Golden Days by Lyra

---

Chapter 5

Plot is finally on track again. Yay.

---

Chapter 5

 

The topic of examinations had not been raised again, but I suddenly found it dwelling on my thoughts nonetheless. Perhaps, I caught myself thinking, Father and the others were right after all; perhaps I was ready to take that step? Had I not created three sculptures now that had made people marvel how well-executed, how lifelike they were? Had I not, in belatedly changing the peacock’s eyes, accomplished something considered nigh impossible even by my father? Of course it had been sheer luck that I’d succeeded, but it had taken a skilled hand to qualify for such luck in the first place!

Before I even admitted it to myself I began to plan my final project for Master Carnildo, the one that would make him burst into cheers of delight, the one that I would then bring to Aulë to show that I was indeed ready. Inspiration had come easily when gifts for my family had been concerned, but now it abandoned me. Another animal? But which? And might that not be thought presumptuous, to bring a beast of stone to the halls of Aulë and Yavanna? And what stone, anyway? It should not be too heavy, for I’d have to bring the sculpture to Carnildo’s house in Tirion, and after he approved of it, to Aulë’s halls. For the same reason it could not be anything too large to carry on horseback. I could, of course, work in Aulë’s halls from the start, and ask Carnildo to judge my work there. Several of Father’s apprentices had done just that. But that would mean asking Aulë’s permission in the first place, so he’d know about my aspirations and expect to examine me soon; and what if I then failed to produce anything appropriate? No, I wanted to keep my attempts secret until I was fairly certain that I'd succeed.

I leafed through my sketchbook again, and found nothing useable. I looked at the strange forms I had shaped of clay, and thought about something abstract, and again could think of nothing feasible. I paced the studio up and down without any idea, and when I grew anxious that I should be seen I withdrew to the forest. I tried to sit still on a rock and wait for inspiration to hit me, for perhaps another animal showing up for me to study and capture in my sketchbook, but none came by. Perhaps they sensed my agitation.

 

Still, that day’s excursion proved fruitful after all. Ironically I had given up hoping that inspiration should strike, and was on my way back home, when I suddenly knew what to do. I suppose it was watching the sparrows fly that did it, for suddenly I saw the perfect scene before my mind’s eye: a small pool with three small birds, bathing or drinking. A common enough scene, nothing exciting, I admit that; making a sculpture of was maybe a strange idea, for anyone who wished to see bathing sparrows just had to look at a pond for long enough. But while it was a simple scene, executing it in stone would be a challenge – there were lots of small details like ripples and droplets of water, and the birds themselves. I would depict three different kinds of birds, I thought, maybe a sparrow, a finch and a titmouse – that way I could show that I was capable of faithfully capturing even fine differences. Again I would not paint the finished sculpture; while colour would maybe make the scene more realistic, the naked stone would better show the craft. Or so I hoped.

 

I sketched the scene that very evening, and still liked the idea the next morning. But before I could match deed to thought Father asked my help in the forge again, for King Ingwë had liked Father’s work on the chandelier so well that he had commissioned another piece, and the younger apprentices needed busying for another week. I was surprised to find that I was loath, for the first time, to put my own work back for the sake of Father’s; but I told myself to be reasonable. So my days were filled; and while I tried to get at least a little work done after dinner, I was too tired for any real progress. I may have been a bit testy in those days; I certainly almost drove poor Lindanolvion to tears when he repeated the same mistake three times on the knife-blade he was supposed to craft. It was not fair of me to take my impatience out on him, though he really should have known better. I think we were all relieved when Father took over the tutelage of his apprentices again.

 

When I was finally free to start on my own project, I took my sketchbook outside to make sure I had not missed any important detail. I watched our pond for a while, but that part of the garden was strangely empty of small birds. It took me a while to realise that they had apparently not yet found out that the fox was not real. I felt sorry for the poor little things, but at the same time I felt a little proud had having fooled even the sparrows who, as Yavanna tells us, see the world differently from us and thus might have recognised the deception where people didn't.

Instead of staying in the garden I thus had to take another walk. I came upon a puddle in the road soon enough. I felt a little silly, sitting by the wayside staring at a puddle as if waiting for Ulmo to step out of it; but fortunately nobody else walked that way while I was there, or at least I saw no-one. And as it grew warmer, the first swallows appeared, soon followed by other small birds. They moved too quickly to sketch them properly, but I could study just how they moved, how they hopped and flapped their wings and preened themselves, which was helpful enough, and after a few hours I decided I had watched enough and made my way back.

 

I was almost home again when I heard voices, half-muffled by the shrubbery. That was not unusual - our household was large enough to account for people conversing in the front yard, maybe to escape the noise of the forge. But I thought I recognised King Finwë’s voice, and he was certainly not a frequent visitor. The second voice, too, sounded somewhat familiar. I slowed down and snuck closer to the gate, peering half around a dog-rose bush.

King Finwë was indeed in our front yard, seated upon a fine but skittish horse; and with him  was a groomsman on an equally skittish mare, and Prince Fëanáro, controlling his horse better. I shrank back into the bush.

“… not actually real,” Fëanáro was saying. “If you look closer, you’ll see that it is made of stone.”

“Are you certain?” his father asked. “It certainly looks real to me.” His horse gave a low, nervous neigh. They were talking about my fox, I surmised.

“Oh, the form is real enough, I’ll grant that. The posture, too. But look at the fur – or rather the lack of fur. The texture is all wrong. Some stone chosen for a certain superficial similarity in colour – a dark variant of sandstone, unless I’m much mistaken.”

“I doubt you are, dear,” said the King, cheerfully. “But I admit it fooled me.”

“And me also,” the groomsman said.

“And your horses,” Fëanáro added dryly, taking the lead decisively, and when his horse pushed forwards, the others’ horses took the hint and stopped prancing, and followed him.

I glared at his back through the leaves. A certain superficial similarity! The way he lectured his father! And the worst of it was that of course he was right – it was a sculpture, not a real animal, and a sculpture made of a dark variant of sandstone, too. How clever he must think himself!

 

I waited until I had not heard any more conversation from them for a good while before entering the yard.

The groomsman was still there. Having found a spot for the horses to graze and tethered them there, he had apparently decided to see for himself whether the fox was real or not; he had fought his way through the shrubbery (trampling a few cornflowers and delicate astilbes in the process) and now crouched in front of my sculpture, hand half-stretched out as though he still didn’t quite dare to touch it. How stupid, I thought; any real fox would long have taken flight when approached like that. And if Prince Fëanáro had spotted that there was no actual fur from the path, it should certainly be visible from so close.

When he heard my footsteps he turned around, and coughed – probably in embarrassment, I thought, when he realised how odd he must be looking. I kept a straight face and nodded to him. “Greetings.”

He rose with a sheepish smile and returned the nod. “Greetings, madam.”

I smiled as well. “Can I offer you tea, or some fruit? We may also have some cold lunch left. Or if you’d like to come inside and sit and rest…”

“I must watch my lords’ horses,” he replied, “and I am not hungry. But some tea would be lovely.”

I thought to myself that the horses could surely look after themselves for a while, but only said, “As you wish.”

 

The house, when I entered it, was in uproar. “Nerdanel, Nerdanel, did you hear? Prince Fëanáro is here,” Erenwen told me when I came into the kitchen.

“King Finwë is here,” I corrected her, “and happens to be accompanied by his eldest son. And they left their poor groom outside in the heat.”

“Their groom!” Erenwen turned to Roitariel, who laughed. “She clearly did not hear. Prince Fëanáro is gracing your house; who cares about the groom?”

I rolled my eyes and put the kettle on the hearth to make tea. “And why would Prince Fëanáro, as you say, grace our house?”

Erenwen’s face fell. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He wants something from Father, I suppose; they haven’t finished talking.”

“They are in Father’s study then?” I asked. Erenwen and Roitariel nodded, and I made a note to avoid the vicinity of the study until I knew the King had left our house and taken his son with him.

“Perhaps the King wants a statue of his son,” Roitariel suggested, and Erenwen replied, “Who doesn’t?” They giggled, and I rolled my eyes yet again. “I’m sure Father will let you keep the sketches when he’s done,” I told Erenwen. “Though I warn you – if you put them up in my room, I shall burn them.”

“You wouldn’t! Besides, it’s our room, not yours alone.”

“What grievance do you have with Prince Fëanáro?” Roitariel asked, bright curious eyes boring into mine, and I almost groaned. In my annoyance I had forgotten that she was listening.

“None but that my sister won’t stop talking about him,” I said. The kettle began to whistle, so I was spared further discussions: I poured the tea and found some small cakes and took them out to the waiting groom.

 

He had by then made his way out of the shrubs, and had apparently washed his hands and face in the pond; the collar of his tunic was still wet. “I brought you some cakes, too,” I told him. “If you don’t mind sitting on the steps, there’s shadow on the porch.”

“I don’t mind. Thank you kindly,” he said, brushing some stray petals off his sleeves, and came to the porch. I set the tray down beside him, and he helped himself to some tea. For a while we were silent. I felt a little foolish. I have never been good at small talk, and moreover I had maneuvered myself into an awkward position: should he wish to talk until his master returned, I would have no chance to avoid meeting Fëanáro. I did not entirely know why I was so afraid of meeting him, but afraid I was. I should have sent Erenwen. She would doubtlessly have known how to entertain the young man, and enjoyed it, too. I, on the other hand, had no idea what to do. “A nice day today, is it not?” I said lamely for the sake of saying something at all. Of course it was a nice day.

He glanced at me – I think he looked me over – and half grinned. “Perhaps a bit too warm.”

“Yes, very warm, isn’t it?” I said, and rolled my eyes at myself. He gave me another amused glance, and seemed to suppress a chuckle.

“What brings the King out to this distant place in this heat?” I tried to amend my clumsy first attempt. “Was he visiting the Lord Aulë and chose to rest at our house?”

“Oh, no. He came here specifically to speak to Master Mahtan. Specifically because his son desired to speak to Master Mahtan, I should say,” he said, and took a sip of his tea. I couldn’t prevent my eyes widening in surprise. “Is that so? We are honoured,” I said.

My words lacked conviction. He replied, “You are. It seems that Prince Fëanáro has chosen Master Mahtan as his second tutor, to continue his education in forgecraft.”

I blinked, and felt cold despite the hot afternoon. “He what?”

“Has chosen Master Mahtan as his second tutor. That is, right now he is requesting that Master Mahtan be his tutor. But if you ask me, he might as well command him; it’s unlikely Master Mahtan will say no either way.”

“I should hope that my father can keep his own counsel,” I said coldly, and he gazed at me yet again.

“You are Nerdanel! I should have guessed.”

Yes, you should have, I thought; there are not too many young women who share my unfortunate features. “Indeed,” I said aloud, and then said no more, folding my arms, glowering at the beautiful flowers, at the bumblebees and ladybugs and all the other creatures who did not have to make conversation with a cocky servant.

Perhaps he realised that he had offended me, and perhaps he felt a little apologetic, for it was he who spoke next. “That’s an impressively life-like statue over there by the pond,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly, not quite reconciled. He peered up at me again, but this time the amused glint was absent from his eyes.

“Wait - you made it?”

“Yes,” I said, and managed not to grit my teeth.

He tilted his head. “Amazing. You must have great skill, for such a young woman.”

“If I must.”

He smiled again. “Come, do not be angry because I did not recognise you at once! It’s much too hot for thinking.”

I was not angry because he hadn’t recognised me. I was angry because he acted as though he knew everything and was superior to others, even my father whose decisions he presumed to foreknow. He was only a servant, who did nothing productive, created nothing, only did tasks that were beneath the King and his family. And yet he was arrogant because he was living in the King’s house and he was handsome, and I was not. Then again, if he was Fëanáro’s manservant I suppose he couldn’t help but take after his lord. I decided to give him another chance.

“It is,” I said. “Wherefore I would like to return to my cool workshop, if you need nothing else.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind the company, but I don’t want to keep you from your work. Though I can’t imagine a forge is a cool place, even on a day like this.”

“I said workshop,” I said. “Not forge. Our sculpting workshop has thick walls of stone, and a high ceiling, and no furnace; it’s nice and cool there. Even on a day like this.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” said he. “I am not familiar with these technicalities. Well, I’ll probably become so.”

“What do you mean?” I said, with dread in my heart.

He laughed. “Why, when my lord Fëanáro comes to live here, I expect I shall accompany him. Someone has to wash his clothing and clean his tools and all that, after all.” He shot me a wry glance. “Unless of course you are volunteering.”

 

I snorted. “Certainly not. I will not be a housekeeper – I, after all, have skills beyond that.”

“A sting!” he said, but did not loose his annoyingly cheerful air. “I suppose I deserved that. But let’s not be enemies, Mistress Nerdanel.” He leaned back on his elbows and glanced up at me with what he doubtlessly thought was a charming smile.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Let’s not,” I agreed. This had taken much too long; surely the King and my father must be done with their talks soon. I picked up the plate that had held the cakes; I left the tray where it was, for there was still tea in the man’s cup.

“I shall return to my work and leave you to yours then,” I said.

“Then I thank you for the tea and the company,” he said, rising and bowing to me, suddenly polite. “Until we meet again.”

“Yes,” said I, and added in my thoughts, I hope that day is far off.

I brought the plate to the kitchen where Erenwen and Roitariel were still talking and giggling, now reinforced by Mother’s other apprentices and by Lindanolvion, but I managed to stay out of their discussion. I escaped to the studio instead. It was indeed nice and cool, and occupied only by Sailatulco, who was working on a marble bust he had begun months ago.

I finished my sketch and then went to take a look at our store of stones to see whether we had anything fitting there or whether I would have to take a trip to the quarry. I was lucky; there was nice block of alabaster left over from some long-finished project, too small for most purposes but of suitable size for what I had in mind. It was a bit on the brownish side, but it felt nice and smooth and slightly warm to the touch. And it was not too heavy. I lugged it over to my working table so nobody would be tempted to use it now of all times.

“A pedestal?” Sailatulco guessed, looking up from his work.

“No,” I said, “just a small sculpture.”

“A pillow?” he said. “Hey, would that not be clever? A rock pillow that you can place in someone’s bed, and they’ll think it’s a nice soft pillow to bury their head in…”

“That sounds painful,” I said.

“I suppose,” said Sailatulco and grinned, “but at least it’s warm.”

We laughed, and with this and other silly jests we passed the time until the fading gold outside the window told us that it was time for supper.

King Finwë and his son had been invited to stay, I heard, but had declined the offer and instead returned to Tirion. I also gathered from the discussions that were going on among the apprentices that nobody had been told what the purpose of their visit had been. I could have told them, but I figured that Father would have told them himself if he’d wanted them to know. Instead I filled Sailatulco in on what he had missed, for he had worked all day and the uproar had passed him by.

 

That dinner began uncharacteristically quiet: Everybody seemed to be waiting for Father to speak, while Father appeared to be lost in thought. It was I who broke the silence, in the end.

“Father?” I said. “May I ask a question about the King’s visit here today?”

Father looked up from his plate.  “Certainly.”

“Did Prince Fëanáro ask you to take him on as apprentice?” I asked – and suddenly there was no more silence. Whether or not this option had been discussed in my sister’s theories, it certainly was discussed now. “Is he not too old to begin an apprenticeship?” I heard on my left, and “Imagine! Fëanáro living here with us!” I heard from Roitariel’s direction, followed by squeals and giggles.

Father waited until the general din had died down, giving me an amused look. “Yes.”

“What did you say?” Erenwen burst out.

Father took his cup and drank a deep sip; then he set the cup down, but kept studying it as though he had discovered a flaw in the glass. “That I will think about it, and let him know of my decision within a fortnight.”

I was glad to hear that he had not agreed right away; now he just had to be convinced not ever to agree. “I thought he was studying with Aulë,” I said, frowning. “Why the sudden change?”

“I am not entirely certain whether that is all there is to it, but what Fëanáro said was that studying with Aulë was all very well, but that he – Fëanáro – is no Maia, but a Noldo, and now desired to study the Noldorin side of our craft. And apparently I was judged the only appropriate teacher, which of course I find flattering. That alone is almost reason enough to accept him.”

 

Mother laughed, and I knew why. There could be no doubt that Father was the best teacher possible if you wanted to learn - really wanted to learn – forgecraft from an Elvish master. There was no need for him to be flattered; but even he, it seemed, had been gripped by the admiration that befell most people who had to deal with the prince.

I shook my head, slowly. “Think about it, Father. You see what effect the mere mention of his name has upon our household; there should be no more work possible if he were present in the flesh.”

Erenwen gave me a look that clearly meant ‘Shut up’. “We are only excited now because we see him so rarely,” she said in her most reasonable voice. “If he were just another apprentice whom we saw every day, we’d be used to his presence.”

I snorted. “’Just another apprentice’ – yea more! He’d still be the prince. Even if you got used to his presence, he’d still have to get used to our kind of life. I mean, he’s surely used to all kinds of luxuries. Here we all do our share of the work – would he do that, too, or would we others have to deal with his chores on top of our own?”

Father smiled. “It is very judicious of you to think of that,” he said, “and I admit I asked the same question.”

Helyanwë said dryly, “I suspect there are some present here who’d be more willing to do his share of the chores than they ever were to do their own.” I couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Is that so?” Father pretended to be oblivious to the excitement that wasn't limited to the female occupants of the table only. “No, of course that would not do. Fëanáro said that he was quite willing to help around the house, whereas the King suggested instead that he send a servant along to take care of the menial tasks, which I think is a more reasonable approach.”

 

There was nodding and shrugging around the table. I couldn’t believe it. “But that would underline his status as something special – and would always mark him as an alien to our household,” I pointed out. “If he cannot handle the, as you say, menial tasks as well as the venerable, he should stay in Aulë’s house, or the King’s court.”

“He needs a second tutor to become a master craftsman,” Sailatulco said.

“I am sure one could easily construe that Aulë more than replaces two of our own,” I said, “even if there were two like Father.”

That earned me a bemused glance from Father. “You may well be right, dear, but you seem very set on excluding the poor fellow from our house. Is there anything I should know about? Has he slighted you? Has he hurt you?” He appeared seriously worried.

“Nonsense,” I said, and felt my cheeks grow hot. I hoped that they were not in truth as bright red as they felt. “I have nothing to do with him.”

“And would prefer to keep it that way, it seems?” Father said. I was embarrassed. It had been a mistake to broach the topic at the dinner-table.

“It’s not like I care,” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster. “I merely doubt that it would be wise to throw our tried and proven ways over in order to accommodate an idle prince.” Underneath the table, Erenwen kicked my shin.

Father tilted his head. “Shall we not try first, and see whether he is truly so idle - whether the disadvantages truly overcome the merits?”

 

“Merits,” I said flatly.

“Yes, merits,” he repeated. “For prince or no, idle or no, it cannot be denied that he is talented.”

“Of course he is,” Erenwen whispered to Roitariel to muffled laughter from all around. Mother gave them a stern glance, and they shushed.

“I have seen some of his work,” Father continued, “and it is extremely promising; and I have examined him a little, today, and his knowledge of the craft is already extensive. Indeed I doubt that he is going to stay for more than a year or two before he’ll take the exams, and teach apprentices of his own. A year is not so very long, is it, Nerdanel?”

I had to admit that it wasn’t.

“So what I think I'll do is accept him. You have raised excellent points, Nerdanel, and I assure you I’ll consider them. I can make his apprenticeship conditional. But if, for example, he agrees to be treated no different from any other apprentice, and to work as hard as any other apprentice, and to accept the degradation life in our house may be, compared to what he is accustomed to - why, then I do not see why he should not be welcome here.”

I could hardly protest without raising further suspicions, so I shrugged and nodded. Erenwen clapped her hands, which Sarnië promptly copied, though she probably hadn’t understood a word. I chanced to look Helyanwë’s way, and he grimaced; maybe he, too, saw the downsides of Fëanáro joining our household – someone to seriously challenge his position as Father's best student, if nothing else. But we were clearly overruled; the others were in disgustingly good spirits. Father looked quite pleased, though he cast me a questioning look. I shrugged and smiled to show that it didn't mean much to me, either way.

And indeed it shouldn't have meant anything to me. Fëanáro's presence might interfere with the ordered life we led, but I could always withdraw to pursue my own studies. I need not see him at all except for mealtimes, and surely after a while the others would grow tired of gushing over him. Even if they didn't, maybe I'd learn to ignore them. It really didn't matter all that much.