Overture by Lyra

Overture

The audience at my examination had already been uncommonly large, but today, Aulë's court was positively overrun. I am not exaggerating: every single seat was taken, and there were several rows of people standing behind the seats at the back of the theatre-shaped round. Word of Fëanáro's skill had clearly made it around. Or perhaps the examination of the king's son was in itself an event that people did not want to miss. Perhaps, also, they wanted to be seen as taking a keen interest in the proceedings, whether or not they actually felt it. Either way, there was a huge crowd.

Fëanáro did not seem bothered by it. In his place, I would have been terrified of so many observers - many of them people I had perhaps passed in the streets or seen from afar at a festival, but had no personal connection to. Being examined in front of them would have felt like a nightmare to me. Fëanáro, in contrast, was smiling at a familiar face here and waving to someone at the back of the crowd there, stopping with this group for a polite exchange of greetings, gracefully accepting that party's words of encouragement, shaking hands with courtiers or councillors as he walked down the long stairs on his way to the central circle and the examinee's seat. He was looking every bit as confident and energetic as ever. I knew that he hadn't seen his bed that night - I had heard him sneak into the workshop shortly after the household had gone to sleep, and he hadn't returned to the house until Telperion's light had been dim and Laurelin had begun to rekindle. Perhaps it had been one of his private projects, or perhaps he had been too nervous to sleep after all, working to keep the anxiety at bay. But if you saw him now, you'd never have guessed at either the sleepless night or at anything remotely like nerves. Now he had reached the front row, where King Finwë and Queen Indis were sitting, and was talking animatedly to his father (deliberately giving the queen the cold shoulder). He didn't sit down until most of the master smiths had taken their seats at the back of the arena, at which point he strolled over to his place leasurely, as if he was as much an observer as I was.

Aulë entered the circle. He did not even have to call for silence; the crowd hushed immediately, full of anticipation. Smiling at the expectant specators, Aulë said, "We have gathered for the first theoretical examination of Fëanáro, son of Finwë and Míriel, apprentice smith. If there be any reasons why this examination should not take place here and now, let them be voiced now."
It was entirely different from my examination. Fëanáro, when asked whether he was in good health and ready to stand the exam, answered in a loud and clear voice. Nobody observed that the examinee was not nearly of age - in fact, he was several years younger than I had been for my exam - or that he shouldn't be permitted to become a master because of his youth. Nobody raised any objections at all. The exam began just as scheduled, without any of the arguments that had preceded mine. It was a perfectly ordinary exam, barely different from the dozens of exams I had witnessed before. The questions were appropriate - some basic, some complex, all of them benign, nothing that should challenge a well-prepared aspiring craftsman. Fëanáro answered them, and he answered well: concise for the simple questions, elaborate for the more difficult problems. He made the occasional joke. He even turned a few questions around and interviewed his examiners, as though he was testing them rather than the other way round. They responded earnestly - either they didn't notice or they didn't mind - and towards the end, the exam had turned into a discussion among equals. Needless to say that the masters agreed unanimously to bestow upon him the title of master smith.

Fëanáro knelt not a second longer than he had to when Aulë gave his blessing. Before the other masters had even formed a line to congratulate him, he turned around to the audience, who still hadn't stopped applauding, and raised his hands for silence.
"I have an important announcement to make," he said. He was speaking loudly; amplified by the stone seats, his voice was ringing in our ears. "I have waited as long as I had to, but now I shall wait not a second longer."
That was enough to get everybody's attention. Behind him, the masters had frozen. I looked around the rows of seats and saw that all eyes were fixed on Fëanáro, curious as to what the grand announcement would be. Even the king and his wife were looking transfixed - and surprised. When I returned my attention to Fëanáro, I realised - to my alarm and, I confess, to my titillation - that he was looking directly at me.
"He won't -- " I heard myself say, and then cut myself short. Of course he would. That was exactly the kind of thing he would do. My cheeks began to burn.
"In these past two years, I have not merely worked and studied," Fëanáro was telling the crowd, "I have also fallen in love. I do not mean the love to my craft - although naturally, I do love it - but true love, with another living, breathing person." Gasps of surprise. I looked around again, and I could see eagerness, confusion, disappointment on many faces. I was far from the only one who had blushed deeply.

Fëanáro went on. "Master Mahtan has told me to wait until I had completed my training, and I have respected his wish. Today, however, my apprenticeship ends; and today, also, I will ask the woman I love for her hand in marriage." Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder. It belonged to Father, who was looking as stunned as many in the audience - not because he didn't know what was coming, but precisely because he did - and apparently needed to steady himself. Or maybe it was me he was steadying. I hoped I would be steady.
Fëanáro was still looking directly at me, an intense look of concentration on his face; it was as though he were waiting for some kind of signal. I was biting my lips as I met his eyes. I felt my breath quicken, and had to remind myself to stay calm. He hadn't even said anything yet! I might have misread the whole situation! Granted, I wasn't sure how I could have misread our kisses in the wood, his secret visits to my chamber, his earnest conversations with Father - but it still all seemed too much to be true.
And yet, there it was. "Nerdanel," Fëanáro said, mirroring the intensity of his gaze with the pleading quality of his voice, "daughter of Mahtan and Istarnië, in front of all these witnesses here - " his left hand indicated the speechless audience, while his right hand was clenched upon his heart - "I declare again my love and admiration for you, and ask you to agree to marry me."

Father's hand was heavy on my shoulder. The audience was irritated. It was tangible. Who knows what they had expected, but it hadn't been me. I am certain that some must have thought it a joke, and just didn't laugh because they were too stunned. Perhaps they were waiting for Fëanáro to say something along the lines of 'just kidding, but I got your attention, didn't I?' and move on. Perhaps they were waiting for me to laugh.
I didn't laugh. It was very much like my exam: my throat had gone so dry that my voice came out as a croak. "Yes," I croaked, and cleared my throat, and said, somewhat more clearly, "Yes, yes, I will marry you!" He was beaming, holding out his left hand invitingly. I had brushed father's hand away and taken several steps down the stairs before I even realised that I was walking. Then I did my utmost to walk down calm, collected, confident. Before my mind's eye, I saw myself stumbling and tumbling down all the way to Fëanáro's feet with everybody watching. Fortunately, I made it down the stairs without incident, and I was glad of it. There were far too many eyes fixed on me - doubtlessly taking in my plain face, my freckles, the hair that was nowhere near as bright as my father's nor as sleek and silky as Fëanáro's, the broad shoulders and hands, the same grey robe the other craftsmen were wearing - and it would have been awful to give them more reason to question Fëanáro's choice.

I walked into the centre of Aulë's court, walking as if in a dream. Fumbling in the pocket of my robes, I found the silver ring I had made a few weeks ago - just in case. Suddenly, I knew exactly what Fëanáro had been doing in the workshop last night, and I felt my lips break into a grin. But as I passed the master craftsmen, I realised that Fëanáro and I were disrupting the age-old ritual of the examination. They hadn't even had time to express their congratulations and welcome a new master in their midst. Stopping in my tracks, I looked at Aulë, and I was relieved to see that he did not seem at all put out. In fact, he was smiling fondly. Perhaps Fëanáro had asked him for permission in advance? Either way, Aulë clearly didn't disapprove. Encouraged, I walked on, took Fëanáro's out-streched hand and stepped up to him on the podium. "I hope you don't mind the public announcement," he said softly - but as I knew, even softly spoken words would be audible even in the last row of the stone circle. "I figured that even the biggest sceptic wouldn't be able to deny this. Too many witnesses for mere rumour."
"I wouldn't have minded something more private," I answered in the same tone. "But I see your point." A short, awkward pause. "Do you think we should kiss now?"

Chapter End Notes

[-- Orchestra bursts into the tune of 'Gaudeamus igitur' --]