Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 14

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?