Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"He wasn't at the dance yesterday," Erenwen said, tearing me out of my concentration. "Again."

I was in the process of giving the feathers of my alabaster birds the proper structure, which was taking forever. They were so small - I had made them life-sized - that I was constantly terrified to break some tiny but important detail: a wing feather, or a droplet of water, or a delicate toe. Accordingly, Erenwen's presence in my workshop was a source of distraction in itself; if she wanted to talk on top of it, I would have to pause in my work. I ignored her, hoping that she would take the hint.

She didn't. "That's the fifth time," she said, "and I know that he's in town."
I sighed audibly to signal my annoyance, and put my chisel down with a clang. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Erenwen," I said without bothering to keep the testiness out of my voice.
She gave me a stare of wide-eyed innocence. "Why, Prince Fëanáro, of course."

I sighed again. "What makes you think that I care about his attendance, or lack thereof? I have work to do."
"That's exactly it," Erenwen said, taking a seat on Sailatulco's abandoned workbench. "You've locked yourself up in this workshop for a week. You've even slept here twice. I haven't seen you outside except for dinner, and I am worrying that you'll turn into a bat or one of those slimy cave lizards if I don't bring you news from the civilised world every so often."
Truth be told, I had been a bit of a recluse that past week. I had worked on my final project after all, and once I had begun, I found that it took far more time and patience than I had thought, and all my skill. Of course I could have taken all the time I wanted - it was, after all, my own project, no commission that had to be delivered at a certain date. But now that I had decided to brave the exams, I wanted to take it and have it over with quickly before my courage had a chance to fail. I had only left the workshop - grudgingly - for my chores, for food, and occasionally for sleep. Perhaps I was turning into a cave bat. I tried to curb my impatience.
"How sweet of you. The civilised world is surely not limited to Prince Fëanáro, however."
"No, but he hasn't been to any dance ever since that one time - you know, when he danced with me for the second time." Her cheeks reddened.
"So?" I said, hard-put not to roll my eyes. "Perhaps he's roaming the country. Perhaps he's studying with the Lord Aulë again. Perhaps he broke his leg. What is it to me?"
Erenwen gave me a reproachful stare. "I told you that he's in town. He's applied to study with Father so he's currently free of tuition. He didn't have a broken leg six days ago, and he's been missing the dances for five weeks." Disbelief was in her voice - how could anyone miss so many dances for no apparent reason, unless one was her odd big sister?
"I still don't see how this touches us," I said, reaching for my chisel. Erenwen jumped up.
"Oh fine, be that way!" she cried. "I am trying to get a load of my chest, and you care more about your work. Work on then!" She turned to run.

But now it was my turn to worry about her. "Erenwen, wait!" I called, and when she did, I caught up with her. "I did not realise that it was so urgent. I'm sorry. Of course you're more important than a statue." I tried to smile, to show that I did not care about my interrupted work at all. "So what is wrong?"
"I told you!" she said. "Prince Fëanáro hasn't been to the dances ever since that time he danced with me, and..."
She briefly paused, then burst out, "And I'm afraid it has to do with me!"
I took a deep breath, stroking her shoulders. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if he's always been at the dances before, and now he's missing them, and it's begun ever since he danced with me those two times... doesn't that mean that there's a connection?"
"There might be one," I admitted, "but that is by no means the only explanation."
"But what if it is?" Erenwen insisted, clasping my hands. "What if I offended him?"
"Then surely you'd know."
"But what if I said something stupid? Or did something stupid, without realising it? How would I know then?"
I couldn't help but smile. "Erenwen, he's a proud young man. If you'd done something to insult him, surely he'd have complained about it. You would know."
That seemed to convince her; at any rate she calmed a little, and nodded. "All right." She looked away. I tilted my head. "What else?"
"Nothing."
"Come now. You're my sister. I know there's something else. Hm?"
Erenwen still didn't look at me. "Nothing. Just... stupid talk."
I still kept my voice gentle. "What kind of talk?"
Now she looked back at me, eyes glinting defiantly. "Just talk. Stupid talk. See, Carnissiel for example, she says that he's hiding from me because, because I keep forever harassing all the pretty young men and I went too far with him, and Orónion says so too, and there are others..." she sniffed angrily.

I took her in my arms then. "Oh Erenwen, you know that's nonsense."
"Is it? Is it? Haven't you said the same, often enough?"
I felt a little guilty, I admit that. "Well, you are too easily impressed by a pretty face in my opinion - but you're hardly alone in that. Carnissiel of all people shouldn't talk, she's fawning over young men all the time. And young men in turn fawn over pretty women. That's probably normal. Probably I am strange for thinking otherwise."
Erenwen sniffed again. "But you do think I think about him too much."
I shrugged - I could hardly deny that.
"I bet you think I counted all the times he didn't show up to the dances, don't you? I didn't. It's Carnissiel who brought that to my attention. It's true, but I didn't keep track of it." She gave me an angry stare. "I'm not stupid, Nerdanel. I like him, of course I like him, but I don't expect him to like me back. Of course I'm flattered when he talks to me - but I don't have a crush on him, not really. I just don't want to be the reason he doesn't go dancing anymore. I don't care whether he dances with me. He can dance with Carnissiel, or Lanyalossë, or anyone he pleases. There's no need to hide from me."
"And I'm sure that's not what he's doing," I said. "Whatever it is he's doing. That'd be just stupid."
Erenwen's eyes widened. "You have to talk!" she cried. "Isn't that exactly what you're doing?"
"Nonsense," I said, looking away quickly. "That's different."

Erenwen had managed to put me off work for the day. I did not worry about the prince's attendance at the dances, but I certainly did not want people to say ugly things about my own sister - though I had no idea what to do about it.
Luck was on my side, however. As I did not work that day, I figured I might as well do something useful. That useful thing turned out to be an errand for Mother, picking up newly-made robes at the house of Nusí­rilo, our tailor, on the road to Tirion. And who else but Lanyalossë should open the door for me?

"Ah, Nerdanel," she said, smiling. "Come in."
I followed her into the parlour, looking at her back with the usual mixture of resentment and envy. She had a beautiful face, and she had a beautiful body, and her hair was dark brown and slightly curly and went down to her waist. She moved gracefully, too. She was the sort of person artists asked to model for them. To make matters worse, she was also friendly and reasonably likeable, so I could not even hate her. She wasn't exactly brilliant, I suppose, but nobody ever looked at people's minds.

"You've come for your parents' robes, I assume?" she said, offering me a chair. I sat down and felt, as always in her presence, graceless. "Or a new dress for you, perhaps?"
I felt my cheeks grow warm. As on most work days, I was wearing breeches and a long, no longer entirely clean tunic; I doubtlessly looked as if I was in desperate need of proper clothing. Which was nonsense. I did have proper clothing. There just was no point in scorching it in the forge or ruining it with stone dust in the workshop. I'd probably need new formal robes for my examinations - I had festival robes, of course, but those were meant for dancing and celebrating, not for a solemn examination of knowledge - but I could hardly order them before I knew I was even admitted to the exams. "Not yet."
Another smile. "I'll go and fetch your parents' things, then; Father is currently visiting a customer. But you must be thirsty after the long walk. Would you like something to drink in the meantime? I just made tea."
I did not wish to make meaningless conversation with pretty Lanyalossë, but it would have been impolite to decline. Besides, I was thirsty.
So I took the cup she offered me, breathing the jasmine-scented steam that rose from it. She returned with the robes, wrapped in silk paper, soon enough, and sat down opposite me, filling her own cup.
"I haven't seen you in a long time," she said, after we had exchanged our opinions on the weather. "Not even at the dances. You must have been very busy?"
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. The weather, and dancing, studies, food, clothing, perhaps a journey to the coast, and inevitably pretty young men: that always seemed to be the extent of conversations between young ladies. How boring, and how predictable. But I smiled.
"Indeed. I've been preparing for my exams these past weeks..."
Lanyalossë tilted her head, wide-eyed. "Your exams? Already? You will take them this year?"
"This month, I hope," I said, and thought, I must be insane.
"Already! It'll take another year for me, at least," she said with a somewhat mournful look. Lanyalossë was almost ten years older than I.
"Well, only in sculpting," I said quickly, in case she thought I meant to brag. "I'm not yet ready for the exams in smithcraft - that'll surely take a couple of years yet."
"'Only' in sculpting!" said she. "I'd never be able to turn a rock into a statue, no matter how long I studied, and you say 'only'."
Comparing my broad, ruddy hands with her pale, slender fingers, I wondered whether she could even hold a hammer. My fingernails were always clipped short, and more often than not dirty with soot or clay or stone dust. Hers were filed into white crescents - though as I looked closer, I saw that they were by no means as perfect as I would have thought. There were strange little nooks in the nails of her index and middle fingers, and it took me a moment to guess that they were left there by warping and stretching threads of wool or linen or silk with her hands. The materials might normally be soft, but then, so is a bowstring - until it is strung. I had never thought about it. Perhaps we had something in common after all.
"Well, most people can't make sculptures. I, on the other hand, am far too impatient for weaving. It evens out," I said. Not that I thought she truly felt bad about not being a sculptress, but she had been polite to me, so I figured I ought to be polite in turn.

Lanyalossë smiled. "It's kind of you to say that, but surely if you can sculpt stone and metal, any other craft would be easy to learn."
I wrinkled my nose, but didn't voice my doubts. She went on, "At any rate, that certainly explains why we haven't seen anything of you for so long. Not like our other mysterious missing case..."
Oh no, I thought. Having dealt with the first of the standard topics, we had promptly progressed to the next staple, pretty young men. Why did people think I was interested in gossip? Why did they feel the need for it in the first place? I never understood the attraction of discussing the doings of other people, unless of course these doings concerned the people discussing them directly. I rolled my eyes. "Ah, yes. I heard about that," I said.
"I am sure," Lanyalossë said with a sly grin, and suddenly I found it easier to dislike her. Of course your little sister told you, her grin said, she would do that. It took some effort to keep my face straight and my expression indifferent; and then I had an idea, and had to struggle to keep my lips from creeping into a smirk.
"Yes, well," I said in the most matter-of-fact tone I could muster, "I suppose he's preparing for his new apprenticeship. You know that he applied to study with Father, of course?"
Of course she didn't, and her grin promptly froze. "He has? Then he will come to live at your house?"
"I suppose so," I said indifferently. "If Father agrees to teach him, that is; he hasn't decided yet. He has too many apprentices as it is, really."
"But Prince Fëanáro wants to study with him?"
"Apparently."
"How strange..." Lanyalossë said. Then she turned red. "I do beg your pardon. That wasn't directed against your father - Master Mahtan is a brilliant craftsman, of course. It's just..."
She fell silent, but I guessed her thoughts. Perhaps Lanyalossë had believed Carnissiel's theory. My news had disproved that. If the prince was avoiding my sister - absurd thought! - he would hardly apply for an apprenticeship in her father's house. I couldn't keep a smug smile of my face and busied myself with the packed robes so Lanyalossë wouldn't see it. The uppermost package seemed to be for Father, containing men's shirts in simple cuts and colours. I approved. Of course, high-collared shirts were going out of fashion, but what should we care about that? Mother's dress was more elaborate, made of soft grey linen with a pretty border in brown, white and honey-yellow. I praised the design and quality of the border, knowing that those were usually Lanyalossë's work, and so we finally steered away from gossip. I was quite satisfied with myself. Lanyalossë would surely spread the news I had told her, and that would put an end to Carnissiel's talk. My little sister was avenged.
Thus satisfied, I found the motivation to continue my work. The next evening, I could put my chisel aside for good. I polished the finished sculpture - first with fine sandpaper, then with a soft cloth - and treated the "water" with linseed oil so it looked almost translucent; and then I was done. It was not perfect, of course, but I had put all my skill and a lot of effort into it. If it was not good enough, I couldn't help it.
It was my turn to do the dishes the coming day - Aulë's Day, an auspicious day for my purpose - but I swapped my chores with Helyanwë so I could ride to Master Carnildo's house. I told him that I was in need of inspiration, and would be gone for a walk all day; I did not want anyone to know about my endeavour - yet.

Master Carnildo's garden, like ours, was decorated with sculptures; but the garden around it was tamed better, more suitable to the outskirts of Tirion than our wilderness. When I unhorsed (carefully, so I would not jolt my little sculpture too much - I had it wrapped in cloth and carried it in a basket, but I was still anxious about it), I was greeted by a young apprentice whom I did not know. He recognised me, however, and promised to take care of my horse while I took care of my business.
The entrance hall in Master Carnildo's garden was likewise full of sculptures, but here he also displayed the works of his students, not all of them as good as the sculptures shown outside. There were several very simple pieces, exercises made by beginners, and I was embarrassed to realise that some of them were my own, made years - decades - ago. I had indeed learned a lot since then, as had the others whose youthful transgressions were preserved here. Perhaps Master Carnildo displayed this collection to encourage his new apprentices: See, now your work looks like this, but so did the work of (say) Alcaráco, who is now a famous sculptor. And one day you will make something as beautiful as this.

I had sufficient time to study the sculptures: Master Carnildo was busy, caught up in a lecture and asked pardon unless it was very important business. I told his wife - who brought me the message - that I could wait.
"What brings you here, then?" she asked curiously.
"I need an expertise," I said. I felt awkward about explaining the true reason of my visit, so I kept it to myself for the time being. She gave me an odd look as if to say 'You are Mahtan's daughter, why don't you ask your father?'
"A second opinion," I said before she could ask. That satisfied her, and, after providing me with tea, she went off again.
Master Carnildo had no time until noon, so I was invited to share his household's lunch. This gave me an opportunity to meet his other apprentices - the boy I had met in the gardens, whose name was Lí­retauro, another boy of roughly the same age, who was called Cermion, and a grown man by the name of Timosanwë. I had known none of them personally so far, though of course I had seen Timosanwë in town before.
But we shared a craft and thus got along well. For the most part, Master Carnildo and Laitarnis his wife questioned me about my studies, and my family, and my father's apprentices.
"Well," Master Carnildo said when the meal was over and the table cleared, "what can I do for you?"
"I would like to hear your opinion on a little sculpture I made, Master Carnildo," I said, suddenly feeling as shy as I had years ago when he came to take a look at my finished sculpture. I never liked to have my work scrutinised. Either I had done something wrong, which was frustrating; or I had done it right and was praised for it, which was embarrassing, especially under the eyes of the other apprentices who were less lucky.
I tried to push that feeling of anxiety away - I was almost a grown woman now, after all, no longer a child - and unwrapped the birds in their alabaster bowl. "What do you think?" I said, and was glad that my voice was even and business-like and didn't betray my nerves.

Master Carnildo studied the sculpture for a long time, twisting to look at the bird's legs (very delicate, with the scaly structure bird's legs have; the finicky details had taken forever to craft, with a file and a needle when my finest chisel was no longer fine enough) and their downy bellies (I flexed my hands involuntarily, remembering the cramps those had caused me). He brushed over the milky surface of stone feathers, the oil-smoothed "water", the drops that lay, like pearls, on the wings of my tiny swallow (I was particularly proud of them); and all the while he said nothing.
"What is it for?" he finally asked. "A fountain?"
I shrugged. "I don't know, really. Just an exercise, so far."
"Hm," he said. "So what do you want to hear? If you hope that I have any advice on how to improve this, I must disappoint you." He stroked the little sparrow that whetted its beak against a pebble, and shook his head.
I felt my cheeks grow hot. "I was wondering whether I was ready for my final examinations." There, I'd said it.
Master Carnildo began to laugh. I bit my lips.
"You are wondering?" Master Carnildo said, giving me an incredulous stare. "From the looks of this, you should've taken the exams years ago. Most sculptors wouldn't manage such detail - such realism! - before they'd been master craftsmen for decades - if then. My goodness." He studied the little birds again. "Even the down... to be honest, Nerdanel, I doubt I would manage. You are how old now?" He frowned as he tried to remember. "Sixty?"
"Forty-eight," I said with a blush.
"Forty-eight," he repeated thoughtfully. "How many attempts did it take until you got it right?"
I frowned slightly. "Just the one," I said.
The disbelief in his eyes gave way to something that looked almost like awe. "One attempt," Master Carnildo said. "And all this from one stone!" He took my hands. "But surely you had to make repairs? Surely something broke, and you had to stick it back on again? Please tell me it is so!"
The intensity of his speech scared me. I tried a smile, which turned out rather lopsided. "You know that the alabaster would betray me, if it were so," I said.
"Yes," said he; but he didn't even bother to check for any revealing tears or lines in the stone (not that he would have found any). His face was turned in my direction, but his eyes seemed to be focused on something in the far distance. He was silent for a while. He still held my hands. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and shifted a little; and Master Carnildo's attention returned to me. He sighed.
"I am an accomplished craftsman," he said. I nodded. I knew that, of course. He continued, "Yet now I am very much afraid that one day, when I am asked about my greatest accomplishment, I will have to say, 'I taught Nerdanel'."

That was too much - too much by far! Surely my face was burning red; it took all my presence of mind to make light of his words. "Ah, don't flatter me, Master Carnildo. You have taught many apprentices, and you have made many great works, and surely will continue to do so."
He snorted. "That is not the point. But I cannot explain it to you, I suppose. Perhaps one day you will feel the same." He looked at my birds again. "Probably not. But perhaps you will understand nonetheless." His eyes, which were fixed on mine, had filled with tears. His praise, I know, should have made me feel proud. As his apprentice, I had always sought his approval, and now I had it in abundance. But I could not feel proud when I had hurt him so.
"I am sorry," I said awkwardly. He shook his head.
"Don't apologise. Excellency is not something you should apologise for. It is not your fault that you are better than others, and you cannot constantly feel sorry for those less fortunate." Finally, he smiled. "Only forty-eight. My goodness, but what a responsibility." He let go of my hands. "Take those exams, Nerdanel. You do not need them, but the world is full of fools who look at titles and not at skills, and when you have taken the exams, they must acknowledge you."
I didn't know what to say, so I just nodded. I still felt awful.
"Do not listen to jealous fools," Master Carnildo went on. "You will have to face scorn and insults, no doubt, but they can only be born from envy, not from true superiority. Try not to let them hurt you. Do not listen to pandering, either. Surround yourself only with the people who are worthy of you." I wrapped my arms around myself awkwardly. He saw my discomfort, and gave another sad smile. "I am scaring you. I'm sorry. You asked me for advice on your craft, not for my thoughts on society." He rose, and I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yes, you are certainly ready to face the exams," he said. "You have my blessing."
I tried to smile. "Thank you, Master Carnildo."
He snorted. "Do not call me Master," he said. "That is no longer my place."

I should have been proud, but instead I felt scared while I made my way back home. The poor horse must have thought I was crazy: I could not decide whether I wanted to be home at once or whether I wanted never to return at all, and thus I kept changing pace, spurring him into a gallop only to halt him moments later, trotting along for a while, then back into a gallop. Eventually he stopped and turned his head and gave me an exasperated look, plainly demanding that I make up my mind. I called myself to order and let the poor animal walk at his own pace. I think I cried a little. I would have to show the sculpture to my second tutor - my father - and I didn't know what I would do if his reaction were the same.
Back at home I put the offending piece back on my worktable, removing the wrappings. Such an overflow of emotions, I thought, over a bowl of water. For that was all it was, in the end. A water-bowl, and three birds: A sparrow that whetted its beak; a swallow taking a bath with wings spread, water forming drops on its feathers; a titmouse taking a drink. I had put a lot of work in it, of course, so that the birds were recognisable by their feathers and their stance, and the water moved liked real water would, as though time had stopped and petrified the little birds. But when it came down to it, it was nothing special. A scene that, with slight variations, could be watched at every little brook or pond or puddle. There was nothing magnificent, nothing to justify Master Carnildo's reaction - no waves of Ulmo, no eagles of Manwë.
He had overreacted, I told myself, tired perhaps from a day of teaching his young apprentices how to use a gouge. It's good work, certainly, but not that good. Master Carnildo will laugh at himself, this evening, and perhaps feel silly because he got carried away like that.
Over a bowl of water.

I barely tasted my food that evening - a shame, as Alcyo and Lisanto had made the little vegetable pies that normally belonged to my favourites - and didn't manage to pay attention to the chattering around me. Someone must have told a story that was hilariously funny, for suddenly everyone burst into laughter; my belated reaction betrayed me to Mother, who gave me a worried look.
"Are you all right, dear?" she asked, giving me a searching look. "You look rather out of spirits."
"I'm just tired," I said quickly.
Father, too, studied me now. "That's not all, though," he observed. Sometimes I wish he were less perspicuous. A smith and sculptor needs a keen eye, of course, but sometimes it would have been easier if he could have left it in the forge. Once Sarnië had overheard me saying something to that effect to Helyanwë, and she had taken it literally; she had been terribly confused (not to mention horrified) until I had explained the metaphor to her. Remembering that incident I had to smile, forgetting the scrutiny I was undergoing. I really was tired.
"I visited Master Carnildo today," I explained. I would have preferred to wait a few more days before I told anyone, but I had no choice now. "To talk about my final project."
Father tilted his head. "And what did he tell you?"
"He seemed to be of the opinion that I should have taken the exam already."
"Good man," said Father. "What else?"
I felt my cheeks grow hot again. "I'd rather not repeat it," I said. "He was rather too enthusiastic about my work, I think."
Father gave me a thoughtful look. Perhaps his keen eye now told him that prying further was no good idea, for he didn't ask further questions about Master Carnildo's enthusiasm.
"You know that I think you are ready," he said instead. "It is time for your exams. Will you not take them?"
I sighed. "I suppose I must."