Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 21

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

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.“