In Early Spring by Serinquanion  

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The Artisan

Time moved differently in this form as did his mind. Everything he perceived was shrouded in stained glass. He floated for so long that he didn’t even know exactly how long it was. His head hurt even if he didn’t have a head right now. Nor did he have an identity to hold onto. He had a nudge that he wasn't a good person but what he did that he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He just wanted to rest.

And rest he did. In such a deep sleep he was lulled into that when he woke up beside this grand lake, he was quite confused. More so when he realised he wasn’t floating anymore but slowly descending towards the bank of the lake. The mud there was soft and such a great place for a tree to grow up, he thought. And as soon as the thought formed, he felt quite different. Before long should anyone gaze towards the bank of the lake, they would see that just outside the vast grand woods, a little but resilient sapling was growing. What plant it was, none recognized and left it there as any attempts to touch it caused visions in the person of their future and many times they received great knowledge and mastered craftsmanship specifically in a forge. Soon enough, it grew to be an attraction and a great settlement grew around it. The townspeople worshipped their little sapling although it didn't grow in stature at all. It remained the small sapling that it came to be in existence as.

Years, decades and eventually centuries passed by and now the town was a great city, extended half over the lake and at the centre of the city was the sapling, fortified with stones and masonry and the walls were being decorated by this strange man who refused to remove the cloak off his head and his face always shrouded in darkness. The man had a beautiful voice and even more beautiful works as he painted many murals in just a few days. He had arrived only a few weeks before and had many questions that the citizens happily answered.

 

***

 

“So you are telling me that the sapling,” the artisan pointed at the middle of the circular wall, standing above the wall with the mayor, “is here since like five centuries ago?”

“Yes, yes, master Coirëndil.” The mayor nodded. “It’s a gift from the gods to us.” He looked quite glad to be able to point out the last part, reveling in the fact that they were quite literally blessed.

The artisan looked more interested in the tale now. “The gods gifted you?” he asked. Tilting his head. The mayor now could see the bridge of his high and straight nose. It greatly suited his narrow lips.

“Of course! Or else why our tiny town was spared from all the troubles outside that are still going on. Never had any stray orc or running Black Riders ended up outside our door!”

The artisan hummed. “Mister Mayor, can I get a better view at the sapling? I want to,” he smiled gently, his lips curving into a charming smile. “touch it and get better at my work.”

The mayor laughed heartily. “Of course, of course. You are already so great at drawing the murals though.” he said, “But if that's what you want, I will take you down there. Just please let us see your face first so that we have a note on you for later.”

The artisan nodded. “It has to be done in your mansion, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” replied the mayor. “Let’s climb down the wall then.” The man said in a very joyous way.

On their way down, the artisan looked back up at the sky. It was bright and sunny today. Not uncomfortably hot but warm to skin. It reminded him of… home. Whichever among many was it. He sighed, not wanting to think much about it but through his reverie, he almost didn’t notice that they had reached their destination already until the mayor called out, tapping his shoulder.

“Master Coirëndil, take down your hood please.” the mayor nudged. “Little Nînnil here will do a quick sketch of you.”

He absentmindedly did so and for a moment wondered why the two people in the chamber were staring at him before realizing their point of interest — his ears and hair. “Are they considered this… strange?” his grey eyes sparkled with humor.

The two looked away immediately and focused on their work. Nînnil drew quite a good portrait in such a small time with only the least amount of supplies. It captured his tired gaze and usual tranquil expression very well. And the mayor had completed the paper-work. In all, it took only a few hours. But as it was already dark, the mayor asked if it would be alright to go there tomorrow; he had agreed. But he did decline the mayor’s offer to let a guard escort him to the small house he had rented in the city. It was quite far from the centre of the city and the mayor’s halls, yes, but he liked solitude much more.

Yes, Zîrahim, the mayor, was a good companion and maybe the man saw him as a friend — many did for his race, although fading, was still seen as great — but he himself certainly didn’t view Zîrahim as such. And after today, he did even less so. It seemed though the man knew he was of the race of Eldar but his appearance still shocked him. The artisan knew the reason was most certainly his hair. Then again, it’s been long since he had a ‘friend’. His father and mother — or uncle or aunt, he didn’t know what to call them even now — had tried long to beget him friends but even they were unsuccessful until his cousin returned.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts that were taking the worst of a turn. Instead he wandered for a bit. He wasn’t in much hurry right now, strolling through the market that laid on his path to his house. He had little need for food for sustenance and but still it was nice to have something soothing for his tongue, something that reminds him of home.

“Mister, mister, would you please buy these?” a little girl of age eleven in butcher clothes called out to him. “Finest cuts of pig that you can find in Tungkast!” she said. He smiled at her encouragingly.

“Finest you say?” a boy of her age and of slightly bigger stature shouted from the other side of the road from his own shop. “Mister, my father’s is better! Their,” he pointed at the girl’s shop, “hasn’t been good since her father left them and her mother refuses to leave the gift of Zarazîr!”

In the end though, he still bought quite a lot and of quite a few varieties of cuts from the girl even though he had no hunger for any meat right now. He mentally noted that he would have to invite her and her younger siblings for meals one day. Their thin faces picking from the back of the shop and the happy gleam in all their eyes when he paid in silver coins were… well, they simply melted his heart.

He didn’t stop anywhere else after this. He better get these down to the cold room and maybe also smoke some of these. He wasn’t really fond of other methods of preservation.

By the time he went to bed that night after doing every chores and a light dinner of vegetable and fish stew and rye bread, it was already midnight. He still stayed awake for a long while, staring ahead at the rooftop of his room and thinking of the day spent. And of the great and strange sapling, Zarazîr as the boy called it and as most people in the city called its so called gift from gods. Strange, very strange it was for even from afar, he could feel its strength and a great will to just go over and touch it. It drew him close, he was in the far east, not wanting to come here so soon even if he wanted to see the place where his forefathers awakened.

And all these scared him. He never showed this exact fear to these Men as he knew they wouldn't believe him at all, being in the grasp of it completely. So he took the longer path. Renting a house here, making a living by his art and making this place a second home. Something had urged him to get a home with a spare room, why he didn’t know. His best guess would be it was for his dear brother but he wasn’t sure of it. So for now, the room was gathering dust.

He sighed, turning to his side he felt tired and yet sleep was elusive. He knew, most likely, he couldn’t sleep until he got to the sapling tomorrow. And after a while, he forgone sleep altogether and sat up for an early day in his workshop downstairs.

Before long, it was dawn and he was waiting for the sun to rise higher before he went to the mayor’s hall.

***

It was a dangerous endeavor. To try to steal the greatest treasure of the city he had come to love and see as his home. And he knew, it would be most likely him on whom the suspicion would fall first as he still was a newcomer, only arriving here less than a year. But he wasn’t someone to back out or fear backlash. So stealing it was. At worst, he would leave the city. And his gift for this lifetime came to much rescue this time. It was far too easy to hum and make the guards fall asleep from his hiding.

His visit with the mayor earlier this week helped a lot too. Only one visit to the sapling and he already knew all the ways and paths inside the fortified structure by his heart. After a few minutes and a few more sleeping guards later, he was standing before the sapling. He stood there for a while, contemplating something at the last moment but ultimately deciding against whatever it was.

He knelt before the final obstacle — a metal cage, airy and light so that light could enter and nourish the sapling but not a person. Not a very great means of security but given that none in the administration thought anyone would dare to and be able to break into this far, not too shabby either. He could probably bend the metal bars, he would’ve by now if not the possibility of resonance created from the metal bending could wake people up. He had to think of another way.

When Zîrahim took him here, he just placed his hand on the metal bars and a few bars disappeared to create a doorway. From his analysis, it seemed that the wards underneath were designed to recognize the key-holder of the city — the mayor. And most likely the ward was centred to the sapling itself.

So while in the majority of such cases, he would’ve straight-up destroyed the centre, it wasn’t possible here. He didn’t want the sapling to be destroyed, at least not yet, not before he had the chance to fully examine it. After that, he would eviscerate it. Or so he had decided already.

Right now, he muttered something under his breath, tracing the metal bar with his long finger, looking for a weak point in the ward. When he found it after a while, his fingertip halted at the point and with a slight push, the doorway appeared. Now, the sapling was right in his view.

The leaves that seemed like green of new-grown grasses in the sunlight, looked like they were glittered with grinded gemstones or silver and underneath they were dark green in colour. It had grown not since the last time he saw it and for a moment he could understand why most common Men were enamored by it. But he was no Man nor was he someone of common-birth, so he managed to resist the urge. With swift hands, he dug up the soft, loose soil around the sapling. The soil was moist and loose, like someone just planted it here. Then, he gently pulled out the plant from the ground, taking great care not to tear its roots that ran deep into the soil. With just a little effort and much patience and time, the sapling was in his hands and out of the soil. He carefully placed it into a bag and flung it over his shoulder, resting over his right side. Then, he stood up, getting ready to disappear into the shadows and then out of the fortified stone walls and into the street. He wanted to rest today after this and tomorrow he would examine the sapling. He was sure no one would see a new plant as anything out of place in his small garden, especially if he charmed the sapling to look like a normal plant. But the moment he set a foot outside the metal cage, the whole thing shone up like the sun.

Alarm rang in his mind but only by luck did he manage to hide in the shadowy corner behind a pillar when many armed guards swarmed into the open space. He cursed under his breath before whispering an enchantment around himself and took a sly chance to slip out with very light steps even for an elf. Only after he was halfway to his residence and far from the growing chaos as many people were waking up to the spreading news of the theft of their worshipped item that he sighed in relief, leaning against a wall in an alleyway. Thankfully, he lived far from the city-centre and rarely anyone disturbed him ever. He quickened his pace so that, even if by any chance anyone decided to check his residence, they would find nothing but a new plant ready for potting in his garden and him half-asleep.

He sat down against the front door once he silently shut it behind him when he reached his residence. The whole endeavor was somewhat nerve-wracking as he hadn’t done something like this for literal ages. Three ages to be exact.

After a while, he stood up, getting ready to place the sapling outside with other plants waiting to be potted and to charm it. That took, at most, only a few minutes. And in just half-an-hour, he was out cold in his comforting bed in his room upstairs, entirely unaware of the sounds that come to be in the house around the morning time.

***

“Master Coirëndil, I am the deputy head of the city-guards. Please open your door.” a youth begged from the outside, waking him up from deep sleep. “We are in dire need, good sir.”

He groaned and turned and finally after a while, kicked the quilt off him. He stared down from one of the windows of the room and saw a group of only two people outside. He did recognize them — Anarcalin, the son of a retired soldier of Gondor and the one who called out; and Tiqinixë, a cousin of the former. Their forefathers had served the stewards of Gondor and before the stewards, the line of kings. Only recently for two generations that the extended family moved to this place as they had grown restless in Minas Tirith. Or so he had heard about them.

He grumbled under his breath and hoped that no signs of his little sleep would show up on his face as he climbed down the stairs. Without hurry, he opened the front door after making sure he wouldn't look askew and that his sleeping robes were properly tied. Although he wasn’t very pleased to get guests this early in the morning and internally he was reviewing if the charm he placed was alright still, he felt immediately bad looking at the panicked pale faces of the two young men. His eyes softened and he motioned them inside.

“Thank you, thank you.” Anarcalin muttered, sounding quite relieved as they took their seats in one of the comfier couches in the living room. “I hope, it’s not too much of an ask, I know you're quite busy and –”

“Would you help us catch a thief?” Tiqinixë cut him off with an impatient but also panicked voice as if he didn’t trust the walls not to overhear the exact details of the theft.

“Cousin!” Anarcalin hissed and turned to the artisan, “Sir, please don’t take offense but,” he searched for the right words, “I think, you will understand the severity if you get to the spot. Someone had stolen the gift of Zarazîr!”

“Someone had stolen… the sapling?” he asked, feigning confusion. “But isn’t it heavily guarded?”

“It is.” said Tiqinixë, “but someone charmed every single guard asleep and sneaked in last night. Even with our best efforts, we couldn’t catch the thief.”

Anarcalin nodded. “We aren’t really specialised in charms and enchantments. But aren’t your people known for this? Won’t you please help us catch the thief? This town of Calenrod will always be grateful to you.” he requested, the desperation showing up again.

“I will think.” He had replied to the two youths before standing up along them. “But first I want to see the spot for any residual traces that I can find.”

“Thank you.” the two said before they set out. Although he would’ve liked to properly dress up first and have breakfast, he wanted to also make sure that nothing could be traced to him and being at the scene would let him ensure the latter. So a travelling coat over the sleeping robe it was. Anarcalin and Tiqinixë looked very much relieved at his enthusiasm and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for them for misunderstanding his reasons but he wasn’t a fool who would tell them that and he doubted anyone would.

At the entrance to the grand walls was a crowd, all pale and some crying, shouting profanities at the uncaught thief. He could see the little girl who had only recently accepted his invitation for a meal at his place along with her siblings was near one of more hysterical people, trying to comfort the woman futilely. Zîrahim, once catching a glance of him with the two guards, lightened up.

“This way! This way, please! My dear boy Anarcalin has explained everything, hasn't he? Good, good.” the mayor said to him and ordered his people to not let anyone enter the fortified structure as he led the elf to the crime spot. But as fate would reveal, even he could find nothing at all and after a few hours of futile efforts, or not so futile, as he did remove his own traces off everything. He had just apologized for not being able to help at all but the mayor, as good hearted as one can be, apologized back for disturbing his rest and sent him back home, alone for he once again refused to take an escort. There was no crowd outside now.

Quite relieved that his actions won’t be revealed, he walked back merrily and as he walked straight into his house and to the kitchen to climb the stairs to complete his sleep, he was very much distracted. He still didn’t have time or will to examine the sapling but he would check on it this evening and decided to postpone one particular experiment until he left the city for safer measures. To say that he was surprised and caught off guard as he didn’t feel any presence in his residence until he directly walked into the other fellow wouldn’t do any justice.

They both fell on their back and the other party yelped in surprise, the artisan see the very familiar shade of red on the other person’s head, for a moment, he thought it was one of his brothers before the face reminded him of another person but before disgust showed up in his gaze and face and he drew his weapon, the other redhead also looked straight into his eyes with full of confusion and muttered in a slightly crooked accent, “Russandol? Russo? Alcarnë? Man nain, Alcarnë? Man nain…man nain…man nain…?”

And despite all his instincts telling him to finish off the very confused fallen maia or at least to flee the place, he kneeled down, taking off his hand from the hilt of his dagger and dragged the other into a soft embrace and patted the cold back to lessen the distress radiating from the still babbling Úmaia.

“Yé, yé! Alatyë mauyëa. Nain sís, nain sís, Aranwa.”

Chapter End Notes

Quenya names and phrases:

Alcarnë - Brilliant red

Aranwa - Lofty Gift

Coirëndil - Lover of Early Spring

Anarcalin - Sun-Bright

Tiqinixë - Thawing Frost

“Russandol? Russo? Alcarnë? Man nain, Alcarnë? Man nain…man nain…man nain…?” => “Russandol? Russo? Alcarnë? Who am I, Alcarnë? Who am I…Who am I…Who am I…?”

“Yé, yé! Alatyë mauyëa. Nain sís, nain sís, Aranwa.” => “hey, hey! Don't cry. I am here, I am here, Aranwa.”

Westron names:

Nînnil - water-moon

Zîrahim - Wise-ale

Zarazîr - Old-Wise

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