Mahtan's Apprentice by WendWriter

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First Impressions

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Daylight glinted off the circlet Mahtan was working on. His commission to make a tiara for Eärwen daughter of Olwë was a prestigious one, and he was very proud of what he had achieved so far. As he regarded the delicate silver filigree that graced the golden circlet, he considered the jewels he would add to it. Adamant, for certain, but would rubies or emeralds set off the metals better? Some copper had been added to redden the gold, which, Mahtan found, had complicated the issue: which would work best - contrast or complement? His gaze strayed to the box where the gemstones lay in small compartments, graded by colour, not type.

He scratched his rusty beard as he considered this, with a frown that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Father?"

The soft musical voice of his daughter roused him from his deliberation. "Yes?" he asked, without turning to her.

"Fëanáro is here."

Mahtan turned around. There beside his sturdy girl stood the son of Finwë, his grey eyes moving slowly as they took in the details of the room. Fëanáro appeared to be curious and interested what he saw, but showed no sign of wonderment.

"My lord," said Fëanáro, and bowed dutifully.

"Good morning, Fëanáro," replied Mahtan, his expression impassive.

He knew Fëanáro by sight, but had never been formally introduced to him. His reputation as a sullen churl who resented his father's second wife did little to recommend him. If this pale-faced fellow loved her as much as she believed he did, he would take an interest in those things she held dear. Assisting her father was one of them.

He gazed appraisingly at Fëanáro, then held up the tiara. "Come, both of you," he said, "and help me choose the right jewels to set in this diadem. Should they be red or green?"

"Is this the one you are making for the lady Eärwen?" asked Nerdanel.

"Indeed it is," replied Mahtan.

"Let me see the jewels," said Fëanáro.

"I think rubies would be best," suggested Nerdanel. "They would complement the colours of the metal. Besides, she favours red, for it is not a common colour to her."

With an attitude of utter familiarity, Fëanáro sauntered over to the bench and rooted in the box. He examined each of the gems therein by holding them up to view them in the light that shone through the window, selected seven small stones of different colours, and held them in one long-fingered hand. He turned to Mahtan, and proffered them. "Use these," he said, as though expecting his choice to be accepted at once.

Mahtan scowled at the insolent Noldor prince. None of the jewels was red. Nor were they green. They were all shades of blue. The biggest stone was also the palest, the colour of the sky at the time of the mingling of the lights. "Fëanáro, why have you chosen these?"

The lad's eyes widened in confusion. "Because they are the right ones," he replied. "Put the biggest in the middle, and you will see what I mean."

"Fëanáro..."

"You did ask," said Fëanáro, his lower lip twitching in apparent annoyance.

"If it should be red or green," said Mahtan firmly. Was this the one his daughter wanted to wed? This arrogant, callow youth?

"Yes," argued Fëanáro, "but you had other gems that you had not considered. Why did you not think of these?"

"The colours of the metal..." began Nerdanel, in a defensive tone.

"Are perfectly suited to the gems I have selected," argued Fëanáro. He took the tiara and pushed the largest gem into the setting Mahtan had intended for the adamant and folded down the tines to hold it in place with his thumbnail. "See? It fits perfectly!"

It did. Mahtan rubbed his chin. To his annoyance, the lad was right. It was the right choice. That gem sat in its place as if it belonged there. He watched as Fëanáro added the other stones he had chosen to the diadem, then put it on his own head - the impudent brat - but ah, how beautiful it looked!

"I shall show it to the lady later on today and see what she says," said Mahtan. The vindicated look on Fëanáro's face annoyed him. "I shall see you both in the house."

The Noldor prince lifted the tiara from his head and held it out.

Mahtan took it, his stern gaze boring into Fëanáro's cloud-grey eyes. He had heard of the precocity of the son of Finwë, and now that he could see it for himself, he did not like it. What was it Nerdanel saw in him? Fëanáro dipped his head, turned and followed her out of the forge.

Mahtan watched them leave, put the tiara and his other tools away, then tidied up his forge before he went into the house.

TBC...