Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 9

Another update! And we are still not moving from the spot. Instead, we're having dinner. Oh well, what can you do?

I was unimpressed by the brief talk I had with Master Alcaráco, I must confess. Perhaps it was because I was prejudiced after the squabble with Prince Fëanáro. Or maybe it was that Master Alcaráco kept me waiting until shortly before dinner, and told me to be brief.
"I wish to wash and change my clothes before dinner," he told me, stacking several sheets of sketching paper on a trestle table.
I looked after poor little Nolofinwë, who slipped from the room looking pale and tired after what must have been hours of boredom for him.
"I understand," I said. "I promise not to waste your time."
Indeed, I rather felt he was wasting mine. The conversation was pointless: None of the advice Alcaráco gave me was new, much of what he told me I had already figured out by myself (or by discussing the matter with the scribes), and he behaved in such a patronising manner that I felt quite angry by the end of it. Of course I was merely an apprentice, but I did have some experience and was about to take the exams, after all. I was certainly no longer a child. There was no need to act so condescendingly. Father would never have spoken like that even to the rawest beginner!
When Master Alcaráco offered his sketches for my perusal, I found it easy to refuse that offer. Had I accepted it, he would no doubt think that I was incapable of making my own, and that whatever I produced would be indebted to his groundwork.

"Thank you, I think I have no further questions," I said as soon as I could, and almost ground my teeth when he gave me another sweet smile.
"Oh, they will surely come once you start working," said Master Alcaráco. "Feel free to ask me, whenever it is necessary. Just do not disturb me at work, please – the king expects my best, after all - but the evenings are perfectly fine, if you keep it short!"
You are not the only craftsman I know, I thought, but still tried to be polite. "Thank you," I said.
"You are very welcome. I'm always happy to help young people rise, of course! An expert's advice is invaluable on your first real project."
I smiled, feeling nothing but my teeth.

The dinner hall in the palace was huge, and for once I was grateful for the presence of Wintillo, who showed me where I would sit. The seat of honour on the queen's right-hand side was naturally reserved for Master Alcaráco, he told me.
"Of course," I said, my smile sincere this time. I would be perfectly happy to sit among the craftsfolk at the lower end of the table.
"But we found something suitable for you nonetheless," Wintillo said, destroying my hopes. "As honourable as Alcaráco's place and quite possibly preferable – right next to my lord Fëanáro."
"Oh," I managed.
I couldn't say I was thrilled. I cast longing glances to the end of the hall, where among the unknown faces I could see Mistress Quessincë as well as Yestaro and the other scribes. Yestaro was looking cheerful again, having apparently recovered from the shock of his error. How I wished I could sit with them! Spending all evening next to the prince, after I had just barely managed to escape his company, was an unpleasant prospect.
Then I called myself to order. I should see this as the honour it was, no more and no less. I probably wouldn't have to do much talking, so close to the king and queen.
"Very well," I said.
Wintillo raised an eyebrow. "You are probably the only maiden in all of Tirion to look unhappy at what I told you. Shouldn't you be blushing and giggling?"
"Should I?" I retorted. "I see no reason for that."
"Hm. I guess that explains a fair bit," he said, but when I asked him what that was supposed to mean, he just smirked, made a bow, and disappeared.

I surveyed the hall again. At home, one table was enough for the entire household, but here there were three: the high table on the dais, where the king and queen and their honoured guests would eat, and two long, long tables perpendicular to the high table for the rest of the household. There were silk-cushioned chairs – beautiful, with intricate carvings, and as uncomfortably straight-backed at those I had encountered in the morning – for everyone, some cushioned with additional pillows for (I assumed) children. There were no extra cushions on the chairs at the high table; either little Nolofinwë and Írimë would have to eat with only their noses reaching the table, or they were placed at the lower table. That, too, was different from home, where Sarnië (and before her, Erenwen and before her, I) had sat right between our parents until she was old enough to eat on her own without too much of a mess. But I suppose you couldn't have small children with a tendency to throw tantrums, upset glasses or drop and smear morsels of food sitting on the king's high table. Nor could the king and queen humour a child while they had to entertain guests and the court. But Prince Fëanáro would have to grow used to seeing Sarnië play with her food if he came into our house, I thought with a certain spiteful satisfaction.

The royal family did not arrive before most of the seats were taken, and pages had gone around filling glasses with sparkling wine. The three youngest arrived first, Írimë accompanied by a young woman in the ink-black robes of a scholar and Nolofinwë by another woman who was probably his nurse. They were indeed taken to the pillow-cushioned chairs at the low table. Princess Findis no longer needed extra cushions, but she nonetheless sat with her little siblings. Poor Nolofinwë still had his hair braided and jewelled, although at least the stiff brocade robes were gone.

Prince Fëanáro and the royal couple appeared last. The king and queen walked along the left-hand table while Fëanáro walked along the right. He had not bothered to replace the simple red tunic he'd been wearing in the afternoon by something more formal. Instead he had tied an embroidered scarf of ochre silk around his waist like a sash, its fringed ends dangling down to below his knees. It looked like a costume, though I couldn't have told you what he meant to portray.
Just like his father and the queen on the other side of the hall, he spoke to every person he passed – a few words of greeting, a few comments on the day's work, a few compliments, I assumed. He seemed to be doing well, I was surprised to see – there were many smiles, and neither awkward pauses nor offended looks. Then again, everybody knew how people fawned over the prince. He could probably spout the dullest nonsense, and would still be rewarded with smiles and congratulations on his wit.
Then I remembered that I'd resolved to judge people less harshly. Who knew, perhaps I was doing him wrong after all. I should probably give him another chance – and what better time than now, when I had to spend the evening at his side anyway?

"Good evening, Nerdanel," Fëanáro said when he eventually reached his seat. His smile, even from close up, looked genuine enough. "It has been a while since we last dined together."
Wintillo had reappeared from wherever he had hidden, to push the prince's chair forward as he sat down. Then he stepped back again to where to other pages were waiting for the royal couple.
"Indeed, my lord," I said.
There was a brief pause, as if he was expecting me to say more. Then he said, "But maybe I will have the pleasure more often, now?"
I bit my lips, and saw him frown at that. "No doubt, since I am to work here for a while," I said, hastily adding, "That is, if I have the... honour... of sitting up here again."
He was still frowning. "Yes, of course. But I rather meant that I would have the pleasure once I was Master Mahtan's apprentice."
I had to smile at that. "My lord, you know I cannot tell you my father's decision. I assure you that flattering me will avail you nothing, however."
Prince Fëanáro sighed. "You insist on misjudging my meaning," he began, but before he could say what meaning that was, the king and queen had reached their places, and everybody – including the prince – rose. I noticed that he very pointedly looked at his father while he made his bow, turning half his back towards Queen Indis – not an easy feat, from so close. He really hates her, I thought, inwardly shaking my head. I pointedly curtseyed to both of them, and when I caught the queen's gaze, I smiled in the friendliest way I could.

King Finwë raised his glass, and we all did the same. The king smiled. "Greetings again to you all! After this beautiful and productive day, I wish you all a pleasant and inspiring evening. Welcome in particular to a new addition to our table: Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan the smith, who will work on her examination piece in my house." He held his hand in my direction. Everybody's attention turned towards me and there was some polite applause. I curtsied and was annoyed to realise that my face was burning.
"Now let us enjoy the fine meal that has been prepared for us," King Finwë continued. "Eat, drink and be merry!" He sat down. Everybody followed suit.

While the pages started serving bowls of soup and fresh bread, I became aware that Prince Fëanáro was looking at me intently. I almost grimaced, but caught myself in time. I remembered our interrupted conversation (if you could call it conversation) and wondered if that was the reason for his stare.
"You said I was misjudging your meaning," I said by way of taking up the thread. "What meaning would that be, then?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I can tell you what it is not."
"What, then?"
"Flattery."
"What else, then?"
With a snort, he said, "What if I meant it?"
"Why should you?" I said before I could help myself.
He gave an exasperated sigh. "You figure it out," he suggested, and turned his attention towards his soup, ignoring the bread.
I ate as well.

After the soup, we were served a light dish of quails with fruit and grilled cheese, and afterwards, a spicy pie filled with chard and carrots. Prince Fëanáro appeared offended and did not deign to speak with me throughout these courses. At first that suited me just fine. Unfortunately, however, my neighbours to the left were making animated conversation amongst themselves, so I sat in isolated silence.
In the end, I found it too awkward; I tried talking to Prince Fëanáro again.
"You are wearing quite a catching costume tonight," I said.
He looked me up and down, then said, "What is this – flattery?"
I sighed. "Merely an observation. I meant 'catching' in the sense of 'unusual'. It caught my attention. That is all."
With a thin smile, he said, "Worth something, then. Yes, it is unusual here, I suppose. After this morning's ordeal, I could not be bothered to dress properly. But this is, after all, my father's palace – so I tried to spice this overly casual apparel with a sash. Shamelessly stolen from the Teleri, to be honest – I saw their fishermen wear this style of clothing when I visited Alqualondë a few years back. Not in these colours, of course, but blue does not suit me well. What do you think?"

As I had observed before, he could really wear whatever – if anything – he chose and it would look dashing. But I could hardly say that. Besides, it would not do to praise his looks – he'd take it as flattery, and mock me again.
"No doubt it will soon be the latest fashion, if people see you wearing it," I said – that seemed neutral enough.
"Probably," he acknowledged with a shrug, and fortunately did not point out that I had not exactly answered his question.

The empty plates were taken away. After the sweet red wine we'd drunk with the chicken and pie, we were now served a dry-ish white wine. We never bothered with more than one choice of drink at home. I secretly wondered how Prince Fëanáro would feel about that.
But that was not a topic that I wanted to touch again, so over the next course – cured salmon on salad – I changed the topic entirely. "So you have been to Alqualondë?"
"Several times, yes. You haven't?"
"No. They don't seem to have any use for sculptors there, so we never went."
"You should go some time. You'd appreciate the beauty of the cliffs, I'm sure. And of course the sea is always worth a visit. And you are wrong: They make fine driftwood statues. Worth studying, if sculpting is your craft."
His words made me feel strangely unsophisticated. Driftwood statues had never been mentioned in any of my studies, but of course I could have done some research of my own.
"That sounds interesting," I said, somewhat embarrassed. "I should like to take a look at them."
"Maybe I'll take you, when next I go there," Prince Fëanáro said, smiling.

I felt my brows contract. "I am perfectly capable of travelling on my own, I am sure!" I said.
He sighed. "Of course. And again you misread me, for I had no intention of suggesting that you weren't – as you should know."
"Oh, should I?"
"You should indeed. Or have you forgotten our encounter on your last journey?"
Would that I could, I thought! Out loud, I put some disdain into my voice as I said, "I remember that I had to save you from a killer rabbit, as your brother so nicely put it."
"As my half-brother so naïvely put it," he corrected. "But yes. So I have no reason to doubt your capability."
"Fair enough," I conceded. "But if you enter into apprenticeship with my father, you will have no time to go to Alqualondë for quite a while."
With a shrug, Prince Fëanáro declared, "If I have that privilege, I shall forego the pleasures of Alqualondë willingly for as long as it takes," And then he turned to me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "They eat raw fish there, you know."

I looked down at our plates, which we had by now cleared of their contents. "What of it? We have just eaten raw fish," I pointed out.
"That was cured," he said. "They like it raw and uncured. Mussels as well. And seaweed. And..."
I cut his list short. "If they like eating it, I must assume it tastes well. Are you expecting me to be shocked?"
He smiled. "Most Noldorin ladies are. As are Noldorin gentlemen. And Vanyar of either sex, come to think of it. But you speak wisely." Did I detect pride in his voice? How absurd – as if I was a student of his!
"Except when I misread you, of course," I said drily, and he sighed.
"Indeed. That appears to be your one shortcoming. I wonder what that means?"
"Do not worry, I have other shortcomings also," I said, feeling my cheeks redden again. "I am not singling you out."
"More's the pity," said he.
We were fortunately interrupted then, for now large plates of fruit and pitchers of clear water were brought to the table. After the different wines, I was grateful for the water, and the fruit smelled sweet and delicious. And either Prince Fëanáro had forgotten our line of thought (unlikely), or he chose to let it rest: At any rate he did not ask about my other shortcomings, or harp on about how I misread his meaning.

Instead, King Finwë now turned to me.
"Well, young Nerdanel, I trust you have found your conversation with Master Alcaráco fruitful and educative?" he asked, smiling. Master Alcaráco also smiled – but where the king's smile looked friendly and inviting, the sculptor's smile appeared unpleasantly condescending.
I tried for a diplomatic answer, but my semi-argument with Prince Fëanáro seemed to have drained me of diplomacy – or maybe it had made me bold. I surprised myself by saying, "I have had fruitful conversations with several people today," and just barely bit back the addition that Master Alcaráco was not among those people.
Apparently the implication was clear enough, anyway. The king's eyebrows went up in surprise, while Master Alcaráco pressed his lips together in resentment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Prince Fëanáro grin – he counted himself to those whose conversation had been fruitful, no doubt. Insufferable fellow! Astonishingly, Queen Indis also appeared to be hiding a grin behind her napkin; her eyes, at any rate, were lit with amusement.

"Well," King Finwë said, no doubt meaning to cover the embarrassing moment, "I am glad to hear it. So to what conclusion have you come? How will you go about your work, and when will you begin?"
Master Alcaráco smiled again now. I almost grit my teeth when I saw it. I found myself disliking him more and more. Perhaps he hoped that I would now display my utter ignorance. In the brief time he had granted to what he obviously considered my education, I had not outlined my plans to him. That was because he had given me no chance to do so, but he probably thought that I had no precise plan yet.
I had to disappoint him. "I can begin with the sketches at your – and your children's – earliest convenience, my lord," I told the king. "As soon as tomorrow, if you wish. I will need one session with all of them together, and then one with each of them separately. Once I have my sketches and know what I want the statue to look like, I shall travel to the marble quarry at Alastondo* for a suitable piece of marble. I take it that you will grant me a place in the palace where I can work?"
When the king nodded his agreement, I continued, "Then I shall have the marble delivered here. In the meantime I will prepare clay models of what I have in mind – that will take about a week. You can ask for changes or improvements then, if you wish. Once that is done, and I have my work-room readied and the stone at hand, I will start on the actual statue. That will take the longest, of course."

"There are several ways of speeding up your plan," Master Alcaráco said.
"Possibly, but I do not have such a tight time limit – that I know of," I said with a look at King Finwë.
"Not as far as I am concerned," the king said.
"Still, you could first order the marble – as I did," said Master Alcaráco. "Once I have all my sketches, I can begin my proper work right away."
I frowned. "Then I would have to match the sculpture to the stone, instead of choosing a stone suitable for the sculpture," I could not help pointing out. "I do not want that."
The king raised his eyebrows again. "Is it not said that a sculpture merely frees what is already in the stone? So is not the sculpture matched to the stone anyway?"
I almost rolled my eyes. The little dictum about how we only made visible what was already there was something that all apprentice sculptors were told, of course, but it was not to be understood literally. But I controlled myself, and merely smiled. "All the more reason to choose the right stone."
"Hear, hear," Fëanáro said in a dark voice, as though he had argued that point before. I shot him a perplexed glance, and he raised his eyebrows as if to say 'What?'
"I see," said the king. "Well, you are certainly welcome to start on the sketches tomorrow. In fact, that may be wisest, as we'll only have to clean and press the children's festival robes once. I believe it is the girls' turn tomorrow?"
Master Alcaráco inclined his head. "Indeed so. In the afternoon, I should be done with the first – Princess Findis, maybe? - and young Nerdanel can begin her work then, while the girl is still in her finery."

I could well imagine Princess Findis' mood after sitting for Master Alcaráco all morning – the poor girl would be exhausted and peevish. Besides, I wished to see the siblings as a group first in order to be able to decide how to depict them together. I said so.
"So it is better if I only start once Master Alcaráco no longer needs his models – the day after tomorrow? - But you need not worry about the finery," I added. "I wish to try something different anyway. So when the children-" I could not help glancing at Prince Fëanáro at this point, to see how he took being referred to as a child; he did indeed purse his lips at the word – "when the children pose for me, I want them to wear something unfussy and comfortable – simple shifts will do." I did not bother to see how Prince Fëanáro took that piece of news.

"How... unusual," Master Alcaráco said in a stiff voice. "It is common to take portraits and sculptures of people looking their finest."
"I know," I said. "But as I understood it, King Finwë wishes a sculpture of his children, not a sculpture of the Princes and Princesses of the Noldor?"
"Which means the same thing," Master Alcaráco pointed out.
"Well, yes," said I. "But they will always be the Princes and Princesses of the Noldor. They will not always be children. So I wish to depict them as they are now – as children." I turned to the king. "What sort of clothing would your children wear on a perfectly ordinary day, when they have no royal duties and simply go outside to play in the gardens?"
King Finwë smiled. "Fëanáro wears what he wishes," he said, his eyes resting fondly on his eldest son. "He is almost a grown man after all." I heard regret in his voice, and knew then that I had judged his desire right: to have a reminder of his children's youth even when they were grown.
"The others," the king continued, "wear the same shifts other children wear for play. When everything is said and done, we are a family like any other."
"And therefore," I said, "I would like to sculpt them as children in children's play-shifts. Even Prince Fëanáro, if that is at all possible."
Prince Fëanáro rolled his eyes. "The things we do for art," he said, his tone of voice suggesting that he was being extremely generous.
The king, at least, looked thoughtful. "Yes, you may have a point."
Master Alcaráco did not like that at all. "Your thoughts are sweet and touching, Nerdanel, as behooves a young woman. But this is not the way these things are done. Craftsmen have always chosen formal clothing for such occasions, long before you were born. It is a well-established tradition." His smile was triumphant.
Now I was seething inside, but I did my best to look innocent – sweet and touching, if you so wish.
"That is so. But must we always bow to tradition? I believe that art is only worthwhile when it contains some element of surprise."

Master Alcaráco snorted at that. Prince Fëanáro could not keep his mouth shut, either.
"What about that fox in your father's garden?" he asked. "Where is the element of surprise in that?"
I was perplexed. What did he mean by asking that question? If he thought I had no answer, he was sorely mistaken. "Well, my lord, I hear that some people are surprised to learn that it is not a living fox," I said, somewhat stiffly.
And the king laughed – loud and happily. "Indeed, I am not ashamed to admit that it fooled me," he said, while Fëanáro looked satisfied – he, I knew, had recognised it for what it was at once. He did not speak up to brag about it, though, which was something, I suppose.
"But wait," the king said, "that fox is your work?"
"It is."
King Finwë smiled so broadly that I forgot, in that instant, his age and office – he could have been any cheerful father.
"Now I understand why Aulë sent you here! And I am very much looking forward to seeing your sculpture. You shall have your shifts, young Nerdanel, and whatever else you see fit!"
Now it was my turn to smile triumphantly; I lowered my head to hide it. But even as I did, I could see that Master Alcaráco gave me a narrow-eyed stare.

I could only hope that he would not try to make things difficult.

Chapter End Notes

*Roughly, "marble rock" – a place name of my own (not particularly creative) invention.