Golden Days by Lyra

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.