth, she should have been crowned the winner.“ I could hear the audience begin to mutter behind my back. Ahead of me, the masters exchanged glances and quietly talked among themselves. There were quite a few raised eyebrows and a couple of surprised expressions. Relentlessly, Prince Fëanáro pushed on, his voice now dripping with disdain. „Father felt that the social peace of the Noldor would be shaken if he acknowledged that an apprentice had bested a master. So he compromised on a draw. But I say: If the social peace of the Noldor rests upon injustice, then it deserves – nay, requires! - to be shaken. However, that is not today our concern. Our concern is that Master Alcaráco, two weeks ago, lost a friendly contest against Nerdanel. You should know that he did not loose gracefully – or gracefully accept the draw, if you want to stick with Father's version. And today he is sitting at the examiners' table, trying to stop Nerdanel's examination from even happening. Friends, masters, Lord Aulë: Do you truly believe this to be a coincidence? Do you not agree that Master Alcaráco is biased, and therefore unfit to be an examiner today?“

It was hard to tell who had flushed more, myself or Master Alcaráco. My cheeks were burning, and I was certain that they must be as brilliantly red as those of my rival, who had grown increasingly restless while Prince Fëanáro had spoken. Not that he was the only one who was shaken; the hum of whispered conversation had faded, and a deadly silence rang around Aulë's court when the prince had finished his speech.
Master Yánanto was the first to break it. „I did not know that,“ he said. „Alcaráco, is it true?“
Master Alcaráco turned around, but did not answer. „Is it true, Nerdanel?“ Master Yánanto's eyes now turned unto me.
I got to my feet very slowly. I could feel the eyes on my back with almost physical force, weighing me down. But I got to my feet. Master Alcaráco met my anxious gaze, and I noticed with a start that the anger had gone from his fce. Instead, his eyes had gone stony and lifeless, like the eyes of a sculpture, lacking all light and joy. He was waiting for my words to condemn him, and he knew that he could not stop me. So far, I had feared him; but now, suddenly, he was afraid of me. Maybe I should have enjoyed the realisation, but I couldn't.
„I... I do not wish to answer this question,“ I heard myself say.
„Why not?“ Master Ercoirë immediately shot back. Fair enough; it was an examination, and I was present to answer questions, although these should have been about my craft, not about personal matters.
I looked to Aulë, appealing to him with my eyes and in thought; but he looked entirely nonplussed, as though he couldn't quite follow. He never had to compete against anybody, I realised, he does not understand the mindset of a competitor. Maybe he does not understand grudges, either. He is not like us. My head felt dizzy.
„Why not?“ Master Ercoirë asked again.

I bit my lips, but there was really no avoiding the question. „Because... because I do not want to make enemies,“ I said. „And because I for my part do not wish to shake the peace of the Noldor. It was a friendly competition, and the outcome of no great consequence. It should never have turned ugly.“ I sat back down.
„But it did?“ Master Ercoirë said, raising an eyebrow and looking from me to Master Alcaráco, then to Aulë. „Lord Aulë, you should have informed us!“
Aulë spread his hands in exasperation. „I was not aware of a problem. As Nerdanel says, the competition was of no consequence. It came about because I had assigned to Nerdanel an exam piece that also happened to be a commission by Finwë, which Alcaráco wished to work on. All got what they wanted. If anything, Alcaráco can attest to Nerdanel's extraordinary talent. His choice appeared wise to me, until now. Alcaráco, you must answer. Do you wish Nerdanel ill?“
Master Alcaráco got to his feet more quickly than I expected. „I only wish to do what is best for our craft!“ he protested.
The master sculptor who had earlier suggested to test my character rose, and took a few steps forward. „In that case, you will surely see that it is best if you step down from the examiners' table. Whatever the truth, too much is confused and obscure about this matter, and coming to the heart of it will take more time than most of us care to invest, I daresay. If my learned brethren agree, then I shall take your place. You will not object to that, will you? I assure you that I, too, care what is best for our craft.“
„Agreed,“ one or two masters said, while others simply nodded their agreement or shrugged their shoulders to signal indifference.
„Very well,“ Master Alcaráco said. His voice sounded flat and hollow. „Very well. Yes, of course. Only the best for the craft. My lord Aulë, if you permit, I wish to resign from the board of examiners on this occasion. I nominate Quantuvar to take my place.“
„Yes. Yes, thank you, Alcaráco,“ Aulë said with relief in his voice. „And thank you, Quantuvar.“
Of course, I thought, furious at myself for not recognising Master Quantuvar. I never had anything to do with him, but I knew his name and should have known his face. He was leading among those craftsmen who created practical structures, like pillars and arches and fountains, rather than decorative sculptures. He was an authority. He would not be easy to impress.

Master Alcaráco went past me as he left the table, presumably to join the audience; but he neither looked at me nor said a word. Master Quantuvar meanwhile strode from the back to the center of the arena, sitting down with a little flourish and flexing his fingers as if about to grasp his tools and start to work. „Right,“ he said. „Here we go. Can we begin?“
„I certainly hope so,“ Aulë said, and with a heavy sigh. „If there be yet more reasons why this examination should not take place, let them be voiced now.“
I held my breath and clenched my hands, praying that nothing else would come up. My prayers were answered. Even Prince Fëanáro seemed to be done shaking the peace of the Noldor, or at any rate interrupting my examination, for the time being.
„Good!“ Aulë said, clapping his hands. „Excellent. We may begin.“
I could see a brief smile on Master Ercoirë's face as he leaned back. „Very well. Nerdanel, kindly name the most important tools used in stone sculpting, as well as the proper care and maintenance thereof.“

After the embarrassment and frustration of the preceeding argument, the examination was an almost pleasant experience. I suspected that the masters felt the same: They asked only benevolent questions. Many of them were simple to answer, and whenever a question was a little more complicated, they rewarded my response with a smile. My mind was also cooperative, providing the necessary information promptly. My tongue didn't get tied and my voice didn't fail. Even when Master Ercoirë asked a question that I had been worried about, concerning my artistic vision, I managed to answer with ease. At home, I hadn't been sure how to deal with that question, but now I remembered how I had told King Finwë that art should always contain an element of surprise, and simply repeated that. I clarified what I meant by naming examples from Father's and my chief examiners' work, and saw quite a few satisfied nods among the observing masters. I was beginning to feel at ease so much that when Master Quantuvar asked how I would organise a new apprentice's very first lesson, I dared to quip that „As you know, I will not be training any apprentices for a long while yet...“, which earned me some stern looks but also some chuckles. Naturally, I then answered the question properly. It was not hard; after all, I knew how Father introduced beginners to sculpting – he had even explained to me why he did it in this manner. So I simply described the lessons given to new apprentices in Father's household along with Father's own explanations. In short, all was going really well.

And then Master Ercoirë said, „Finally, we would like to ask you for an expertise.“
I had completely forgotten about that dreaded task. Now my breath caught in my throat, and my stomach twisted as though I had swallowed a heavy stone. One of the recording Maiar removed the canvas sheet that had covered the strange, pole-like structure, and I saw the chosen sculpture clearly, and I was utterly, entirely stumped.
It was made from very pale wood that had been made to turn and twist in some strange (if elegant) manner: three slim beams rising from a common base and curving around each other, almost like flames from a fire. At the same time, there was nothing fire-like about their shape, it was just their arrangement that distantly reminded me of dancing flames. Or were the bright spots upon the almost white wood supposed to signify sparks? Was I on to something after all?
„Um,“ I heard myself say. „May I take a closer look?“
„By all means,“ said Master Quantuvar, and I could hear that he didn't know what to make of the strange sculpture, either. That was some small consolation.

As I made my way over, I glanced sideways at the other masters. Quite a lot of frowns. I was destroying whatever good impression I had made so far, I was sure. From up close, the sculpture was no less puzzling. Aesthetically, I found it quite pleasing, but I could not make head or tail of it. Abstract art was always difficult to understand, of course, but this didn't even seem to follow the usual rules. I thought feverishly. No, it didn't seem to be about fire. The dark spots, I could now see, were dark purple pearls and black, polished pebbles that had been set into the wood in places where knotholes provided a natural framing. Gold leaf had been applied thinly around these inlays, but no other additions had been made to the wood. It seemed that the artist respected the material as it was, merely seeking to enhance its natural beauty. Maybe that was a starting point.

„If there is nothing you can think of,“ Master Quantuvar said, not unkindly, „I think we can wrap this up.“
„No, wait!“ I protested. „Give me a moment to order my thoughts. I will begin forthwith.“
Master Quantuvar glanced around, his eyebrows raised. I could see the same expression on various other faces, and wasn't certain whether it was scepticism or annoyance.
I continued my study of the alien object. If the artist didn't want to change the natural state of the material, then why had the wood been excorticated in the first place? Why had it been twisted like it was, a process which must have required great force? Why had it been worn to a peculiar smoothness in what must have taken hours of sanding? And its whiteness – it must have been achieved with bleaching. I could think of no wood that was so perfectly pale by itself. I leaned in even closer to sniff the wood – maybe I could discern the chemicals that had been used. All I could smell was salt. Salt brine, then? And... something like fish?

They eat raw fish, I heard in my memory, and, they make fine driftwood statues. That must be it, I thought. Joy threatened to make me giddy, and I had to take a deep breath to steady myself.
„This excellent example of a Telerin driftwood sculpture,“ I then announced, „perfectly expresses the eternal dichotomy of the Telerin heart: On the one hand, the longing for a safe harbour,“ I pointed at the firm base of the sculpture, „and on the other hand, the yearning for the width and freedom of the sea.“ My hands mimicked the uprising shape of the twisted beams. I could not know whether I was on the right track, but the words simply came, as if I had tapped the feelings of the artist that she – I was certain that it was a woman, not a young girl like me but an old, seasoned female artist – had poured into her work. I could not know that I was right – maybe I was simply imagining things – but it certainly felt as though I had unlocked the sculpture's secret.
I decided to trust that feeling. „The artist has used materials that are commonly found on the beaches of Alqualondë, such as bleached driftwood and pebbles worn smooth by the sea: Simple, mundane objects that have some aesthetic value by themselves, enhanced by their inspired arrangement. Few changes have been made to the natural state of the materials as they were found. They not only symbolise a life governed by the tides, they represent it by their very nature. In contrast, the more costly materials of pearl and gold leaf have been used to signify the light of the two Trees as it kisses the waves: rare and distant, made all the more precious by the shadow of the Pelóri. The vertical arrangement of the wood recalls many ideas: circling fish, flying seagulls, rising waves, hands opened in prayer, dancing children and other organic shapes. As such, it masterfully combines the everyday experiences of the artist with the higher theme underlying Telerin culture, the love of the sea and the love of light.“ Suddenly, I felt an almost violent longing to go to Alqualondë, to see these things that I had not thought about before: to taste the salty spray on my lips, to hear the waves crash and the gulls shriek. In fact, my mind was already there; although I knew that I was standing in Aulë's court, around me I no longer saw my examiners, but a white, pearl-strewn beach where the sea washed the feet of the Encircling Mountains, rising and falling with the tide, swirling around unseen rocks underneath the surface, white foam on the water lit by the beams that made it through the Valacirya. It was beautiful, and at the same time unsettling. The only thing that still linked me to reality was the sculpture. I could no longer think or speak; my words faltered.

I did not know how much time I spent simply standing in front of the sculpture. Eventually, Master Ercoirë cleared his throat. „Very well. Thank you. You are familiar with the artist and her work?“
The vision disappeared, leaving me empty and a little sad. I shivered. „No,“ I answered truthfully. „I've never seen anything like it before today.“ I took a step back from the sculpture, afraid that it might abduct my mind again.
„Hm,“ said Master Ercoirë, sounding doubtful. „Very well. That will do, I believe.“
„Will you tell me the name of the artist?“ I asked. I felt that after this glimpse into her mind, her life, I would need to visit her in person. Knowing her name would help.
Master Ercoirë frowned down at his notes. „Volabrandë,“ he said. „And the sculpture is named 'Heart's Dance'.“ He raised his head and looked around, his eyebrows waggling meaningfully.
„Any further questions?“ Master Quantuvar asked after a moment, also looking around at the other masters. Heads were shaken, lips formed the words „No“. People relaxed, shifted in their seats, leaned towards their neighbours to exchange opinions. The serious mood of the examination was already lifting. Aulë was smiling at nobody in particular.
„Then, my lord Aulë, learned brethren, dear observers, we are done,“ Master Quantuvar said.

Somebody in the audience began to applaud, and soon everybody was clapping their hands – everybody but me. I let the noise wash over me, embarrassing and satisfying at once, shattering the iron focus that had up to now held my mind in its grip. Suddenly, I realised how hungry I was. The morning's rice pudding seemed to be days away. The entire exam seemed to have lasted weeks, but Laurelin was still very bright: It was only early afternoon.
Aulë let the applause continue for a bit longer before he raised his hands again. „We have not yet decided whether the examinee today has passed her exam,“ he announced. „A mere formality, of course, but it must be done. Those in favour of bestowing upon Nerdanel the title of Master Sculptress, please rise.“
My heart fluttered a little, nervous that my answers had not after all been as clever as I'd felt – or that too many masters would side with Master Alcaráco. But I saw nobody that remained seated, and when Aulë asked that everybody against making me a master sculptress rise, I could see none that stood.
Aulë smiled. „It seems that we do not need to count votes,“ he said. „Congratulations, Mistress Nerdanel.“
„Congratulations,“ echoed Master Ercoirë, giving me a generous smile.
„Well done,“ Master Quantuvar said with a nod.

I knelt to receive Aulë's blessing, then waited while the other masters – no, my fellow masters! - stood in line to shake my hand and clasp my shoulder. The audience was draining away. Queen Indis waved, smiling, before ascending the stairs. My parents and their apprentices had already gone, hurrying home – no doubt in order to prepare the 'surprise party' we always had when an apprentice became a master, although it would hardly be a surprise for me, having grown up with the tradition. I shook hands, smiled and said my thanks mechanically. My shoulder was beginning to ache, but I was happy that the master craftspeople were now considering me worthy of the usual rites. It made me eager to prove that I wasn't some delicate girl, that I really deserved to be one of the master craftswomen of the Noldor. Not all of the masters sounded altogether thrilled to welcome me in their honourable midst, but at least they appeared to be willing to accept that I had passed the exam, and therefore become one of them.
Except for Master Alcaráco, of course. He was nowhere to be seen. But then, I hadn't expected him to congratulate me. I didn't even know whether he had stayed around to watch my examination after he was no longer a part of it. I didn't exactly mourn his absence. Maybe we'd be able to reconcile one day, but it clearly wasn't going to be today.
When finally everybody was done and I was ready to return home, Aulë approached me once more. „Congratulations again, Nerdanel,“ he said, „and an apology. I had not realised that Alcaráco did not want you to receive your just reward. I would have excluded him from the examination myself if I had known.“
What could I say? That one should have guessed? That it had been obvious? That was hardly appropriate, especially if it was true that Aulë didn't understand grudges or rivalry. I went for a diplomatic, „It all went well, Lord Aulë. So you needn't apologise.“
„I do,“ Aulë said earnestly. „We all must apologise when we make a mistake.“
I had to smile. There was something almost childlike in the Vala's honest, worried expression. „That is true. Then I accept your apology, my lord.“
„I am glad,“ Aulë said, now echoing my smile. „And yes, it went well. Alcaráco even seems to have done you a favour with that Telerin sculpture.“
„I doubt he intended to,“ I said, „but yes, he did.“

One should think that I'd had enough time to come to terms with my newly-earned dignity, but the fact of it only really sank in as I left Aulë's court. Absurdly, it made me silly rather than more mature. With every step – growing increasingly springy - the corners of my mouth crept further upwards. When I reached the pasture where my horse was waiting for me, I was grinning like Sarnië grinned when facing a bowl of sweet berries. The exam was over! I had passed! I was Mistress Nerdanel now, at least as far as sculpting was concerned! A world of commissions and excitement lay ahead, and nobody could stop me from exploring it!
My horse wasn't waiting alone. There was a second horse grazing not far from it, and its rider was sitting nearby underneath a tree, reading a book. I knew who it would be even before I could see him clearly. A certain raven-haired shaker of the peace. I was too happy to be annoyed – yet.
As I made my way to my steed, he shut the book and rose, walking over to meet me. I still couldn't get the absurd grin from my face. „Prince Fëanáro.“
„Mistress Nerdanel,“ he retorted, grinning also. „You are happy. You deserve it. Congratulations!“
„Thank you,“ I said.
„You are welcome. May I embrace you?“
„If you must,“ I said. I didn't particularly care for an embrace from him, but on this day, I couldn't muster enough hostility to tell him off. And when Prince Fëanáro promptly wrapped me in his arms, I discovered that I didn't actually mind. In fact, it was rather nice. He had a firm, warm, strong body that it felt good to lean against. If I was entirely honest with myself, I wouldn't mind doing it more often. At the very thought, I felt a flare of warmth between my legs. All right, I was enjoying this altogether too much! I stiffened in his arms.
„That's rather enough,“ I said. The urge to grin had finally worn off. My hands, which had somehow snaked around Prince Fëanáro's hips, now moved to his chest and pushed him away.
He let go at once, taking a step back and raising his hands appeasingly. Unlike me, he was still looking cheerful. „Sorry, Mistress Nerdanel. I forgot myself.“
„I noticed,“ I said, turning away and climbing onto my horse. „No harm done, but don't do it again.“

He tilted his head. His face was really far too handsome, especially with that rakish grin. The shadows were lengthening, the light growing more gentle; Laurelin was beginning to fade, but Telperion had not yet kindled. Birds were chirping. The meadow was full of golden light and flowering grasses and drifting dandelion seeds. My body was already missing the embrace that I had escaped. He had smelled nice, too – not in a perfumed way, just clean and summery.
„Really?“ he asked as if he had read my thoughts. The softening light was reflected on his sleek hair, golden against the black. As usual, he had left one streak to hang freely. That sight – that reminder of his mockery - finally drove away the longing, replacing it with anger.
„Really,“ I said coldly. „Thank you for your felicitations, but I will take my leave now. I am eager to return home.“
He was still smiling. Perhaps he thought I was joking. „Of course. Let me accompany you.“
„No, thank you. Don't trouble yourself. There's no need for a detour on my account.“
The smile grew even brighter. „But it's not a detour! We're taking the same road after all.“
„Don't be absurd. There's a shorter road to Tirion, and you know it.“
„But I am not returning to Tirion,“ said Prince Fëanáro, still pretending not to notice my displeasure. „Master Mahtan has promised to take me on as an apprentice as soon as one of his old apprentices becomes a master. That's happened today.“
I blinked, hard. A sour taste was rising in my mouth. „But – that's not! I'm not-“ I stopped and waited until I had calmed enough to speak. „I'm not just an apprentice! I'm his daughter!“
„And you were his apprentice.“
„But I am not leaving his household! That is what he meant, that one apprentice needs to leave his household before there's room for you!“
The smile was beginning to fade. At last. „If you permit, I will discuss that with Master Mahtan in person,“ Prince Fëanáro said.
Snorting, I made my horse trot towards the road. „I can't stop you.“
He was walking next to my horse, staring up at me. „But you would if you could?“

I found his keen stare disconcerting, and looked away. Prince Fëanáro waited until his horse had caught up with him, then sprang onto its back and fell into pace next to me. „What have I done to you, Nerdanel?“ he asked in a plaintive tone. „I thought we were friends.“
One might almost believe that he meant it. In fact, he really sounded surprisingly sincere – sincere enough to make me think about his complaint.
What had he done to me? Made fun of me. Annoyed me. Refused to leave me alone. Behaved rudely to Queen Indis and to his siblings in my presence. Used me to endear himself to Father. Interfered with my examination. Intoxicated me with his embrace and his pretty face. The list went on and on. Yet I had to admit to myself that nothing on it was bad enough to justify standing in the way of his future as a craftsman. In fact, my resistance was beginning to look much like Master Alcaráco's behaviour. My face burned at that realisation, and my anger bled away. Friends or not, I was going too far.
„I don't know,“ I admitted. It wasn't the whole truth, but it was easier for today, maybe forever. „I suppose I'm exhausted and peevish. It was all a bit much. I'm sorry.“
I was surprised by the warmth in his voice. „I understand. Anybody would be exhausted after such a day. Allow me to accompany you home. I promise that if Master Mahtan tells me that he has no room for me yet, I will go home tomorrow. But I want to hear it from him personally.“
„Yes,“ I sighed. „Fair enough. They'll probably have prepared a little party. You can come along.“

Chapter 19

Read Chapter 19

In fact, it turned out to be more than just a little party. As we rode towards the house, I could hear musicians tuning their instruments. Then I noticed a flash of movement at our gate, and saw Roitariel run through the front garden, probably to inform the others that I was finally arriving.
„Go ahead,“ Prince Fëanáro said. „This is your day. I'll join you later.“
I almost replied that he didn't have to join me at all, but I managed to keep that uncivil thought to myself. At least he was showing a little consideration and sparing me from being seen alone with him. At any rate, there was no time for arguments because I could see people coming out of our house now, gathering in the road. I rode towards them and felt my lips spread in a broad grin again.

„Welcome home, Mistress Nerdanel!“ my parents' entire household shouted, all of them – even Father and Mother! They were scaring the horse, so I got off and lead it the last bit of the way. Some of the younger apprentices rushed towards me, while Mother managed to hold back my sisters for long enough that I could hand over the reins to Helyanwë, who dragged the poor horse into safety. I noticed that Alcarincë was nowhere to be seen. His absence struck me harder than I would have expected. It was only natural that he would be resentful after his father's humiliation, but somehow I had hoped that he would be able to forgive me. I had obviously been wrong.
But I couldn't dwell on that for long, as I now found myself wrapped by too many arms at once. Everybody was cheering and calling my name. I could hear Sarnië's happy little voice sing „Nerdanel's the smartest, Nerdanel's the best!“ over the general din. My parents were watching, their eyes shining with pride. My chest felt like too small a vessel to contain all that joy, my own and theirs: My heart was about to overflow through my eyes. I blinked away sudden tears.

Father waited until the apprentices and Erenwen had let go of me, but not a second longer; now it was his turn to hug me tight. „Congratulations, dearest,“ he said. „I hope I may still call you that, in spite of your newly-earned dignity!“
„Of course, Father!“ I leaned against his shoulder, the unfamiliar fabric of his formal robes, and got my hair tangled in his fox brooch. Mother had to help freeing my braid from the wire.
„So much for dignity,“ Helyanwë said dryly; he had returned from the stable just in time to witness the spectacle. I stuck out my tongue, ruining whatever vestige of dignity I had left.
„Ts!“ Father said in a mock-stern voice. „Don't make me think Alcaráco was right!“ Even though I knew he was joking, his words made me flinch.
„Mahtan,“ reprimanded Mother. „You're making her feel bad.“
„Nerdanel knows that I am only joking,“ Father said, sounding a little guilty. „Although I wish she'd told us. Nerdanel, really, I could have prevented Alcaráco from becoming your chief examiner in the first place, if only I had known! Why didn't you tell us that he was giving you trouble? Why didn't you tell us you'd won?“
The familiar heat of embarrassment spread on my cheeks. „I hadn't! It was a draw.“
„That's not the story we heard today!“ Helyanwë said, ignoring the glare I shot at him.
„Didn't you trust us?“ Father went on. „You could have told us the truth.“
„I thought the problem would solve itself, given some time,“ I said. „I didn't want you to worry. And think how hard it would have been on Alcyo.“
„You could have told us in private. We could have helped you,“ Father said, his tone so hurt that I could no longer meet his eyes. The happy feeling was draining from my heart.
Mother came to my rescue. „Now's not the time for that,“ she said. „Come, child, let me congratulate you also. You've done so well today, and I'm endlessly proud of you!“ She pulled me close. I relaxed into her embrace, closing my eyes. Sarnië started singing „Nerdanel's the smartest, Nerdanel's the best!“ again, and Mother and I both began to laugh. „We've prepared a little surprise for you,“ Mother said when we were done.

I let my eyes and mouth fall wide open in an exaggerated demonstration of surprise. „No!“ I exclaimed. „Really? I never!“
Erenwen chimed in, „We've decided not to host a party for you...“
My surprise began to feel a little more real.
„... because we thought that would be too predictable.“
I felt my brow crease in confusion. „No party?“ I was genuinely disappointed for a moment, but then I remembered the musicians I'd been hearing as I'd approached our house. „Then why can I hear a fiddle and a flute?“
„We've prepared a ball!“ Erenwen hollered happily. „Hah, fooled you!“
„For a second,“ I defended myself. „I don't think I have much intellectual capacity left today.“
„Well, let's start celebrating,“ Mother kindly interfered. „You have yet to see what we've prepared for you.“

In the short time they'd had, my parents and their apprentices had transformed our garden into a lantern-lit dancing lawn. Next to my friends, the apprentices also had invited their friends and siblings. Master Carnildo had also come with his family and apprentices, so there were quite a lot of people. There was a make-shift stage for the trio of musicians, who played an abbreviated version of Rúmil's Song of the Trees when I entered the garden on Father's hand like a bride is led to her wedding. My face grew hot, but it was a happy sort of embarassment. The tune ended, Father let go of my hand, and everybody applauded. I curtsied, brushed my dishevelled braids out of my face, looked around in delight. Everything was so festive and beautiful, from the colourful paper lanterns in the trees and on the walls to the iron fire baskets in the corners and the work-benches that had been lugged outside and packed full of delicious-looking snacks! At their sight, my stomach rumbled, and I was tempted to raid the buffet right away before I remembered my duties. Sure enough, I was standing in an expectant circle of guests.
I swallowed and smiled even more. „Thank you so much,“ I said with every ounce of feeling in my heart. „Thank you for preparing this, and thank you for being here. I'm sorry I can't be more elaborate, I'm just so overwhelmed. But please accept my deepest gratitude! I hope you'll all have as wonderful an evening as I'm planning on having!“
„Hear, hear!“ Helyanwë called, sidling towards the food.
„I've made a song for you!“ cried Sarnië, climbing onto a chair and singing again, at the top of her voice „Nerdanel's the smartest, Nerdanel's the best! Nerdanel's the greatest, she has passed the test!“ She repeated it over and over until the musicians picked up the simple tune. People started to clap along. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Instead, I lifted Sarnië up and whirled her around in a circle, which made her stop singing and cry „Wheeeee!“ instead.
„Thank you so much, my lovely little pebble*,“ I told Sarnië. „It's a lovely little song.“

The snacks were delicious, and I stuffed myself happily. My previously so nervous stomach was now happy to be filled with mustard eggs and meatballs and baked tomatoes and goat's cheese and fried bean curd and toasted bread with oil and salt. Father put a glass of wine in my hand and explained, a little teary-eyed, that they'd stored a few bottles of wine when I was born to open on special occasions, and today was such an occasion. I felt my own eyes well up, and hastily clinked glasses with Father, Mother and Erenwen. The wine wasn't quite to my taste, and stronger than I was used to – we normally diluted and sweetened the wine we drank with our dinner – but I knew that it was a precious gift, and tried to enjoy it. Erenwen made a face, so I guessed she didn't like it much either, but she, too, understood that this was a momentous libation, and didn't say anything. She did poke her elbow in my side when we noticed that our parents were staring at each other with a lovestruck, far-away look on their faces, seemingly oblivious to us for a second. Who knows what the wine meant to them! Erenwen and I barely kept from giggling. I took another sip, feeling the warmth run down my throat and into my belly while laughter wanted to bubble up. I wondered whether the wine was strong enough to make me drunk in so few sips, then decided that it didn't matter much. The exam was over, so I could as well be a little irresponsible.

While I had been eating, the dancing had already begun. For a while, I was happy to watch and nurse my wine. Erenwen had poured the remaining contents of her glass into mine, more eager to dance than to finish the old vintage. The musicians were doing a good job, playing popular tunes, and people appeared to be enjoying themselves. Those who weren't dancing were clapping their hands, or eating and drinking, or talking. I chatted with Númiel and Oricondë while they paused for a breath and a drink. They brought out a toast to my successful examination, and I spoke one to the fruitful course of their own studies. The taste of the wine was beginning to grow on me. I glanced around to see where Father and the bottle had gone. He was standing near the back door of our house. Prince Fëanáro stood next to him, apparently listening to something Father said; he didn't look as if he liked what he was hearing. I couldn't help smirking a bit, and quickly looked back to the lawn, where Erenwen and Helyanwë were twirling and laughing. Erenwen seemed to be more than just a little tipsy, so I prepared a glass of lemonade for her. When the music ended, I pushed it into her hands, and she downed it all in one go. „Thank you!“ she declared, out of breath. I was relieved to hear that her speech was not slurred. „I don't know about you, but that wine made me thirstier rather than the opposite,“ Erenwen declared. She wrinkled her nose. „Did you like it?“
„I like the idea behind it,“ I said, and Erenwen laughed. „That's a nice way of putting it!“
Helyanwë raised an eyebrow. „If you're done drinking the idea of wine, would you grant me the honour of a dance, Mistress Nerdanel?“
„Cheeky fellow!“ I said, wagging my finger. „But yes, I believe I would.“ He made a caricature of a courtly bow, I curtsied daintily, and we joined hands and waited for the next tune to begin.

After Helyanwë, Sailatulco asked for a dance, and after him, I danced with Master Carnildo's apprentice Timosanwë. Afterwards, I needed to quench my thirst. I had forgotten that my glass contained pure wine, but was quickly reminded of that fact after taking a greedy gulp. I grimaced, then looked around guiltily, hoping that my parents hadn't seen it. No: Mother was dancing with Master Carnildo, and Father was now talking with... Alcyo? My heart lept a little. If Alcyo was joining the party, maybe he wasn't so angry after all. I apologised to Mother's apprentice Lisanto, who was dutifully asking for the next dance, waiting for my turn to speak with Alcyo. At last, I saw Father pat his shoulder and nod. I assumed that their conversation was over and began to walk towards them. Alcyo turned away from Father, looked around, and caught my eyes. I was half afraid that he would run away, but he did the opposite, walking in my direction so we met half-way.
I smiled in what I hoped was a welcoming way. „Alcyo, I'm so glad to see you.“
To my great relief, he smiled in return, although it was a rather lopsided smile. „Mistress Nerdanel. I apologise for being late, and I offer my congratulations.“ He held out his hand, which I took, and briefly pulled me into an embrace, friendly and harmless.
„Thank you,“ I said. „And I'm so sorry.“
„What for?“ Alcyo asked, his lip twisting a little.
I shrugged uncertainly. „For the whole business with your father. I didn't want any of that. I really didn't. So I'm sorry. I don't know if he can forgive me, but I hope you can.“

Alcyo was silent for a while, apparently lost in thought. The music ended once more. People came off the lawn, new couples took positions for the next dance. Alcyo gave another lopsided smile and bowed. „Do me the honour?“
I blinked. „Yes, certainly,“ I said, curtsying and taking his proffered hand. As the next tune began and we stepped along, Alcyo said, „Everybody seems to expect that I will side with Father. I don't, you know.“
We turned, placed our hands against each other, paced in a slow circle. „I wouldn't blame you if you did,“ I said.
„Well, I don't,“ said Alcyo as we changed directions. „Father is wrong. I can see that, and I have no problem acknowledging it.“
„I am sorry,“ I replied while I walked around him as the dance required. He grimaced unhappily.
„It's not your fault,“ he said, now walking around me.
„Maybe it isn't, but I'm still sorry.“ I said, taking his hand again. Step, step, turn, step, step.
„I'm sorry,“ Alcyo said, and then lapsed into silence. He only spoke again when the dance had ended. I expected him to bow and look for another partner, but he stayed where he was. „If you don't mind, I'd like another dance,“ he said. Over his shoulder, I saw Father talking to Prince Fëanáro again. This time, the prince was looking excited. I wondered what they were talking about now.
„Nerdanel?“ Alcyo asked.
I returned my attention to him. „Certainly, if you don't want to ask anyone else,“ I replied. I rarely got asked for a second dance, even by the apprentices.
Alcyo sighed. „I suppose it's my way of defying Father,“ he said. Then he gave another grin that didn't reach his eyes. „It's probably my last chance to dance with you for a long while,“ he said. „I've already told Master Mahtan. Father has forbidden me to continue my studies here.“ The grin was gone, replaced by an angry scowl. „He says he can complete my education himself if need be. He wants me to take the exam as soon as possible, of course.“
„Master Alcaráco is an accomplished craftsman,“ I said, trying to console Alcyo. „And surely you're only half a year or so away from your own examination.“

We almost missed the upbeat of the next dance, and stumbled to get back into step with the others. Once we had found our balance again, Alcyo said, „You know, I was looking forward to becoming a master craftsman soon. But now, I think I'll drag it out as long as possible – just to spite Father.“
I frowned. „Don't hurt your own purpose,“ I said.
„What else can I do?“ Alcyo said hotly. „I'm already of age, yet Father commands me around as if I were a small child, and I have no choice but to obey. I don't want to leave here. Oh, sure, Father is an accomplished craftsman. But he's not as good a teacher as your father, and let's be honest, his arrogance is disgusting. I really don't want to return into his tutelage, but since I have to, I'm going to spoil his plans of showing off his – his prodigal son.“ His lip quirked in disgust.
I was spared from answering right away because the choreography now demanded that we turn, sidestep and take the hands of the person dancing to our right, gallopping into the middle of the circle and back. Poor Alcyo, I thought. It was frustrating to be given no say in such important matters as one's studies, especially if one was technically an adult. The truth was that in spite of the great weight given to everybody's coming of age, it did not actually change all that much. The overwhelming majority of young people lived in their parents' household until they married. Despite my rebellious thoughts in front of my examiners, it was unlikely that I would leave home and set up an independent workshop anytime soon, master craftswoman or no. But then, I loved my parents and felt that they respected me. Alcyo, although he doubtlessly loved his father, was dissatisfied. All the more reason to finish his studies swiftly. Maybe he could move out and set up his own workshop then.

As I turned back to Alcyo, I told him so. „That way, you'll spend an even longer time under his tutelage when instead, you could be a craftsman in his own workshop. It may annoy your father, but it'll also prolong your suffering.“
Alcyo shrugged. „I admit it's not terribly well-thought out. Maybe I'll come up with something better. But until then, I'll just refuse to play Father's game.“ We linked arms and turned, turned, turned. There was some giggling and shrieking around us. They typically accompanied this part of the dance. You had to hold fast to your partner or you'd topple over from your own momentum, which naturally was a welcome excuse for hugging more tightly than was entirely proper, or to fall and drag your partner down with you. Among all the cheerfully rotating couples, I felt as if Alcyo and I stood out as a rock of sobriety. Well, a mill of sobriety; we were dancing after all.

We danced a third dance, and a fourth. It was nice not to stand or sit around waiting for a partner, even if I only owed my luck to Alcyo's anger at his father. I didn't feel resentful about that. I was feeling resentful towards Master Alcaráco, so I was quite happy to defy him. Alcyo and I didn't discuss the matter further – there was nothing more to say, really – but instead reminisced about the lessons we'd learned as Father's apprentices, shared funny anecdotes and joked about some of the lovey-dovey couples we could observe among the dancers. When the musicians announced that they would now rest and eat for half an hour, forcing us to stop our dance of resistance, Alcyo bent down and placed a formal kiss on my hand.
„Well, I'll have to pack my things. Father expects me home by the Mingling,“ Alcyo said, straightening and turning to leave. „I'll miss you.“
As he stepped away, Prince Fëanáro planted himself in front of me. His eyes were glinting like polished steel. „What was that about?“
I glared back. „What was what about?“
„You two dancing. Talking. Having a good time.“
„We were not having a good time. Not that it's any of your business, but Alcyo's had very bad news, and we needed to discuss them.“
His expression softened at once. „Ah. Yes. Master Mahtan already told me. One man's loss is another man's gain, of course.“
I stared at him in disgust. How could he utter such heartless sentiments about Alcyo's misery? He cheerfully continued, „I am sorry for Alcarincë, generally, but personally I can't help rejoicing that his place has become free for me.“ He smiled his winning smile at me, eyes now bright and happy. „I will stay, and take up my studies with Master Mahtan.“
„Oh,“ I replied. I hadn't thought about that. Another reason to mourn Alcyo's leaving. Dutifully, I said, „good for you. Pardon me, I need something to drink.“ I didn't wait for a reaction, instead marching to the table where I had left my glass of wine. Someone had refilled it. Good. I drank thirstily, no longer put off by the tannic acidity of the wine.

I had hoped that Prince Fëanáro would give his supposedly happy news to the other members of my parents' household and leave me in peace, but I was sorely disappointed; he merely got himself a glass of wine – the normal sort, for the guests - and then strolled over leisurely, standing beside me and holding out his glass.
„A toast?“ he asked. „To the future.“
I snorted. „My future, or yours?“ I couldn't help asking.
He had the grace of being taken aback, but his frown of confusion was quickly replaced by another winsome smile.
„I was thinking of yours; but maybe we can drink to both. I do hope the two are linked.“
„Stop that.“
„Stop what?“ His brow creased, pretending ignorance.
There was a sour taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the wine. „I've told you before. Trying to flatter me. It's annoying, and it isn't necessary. You're overestimating my importance.“

He tilted his face so that the damned lock of hair dangled freely, black as soot and soft as strands of silk. The mere sight made my fingertips sting.
„Or maybe you are underestimating it,“ he suggested. His eyes were glinting in the shadows. The sharp outline of his nose and lips made them appear like chiselled to perfection. „After all, this is your night. You're the youngest person to become a master craftswoman on record. You're a rising star among the Noldor.“ He leaned in closer. „Besides, I find you endlessly fascinating. As your little sister said, you're the smartest, the best and...“
„I told you to stop,“ I repeated firmly. Of course I was flattered. I was also tired, tipsy, and entertaining inappropriate thoughts like what it would feel like to kiss those firm, beautiful lips. Not in any romantic way, mind you, just to understand their shape and texture! I shook my head and took a step back, just in case.
With a sigh, he drew himself upright. „As you wish,“ he said. „We can speak of other things.“
I closed my eyes in frustration. „You can speak to other people. I am in no mood for conversation.“
He gave a little snort. „Neither are other people. The musicians are taking their places again; soon everybody is going to be dancing.“
„Good. This is supposed to be a ball, after all.“ I emptied my glass. „Maybe you want to dance, too.“
His shining eyes, the colour of mist during Telperion's hours, bored into mine. Underneath their cocksure and possessive glint, I could glimpse something unexpected – was it insecurity? My foolish heart softened for a moment, the precise moment when the flute began to warble, inviting people back to the dance.
„Is that an offer?“ Prince Fëanáro said, the corners of his mouth creeping into a surprised smile. It made him look so young and hopeful! „Mistress Nerdanel, may I please ask you for a dance?“

That was not what I'd meant, and I should have said no. I should have stuck to my resolve to stay away from him. I did not want to turn into another fawning lady, and I could feel that I was already falling under his spell: In the silvery night, between the dancing flames and the many-coloured lanterns, after the wine and the celebration, while the beckoning call of the flute grew ever more intense, the thought of dancing with him made me all but tremble with excitement. And hadn't I just thought about kissing? Hadn't my fingers itched to push that sneaky strand of hair back behind his ears? If I didn't resist such thoughts tonight, it would become much harder to push them away in the future. I knew that.
On the other hand, it was a ball. It was my ball, to be precise, so I should be dancing. And surely I could forgive myself for giving in to temptation this once.
Besides, it wasn't as if this temptation was likely to ever come again. He danced with every woman exactly once, after all. So if I gave in today, that would settle the score. I would not have to resist any future attempts from him, because they wouldn't be coming anyway. How I dealt with my confusing and inappropriate feelings – should they persist in the first place – was a question I'd address at a later time.
I curtsied. „Yes, I suppose you may.“
He drew my hands to his lips for a kiss – a mere formality, but it seemed to set my skin on fire. I hoped that the gentle gloom would hide my blush as we joined the other dancers. It was nothing special, I told myself very sternly. It was just another dance with one of Father's apprentices, even if everybody acted as if dancing with Prince Fëanáro was such a wonderful thing. Well, I'd find out for myself whether they were right.
So we stood in the circle, and placed our right hands against each other, and waited for the tune to begin.

And then, we danced.

---

Chapter End Notes

*Sarnië literally means „pebble-bank“. Whyever Mahtan and Istarnië chose the name I leave up to your imagination.

Chapter 20

Read Chapter 20

„Wake up, wake up, sleepy sister!“
Erenwen's words tore me from restless sleep. My eyes were heavy, as if I'd only just gone to bed. My head was equally heavy, still half-caught in dreams and half-waking to reality. It didn't help that Erenwen drew the curtains of our room open with rather more verve than necessary. Golden light streamed in without warning. I blinked, trying to dispell the feeling of exhaustion.
„What time is it?“ I said.
„Time for a very late breakfast,“ Erenwen said with a reproachful note to her voice. „Don't worry, everybody has slept in. Well, almost everybody. But as Lisanto and I took the pain of rising and setting the table, we feel that it is now time to wake you all up. This isn't a holiday!“
I managed to wrest myself from the enticing embrace of my bedcovers. Unbidden, I remembered how Prince Fëanáro had embraced me the day before. Hmm. That had also been very warm and pleasant and comfortable... I shook my head, annoyed at myself.
„You disagree?“ Erenwen said, putting on a pout.
„Just trying to clear my mind,“ I lied. „I should have gone to bed much earlier.“
„Always the voice of reason!“ Erenwen rolled her eyes. „What a sad thing it would be to go to sleep early, when there is an occasion to celebrate and dance!“
„Well, I didn't, did I?“
Erenwen smiled. „No, you didn't. I noticed that even you couldn't resist the charms of your dancing partner.“
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I made my way to our chest of drawers, dipped my hands in the bowl of water and washed my face. If only I could have scrubbed the blush away! At least the water was cold, driving away the last bit of drowsiness.

Erenwen hadn't exaggerated when she'd said that everybody had slept in. As I came down the stairs, only five others were already present: Erenwen and Lisanto, who had prepared breakfast, Roitariel, who tried to stifle a huge yawn, Helyanwë, looking uncomfortable, and Prince Fëanáro. Somehow he managed to look cheerful and wide awake. „Good morning, Mistress Nerdanel,“ he said brightly as I entered the hall. My cheeks threatened to flare up again.
„'morning, Mistress Nerdanel,“ Roitariel, Helyanwë and Lisanto echoed dutifully. I managed to regain my composure.
„Good morning. Don't call me that all the time, it makes me feel old,“ I told them. I turned towards Prince Fëanáro, who was already occupying the chair next to mine. I gave him the most disapproving look that I could muster. „You're sitting in the wrong place.“
„Oh?“ He said, innocent and wide-eyed. „I was told that this was Alcarincë's seat.“
„Yes – because Alcyo was Father's best and senior student. So now, it is Helyanwë's place.“ I nodded towards Helyanwë, who was pretending to be distracted by something in the garden.
Prince Fëanáro tilted his head. „Is it? Why didn't Helyanwë tell me so?“
Helyanwë didn't answer right away, but eventually he reacted to my pointed stare.
„I didn't know if it was proper to do so,“ he mumbled.
„Well, is it your place?“ Prince Fëanáro asked, a slight frown marring his brow.
„It should be, with Alcyo gone,“ Helyanwë said, then turned to me, „but I don't know – what with him being the king's son...“
„Oh, the king's son is going to follow the customs of Master Mahtan's house,“ Prince Fëanáro said, getting up and flashing me a smile, which did nothing to improve my mood. „It won't take me long to win this place back, I'm sure,“ Prince Fëanáro added and, with great deliberation, sat down at the lower end of the table.
„We will see,“ I said stiffly.

I had been worried that the argument preceding my examination would be a topic at our breakfast table, but fortunately, neither my parents nor any of the others mentioned it again. Instead, Father merely asked what I was planning to do, now that I was a fully accredited sculptress. „Will you nonetheless continue your smithying apprenticeship? Or have you decided to work as a sculptress full-time?“
I took a sip of my tea, pondering the question. „Both, if possible,“ I said. „I'd like to become a smith as well as a sculptress, but if I get a commission, I'll definitely put that first. But I don't have any apprentices to train, so I hope I'll have enough time for the forge.“ I allowed myself a little grin.
Father raised his eyebrows. „Should you want to train apprentices, I'll be happy to let you practice on some of mine. With you as an assistant, I could take on a new apprentice sculptor or two. I wouldn't have to split my time between forge and studio so much, so additional students wouldn't be a problem.“
I bit my lips. Part of me was excited about Father's idea. I had agreed not to train any apprentices of my own, but nothing had been said concerning assistant teaching. Nominally, these would be Father's apprentices, yet I would get to do all a master craftswoman's work, including handing on the skills of the craft.

Then I shook my head. If I was honest with myself, I mostly liked the idea because it would be getting my own back on Master Alcaráco and his supporters. A rather petty motivation. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to the apprentices, unless they were in on the scheme.
„I don't think it would be right to have people sign up to train with Master Mahtan if Master Mahtan does not train them,“ I said. „And truth be told, I'd be sorry to give up forgecraft altogether.“
„Well, you're welcome in the forge anytime you like,“ Father said soothingly. „And we don't have to take on new students at once. Certainly not before the harvest. We can talk again afterwards.“
„Actually, I was hoping that I could travel to Alqualondë after the harvest,“ I admitted. Yesterday, I'd had no time to further think about seeking out Volabrandë, the artist whose driftwood sculpture had worked such a spell on me, but with Father talking about the time after the harvest, the thought came back to me. I would not leave home at the busiest season of the year, of course – during the harvest, all hands were needed, either to help on the fields or to craft and mend the necessary tools – but afterwards, when everything slowed down for the resting season, the time would be right.
Or not. „Alqualondë?“ Father raised an eyebrow before plunging his spoon into his porridge. „What do you want there?“
„Learn about driftwood sculptures, of course,“ I replied.
Mother smiled wryly. „I had the impression that you already knew everything about them.“
Father nodded his agreement.
„Far from it,“ I protested. „Everything I said yesterday, I made up. I was just lucky that it was correct – or that my examiners didn't know any better. But it has really convinced me that Telerin sculpture is worth studying.“
Father glanced to my still-smiling mother, then shrugged. „Well, if you think so. It's your decision, of course.“

Prince Fëanáro, who had so far been busy stuffing himself with Yavanna's good bread, now spoke up without even swallowing first. „I reawwy don'k think thak's a goog igea.“ He gulped down the bite he'd been chewing on. „I mean, just now.“
„I wasn't talking about 'just now',“ I pointed out. My voice had gone hard and cold without my volition. Of course, everybody was welcome to voice their opinions at my parents' table – we didn't hold with 'silence until you're spoken to' as some masters did – but butting into a conversation with your mouth full was rude even by our relaxed standards, prince or no. I threw an affronted look at Father, but he was just looking amused, probably finding it funny that someone who commonly dined with the king and his nobles would have such poor manners.
Prince Fëanáro didn't seem to notice. „After the harvest. Whatever. You need to make a name for yourself, fast.“
Erenwen laughed at him, openly. „Did we attend the same exam yesterday? It looked as if she already had a name.“
„That will wear out quickly, if she doesn't follow up on it.“ Prince Fëanáro now bent forwards to catch my eyes, his tone imploring. „Do you think Alcaráco will be happy just to withdraw his own son from your father's tutelage? He'll go on to pour his poison into the ears of any who will listen, and the longer you wait, the more people will do that. Right now, some may be curious to find out what the fuss is all about, and will give you a chance to prove yourself. A few months from now? If you haven't delivered a couple of splendid commissions by then, nobody will ask you for one again.“
„Nobody has asked me for one yet.“
„No, but if anyone is looking for a sculptor anytime soon, you'd be wise to apply.“
„I hate to disappoint your travelling plans, but Prince Fëanáro has a point,“ said Mother.
„Just 'Fëanáro', please, Mistress Istarnië,“ Prince Fëanáro said in a voice so mild that it seemed to belong to another person. „And thank you.“
I scowled at him, but unfortunately, he did have a point.

Against my original plans, I spent the next days in the studio. While there were no commissions to be had, I had thought of another way of increasing people's interest in my work. Harvest time was approaching, and after the harvest, there always was a solemn celebration and a far less solemn fair. The fair was mostly an excuse for feasting and dancing, but it was also an occasion for craftsmen and merchants to showcase and sell their goods. I had decided that I would put up a stall among them, if only I managed to create enough small but desirable items by then. This was, of course, the tricky part. What did people like? What would make them decide that they my work was something they wanted? And how could I create it on such short notice, in such quantities that it warranted a market stall and in such quality that people would trust me with their business?
In the end, I focused on small animals, like the squirrel I had made for Sarnië or the birds I had gifted to Yavanna (but without the stone pool). I had many sketches of such creatures, and while making them well took easily as long as a bust, they offered the advantage of not requiring large blocks of stone. Although Father would probably not mind if I took the materials from his store as long as I replaced them in good time, I would have felt guilty about it. With my planned collection of small animals, I could use up chunks of rock left over from other projects – the kind we always kept because they were too good to throw away, but rarely ever did anything with, until they ended piled up in the garden. Another good reason for making small sculptures was that they could easily be transported to the fair.
I exploited the fact that Alcyo no longer needed his workbench, so I had twice the room for my projects. Using my old sketches, I made models from wax rather than clay – if there was enough time, I could use the wax shapes to make molds, and add metal versions to my collection of statuettes in order to show versatility. For a plan made up more or less on the spot, I felt it was quite promising.

Between working on the sculptures, I worked on finding my way back into Father's household. Having been absent or busy with important exam preparation so often in the past year, my parents had exempted me from the rota of weekly duties, but things couldn't go on like that. I didn't enjoy doing the dishes, weeding the garden, mucking the stables or any of the other many duties that a household like ours brought with it, but how often had I preached to the apprentices that everybody had to do their part? It would not do to hide in the studio and put my project above those of everyone else, even though I was half-tempted to do so. But reason won out. My help was all the more necessary because with Alcyo gone, we were missing not only a friend, but also a diligent worker. „Just Fëanáro“ might have taken his place at the table – it had taken him half a day to prove himself worthy of the place of best student, sending Helyanwë back to his old seat and compromising my calm at every meal – but no matter how brilliant he was in the forge, he was utterly useless with chores. He affected a great willingness to perform them, never once saying that a job was beneath him; but he needed to be watched and guided with almost everything. When polishing glasses, he did it with such enthusiasm and force that some of them splintered. When asked to bring in herbs from the garden, you could be certain that he would pick the wrong ones. He did not know how to scrub soot and other stains from clothing, nor how to hang it up to dry. The first time he tried, he didn't wring out a single item, so naturally, the clothesline snapped under the weight. Everything landed on the ground and had to be washed again. He could not even handle a broom properly. I couldn't believe that he hadn't at least wrung a wet cloth or swept the floor of Aulë's forge, so I began to suspect that he was in fact acting up in order to get us others to do his work without him asking. We were sorely tempted. Everything took twice as long when Fëanáro „helped“. And instead of being taught, as Sarnië or the younger apprentices were, he would then begin an argument over how it wasn't his fault that he had not learned all these vital skills until the ripe age of five-and-fourty. But he insisted on learning how it was to be done now, and demanded elaborate instructions for the most basic tasks. It would have been laughable if it hadn't been so frustrating. It was a total contrast to his purported skill at the anvil, which Father and the other apprentices – even Helyanwë! – kept on praising.

As a result, I was less than thrilled when I saw on the blackboard of chores that I (of all people!) had been assigned to go to the woods to produce charcoal with (of all people!) Fëanáro. Presumably, it was too much to ask that Aulë had at least taught him how to do that. Presumably, Aulë never bothered with charcoal, and instead just... just created the more precious black coal that we had to dig painstakingly from the earth, and used only rarely and in small quantities. Presumably, that would mean not only explaining to Fëanáro how to take every single step in the process of making coal, but also discussing why these steps had to be taken, and why we couldn't simply do as Aulë did. Charring always took a long time – time that I had been depending on to get my sculptures finished! - but it would take even longer if I had to do it with someone who had never done it before, and who never simply accepted orders. Of course it was important to question things that one didn't understand, but it was just as important to know what just wasn't worth arguing about. Fëanáro was excellent at questioning things, but horrible at choosing what was worth the bother.

Aside from these practical considerations, I had my personal reasons why I did not want to spend a day alone in the woods with Fëanáro. As I had feared, I had fallen under his spell in the aftermath of my examination. After that exhausting day, my defenses had clearly been too low; no matter how much I now reminded myself that it had meant nothing, I couldn't shake off the intense memories of that night. It had probably been the magic of the ball – the relief of having passed the exam, the joy of being celebrated, the lights, the music. When we had danced, it had felt as though we were the only people in the world. Normally, I would surely have been able to shake off that silly feeling; but it was so inextricably linked to my passage into life as a master craftswoman that it belonged to the new, adult (if only!) me. At night, before falling asleep, I could feel the firmness and warmth of his lips on my hand. I recalled the closeness of the dance, how we had stepped and turned and twirled in unison, and felt heat surge through my loins. Whenever our legs accidentally touched under the table, my stomach seemed to twist in a knot so that I could barely go on eating. I longed for the eager fire in his eyes, yet had to avoid looking at his face. I feared that I would be led astray by that light, like the grey butterflies of Endorë that purportedly died in our ancestors' campfires*, unable to resist their allure until it was too late.
In short, I had truly and well fallen in love. With Fëanáro of all people! Of course, I would waste such passion on someone who was safely out of reach. I hated myself for it, knowing that it was vain and absurd; and I also hated him, who continued to fan the fires of my infatuation with his warm voice and handsome smile and strange tendency to turn up in exactly the places where I happened to be. I didn't know whether he had guessed my feelings and amused himself by discomforting me, or whether it was coincidence. It didn't matter, because it didn't change the turmoil in my mind. How I would manage not to make an absolute fool of myself when out on my own with him, I honestly did not know.

I did not tell Father that when I asked him to assign Fëanáro another partner, of course. It was embarrassing enough to admit these things to myself; speaking of them to anybody else was out of the question. Instead, I explained about my plans of stocking a stall for the fair, and about all the work I had to do towards that end. Father was sympathetic, but he couldn't help me. „It has to be done; we will need a lot more coal in order to prepare for the harvest season. Already we have orders for dozens of sickles, on top of our usual business. And Fëanáro urgently needs to learn making coal; he didn't even know that it doesn't grow by itself! It's a shame that he has nearly mastered most aspects of the crafts, yet is completely ignorant of others. I don't know what my lord Aulë was thinking. At any rate, Fëanáro has volunteered to help make new coal, which is just as well; he has gone through a lot of our stores by himself. But I cannot abandon the forge at this time of the year; and aside from myself, only you have enough authority to teach him. He doesn't take Lindo seriously, and he won't listen to Helyanwë, either.“ Father put his hands on my shoulders for reassurance. „I fully understand that it is inconvenient, and I am sorry for it, but I must ask you to do this for me. Please take it as a vote of confidence.“
I closed my eyes in despair. „I doubt he'll listen to me any more than he'll listen to Helyanwë,“ I protested. „You know how he is! He thinks he's always right and everybody else is foolish.“ I had overheard the discussions that Fëanáro liked to get into – with the other apprentices, but even with my parents, in the evening, when all the household sat together for stories or songs or talk. Fëanáro had opinions on everything and everybody, and he wasn't shy in sharing them – or rather, in trying to impose them on others. I was grateful for my work, which allowed me to leave the dinner table instead of sticking around to listen to his self-important talk. I couldn't see why Father humoured Fëanáro instead of reminding him that he was not omniscient, unless maybe Father worried about offending the king's son, „just Fëanáro“ or no.

„He is rather sure of himself, isn't he,“ Father said now. There was altogether too much fondness in his voice for my taste. Of course, the apprentices were very nearly like Father's own children, but then, they normally spent the better part of their childhood and youth in our house, which did make them part of the family. Fëanáro had been with us for a mere week. „Just this morning, he declared that he had thought of a way of improving the sickles we're making.“
„Improve them? In what way?“ I said sceptically.
„Oh, I don't know yet.“ Father smiled, as though it didn't bother him at all that one of his apprentices was suffering from delusions of grandeur. „He's still testing his ideas. But I'll find out soon enough if there's anything to it. He'll be eager to share the story of his success, no doubt.“ He sounded amused and, yes, a little proud. Now he sobered. „But I am certain he will accept your guidance,“ he continued. „He always speaks very highly of you, you know.“
Damn that foolish tingle in my stomach, damn the sudden tightness in my throat! „He doesn't,“ I managed to say.
Father was smiling again. „You're never sitting with us in the evening, so you don't get to hear it. Maybe he wouldn't say it if you were there. But it is my impression that he holds you in very high respect. So if anyone but myself can teach him, it is you.“
„Nobody but you can teach him,“ I insisted, but it was useless, and I knew it.

Fëanáro and I set off that evening after dinner. The argument began as soon as I told him to bring a blanket as well as his cloak, because it could get cold in the woods.
„I thought we were going to work with fire,“ he protested.
I sighed. „Most of the time, the fire will be underground, and we won't profit from its warmth,“ I said. „Take a blanket along.“
A frown appeared on his brow. „Underground? Why will it be underground?“
„You'll find out later,“ I said. „Now, get your blanket.“
Suddenly, the frown gave way to a rakish grin. „Maybe we can share yours.“
I had to turn away so he didn't see my red cheeks. „Most assuredly not. If you don't listen to good advice, you deserve to be cold.“ I left without waiting to hear more, going to the shed to pick up the old spade and the axe.
Fëanáro joined me outside after a while, a blanket and sheepskin rolled up under his arm. Without looking at his face, I held out the spade for him to carry. Father stuck his head out of the window. „Goodbye, you two! May the night be mild and the draft on your side.“ After the traditional farewell, he turned to Fëanáro. „Now, I expect you to listen to Nerdanel and not give her any trouble. She knows what she's doing, and you can trust her to teach you well.“
„Yes, of course, Master,“ Fëanáro said meekly. He couldn't possibly be sincere. But Father didn't seem to notice. Instead, he smiled, called „Good luck!“ and closed the window.
I shouldered the axe and my bundle and trotted off, Fëanáro following close behind.

---

Chapter End Notes

* Moths are drawn to the light – and often die in candles and the like – because for their night-time orientation, they choose the brightest light in the sky as their point of reference. Which is just fine if said light is the moon, but a real problem if pesky humans light a candle or lantern. Unlike the moon, the light is approaching the moth rather quickly; in their attempt to stay true to their course, moths spiral around the source of light (believing that they are still parallel to the moon or chosen star), until at last they get too close and burn. In the age of the Trees, Valinor may not be a good place for nocturnal insects, so I'm assuming that moths are no more than a story from the old days to Nerdanel.

Chapter 21

This chapter just kept on getting longer and longer, so I decided to split it.

Read Chapter 21

Chapter 21

While I marched through the forest with gloomy thoughts in my head, Fëanáro next to me was practically bursting with enthusiasm. „I'm so excited you're going to show me how to make coal!“ he declared cheerfully. „I had no idea that it was possible for us to do that! It's fantastic that we can do something that's so firmly in the province of Aulë.“
I clucked my tongue. „Where did you think our ancestors in Cuiviénen got the coal for their furnaces?“
„Well, I assumed they'd mine for it. Just like people do now, in the coal mines up north.“
„They could hardly run a mine during the Great March, could they? Anyway, we're making a different kind of coal. Black coal is firmly in the province of Aulë. All we can do is turn wood into charcoal, which is inferior to black coal, but still generates more heat than mere wood.“
„I see,“ said Fëanáro, without sounding particularly disappointed. „That's still pretty exciting. Would you know why that is?“
„Why it's exciting?“
„No, silly, why it generates more heat than wood.“
„Silly?“ I actually stopped in my tracks and turned around so fast that he had to duck in order to escape the flat side of the axe. Part of me was mortified – I had completely forgotten that the tool on my shoulders would naturally follow their movement, and that really shouldn't happen to an experienced apprentice, much less a master craftswoman! The other part, I must admit, regretted the fact that Fëanáro reacted so quickly. Not that I earnestly wanted to hurt him, but a little thwack...?

He didn't seem to worry about it. „Whoa, hey!“ he said, raising his hands in a gesture of appeasement and flashing a grin. „Sorry, Mistress Nerdanel.“
„Just Nerdanel will do,“ I told him yet again. I turned (paying better attention to the axe this time) and walked on.
„Right,“ he said. „I still don't know why charcoal is better than wood.“
„Because it's denser, and water and impurities that cause smoke or flames are removed. It burns more wholly – and hotter.“
„Hm. I wonder why I never read anything about charcoal-making in the accounts from Cuiviénen,“ said Fëanáro.
Now I had to smile. „I'm not surprised. It's something of a trade secret. Father told me that in the old days, smiths were revered as magicians with supernatural powers, because they had the ability to melt rocks and shape metal. They guarded their knowledge, in part because it was genuinely dangerous, but also to preserve their power.“
„That's even more exciting!“ Fëanáro said. „Would you believe I never read about that, either?“
„I don't think it's in the books. When Oromë came along, our people learned that smiths were just ordinary craftsfolk, who used highly specialised but perfectly natural skills in order to achieve their supposed magic, and that only the Ainur held greater powers. Father says that the old ways were forgotten because they were no longer needed, but personally, I suspect that people were a bit embarrassed about these ancient superstitions. So they didn't want to remember them, and they certainly didn't write it down.“
„Hah! That makes sense,“ said Fëanáro. He gave me a sly sideways glance. „What a time, huh, when smiths ruled as powerful magicians?“
I shrugged. „I wouldn't know. I wasn't there.“

I should have been happy that I'd found someone who shared my curiosity about the ancient lore of our people, but did it have to be Fëanáro? It would make it even harder to keep him out of my thoughts if we shared other interests besides our craft. And maybe I was imagining things, but something about his fascination was unsettling. I think it was the way in which he put an emphasis on ruling. Silly, really. He was a prince and would surely be king when his father retired, so why should he care about the rulership of ancient smiths?
But maybe I had imagined that, too. When he next spoke, his voice sounded perfectly reasonable. „Well, no, of course not. But it's an interesting scenario to imagine.“
„Yes, I suppose so,“ I grudgingly acknowledged.
He spoke on with genuine warmth in his voice: „I'm so happy that I came here. There's so much to learn!“
My foolish heart fluttered like a tiny bird, not one of my stone-sculpted ones but one made of blood and bone and feather, confused and lured into a trap by a hunter's whistle.

We had now reached our patch in the forest, easily recogniseable because the path was now lined with very young trees. In order to appease Yavanna (but also out of our own sense of reason) we planted a new tree for every one that we felled – mostly oaks and beeches, which were useful for a great deal of purposes, but also some fast-growing conifers. The trees that we were passing now had been planted perhaps five years ago, and as we went on, the seedlings were steadily growing younger. I counted their rows in an attempt at calming my mind. Slowly, the fluttering in my chest seemed to abate. I imagined that I was building a cage for the little bird, putting cold iron bars around it to keep it safely in its place.
Fëanáro, oblivious to my inner workings, broke the silence. „Reforestation?“ he asked.
With some satisfaction, I noticed that his voice now didn't cause any new stirrings in my chest. I even managed to muster some annoyance for him stating the obvious.
„It would be too much of a coincidence if all these trees had grown at exactly the same time all by themselves, wouldn't it?“

He sighed, but fortunately didn't continue to ask. In fact, he remained blissfully silent until we came to the place where we currently made our charring piles. For an outsider, it had a desolate air: an unnaturally large clearing, with regular stacks of cut wood; and in its middle, an almost perfect circle of dry loam and mud and coal dust. A make-shift shelter stood at some distance to provide basic protection from rain or wind, should either become a bother while folk were out making charcoal. Behind it ran a brook that became a small torrent in spring but was now rarely more than a trickle through boggier ground. The brook made it a particularly good spot for charring, because that meant a reliable supply of wet earth as well as water for drinking and, should it be necessary, quenching any unwanted fires.
To me, this clearing and others like it were familiar places; but it did look eerie if you didn't know how it had come about, so I couldn't blame Fëanáro for saying, „What a strange place.“ He shuddered a little. „It's rather unnatural, isn't it?“
The sentiment was understandable, but I still found myself annoyed by it. Who had been so eager to learn the secrets of charcoal-making mere minutes ago? „Well, if it bothers you too much, you can always return to Aulë.“
„Are you joking? Lessons like this are exactly why I had to leave Aulë's tutelage. I just don't understand what's behind this place – yet. Naturally, you will explain it to me, and I have no doubt that once I understand it, I will be satisfied.“ He put down his bundle and the spade next to the circle of soot. „So, this is where the ancient magic takes place?“
For some reason, his words sent a little shiver down my spine – not at all unpleasant, a tingle of excitement. I ignored it. „It's not magic. As I told you, it's a specialised but perfectly natural process.“
He sighed. „All right. This is where the perfectly natural process takes place. Where do we begin?“

I set my bundle down underneath the lopsided little shelter. „You can begin by digging, if you please. Use the remains of last time's kiln – that's the black circle – to guide you. That whole space needs to be dug out,. Not very deep, one blade length will do, but as regular as possible. Put the diggings on the side, all around. If you come across stones or pieces of wood, sort them out.“
He tilted his head. „What will you do?“
I raised an eyebrow. „I won't laze and watch you working, don't worry.“
He smirked a little. „I'll keep my shirt on, then.“
Insufferable fellow! I folded my arms across my chest and glared, hoping that he wouldn't guess what the mere thought was doing to me. „Yes, do that,“ I said more hotly than was reasonable. „At your usual pace, you're going to freeze, otherwise.“ It was not a particularly clever retort, I had to admit, but it was the best I could think of.
It also seemed to touch a sore spot. „I am a hard worker when I know what to do,“ he said in that petulant drawl he always used when someone corrected him. „And I know how to use a spade.“
„Good,“ I said harshly. „I was afraid I'd have to do all the work myself.“
He stuck the spade in the ground forcefully as if to prove that he knew how to handle it. „You still haven't told me what you'll be doing.“ The first spadeful of dirt flew to the side of the circle. Most of it was dry and crumbly; we would have to carry a lot of water, then.
I sighed. „I'll bring the wood. If we're lucky, most of it will already have been cut to size. If we aren't, I'll have to do some chopping.“
„What is the right size?“
„A matter of experience.“ He opened his mouth to ask more – for a precise measurement, I expected – so I cut him short. „I'll show you when I'm done.“
Fëanáro gave a grudging nod. „All right.“ More earth sailed through the air, landing where the first spadeful had landed. He did know how to dig. That was some consolation.
„Remember not to put it all in one place, but all around the circle,“ I told him.
He said again, „All right,“ but then frowned. „Why?“
„Because we'll need it to cover the wood, once we've stacked it,“ I said. „And that will be easier if we have a store of loose earth all around, rather than having to carry it all the way around.“
„Oh,“ he said. „But how is the wood supposed to burn if it's covered in earth?“
We would never achieve anything, I thought with a sinking feeling. I could already have sorted the wood and prepared the stacking by now. The digging should be almost finished. Instead, we were busy discussing the theory behind it.
„It isn't supposed to burn,“ I said. „It's supposed to char. That's the whole point.“
„But --“ he began. I held my hand up to stop him, and miraculously, he shut up.
„Look,“ I said, massaging the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache I could feel coming. „It's good that you want to understand what you're doing. Really. But if I have to explain it all in advance, we still won't be done by this time tomorrow. There will be plenty of time to explain the process later. A lot of it will become clear as we move on, anyway. But now, we really need to get started. So can you please, please just do what I tell you? Can you just trust me that it'll make sense later?“

Truth be told, I didn't think my impassioned plea would do any good. I fully expected further arguments. But to my surprise, he nodded his agreement. „Yes. Of course I trust you.“
I blinked, and wondered what he was planning now – surely he wouldn't give in so easily – but he immediately set himself to work without further questions. So I just said „Thank you,“ and turned towards the pre-cut wood. How much of it there was, and in what quality, always depended on how the last round of charring had gone. If it had been calm and boring, they would have prepared a lot of wood; but if things had been more complicated (or if the apprentices had found a more absorbing way of entertaining themselves), it would barely be enough to get a new kiln going. I was in luck, however. There were chopped-up trunks and thick branches in sufficient quantity, and also heaps of smaller branches and twigs and brush-wood. I began to carry the bigger pieces to the circle. Fëanáro now appeared to be content to dig, moving with efficiency and grace, so I could likewise work in peace. Carrying the wood from the storing piles to the site of the kiln was arduous work, and soon I was sweating. Still, it was satisfying to see the heaps next to the circle grow.
As I brought another heavy load of logs, I could see that Fëanáro had stopped digging. I could also see that he had wiped his face with his dirty hands, leaving a smear of dark forest earth on his brow. He now looked much like he had when I had first met him, out in the wild, stuck in a rabbit hole. How long ago that seemed to be!

He grinned when he noticed that was studying him.
„You've got dirt on your face,“ I said before he could think that I was looking at him for the pleasure of it.
The grin intensified. „As you do,“ he said.
I could only hope that the dirt would conveniently hide the heat in my cheeks, and shrugged. „Are you done?“
„That's for you to decide,“ Fëanáro replied equanimously. „I think I have done as you asked, but I'm lacking the experience to judge.“
I ignored that barb, instead glancing at the dug-out circle. „Good enough,“ I stated.
„Phew!“ Fëanáro said in mock-relief, wiping his brow again, rubbing the dirt deeper into his skin. „What next?“
„You can fetch the brushwood, and then you can help me arrange the pile.“
To my surprise, he went at once and without complaint. When he came back, I had selected the logs that would form the central shaft. I waited until Fëanáro had joined me in the circle before arranging the logs. „Here, this will be the flue,“ I explained, making sure the wood stayed in position. „It'll have to support the entire structure, so it has to be constructed properly. There. Now we can stack the rest around it. Larger pieces towards the middle, please.“
With a frown, Fëanáro asked, „Shouldn't we start with a layer of brushwood and kindling?“
„No, because we won't be lighting the fire from below.“
„All right,“ he said in a drawn-out, doubtful manner. „If you think that works.“
„Trust me,“ I repeated, and he began to pass me thick branches and logs. After a while of observing how I arranged them, he began to work towards the other side. He got the hang of it quickly enough – now that he didn't waste time asking questions or defending his ignorance. Soon, we had piled up all the prepared wood. We could have used a little more, but I decided that preparing it would take longer than it was worth. I made sure that Fëanáro's side of the pile was sufficiently stable, then showed him how to cover it first with brushwood, then with the earth he had previously dug out. Finally, we had covered the entire pile except for the central flue. We took a step back to admire our work, almost simultaneously, and then had to laugh as we looked at each other. We were both smeared with loam, soot and sawdust, looking like toddlers who had first raided a workshop, then crawled through a garden soaked after a good rain. Unfairly, Fëanáro managed to look smashing even in this undignified state. I had hoped that seeing him covered in dirt would finally help to drive away my frustrating infatuation, but instead, I discovered that I found him quite desirable in this state. More dangerously, it removed him from the world of fashion, which I didn't care for, and put him into my world of solid earth and craft.

Oblivious to the discussion I was leading with my infatuated self, the object of the argument raised his eyebrows, his bright-eyed gaze piercing my already weak defenses. „What now, oh Mistress of the Earth?“ Fëanáro asked.
„Don't call me that,“ I hissed with more rancor than his harmless joke deserved.
He blinked, hard, then frowned. „No need to be like that,“ he pointed out. „I don't see what gave you offense.“
I clenched my eyes shut, hoping to clear my mind. „Not me. Yavanna. Yavanna is not fond of what we're doing here. So it's not something you should joke about.“ I said. Honestly, the boy didn't think about what others might feel for a second, did he? I, on the other hand, thought about it too much: Already I felt guilty for snapping at him. In a more reconciliatory tone, I added, „Besides, I'm tired.“
„Well, it wasn't my idea to go out here after a long day's work,“ he said. „You decided to meet after dinner.“
I sighed. „It's customary. And sensible. We'll need to keep a close watch on the fire at first, and that's easier done when it's as dark as possible. In Laurelin's full light, the glow of sparks or embers is hardly discernable, so we need to light the fire early in Telperion's hours.“
„Like now?“ For while we had laboured, the faint light of the mingling had given way to the gentle silver that never quite reached the forest floor.

I couldn't help noticing that the pale light made Fëanáro's cheekbones and nose appear more perfectly chiselled than ever. Angry with myself, I looked away. „Not quite yet,“ I said. „We have to open a few inlets at the foot of the pile first.“
„We just closed it all up! We even dug up additional earth! And now you're telling me we have to take that away?“
„Yes, but if we'd left it out from the start, we wouldn't have been able to close the pile further up. Besides, we'll need the mud to block the inlets later on, once the fire has eaten its way down.“
„Uh-huh,“ Fëanáro said, watching as I removed two handsful of mud from the base of the pile. „It's all a bit primitive, isn't it?“
„The simplicity is part of the beauty, as far as I am concerned,“ I retorted, and was surprised when he readily agreed.
„Quite so. It is satisfying to think that we are still doing this in the way in which our ancestors worked – in which the Avari are still working, for all we know.“ He was voicing my own thoughts. How frustrating!
„Still,“ he continued, „it is surprising. We seem to have found such elaborate ways of doing almost everything else, it's unusual to find something that hasn't changed.“ He began to assemble a small heap of kindling.
I shrugged, having nothing clever to say, and continued to create inlets around the pile. Being done, I told Fëanáro to light the pile. „You've got the longer arms, so you can reach the top of the pile more easily.“
„All right. How do I light the fire?“
„The normal way,“ I said. „Just put the kindling into the central hole. It should catch just fine, thanks to the draft.“
„That's not what I mean,“ Fëanáro said. „In spite of my name, I cannot actually set things on fire with my spirit--“
I rolled my eyes. „You're welcome to use a flint like any normal person.“
He still didn't move. „I don't have one with me,“ he said. I felt that some guilt should register in his voice, but instead, he sounded reproachful. I stood up to give him a proper glare.
„Don't tell me you went into the woods to make charcoal – without bringing a flint?!“
„You didn't tell me to bring one!“ he accused me.
„Good grief. Some things should go without saying.“ I dug my flint, firesteel and box of tinder from my pouch. „Here, oh Spirit of Fire, take mine.“
He took them without a word of thanks, fumbling with the steel. „It's smaller than I'm used to,“ he complained.
I had to move a few steps to keep from yelling at him. „My hands are smaller than yours,“ I said, keeping my voice calm with an enormous effort. „Never mind, I'll do it.“
„I can light a fire,“ he protested, and finally did.

Once the kindling had caught well and the nascent flames began to eat their way into the pile with a happy hiss, Fëanáro gave me an expectant look. „What now?“
„Now one of us guards the fire, and one of us gets to wash by the brook. Then we switch. Then we can sit down and discuss all these burning questions of yours.“
„Burning questions!“ he repeated with a chuckle, and against better reason I felt pleased because my meagre pun had amused him. „So who gets to wash first?“
I shrugged. „You can go. I assume you're eager to restore your princely cleanliness.“
He chuckled again, even though I hadn't meant to be funny. „Not particularly,“ he said in a good-natured kind of voice, „but if my state of unprincely uncleanliness is offensive to you, then I shall hurry to amend the situation.“
It wasn't exactly offensive – it was only forest dirt and soot, after all, no manure – but I had hoped that once he looked a little less like a normal apprentice, once he became the paragon of fashion again, the frustrating turmoil in my mind would abate.
He spoiled that hope. Unlike any normal apprentice, he not just cleaned his face and hands, but also washed his clothing, returning in only his loincloth so he could show off his fine muscled frame. Heat surged up in my belly. I clenched my fists. „You'll be cold,“ I said harshly, hoping that he would mistake the slight tremor in my voice for disapproval.
„You didn't tell me to bring a change of clothing,“ he said, seemingly unperturbed, while he hung his tunic and pants from a tree to dry. „I did not want to expose you to my unclean sight, since it seemed to bother you so.“
„You're a lot more exposed now,“ I pointed out coldly.
„True,“ he said with a grin. „But does it bother you?“
I didn't dignify him with an answer, instead heading for the brook myself. I rubbed my hands and especially my face clean, but left my clothing as dirty as it was.

He had kindly wrapped himself in his blanket as I returned. It was now as dark as it ever got, and quite cool. The Valar let a series of cold nights precede the harvest because, as Yavanna tells us, grain and fruit use the cold as a signal to finish ripening. As it happened, the cool but dry night air made for perfect charring conditions, ensuring a quick and steady draft so the fire could easily make its way deep into the pile. Already, the gentle crackling sound of the kindling had been replaced by the steady rush of strong flames. It was loud enough to cover the sound of my footsteps, and Fëanáro didn't notice my return, observing the sparks and smoke that issued from the flue of our kiln. For a moment, I was tempted to sit on the opposite side of the heap so I wouldn't have to see him. But of course that was not an option. So I sat down, at a safe distance, but close enough for conversation. I wasn't surprised to find that he had a lot of burning questions, and I did my best to answer them all.
To be fair, he did a good job of remembering details once he'd been told them. I came to realise that he wanted to know the theory of everything to be be well-prepared for the practice of it. It wasn't how I had been taught at all – we generally limited theory to the briefest of briefings, then learned by doing, and once we had a certain amount of practice, began to explore and explain the finer details. Fëanáro apparently preferred to know the entire history of walking before taking his first baby steps. In secret, I wondered whether it would have helped him to receive a lecture on the history and technique of the sacred art of sweeping a floor in advance. The idea made me grin without properly noticing.
„See?“ Fëanáro promptly said (why did he have to look at my face in that exact moment?). „It's not so bad explaining things to me.“
I didn't bother to explain that I hadn't smiled because I enjoyed teaching him. Instead, I replaced the thoughtless smile with a very deliberate glare. „At the right time, it isn't,“ I said. „But you rarely wait for the right time.“
„That's true,“ he admitted at once, surprising me. How he managed to sound so honest when he was clearly winding me up, I do not know. „That's one of my flaws.“
„Oh, yes, one of your rare flaws,“ I quipped.
„Your words, not mine,“ he said.

Because I had given him my best lecture on the history and process of charring coal, Fëanáro was able to spot when the orange glow of the fire reached the inlets we had made at the foot of the pile at the same time as I did. He rose at once, only then turning to see whether I was moving as well.
„Yes, congratulations, you're quick,“ I said sourly.
„I wasn't aware that it was a race,“ he replied in a wide-eyed display of ignorance. „I just realised that I forgot to ask whether it was actually the right time for blocking the inlets.“
„Well, it is.“ We used the loam we had removed earlier to close the gaps, and marched around the pile to look for the tell-tale gleam of other weak spots. In a few places, the heat had already cracked the loam covering, and we had to add more earth. As the draft ceased inside the pile, the rushing noise died down until it was completely gone. We could hear the gentle breeze playing in the trees again, occasionally underlined by the cracks and pops of the superheated wood inside the pile.
„And now?“ Fëanáro asked again. „Time to sleep?“
I couldn't keep from laughing. „You sleep, if you're that tired! One of us has to watch the pile. It's no longer burning openly, but the fire could still escape if there are any faults in the covering. Or there could be an explosion, if there's a wet piece of wood in there. Or the sparks could find a nest of dry leaves and set the woods on fire...“
„I can keep watch, if you wish to sleep,“ Fëanáro suggested, affecting chivalry.
I raised an eyebrow. „And what would you do if anything untoward happened – if you notice it in the first place, inexperienced as you are?“
„Wake you up?“
„Takes too long, in an emergency,“ I pointed out.
„So we both stay awake,“ Fëanáro decided.
I sighed. I would have preferred to send him to sleep and sit in peace, but it was common sense to stay awake together. I forced myself to nod. „That's why we go out to make charcoal in pairs, anyway,“ I grudgingly said, to myself as much as to him. „To make sure nobody nods off.“
„There we go, then.“ Fëanáro sat down, huddling into his blanket again. „So what do we do, alone in the woods, sharing these dark hours?“
I felt my face flush at the ideas that immediately sprang to my head. I didn't voice them. Instead I put more effort than necessary into unwrapping the food I had brought for our midnight snack: dried sausages, bread and summer apples.
„Ah,“ Fëanáro said. Even without looking at him, I could tell that he was grinning. „We pass the time by eating?“
„Among other things,“ I said, pushing one wooden bowl over to him. „Generally, we also guess riddles, tell stories or sing songs. And when it gets brighter again, we can prepare the wood for the next charring.“ I pointed into the dimness ahead, where several felled trees were still waiting to be trimmed and cut to length. „But first, yes, we eat.“

Chapter 22

I really have no excuse for this. It's like the "Twilight" chapter. I'm so sorry. The Elves made me do it.

Read Chapter 22

Chapter 22

We ate. Then, we sat in silence. Muffled crackling came from the covered pile as water and impurities were burnt from the wood. I cursed the slowness of the process, waiting for the night to be over. I was tired and wishing to be somewhere else. At the same time, I had to roll my eyes at myself. Always, always I had enjoyed the nights spent out in the woods by the charring pile. Being out in the dark – well, as dark as it got – and involved in a primeval art always sent pleasant shivers down my spine. Now, however, everything was overshadowed by my unlikely companion. Fëanáro's eyes were glinting in the darkness. Earlier, the firelight had painted harsh shadows on his face, making his high cheekbones and straight nose look even more sharpely chiselled than usual. It had given him a feral edge. Now, the diffuse light of Telperion that reached our clearing softened his features, giving him a youthful, sensual look. Either sight was frustratingly fascinating. But it wasn't just that he was handsome - I hadn't cared for him the least bit, as long as he had just been handsome. But unfortunately, there was more to him. A clever mind, for starters. And although I had avoided looking at his work so far, I had no reason to doubt father's judgement of his skill. And he appeared to share my fascination in lore from the ancient days, too. All of that made him extremely attractive to me. However much I told myself that he was not at all what I was looking for, much in him was exactly what I was looking for.

Well, and he did look unfairly handsome, too. I could hardly tear my eyes away – until his burning gaze met mine. My heart flared up in shock, and on instinct, I turned my face away. Surely he had seen the longing in my stare – from me, who had sworn not to be one of those ladies that doted on him! I fully expected him to point that out – he was never one to keep his thoughts to himself, after all. But no smart comment came. Had he, against all reason, not noticed? Had my adoration been less obvious than it had felt? Or maybe the gloom had shrouded it from his gaze; maybe his eyes were less sharp than they appeared. I told myself to act normal lest he did pick up on my awkward fascination after all.
„So,“ I said, making an effort to sound indifferent. „I noticed you didn't need instructions for handling a spade. How come? You didn't exactly leave the impression of being a competent gardener.“

Fëanáro sighed. „Thank you for pointing out my shortcomings,“ he said in a tone that expressed anything but gratitude. „I made spades while training with Aulë. I tested them, too. I always test my work. I feel that I can only do a good job if I understand how a tool is used. It seems to work well enough, on the whole.“
I made a non-committal noise. Damn him for such a reasonable attitude towards his work! Fortunately, another shortcoming of his came to my mind. „What about sickles, then? I saw the mess you made when you tried to cut the grass. Yet I am told that you're boasting of having invented a better sickle?“
„You, of course, have always been perfect at your first attempt,“ Fëanáro shot back, beginning to sound annoyed.
„I do not claim to be perfect now,“ I pointed out. „Nor do I claim to have improved a tool that our people have been making in the same manner for centuries.“
He snorted in disdain. „Things can be done badly for centuries. And even things that have been done reasonably well for centuries can still be improved. You know, of course, that sickles, as they are made now, have to be replaced every harvesting season?“
I shrugged. „Of course. The blade needs to be kept sharp, and every time you sharpen it, you wear off a bit of the material. After a while, there's not enough left to keep using a sickle. That's the nature of things. Then we make a new one. We make a lot of sickles every year. It's not hard.“
„It's not much of an effort, but it's a bit tedious, isn't it? So I've experimented a little, and come up with something better.“
„That's what I heard. Allow me to express my doubts.“
I made the mistake of glancing over to see how he was taking that. In good stride, actually – but the look he gave me in return again fanned the heat I felt in my chest and, as a result, on my face.

„Allow me to convince you,“ he said. „The problem with our current blades is that the steel is too soft, and therefore easily worn off.“
„You haven't replaced it with harder steel, have you? Because if you had more experience in working with sickles, you'd know that they mustn't be too brittle.“
„I realised that,“ he said impatiently. „So I asked myself: Why don't I combine the two? Hard steel to keep the edge, soft steel so it doesn't snap. I have, as I said, experimented a little, and I believe that I've found a way of making it work.“
„Really?“ I asked, curious against my own will.
„I think so,“ Fëanáro simply replied. He did not continue, clearly waiting for me to ask for elaboration. I didn't like to do him the favour, but I was too intrigued now.
„How? You can't just melt and mix the two...“
„You can't,“ he agreed, „but you can fold and beat them together so that they become welded into one, without loosing their separate qualities.“ He smiled proudly.
„Surely they will fall apart,“ I said, frowning.
„They won't. I assure you that I've tested it. They honestly become one.“
I looked away, pretending to be immensely interested by the charring pile. „Two things welded into one, and yet keeping their separate qualities,“ I said, trying not to sound impressed, although I was. „How very clever.“

I probably did sound impressed after all, because Fëanáro completely ignored the irony. „I know!“ he said emphatically. „Do you know what gave me the idea?“
„No,“ I said, and hoped that he wouldn't ask me to guess. I could well imagine a case in which two things – two people, to be precise – came together so very close that they were as one. This was not something I wanted to discuss with Fëanáro. It was bad enough that parts of me wanted to do just that with Fëanáro.
His own thoughts were fortunately going into a different direction altogether. „The Mingling of the Lights,“ he explained. „Did you notice that even when both Trees are alight, you can always tell which beams come from Laurelin, and which are Telperion's? I can, anyway. The two kinds of light have entirely different qualities. Yet they flow together into one.I thought that it might be possible to recreate that in steel, and I feel that I succeeded. A sickle made using my technique stays sharp for longer, and therefore should last longer. Personally, I think it also works better, but I realise that I lack the experience to truly judge this. I think it works better for an unskilled harvester like me, at any rate.“
I consciously had to keep from gaping. If what he said was true, he had – in the matter of just a few weeks – revolutionised our whole craft. If it was possible to combine the advantages of both hard and soft steel, that not only made the good old sickle better, but every bladed tool. And who knows what else! I decided that it wasn't fair not to say so out loud.
„That changes everything, doesn't it?“ I said. „Not only harvesting. Anything that has a blade would last longer and keep its edge longer.“ The possibilities just began to dawn on me. „Knives. Axes. Spades. A lot less time wasted sharpening and replacing tools.“
Fëanáro smiled, and I could hardly breathe with excitement. Not because of him, I told myself, but because of his clever idea. But of course, the two belonged together.
„I'm glad you approve,“ he said, and in my excitement I thought it sounded as though it really mattered.
„Who wouldn't?“ I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. „Well, like you, I am very young. So I am not certain that the established smiths will accept it. Even you doubted me at first, and you know very well that a young craftsman can still achieve something great.“
„Father never doubted you.“
A shrug. „Master Mahtan is great enough to encourage greatness in others. Lesser craftsmen may be less eager to admit that they have been doing something less than perfect for centuries. And what about the Valar?“
I frowned, not understanding what he meant. „What about them?“
„It was Aulë who taught us how to make blades of steel,“ Fëanáro said matter-of-factly. „We make sickles in the way in which Aulë instructed us. You, Nerdanel, have bested Alcaráco, an established craftsman. But I...“
Now my breath truly caught in my throat. „If what you told me is true, you have bested Aulë,“ I whispered. It was unthinkable. Aulë was skill, Aulë was craft; how could a mere Elda like Fëanáro come up with something that was beyond the teachings of Aulë? If my sculpture had threatened to shake the peace of the Noldor, then Fëanáro's discovery could shake the peace of the world. Half of me wanted to run away, hide, unhear what I had heard. The other half, unpleasantly, was beginning to burn with admiration. That half would have liked to kiss his skillful hands, and the lips that had shared this knowledge with me. Was not that an amazing sign of trust? Didn't that make us, in a way, kindred spirits? Maybe, in some ways, we were not so different after all? Maybe we belonged together? Embarrassed, I glanced over at him. Was I imagining things, or was he looking at me with a warmth that might almost be affection? I surely was delusional, but what if I wasn't?
I said nothing.

Fëanáro eventually spoke, calmly, as if the world hadn't been shaken at all. „Maybe I have discovered something that Aulë does not know. Or maybe I have merely discovered something that Aulë did not choose to share with us. I have been wondering, Nerdanel – maybe the Valar want our blades to be soft, and to require constant replacing? Maybe we are not meant to have perpetually sharp sickles, or axes, or knives? Maybe they do not trust us? Maybe they think that it would make us... dangerous?“
„To the Valar?“ I asked, confused. „Whyever that? Why should better tools make us dangerous? Even if we get better at harvesting, or at chopping wood, or whatever... they are still Valar.“
„Yes, but what if they don't think of blades as tools? What if they are weapons?“
Now he was being silly. That was a relief. I had a chance of fighting my infatuation if he said things that were silly. “That makes no sense. This is not the darkness of Endorë. We have no battles to fight. We have no need for weapons.“ The idea was wholly absurd. „Besides, the Vanyar keep on practicing their spear dances, and are praised for it. I don't think the Valar are worrying about us and weapons.“
Fëanáro raised his eyebrows as if doubting my words, but then he shrugged. „Maybe you are right. Maybe I am overthinking things. All I need to worry about are resentful craftsmen, then...“
„Father will not resent you the glory – if what you told me is true. He's proud of your achievements, you know.“ I would not normally have told him, but just now, I felt it was the right thing to do.
And indeed, his eyes glowed with happiness at my words. „I am glad. And Aulë will take it in good humour, I assume. But the others?“
I had no real answer to that. „At least you aren't involved in a contest,“ was all I could think of.

He gave a short laugh. „That is true! I've made a few prototypes, so far. Maybe they'll catch on before anyone realises they were made by a mere apprentice.“ He rolled his eyes. Even when he looked so goofy, I wanted to kiss him. Good grief.
„Besides, you're the son of the king,“ I pointed out. „You can't be snubbed as easily as some random girl with big ideas.“
„I don't know,“ Fëanáro replied, more serious now. „Maybe. I suppose it'll be interesting to see how Father decides when it's either me, or the peace of the Noldor.“ He glanced at me sideways. In spite of the late hour and his almost grim tone, his eyes were sparkling as much as ever. „Aren't we two revolutionaries.“
It was harmlessly meant, no doubt – a throwaway joke, two revolutionary apprentices out in the woods – but it hit me to my core. If I had imagined the silly bird of infatuation safely behind bars, that cage was shattered now. The little bird was dancing on my heartstrings, happily singing. If I listened closely, I could hear it over the rushing of blood in my ears.
I tried to laugh it off. „Yes. Who knows what we could achieve together.“ It was meant to be a joke, too, but as soon as I had spoken, I knew that it didn't sound like one. It sounded like a desperate plea for attention.

Fëanáro reacted more kindly than I would have expected. Maybe he was tired after all – too tired for scorn. He didn't mask his surprise, of course. His eyebrows went up, and the corners of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
I said all the more. „I mean, as Father's apprentices. Or maybe sharing a workshop. Or... I mean, we don't need to do that. Or work together at all. I thought, since we've both managed to offend our betters... or if we wanted to train apprentices...“ I shut up. Babbling didn't make it better, but rather worse.
He didn't reply at once; maybe he was trying to think of a diplomatic way to tell me that there was no way in which we would ever work, or achieve anything, together. He found one. He said, „Yes. Who knows.“
His voice wasn't unkind, and he smiled as he said it, the gentle smile you give to a little sister. In a way, that made it worse. It kept the embers in my heart aglow, and the little bird alive, while the voice of reason pointed out that he was just indulging me. I did not want indulgence. I wanted what I could not have. No, I didn't. Some silly part of me just thought I wanted what I could not have. But I did not want him! Except that I did. How frustrating, to be at odds with oneself!

I lapsed into furious silence, and he did not break it.
It felt as if Laurelin would never awaken. Time seemed to stretch out infinitely as we both kept our thoughts to ourselves. At least there was no risk of falling asleep. Although I felt drained, in mind as well as in body, there were too many conflicting thoughts battling with each other. Nodding off would have been impossible. I stared at our charring pile and told myself that my eyes were just burning because they were so tired, dry like the mud covering on the dying embers of our pile. In my mind's eye, my aching heart, too, looked like that; but whereas here, the fire under the mud covering had already gone down, the heat in my heart continued to burn, painfully, as if feeding on my very spirit.
When at last the first golden beams began to join the silver light of the night, they brought no solace, either. Acutely, they reminded me of what Fëanáro had told me about how the mingled light still kept its distinct quality. If you looked closely, it did. Not that you could actually see separate sparks of golden or silver light in the gentle morning glow - It wasn't like a salad, where you could clearly see what was lettuce and what was radish and what was herb. But neither was it like milk, where you could no longer tell fat and water apart. It was two utterly different entities, flowing into one.
Involuntarily, I glanced over at Fëanáro – only to realise that he had been watching me. Something was strange about his smile. My foolish heart insisted on claiming that it could be affection. But that was just wishful thinking. More likely, it was triumph, because he knew that I had joined the ranks of his admirers after all. Maybe it even was disdain.
I got to my feet, shrugged my shoulders, shook my tired limbs. „Time to get to work,“ I said, and picked up the axe. It was a relief to vent my frustration on the logs of wood. After a while, Fëanáro joined me. To my relief, he had put on his damp clothing again; and he asked no questions, but began to stack the cut logs and branches of his own accord.

When Helyanwë and Lindo came to help us carry back the coal, they arrived singing and making more noise than strictly necessary. It was a well-established custom, to warn those who had watched the pile that company was approaching. If they weren't quite decent, they had a chance to cover up. Sometimes, one of the apprentices was visited at night by their sweetheart – or, as in the case of Aimíriel and Palatáro, two apprentices became sweethearts, spending the night by the fire to exchange affections. It made my face burn again to think that Helyanwë thought it necessary to give me a timely warning while I was out in the woods with Fëanáro. As if, I said under breath. In my mind, the little bird chirped, if only.
At least the coal had turned out well. The wood had charred all the way through, but still retained its firm structure. It had cooled down enough to be touched and packed up, and it made a pleasant, metallic sound as we shoved it into sacks. I was taciturn while we were working. Fëanáro took care of the talking, telling the others how much he had enjoyed learning this secret skill, and how thrilling it was to think that our clever forebears had discovered this art all by themselves.
„Poor Nerdanel,“ Helyanwë said quietly, when he could get a word in. „Was he like that all night?“
I shrugged, unable to think of a clever answer.
Lindo took that as a yes. He laughed. „No wonder you look as if you haven't slept in a week.“
„That is true,“ Fëanáro said earnestly, giving me an innocent stare. „You look terrible.“

Whoosh! Like a bucket full of icy water, his words finally doused the glow in my heart. Terrified, the little bird flew away as the steam of resentment rose from where the fire had been. I felt betrayed, and angry. Of course I was looking terrible. My complexion betrayed exhaustion as easily as it showed embarrassment, and even without a mirror I knew that I would be sporting purple botches under my eyes, that my skin would have the sickly hue of cream cheese, and that my hair was either sticking up frizzily where it had escaped my braid, or plastered onto my skull by sweat and dirt. I was smeared with mud and coal dust. What else should I look like, after a sleepless night working with charcoal? Fëanáro, of course, somehow managed to look pretty even after a night's wake and work; his hair was as sleek and silky as ever, and the dark circles around his eyes only seemed to underline their elegant almond shape. The contrast brutally showed how different, how ill-matched we were: the popular, fashionable prince, beautiful even now, and me, plain and unseemly and utterly unfashionable. It was true, but still it was unkind to blame me for it, I thought angrily. Even if I had brought it upon myself by babbling about shared futures.
Well, now I was well and truly cured of such illusions. Never again would I admire anything Fëanáro said or did! I shouldered my bag of coal with renewed strength. As I took to the path, I fervently hoped that Fëanáro's grand new technique would prove to be ineffective, or if it really worked, that nobody would want it. Or better yet, that someone else would get the credit! Childish, yes, unworthy of an almost grown woman, most certainly – but these vengeful thoughts were all that kept me from crying.
I marched ahead furiously, not caring for the comments that the others were calling behind me.

I had just washed and dressed in a clean tunic when the farmers came knocking. Father had already opened the door as I rushed down the stairs. I stopped in my tracks, hiding around the corner in the hallway.
„Good day, Master Mahtan,“ I heard from outside.
„And a good day to you, Umbas, Elwendo,“ Father replied cheerfully. „Come on in, if you have the time. How is the harvest going so far?“
„Quite well, quite well,“ Elwendo replied. „Keeping us busy. We'll be needing all hands soon. But we could be doing better yet. We've come to ask for new sickles...“
My stomach gave a violent lurch.
Meanwhile, Father showed no sign of surprise. „Yes, certainly. Just for the two of you? Or more? We are prepared to deliver a dozen by tomorrow night...“
I could hear embarrassment in Umbas' voice as he answered, „Um. Actually... no offense, Master Mahtan... but would it be possible to have them made by your apprentice, the one who made Sirillë's new sickle?“
Even from behind, I could see that Father was taken aback now; his shoulders literally twitched in surprise.
There was an awkward pause. Then Father laughed, loudly and happily.
„Fëanáro!“ he hollered, half-turning towards the stairwell. „You've got customers!“

I fled into the studio.

Chapter 23

In which Elves spit out watermelon seeds. They're clearly only human.

Read Chapter 23

Chapter 23

An then the harvesting season was truly and well upon us, and all hands were needed in the fields to cut the corn. Those were days of intense labour, aching knees and backs and sore muscles. It was completely different from our usual kind of work, and the fields of Yavanna seemed to stretch out forever. The back-breaking work was sweetened by the knowledge that it would feed us for a year, by Yavanna's gentle support, and by the prospect of the feast that lay at the end of the harvest. Of course, the city folk had it even worse than we who regularly swung hammers or chopped wood, and soon, they fell far behind. Even further back were the Vanyar and Teleri, and in between ran the children who went through the lines of sheaves to pick up fallen grains (if they remembered to do so).

The professional farmers, of course, were ahead of us all. They cut whole swathes of corn and bound them into sheaves in the same time it took most of us to just cut a single sheaf. The metalworkers always came close behind; we were the quickest to sharpen our blunted blades again, and thus managed to catch up a bit whenever the farmers had to work with their grindstones. This time, however, the farmers seemed to be even faster than usual. I had a certain suspicion why that might be. Involuntarily, I glanced back to where Fëanáro was working – surrounded by doting girls from the city, of course. Why he was trying to help with the harvest at all, I did not understand. The king's household didn't normally join in this labour, instead going ahead to Valmar to prepare the celebrations that followed the harvest. But Fëanáro had insisted that he belonged to Father's household rather than the king's at the moment. Fair enough - but he barely touched the corn. Instead, there was a lot of talking and laughing going on, born over to where I was working with Helyanwë and Cermion and the others. I shouldn't have cared – laughter was a good way of keeping the exhaustion at bay, so it did serve a function – but it grated on my nerves.
No matter. I was wasting my time, and quickly returned to the labour at hand.

Yavanna came around to offer us watermelons, a welcome refreshment in the mid-day heat. We sat down to enjoy them and rest a little. Even as Timosanwë cut up our melon into handy slices, footsteps rustled through the straw stubble. Erenwen, Sarnië and Mother's apprentices had decided to join us. Unfortunately, Fëanáro followed them. I would rather have seen Alcyo, but although we had exchanged waved greetings earlier, he remained with his father on the other side of the field.
I vowed to ignore Fëanáro, but he made that impossible. He not only sat down right next to me, he also addressed me at once.
„Hey,“ he said, with a grin that looked open and friendly and, a week ago, would have made my heart flutter. „You're pretty far ahead.“
I shrugged. „I'm not new to this,“ I pointed out. „Your new sickle isn't helping?“
He laughed. „It's a good tool, but it can't work miracles. Actually, I was wondering whether you wanted to have it. It's totally wasted on me, I'm a hopeless harvester.“
Helyanwë gave him a wide-eyed stare of mock surprise. „Such harsh judgement!“ he said. „I didn't know you were capable of that.“
Fëanáro glared at him. „I am as honest with myself as I am with others,“ he said, „aren't I, Nerdanel?“

I made a non-commital noise and pretended to be extremely interested in the pieces of melon that Timosanwë now handed out. Sarnië's greedy little hands were faster, of course.
„Are they special watermelons?“ she asked before taking a big bite out of her first piece.
„They are very good melons,“ Timosanwë said mildly.
„No, but I mean, are they special melons? Do they have powers?“
Raised eyebrows all around. „What do you mean by that?“
„Well, if they grew in Yavanna's garden...!“ Sarnië explained.
I was a little embarrassed by her naivety, even though she was small enough for such ideas. „Well, they are probably especially sweet and juicy,“ I tried to satisfy her curiosity.
„They have just as many pips as normal melons do, though,“ said Fëanáro, spitting out a few. „Hey, maybe they do have special powers. They could be oracle melons.“
„Oracle melons,“ I said flatly. I had never heard of such nonsense.
„Oh, yes!“ Sarnië sounded hopeful. She really wanted Yavanna's melons to have magical powers, apparently.
„You mean, like oracle groats?“ asked Erenwen, apparently ready to humour either our little sister or Fëanáro. We made oracle groats on the first day of the year, as probably everybody did, asking questions that supposedly were answered by the number of seeds you found on your spoon.
„Exactly!“ Fëanáro said cheerfully. „Ask a question that can be answered in numbers, and the melon pips will tell you the answer.“
Sarnië clapped her sticky hands. „Oh, yes! Let us try!“
I heaved a sigh. „He's being silly,“ I said. „There's no such thing as oracle melons.“
„There might be,“ Erenwen protested. I felt myself getting more annoyed than I had any reason to be. Maybe I was suffering from heatstroke, even though I was wearing a broad-rimmed straw hat to protect my head from the intensity of Laurelin's glare just like everyone else.
„Stop talking such nonsense,“ I hissed.

The corners of Sarnië's mouth went rapidly down, and I felt guilty at once. The others were frowning at me, too. „Peace,“ Cermion suggested, and Helyanwë said, „It's just a game, there's no harm in playing it.“
I didn't want to play any games, least of all one that Fëanáro had suggested, but Sarnië was looking at me with such pleading eyes that I didn't have the heart to say no. „Fine,“ I snapped, „but don't be disappointed if it doesn't work.“
„It's just a game,“ Erenwen echoed, and immediately began. „Helyanwë, how many years until you become a master craftsman?“
Helyanwë took a bite out of his melon slice, chewed thoughtfully, and eventually spit nine seeds into his hand. He groaned. „Oh no. I didn't know I was that slow.“
Fëanáro of all people tried to console him. „You aren't. They probably aren't going to let another of Master Mahtan's apprentices pass in a hurry.“
„Oh, yes,“ Helyanwë said, sounding relieved as though he really believed in the melon oracle. „That's probably true. Right, Fëanáro, how many years until you become a master smith, then?“

Fëanáro, to the laughter of all, took a massive bite out of his melon. He blinked in surprise, and showed us the pips his melon had yielded. Two. „I stand corrected,“ he said.
„You swallowed the rest!“ Sarnië protested, but Fëanáro shook his head. „I promise I didn't!“
Helyanwë muttered something under his breath that I could only guess at. I hoped that Sarnië wouldn't hear it.
Fëanáro rolled his shoulders. „Well, it's just a game,“ he said. „Next question! Nerdanel...“
My heart sank.
„How many children?“
Of all the silly questions! „I'll need a seedless watermelon,“ I said dryly, and took the smallest of bites. It was no good. The seeds seemed to multiply in my mouth. I spit out seven, to uproarious laughter.
„Whoa!“ Lindo exclaimed. „Really?“
„Who's going to be the father?“ Helyanwë asked with a sly glance.
I hoped that my face had already been red from the heat. How silly to blush at such a stupid game.
„The melon won't say,“ I said, trying to sound nonchalant. „But now we know for certain that it isn't working. Nobody has seven children.“
„Next question!“ Fëanáro called us to order. I gave him my angriest glare; he innocently raised his eyebrows.
„Erenwen,“ I asked. „How many books are you going to write?“
It really could have been a harmless game, but I was not in the mood to laugh it off. It didn't get better, either. The others got reasonable answers to the questions pointed at them – Sarnië was going to begin her apprenticeship in five years, Roitariel was going to eat four pasties for supper, Timosanwë would dance with six girls at the harvest feast, Lindo would continue his studies with a different master in eight years, Helyanwë would finish his next project in four weeks. But I had no luck at all. „How many years until you marry?“ Helyanwë asked me with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

„Is that a proposal?“ I tried to play down my embarrassment. Nobody expected me to get married in a hurry, of course.
Helyanwë snorted. „Just curiosity. How long until you find the mysterious father of your seven children, huh?“
I stuck my tongue out at him, but there was no stopping the game. I finished off my piece of melon, and to everybody's surprise, ended up with a mere three pips.
„Whoa!“ Erenwen exclaimed this time. „That's soon! Is there something I should know?“
„You should know that these melons have no clue about the future,“ I said angrily. „I told you it was nonsense.“
„Calm down,“ Erenwen said in a rather annoyingly aloof voice. „I'm just joking.“
„Yeah, right,“ I grumbled, annoyed with myself. „Timosanwë, how many more hours are we going to work today?“
Timosanwë cheerfully held up four seeds. „Until supper,“ he said. „Looks about right.“
„It is working!“ Sarnië said.
„Coincidence,“ I muttered.
„Of course,“ Timosanwë agreed cheerfully. „It's just good fun. Fëanáro, how many princes are you going to give to the Noldor?“
„Or princesses?“ Lindo threw in.
„At least one more than my father's wife has,“ Fëanáro said decisively, taking a huge bite out of the last piece of melon. „Here we go,“ he said once he had swallowed the pulp and counted the remaining pips.
„Seven...“ Erenwen said thoughtfully.
„Well, well!“ Helyanwë said. „Where have I heard that before?“
Even Sarnië, in her childish innocence, picked up on the concurrence. „So you'll both have seven children!“ she said in amazement, looking from Fëanáro to me.
Fëanáro shrugged and said nothing.
Cermion smirked. „The interesting question is, are you going to have them together?“
„Don't be absurd,“ I snapped and got to my feet. „This is only a silly game. There's no such thing as oracle melons. Now excuse me, I need to take a leak.“ I hurried into the shade of the forest. My stomach had tied into a knot. At the back of my memory, I heard the voice of Ravië ring through the misty bathing house at Alastondo. The next thing you'll tell me is that you're married and got seven brats running after you... Nonsense! I was taking this much too serious.

When I came back into the field, our group had split up and returned to work. My sickle was still lying on the old pillow I had been using to protect my knees all day, except that it wasn't my old sickle anymore. It had been replaced by what clearly was one of Fëanáro's new sickles. I had to struggle down the childish impulse to toss it far off into the field. It would have been much too dangerous; someone could have stepped onto the blade, or one of the children could have grasped it when picking up a handful of grains. Besides, whether I liked the craftman or not, it was still another person's work effort, which I had been brought up to respect.
And it was easy to respect this piece of work. It wasn't simply a tool, it was beautiful, too. I could see at once what Fëanáro had been talking about, welding soft and hard steel together. The different varieties were clearly recogniseable as incredibly thin, lighter and darker lines in the surface of the blade, zig-zagging and swirling like plumes of smoke or tufts of cloud. The edge was a darker, almost blueish cloud; the flat side had been polished to mirror smoothness. That by itself was beautiful, and because the blade – supposedly – wouldn't be worn down as swiftly as our usual blades of soft steel, Fëanáro had also dared to give it a sleeker, more elegant curve. He hadn't just gone to extraordinary efforts with the blade, but also with the handle. We normally used simple, untreated pieces of beech wood for those; there was no point in wasting a lot of time on something that had to be replaced frequently. Fëanáro had considered his sickle worth more effort; he had chosen the more valuable plum wood with its reddish-brown colour, the lines in the wood recalling the cloudy patterns of the blade. The handle had been smoothed and oiled so it had a pleasant, velvet-like finish. This could have been a bad idea, making it prone to slipping from a sweaty hand, but Fëanáro had thought of that, too. He had cut slight grooves into the wood so one's fingers found a better grip.
Astonishingly, even though my hands were supposedly so much smaller after his – he had complained about my tiny flintstone, hadn't he? - the handle of his sickle fit my fingers exactly. I would have liked to assume that he had mistaken the measurements, but considering the overall perfection of the sickle, such an error was unlikely. I was forced to suspect that he had made this sickle for me from the start, to show off his superior skill.
Well, I acknowledged it. In spite of my frustration with Fëanáro as a person, I rejoiced for the fellow craftsman who had achieved this work of art.

It was also a joy to work with. Once I had gotten used to the different balance and slightly changed angle, the blade cut through the corn stalks with hardly an effort. And it just didn't stop. In the remaining three and a half hours we spent in the field, I didn't need to pause and sharpen the sickle even once. I soon caught up with the others again. Not that it was a race, of course, but it felt nonetheless good to be among the fastest cutters.
Like it or not, I would have to speak with Fëanáro in the evening, to congratulate him on his achievement. Praise where praise was due. Right now, I couldn't even feel anxious about it. The work was going too well, and the afternoon was beautiful. The light lay golden on the ripe corn, the sky was a brilliant blue, behind us, the Vanyar were singing as they worked, and a gentle breeze cooled my sweaty brow. My temper, too, cooled. It had been silly to get so worked up. After all, it had only been a sily game. What did melons know about the future?

„Good work,“ I told Fëanáro as we walked home in the evening.
„Yes, I think I'm beginning to get the hang of it,“ he retorted, as though I had been talking about harvesting.
„Not that,“ I said, rolling my eyes. „I mean, the sickle.“
„Ah!“ His eyes lit up. I wished he wouldn't act as though my opinion mattered to him, but he did. „I was hoping you'd like it. You can use it much better than I can.“
„That might be because the handle fits my hands better than yours, don't you think? I wonder why that might be.“
He had the grace of blushing a little. „So you noticed.“
„Please. I'm not that stupid.“
„No, you aren't,“ he agreed in a shockingly sincere voice. „You're right, I made it specifically for you. I wanted you to be one of the first to work with one of my sickles. There. Mock me.“
I was glancing around to see whether the others were listening to our conversation. Sure enough, Erenwen and Roitariel were paying apt attention, as of course was Helyanwë.
I sighed. „I normally would, but that would be graceless. It's a precious gift, and I must be grateful for it. Of course, I can't help but wonder what you expect in return.“

Fëanáro studied me for a while, and I was hard put not to squirm under his smoldering gaze. I secretly hoped that he would stumble or run into something while his eyes weren't on the road, but he managed to walk along just fine.
„Can't you guess?“ he eventually asked. „Praise.“
„Praise?“
„Yes. Praise from the praiseworthy is a valuable gift.“
„As is one of your sickles.“ I resisted the urge to bite my lips. „Thank you.“
„I'll let that count,“ he said with the hint of a smile. „You're welcome.“
„You've got one of Fëanáro's sickles?“ Father asked from behind. So he, too, had been listening. „Lucky you,“ Father went on. „I keep hearing good things about them. It seems they're really worth all the time you put into them, Fëanáro.“
Fëanáro beamed. It appeared that he had been serious about his desire for praise. „Thank you, Master,“ he said in a silky voice.
„I hope you'll show us how you're doing it once we're back in the forge.“
„Certainly,“ Fëanáro said. „I already told Nerdanel the theory of it, and I'm perfectly willing to share the practice, too.“ No wonder he was already looking forward to teaching his teacher, I couldn't help thinking.
„Excellent! I already have a couple of ideas where this new technique might proove exceedingly useful.“ Father clasped Fëanáro's shoulder, giving him a broad smile. „Well done.“
Following Father's words, of course, everybody wanted to have a look at this miraculous new sickle, so I removed it from its sheath and handed it around. Fëanáro practically shone with pride and happiness, I thought. And yes, he deserved it. Still, I couldn't help but being annoyed. Roitariel and Helyanwë and probably all their friends would be having a field day about Fëanáro's precious gift for me. Why me? Why hadn't he made his showpiece for Father in the first place? Why did he have to single me out like that?

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Chapter End Notes

The oracle melons (and the related oracle groats) have been inspired by the medieval custom of Lammas bread (bread made with hard seeds or peas inside that supposedly foretold the future as part of the harvest celebrations). A side helping of Skandinavian New year's groats may have been applied. - Whether the melons from Yavanna's gardens really have magical powers, or whether the seven pips are coincidence, I leave up to the reader's interpretation.