Golden Days by Lyra

Chapter 10

Holy crap, I can't believe I haven't worked on this story in almost two years! That's disgraceful. Have a new chapter.

For Alcyo's sake, I tried to keep my thoughts about Master Alcaráco to myself when, at breakfast, I got peppered with questions about my day at the palace. I put the focus on my conversation with the King and Queen, on my plans, and on the dispirited children in their elaborate festival robes. Of course, Roitariel asked whether I had seen Prince Fëanáro. I told her that I had not only seen him but spoken to him at length, and sat beside him for dinner. That was a bad idea, as she and Erenwen would not stop giggling and whispering until Mother clucked her tongue and told them to stop. They shut up then, but you could see that they were still obsessed with the matter: Erenwen was shaking with suppressed giggles, and Roitariel kept poking her side to provoke further laughter, which in turn made Lisanto drop his spoon. He disappeared under the table to pick it up, and the two girls burst out laughing again.
"See, Father, and that is precisely why I think you must reject him," I said when they had begun to regain control over themselves. "If normal conversation is impossible with the mere thought of him in the room, however would our meals look if he were present in person?"
Father gave me a wry smile. "My dear, it would be a pity to let his talents go to waste just because some people insist on being silly."
"Hey!" Erenwen protested.
"You are being silly, dear," Mother said.
"I will banish them from the table if they continue to behave in this manner," Father continued, "but I am certain that I will have to do no such thing."
"Indeed, Father," said Erenwen meekly, and "Yes, Master Mahtan," said Lisanto and Roitariel.
I sighed. "You have made up your mind to accept him, then."
"Yes," Father said. "As soon as I have one less student to look after."
"Please, Father --"
"Nerdanel, now you are being silly. I understand your concerns, but in the end, we must do what is best for our craft; and I have a feeling that one of my greatest contribution to the craft will be teaching young Fëanáro."
"That is absurd, you have contributed so much already," I said, but my heart was not in it. In my head, I heard Master Carnildo's voice: One day, when I am asked about my greatest accomplishment, I will have to say, 'I taught Nerdanel'. I wondered whether Father had spoken with Master Carnildo since my visit. I could only hope that he hadn't; the mere thought made face burn again. I looked up and saw that everybody was looking at me.
"Well, he will be ever so delighted to hear it," I said between grit teeth.
Helyanwë grimaced in sympathy.

I was entirely unproductive for the rest of the day, brooding and fretting and annoyed with myself. It was silly indeed, but I figured that some silliness was pardonable in a young person. I looked through all my old sketches and plans, feeling slightly nostalgic and slightly embarrassed for the shortcomings of my younger self. I wandered through the garden aimlessly, smelling the herbs and flowers and watching the bees buzz around the bramble blossoms. Eventually, their sense of purpose and efficient movements lulled my fretting mind.
And when I rode to Tírion the next day, I was determined not to be provoked or embarrassed again, neither by Master Alcaráco nor by Prince Fëanáro nor by myself.

My resolve was tested as soon as I entered the palace, where I was waylaid by the prince. I say waylaid because he really seemed to have waited for me. I stepped through the door, and he stepped out from behind a pillar; surely that was no coincidence!
Today, he was wearing a simple white shift, just as I had requested. It was a little too small, particularly around the shoulders: Although it had been generously made, the pleats that gave it width only began at chest-level. Children were not expected to have craftsmen's arms, after all. It was too short, too, barely reaching his knees, the sleeves ending half-way down his forearms. Clearly it had not been especially made for the occasion; he had probably regularly worn it a couple of years ago, when it had better suited his age, and dug it out again for the sake of my sculpture. The only nod to adulthood was a belt that structured the otherwise loose garment a bit. It was somewhat ridiculous, I had to admit, even though he seemed to wear it gracefully enough.
I could not help but purse my lips, and curtsied in greeting to hide my expression. If he noticed, he did not show it; instead, he gave an exaggerated courtly bow in return to my genuflection.
"Good morning, Nerdanel," he said. "You are early."
"Good morning, my lord," said I. "Not early enough, it seems: You have been waiting, unless I am much mistaken."
I was convinced that he would deny it and tell me that I was assuming too much, but he did no such thing. "Indeed," he conceded instead. "I wanted to be the first to greet you."
"Oh. I am honoured, I suppose," I said, and heard how wooden my words sounded.
He duly rolled his eyes. "Of course. But that is not what I meant. I said that you were early because Alcaráco has suddenly discovered that he misplaced his sketch of my half-sister; he is even now making a new one. So if you still intend to begin with all my father's children present, you will have to wait until Írimë is released."

Ordinarily, I might have laughed at the way in which he insisted that he and his siblings were distinct entities: no 'my sister', no 'us', no, it was 'my half-sister' and 'my father's children' all the way. But as it was, I was struggling not to let my shock show. I was certain that Master Alcaráco had not misplaced the sketch at all. Rather, he was actively seeking to sabotage my plans. I knew how that sounded – I was, after all, a mere apprentice, hardly worth such schemes – but this was too great a coincidence. I could not keep my thoughts to myself: I had to confide in someone or I would start chewing my fingernails or running in circles, and so, against better judgement, I spoke to the one person close enough to listen – Prince Fëanáro.
"Would you think me pretentious," I said, trying hard to keep my voice even, "if I uttered the thought that he is doing that on purpose?"
The Prince gave a lopsided smile, which almost endeared him to me. "No; I would think you astute," he said. "It seems that our grand Master Alcaráco is afraid of the competition."
I massaged the bridge of my nose. "Wonderful. Now Princess Írimë will be exhausted and annoyed by the time I get to start," I said. "This is precisely what I wanted to avoid."
"That is precisely why he is doing this, of course," Prince Fëanáro said helpfully.
"That is not fair!" I said before I could stop myself. "That is no way to treat an apprentice, competition or no!"
"I suppose you could take it as a compliment: He clearly does not consider you an apprentice anymore. In a way, it is a covert vote of confidence."

I snorted angrily. "I can do without such compliments," I said. "I find it hard enough to – to come here and work on a real commission. To face an examination." The urge to run away was becoming overwhelming; at the very least, I had to walk. The Prince immediately fell into pace beside me. I was not certain whether I found his presence aggravating or reassuring. He said nothing, simply pacing along as I walked further into the palace, then stopped as I realised how pointless that was. I turned around. "I apologise. I was not thinking. I will go and come back tomorrow. Thank you for informing me. Good day, my lord." The words gushed out of my mouth like bubbles spilling over the brink of a washing trough. All I wanted to do was run away and hide and cry with disappointment, and then send word to Aulë that I was not ready to take the exam after all.
Prince Fëanáro tilted his head. "I know you do not want my advice," he said, "but I would like to offer it nonetheless."
I shrugged. "It can hardly make matters worse."
He ignored the gracelessness of my reply. "If you come back tomorrow, you give him another night to think of ways of hampering you. If I were you, which I know I am not, then I would stay and make the best of it – nay, better! Who is he that you let him discourage you?"
"A petty man who cannot handle the idea of being bested by a young woman," I said, clenching my fists. "You are right. I will stay and face whatever he plans to throw in my way."
"Excellent!" Prince Fëanáro clapped his hands. "Since it will probably take a couple of hours before Alcaráco tires of his game, may I entertain you until then?"
"That is really not necessary." The reply came automatically.
"It would make me very happy if you allowed me to distract you," he insisted. "My offer to show you the gardens is still good."
"Maybe later," I said. Maybe Master Alcaráco would be done soon – or so I hoped. "First, I would like to see where I am supposed to work. I'd like to get all surprises out of the way at once, if it's all the same to you."
"Fair enough. I can show you the way. If you would follow me, please?"

He led me along the great hallway and up a grand staircase, then along further corridors, around a corner. Initially I was surprised – surely we had left the public part of the palace by now and strayed into family territory – but then I came to expect that my workspace would be some sort of broom closet in the hindmost part of the palace.
What I had not expected was the bright, spacious studio into which Prince Fëanáro eventually showed me. My mouth fell open as I looked around. "You must be erring," I said. "I have seen Master Alcaráco's workshop, and it is not nearly as generous as this one."
"Let's consider it poetic justice," the Prince said dryly. "It is supposed to recompense you for any inconveniences you might suffer."

It was rich recompense indeed. The room had large windows that spanned three walls, so that the golden light of Laurelin could fall in from all but one side. Unlike the corridors and the other rooms that I had so far seen, its walls were plastered with simple white clay, though polished to perfect, marble-like smoothness – no distracting mosaics or paintings. The ceiling beams and the way in which the door fit into the corridor wall suggested that it had been a later addition to the palace, designed specifically for artistic work. The floor was laid with simple terracotta tiles that had been scrubbed meticulously, but showed the tear and wear of a workshop - scrapes left by sand or stone or furniture that had been moved around, a smear of paint or enamel here, some discolorations as if caused by droplets of very hot metal there. There was hardly any furniture in it except for some chairs and a large work-table made of oak, with drawers in which one could store one's utensils. I opened a drawer and found inside the key to its lock. So I would be able to leave my tools and my sketches here without Master Alcaráco having access to them. The only disadvantage was – in fact, no: The windows from the wall that faced away from the door could be opened so wide that even a large block of stone could be moved through, for which purpose there actually was a crane-like construction with pulleys and sturdy ropes. In short, it was a perfect studio.

I said so. "Your father has been most generous," I added. "I am aware that this is an exceptional favour, and I am deeply grateful for it." Master Alcaráco would have to work outside on the porch, I knew; the room in which he had been working was neither big enough for the kind of marble block that he would need, nor lit well enough. I wondered whether he knew that I would be working here. If so, I almost had to forgive him for trying to sabotage me: By assigning me this beautiful studio, the King had pretty much explicitly said that he wanted me to win. I hoped that Master Alcaráco had no idea.
Prince Fëanáro tore me from my musings. "I am glad that you find it satisfactory," he said. "What about the gardens, now?"
"You really need not inconvenience yourself," I said.
"It is no inconvenience at all," he said. "I, too, cannot do anything useful until Alcaráco is done – except keeping you entertained, if you allow it."
I grimaced. "Are you certain that Master Alcaráco will be taking so long?"
With a dismissive wave of his hands, the prince said, "He did not say so, but he took half a day and more for each of us in the first go. But I can ask Wintillo to bring us word as soon as my half-sister is released; she will have to change anyway, and that will give us time enough to return here."
"All right," I heard myself say. "In that case, I suppose you may as well show me the gardens."

The palace gardens were impressive, no doubt. Hedges had been cut into geometric patterns, flowers had been planted, arranged by colour, in symmetrical waves or circles or triangles; there were perfectly rectangular pools of water, covered in large water lilies; there were artificial hedgerows and bushes trimmed into sculptures; there were imacculately cut lawns of grass or chamomile or thyme, and there were decorative fountains. No doubt many gardeners were working very hard on maintaining this garden. I could appreciate that. But it was not the kind of gardening that I liked, at all; at any rate, it was too much of a good thing. Not every garden had to be as wild and close to nature as our own was at home, nothing was wrong with some trimming and some ordering, but here, I felt that they were trying too hard.
Still, I politely praised the careful arrangements – I could hardly tell my host the prince that I did not think much of the garden he had been so eager to show me.
"It is the latest fashion in Vanyarin gardening, I am told," Prince Fëanáro said in reply. "They put much effort into it."
"Most impressive," I said.
"I must admit that I find it surprising that they still work with real flowers," said he, "it would save them much pain if they just sculpted and painted everything in the way they want it."
I imagined a garden in which all the flowers were in fact sculptures. As an experiment, it might be interesting, but above all I thought it would be unsettling. Here the plants moved in the wind, grew leaves out of line or refused to flower symmetrically – that, at least!
"I do not think they want an immutable garden; they just want to shape it their way." I said. "Surely this is their way of appreciating living plants."
The prince gave a snort. "A strange form of appreciation, is it not?"
"Well, I appreciate stones and metals, but I do not leave them in their natural shape," I pointed out.
"So you like it?"
Why did it matter so much to him whether I liked his father's garden? I shrugged. "As I said, it is most impressive."

We ambled on for a while without speaking, following a long pathway overarched by rosebushes with huge, many-coloured blossoms that gave off a sweet, heavy scent. Prince Fëanáro seemed to be brooding, clearly disappointed by my reserved reaction. Probably he had expected gushing enthusiasm. Well, I was getting used to disappointing his expectations. To some extent, I was glad about the discordant mood – it took the innuendo out of the beguiling scent of the roses, the petals that gently rained down upon us whenever there was a gust of wind, the patterns the leaves painted with their shadows. I was acutely aware of the romantic implications of the situation – two young people, the roses, the dancing light – but as long as my companion shrouded himself in offended silence, there was no danger in them. Perhaps the prince felt the same, for as soon as we had stepped out of the rosebush alley, entering the less significant territory of a kitchen garden, he spoke up.
"I would like to show you something," he said in a somewhat terse voice. "A different corner of the garden."
The regularity of the garden, I have to admit, was beginning to get on my nerves. Even the vegetables had been arranged in geometric patterns: rings of onions and carrots growing around diamond-shapes made up of cabbages; perfect rows of peas and spinach. I could see the attraction of arranging plants in certain ways, but the king's Vanyarin gardeners had gone over the top as far as I was concerned – this was not art, it was artifice, and it was getting absurd. I was not sure that I could stomach anything more.
But I suspected that the prince would be displeased if I did not look at whatever corner of the garden he wanted me to see, and after the way in which he had born my lapse of composure in the morning, and in which he had encouraged me to stay, I supposed he deserved some gratitude. I sighed.
"Yes, very well, if it does not take too long," I said.

It did take a while to reach his treasured corner: It was at the opposite end of the garden, far enough from the palace that I was beginning to suspect we had left the grounds altogether. But it was worth the walk. I found myself in a delightfully untamed, overgrown part of the garden. There had probably been ornamental pools once, but they had long since lost their circular shapes; if the oak and beech trees had ever been trimmed, they had now outgrown their symmetry, growing high and close so that their crowns hid the sky and blocked out the bright daylight. Little fountains murmured between the rocks, feeding the pools. Maybe it had been a rock garden once – aside from the fountain-washed rock heaps, there were larger standing stones visible here and there – but most of it was now covered in moss and leaves and shadow-loving weeds: I could see the golden star-flowers of moneywort, the small blue bells of campanula and the huge purple blossom-clusters of foxgloves, as well as ferns and rushes. Ivy crept up the treetrunks and along the rocks. Somewhere, a nightingale was singing.
I thought it was utterly beautiful. Even if I had not been so tired of the overregulated palace gardens, I would have loved it: The shade was a pleasant contrast to the day's heat, the trees and pools promised peace and safety. It was like a place that had been forgotten by time, pristine, enchanted. I had almost forgotten about the prince, too; now I turned to see what he was doing. In his simple, artless shift, he fit into these surroundings very well – if I had intended to create a sculpture of, say, young Finwë in Cuiviénen, I could not have asked for better inspiration. The only thing that did not quite fit was his expression, which was rather grim, his eyes boring into mine as if he was trying to see into my mind.

But he clearly did not succeed, for now he asked, "Well? What do you think?" He had folded his arms across his chest, standing his ground, his mouth set in a gruff expression that suggested he felt personally offended by this patch of wilderness amidst the well-ordered gardens of his father.
Even at the risk of offending him more, I had to be honest. "I suppose that some might find it too wild and too dark," I said, "but personally, I think it is charming – a blessed relief after all the overwrought flowerbeds I've seen before!" I bit my lip at once: I had not meant to speak so ill of the palace gardens, only to praise this little spot of paradise. But now it was out.
Prince Fëanáro reacted in a way that I had not foreseen: The tension went out of his shoulders, his arms dropped to his side, and he grinned, a broad and unconstrained grin that made his eyes light up. "Blessed relief indeed!" he said. "Oh Nerdanel, I am so glad that you like it." I blinked: I had not expected that at all.
"This used to be my mother's private garden," the prince continued, sitting down in the moss, "and it is now technically mine – but I am perfectly happy to leave it as it is. When I was younger, I used to play that this was Cuiviénen..." He stuck his feet into a pond, creating little ripples that licked against the stones.
"I thought of Cuiviénen, too," I admitted. Suddenly, in this place, I found Prince Fëanáro quite likeable. I did wonder why he cared what I thought of his mother's garden, though. If I had expressed the dislike I had thought he was looking for, what would it have mattered?
I decided that he probably just wanted confirmation for his view of things. Well, in this particular case, he could have it.

The image of the ponds and fountains under the high canopy of leaves stuck with me even later when I was back in the wonderful study, surrounded at last by the princes and princesses of the Noldolië. More precisely, it was the idea of a sculpture of young Finwë, and maybe of the other Eldarin leaders in Cuiviénen, that still lingered in my mind. I called myself to order. I had a commission – a real commission! - to begin, and here I was already daydreaming of another project. That wouldn't do. First things first!
I put a smile on my face for the sake of the children, who were looking a little forlorn (or, in the case of Nolofinwë, downright frightened). I hoped I had not appeared too unwelcoming while lost in thought.
"Thank you all for agreeing to pose for me," I said. "I hope I will not keep you too long, but just in case, I'd like you to be as comfortable as possible. Would you like something to eat or drink?"
"Lemonade!" Princess Írimë cried out, which Prince Nolofinwë echoed at once. "Oh yes, lemonade!"
"Very good!" I said cheerfully, turning to Wintillo who stood at the back of the room, watching the proceedings. I figured he might as well make himself useful. "Could you please get a jug of lemonade and some glasses?"
"I would prefer a cup of tea," Princess Findis said. "Peppermint, please."
"Peppermint is a tisane, not tea," said Prince Fëanáro. "And the children are not supposed to have lemonade except on special occasions."
I raised my eyebrows. "Today is a special occasion, is it not? But you have not let Wintillo know your choice of beverage."
"That will be lemonade for two, one peppermint... tisane, and one cup of real tea with honey and a slice of lemon," Wintillo said, making Prince Fëanáro smirk. "And what would you like, Mistress Nerdanel?"
"Nerdanel. I am no mistress yet," I reminded him. Tea with honey and lemon didn't sound half bad, but I could hardly ask for it now that it was what Prince Fëanáro was drinking. "I'll partake of the lemonade. And if you could find some sort of snack for the children, too?"

While Wintillo was on his way, I asked the Princes and Princesses to go and fetch some toys that they liked to play with. Prince Fëanáro shook his head disapprovingly. "You can be glad if they find their way back here within the hour," he said. "And then they'll have their heads full of child's play. Already you have lost half an hour – what do you think you're doing?"
"As I told King Finwë, I want to depict you all naturally, and as children rather than like dolls that have been lined up for presentation. So I need to see you play – the way you'd pass your time when there is no sculptor present."
"I am too old for playing children's games."
"Well, you don't have to – you can just watch indulgently, if that's what you do."
"It isn't." He was pursing his lips, disgusted by the mere thought.
I sighed. "Well, do whatever else you do when you're alone with your siblings."
That made him snort. "I avoid being alone with them." He tilted his head, a glint in his eyes. "I thought you wanted us to look natural? I naturally would not be present when my half-siblings are at play."
I was hard put not to roll my eyes. "That is all fine and well, but your father wants a sculpture of all of you. Can you please not make this any harder for me and just do what I'm asking? Please?"
He did not answer immediately; perhaps he had to wrap his mind around my outrageous demand. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath. "The things we do for art," he said. "Do I have permission to read, at least?"
"By all means!" I said, masking my relief with cheerfulness. "Reading sounds like a perfectly natural pastime."

Prince Fëanáro had been wrong, anyway: Whether they were eager to play, or eager to get their lemonade, or even eager to find out what I was planning, the little prince and princesses were back even before their elder brother had returned from fetching his book. They began to set up a hunting scene with beautifully carved and painted wooden animals, but stopped when Wintillo arrived with his tray. The two younger children then gorged themselves on the almond cakes and lemonade. Princess Findis looked a little embarrassed. "They do have manners, you know, it's just..."
"It's perfectly fine, my lady," I said, helping myself to some lemonade before none was left. "I understand."
Prince Fëanáro returned, looked at the sticky fingers of his little brother with distaste, and ignored his steaming teacup.
"I will sit down over here," he announced, drawing up a chair far away from the forest scene the little ones had set up. "Unless the artist minds, of course."
"That will do fine – for now," I said.
"Where would you like us to sit?" Prince Nolofinwë piped up. "Master Alcaráco will have me sit in front of Findis, and Írimë in front of Curufinwë."
All in a neat square, diagonally sorted by gender. How uninspired! That thought I kept to myself. Out loud, I replied, "I am not certain yet, my prince – I'll see what best fits once you get to playing."
That earned me confused looks from three of them, and a raised eyebrow from Prince Fëanáro.

When they had eaten and drunk their fill, the two younger ones finally began to play at their hunt. Princess Findis, too, sat down on the ground with them, carefully placing her teacup out of the immediate reach of her younger siblings. She occasionally offered advice – "Look, Nolwo, you'll have to chivvy the deer through that gap over there!", "Írimë, where are your dogs?" - and sang a hunting song with the children. Prince Fëanáro, on the other hand, ignored them as well as he could over the noise they were making, apparently so absorbed in his book that he did not even notice when Prince Nolofinwë snatched his little sister's hunter away to prevent her from being first to the kill. Princess Írimë jumped up, scattering deer and dogs, and made a grab for her little wooden hunter; but Prince Nolofinwë ran away with it, laughing. His little sister ran after him, protesting and demanding that he stop, which of course he did not do. Soon I would have to interfere, I thought; Princess Findis was already frowning at me – if I did not stop the children before their squabble got ugly, she certainly would. Prince Nolofinwë was now taunting the little princess, running backwards to show that even so, he was still faster than she was, always holding the hunter just out of her reach, mocking her futile attempts to grasp it. But the little boy was forgetting his surroundings, and before long, he backed into a chair – precisely the chair that Prince Fëanáro was perched on. Seeing his reading interrupted, the prince was taking a deep breath, doubtlessly preparing to give his brother a harsh rebuke.
And I, in a flash of inspiration, saw my sculpture come to life.
"Stop!" I called out, afraid that an argument would ruin the moment. "Stay as you are! This is perfect."