Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 13

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

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?