Golden Days by Lyra

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.