39: Conversation with a Master

As luck would have it, Ingwë was waiting for Valandur in the schoolroom, having brought Indil. Valandur bowed to them both.

“Forgive me, Sire, for not being here sooner. I was delayed by… um… other business.” He gave the High King a knowing look and Ingwë apparently understood for he simply nodded.

Before he could reply, Indil, practically dancing on her toes, asked in excitement, “Are we going to write another story, Master Valandur? Can I—”

“May I,” corrected Valandur and Ingwë almost at the same time. They exchanged amused looks.

“May I choose another painting?” Indil finished saying.

“Yes you may, but this time we will write a poem about the painting.”

“A poem?” Indil’s expression became crestfallen.

“Yes, but don’t worry, we will write the poem together. Now, go choose a painting and study it very carefully.”

“Yes, master,” the elleth said, dipping a proper curtsey. Ingwë bent down to give her a kiss.

“Be a diligent student, my daughter.”

“Yes, Atto.”

“Walk with me, Loremaster,” Ingwë said as he headed for the door and Valandur followed. Ingwë stopped just outside in the hallway and looked back at his daughter examining the panels and smiled. “She has never been so excited to attend lessons before. She practically dragged me all the way here. Thank you.”

Valandur gave a bow of his head in recognition of the praise. “I received Guildmaster Lirilissë’s answer today,” he said quietly.

“And what was her reply?” Ingwë asked just as softly.

“One minstrel. A Sairon Lenwion who is employed by Lord Lassezel as a music teacher for his children.”

“Ah yes. I believe I know whom you mean. I would have recruited him but he had already accepted Lassezel’s offer for employment. Is he still not employed?”

“Yes, and that is a perfect cover, for he has the opportunity to overhear conversations made by your nobles in a, shall we say, more relaxed environment than would be found here in the palace. And while I understand that Lord Lassezel treats Sairon almost as a member of his family, he is still, technically speaking, staff, and no one pays attention to staff, do they?”

Ingwë frowned slightly as he mulled over Valandur’s words. “I had not thought of that. I decided not to… um… lure away any minstrels who had found legitimate employment elsewhere. I just didn’t feel comfortable doing so. It would have felt like a betrayal of my regard for my nobles.”

“And I quite understand, Sire, and even, on one level approve, but if you want to make this work, we need people like Sairon who are in such unique positions. He will not always be there. His contract is only until the youngest child has reached her majority and then he must look elsewhere for employment, but Sairon said that Lord Lassezel has assured him that he would commend Sairon to others once his contract is up. And Sairon has admitted that he enjoys teaching music to children and there will always be children to teach, will there not?”

Ingwë nodded. “Yes, and what you say makes sense when seen in that light. I am disturbed, however, by Lirilissë’s answer. Why Sairon? Why only the one? And there was no other message, nothing to indicate that she would send you minstrels one or two at a time to avoid suspicion?”

“No, at least, Sairon did not know. Perhaps I should ask Atar about her and about the minstrels. I confess that I paid little attention to how the guild was structured. I was unaware until now that the minstrels were considered failures. I just assumed that they had chosen minstrelsy as their specialty. I did not realize that it was considered by the guild as something less. Do you know that while the minstrels are allowed to wear the tabard of a master of the guild, they cannot wear the stars of rank?”

“No, I did not know. Amammírë and the others in my employ have always appeared in street clothes rather than in their tabards. It is a shame, but that is an internal matter of the guild and I have no power over that.”

“No, of course not, nor am I suggesting otherwise. I am merely pointing out yet another instance where the self-esteem of these people is being eroded. Let me speak to Atar. He’s a snob when it comes to such matters, but he’s not without intelligence.”

Ingwë quirked an eyebrow and gave him an amused smile. “I’ll remember to tell him so when next I see him.”

Valandur grinned. “Nothing he hasn’t heard before. I remind him of it every once in a while. His only reaction is to compose some rather atrocious verse as proof that he’s not without talent in that area. Ammë just rolls her eyes and my sisters all giggle. It’s become something of a standing joke in our family.”

“Speak to Voronwë then. In the meantime, I will think on how I wish to reply to Lirilissë’s message. I may just ignore it and see what happens.”

“My family is yet unaware that I have accepted joining your household,” Valandur said, “nor am I sure I wish for them to know just yet.”

“That is your decision to make, but how will you explain your interest in the minstrels?”

“Hmm… I am assuming that I am not the only person you have asked to give your daughter lessons.”

“No. She has other tutors, including dance and music. In fact, that is Amammírë’s cover, as you say. He comes once a week to give Indil dance and singing lessons and while he is here he passes on any information he feels I should have.”

“Ah, he did not tell me that, but then I did not ask. Very well then. I will tell Atar that I met the Master Minstrel whom you have hired to tutor her Highness and wondered about the tabard. I will pretend that Amammírë was wearing it when he came to give his lessons. That will be a good way to begin my enquiry.”

“Do what you think best. What about Sairon?”

“He promised to give me his answer by Valanya. If he decides that he cannot in good conscience join us, he will agree to take an oath of silence with you as witness, but I think he might be interested. He admitted that he’s even helped Amammírë — they’re otornor by the way — in composing some of the ditties without realizing their ultimate purpose. So he has already been helping you; he just didn’t know it.”

“Let me know what Voronwë says. I will leave you now to get on with your lesson.” With that, Ingwë left and Valandur went back into the schoolroom. Indil was standing before a panel that depicted a group of Elves apparently entertaining themselves with song and the playing of musical instruments. The young princess looked up at his approach.

“This is the painting you have chosen?” he asked.

“Yes, master,” she replied.

“Then tell me the story behind it. Once you’ve done that, then we will see about composing a poem together.”

“Well, that ellon there,” and she pointed to one particular person in the painting who was playing a lute, “is in love with this elleth.” She pointed to one of the ellith who was sitting almost opposite to the ellon. “He is trying to convince her to marry him and has composed a song for her.”

“And these others?” Valandur asked. “What are their roles?”

“Oh, they are friends of these two, but the ellyn are trying to convince the elleth not to marry this ellon but to marry one of them and the ellith are trying to convince her to indeed choose this ellon over the others.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the child’s imagination. It was certainly not what he had expected. “A very interesting scenario. Why don’t we sit and see what kind of poem we can craft about this? We’ll have to give them names. What do you think the ellon wooing the elleth should be called?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” the child exclaimed in a rather dismissive tone. “The ellon is my atto and the elleth is my ammë.”

Valandur’s estimation of Indil’s imagination went up even further.

****

Later, on his way back to the Academy, Valandur stopped at his parents’ home where he knew his atar would be. Voronwë Silwinion was in his study and greeted his son warmly.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, after giving Valandur a hug. “You were here only yesterday. Should you not be teaching at this hour?”

“I just finished,” Valandur said, taking a seat in one of the chairs before his atar’s desk, “and I decided to stop by here on my way back to the Academy.”

Voronwë gave him a puzzled look as he sat in his chair. “Were you not teaching at the Academy?”

“No. His Majesty has asked me to give Princess Indil some lessons on composition and language usage while her real tutor is in Eldamas visiting with family for a few weeks. It’s a temporary position and I still have my teaching duties at the Academy. In fact, I really cannot stay long as I have a class in a couple of hours.”

Voronwë nodded and appeared to be mulling over his son’s words. Valandur watched his atar carefully. He had been half-jesting with Ingwë about the Master Bard. Snob he might be in some respects but he had a sharp mind behind those pale blue eyes, a mind that could destroy with devastating ease an ellon’s unconscious assumptions. Bard Voronwë was one of those rare individuals who could, just by asking certain pointed questions, have you reveal your inner-most thoughts without realizing it. He was never cruel, but with inexorable gentleness he would force you to see things in an entirely different light, whether you wished to or not. The ellon loved a good argument and nearly always won, using logic to knock down an opponent’s uninformed beliefs and assumptions, which, more often than not, were emotion based.

“So you are not a member of Ingwë’s household?” Voronwë finally asked.

“Not officially,” Valandur admitted, and that was really no more than the truth. “His Majesty has not formally asked me to join his household, though he has consulted with me on one or two matters. And in truth, my duties at the Academy come first. I will not abandon my students.”

“That is well, but I sense you have come here for a particular purpose.”

“Yes, as I mentioned, I am tutoring the princess and chanced to meet one of your fellow guildsmen today, a Master Amammírë, who teaches Princess Indil dance and music.”

“I am unfamiliar with the name,” Voronwë said.

“He was wearing the guild tabard with the three stripes of a master,” Valandur said, pointing to where his atar’s tabard hung behind the door on a hanger. “There was one difference though. Master Amammírë’s tabard had no stars of rank, not even one.”

“Ah, then he was a minstrel,” Voronwë replied with a nod. “That would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“Why a member of the Bards’ Guild would be teaching dance and music to children. Only those who are minstrels bother with such employment.”

“You make it sound as if they are less than worthy to wear the guild tabard.”

His atar shrugged. “They serve a purpose, and a necessary one, within the guild.”

“But they are not considered bards,” Valandur said, making it a statement. “I confess, I never really paid any heed to them before. Oh, certainly, I’ve been as entertained by minstrels singing in the taverns as the next person, but until today, I never saw one wearing a guild tabard. I noticed the difference right away but did not wish to embarrass the ellon with any inopportune questions, which is why I’ve come to you for answers.”

“And why do you care?” Voronwë asked, his eyes narrowing. “The internal structure of the guild, any guild, is not your concern.”

“No, of course not, but I wished to clarify in my mind how that structure worked. I have no doubt that while I am tutoring the princess, I will see the minstrel on some occasions and I do not want to do or say anything that might cause him embarrassment. So you are saying that some members of the guild choose to become minstrels instead of bards?”

“No. The position of minstrel is awarded to those who, while they are certainly competent to compose and sing music and play at least one instrument well and can even craft that instrument, they do not have the wherewithal to pass the very rigorous exams that lead to bardship. If they desire to remain in the guild, they must become minstrels with the understanding that they will not be permitted to rise in rank, which is what those stars represent.” He pointed to his tabard which showed two stars beneath the harp and below the stars was an embroidered ‘V’.

“Yet why, if they are still members of the guild in good standing?”

“The stars carry the implication that that person is eligible to rise through the ranks of masters with the potential of being accorded administrative titles, such as Master of Song, Master of Dance, Master of the Lute or whatever their specialty might be, and ultimately, Guildmaster. Thus, I am not just Master Voronwë of the Bard’s Guild. Those two stars coupled with the ‘V’ below them tell people that I am also a Master of the Viol.”

“So you are saying that minstrels can never become masters of a particular specialty.”

“Or take on any administrative roles within the guild,” Voronwë added with a nod. “I can tell by your expression that you disapprove, that you think we are treating these people with contempt. I assure you we are not, but there are certain standards to which we must all comply, and these minstrels simply aren’t able to achieve those standards. Yet, we acknowledge that they have received special training and have done their duties as apprentices and journeymen. And, as I said, they serve a purpose of providing light entertainment for the populace with their love ballads and comic verse or in teaching young children, some of whom may well join the guild and become master bards themselves.”

Valandur nodded. “Tell me about your guildmaster — Lirilissë, isn’t it? What’s she like?”

Voronwë raised an eyebrow. “And why would you want to know about her?”

“Oh, I overheard Ingwë complaining about the intransigence of certain guildmasters and realized that as High King he would have to deal with them on a regular basis. I was just curious, is all.”

“Hmm…. well, Lirilissë is capable enough.”

“What’s her specialty?”

“The flute. Never cared for the instrument myself.” Voronwë gave his son a wicked grin. “I was a trial to her when she was my tutor.”

“I did not know you could play the flute.”

“I can’t or at least not very well. As I said, I don’t care for the instrument but apprentices are tutored in the playing and making of all instruments, though when they become journeymen they specialize in only one or two. As part of one’s master’s exam, one has to build his or her own instrument to very exact standards. Not as easy as you may think.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” Valandur averred. “So, Lirilissë is a Master of the Flute and a capable administrator of the guild. What’s she like on a personal level, though?”

“Such an odd question, yonya.” Voronwë narrowed his eyes. “Why are you really asking me about her?”

“I have my reasons, Atar. I hope you know me well enough to know that I do not ask questions idly and to no purpose and that I am trustworthy of any confidences you might impart. What is said in this room remains here. Did you not teach me and my sisters that a long time ago?”

“Yes.” Voronwë rose from his chair and went to stand by the embrasure overlooking the back garden. For a time he remained silent and when he finally spoke, he kept his gaze on the garden, never looking at Valandur. “Lirilissë, as I said, is capable enough, but there’s a… an inner hardness of her fëa that worries me at times. It was she who devised the rank of Minstrel and set the parameters for those involved in Minstrelsy. Prior to that, those who did not pass all particulars of the master’s exams were dismissed, forced to seek other employment. Most of them, I believe, did become music and dance teachers. Later, when Minstrelsy was created as a legitimate area of guild interest, they were invited to rejoin the guild under certain stipulations as I’ve described to you. Most came back to the guild. The ones who did not I believe had been accepted as apprentices in other guilds or sought employment in Valmar serving the Valar.”

“And it was Lirilissë who set those stipulations.”

Now Voronwë turned to face him. “Yes. She gave us no opportunity to discuss the matter; she simply announced that the rank of Minstrelsy was to be created and under these particular conditions. It was an executive decision on her part and as guildmaster it was within her right to make it, but some of us felt there should have been some discussion on the merits and a modification of the parameters by which minstrels are governed.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your candor. Now, I am afraid I must leave or I will be late for my own lecture and that will never do.” He smiled knowingly as he stood and his atar returned it with one of his own knowing smiles. Giving his atar a hug, which was returned, he said, “I should tell you that the headmaster has asked me to give a presentation at our next convocation.”

“Indeed? Well that is an honor, I’m sure.”

“More than you know, for, to the best of my knowledge, no junior loremaster has been asked to give a presentation.”

“Well, congratulations. I believe the public is allowed to attend these convocations.”

“Yes, though it’s mostly for the benefit of the Academy. However, if you and ammë care to be bored for a time….”

His atar gave him another hug. “We wouldn’t miss it for all of Arda. Just let us know when it will be held and, if I know your ammë, she will insist on a celebratory meal in your honor.”

“No doubt and I will not say no to her desire to so prepare such a meal. I will send word in plenty of time once I know the actual date, but it will be in a few weeks.”

“We will see you on next Valanya, will we not?”

Valandur assured him that they would and then he left, mulling over all that his atar had said… and not said. Now, more than ever, he knew that he needed to recruit as many of the minstrels as he could, to offer them a way to regain their self-esteem. They might not be bards but they could serve a higher purpose beyond teaching children or entertaining tavern goers. People like Lirilissë and even his atar might dismiss their importance, see them as failures, but Ingwë had seen deeper and had recognized their ultimate potential in serving the kingdom, even if he had not exploited that potential to its fullest. Valandur was in complete agreement with the High King’s estimation of these people’s worth and was determined to prove it to the minstrels themselves, and he had to admit, to his atar.

He knew little of the guildmaster beyond what his atar had told him, but he did know Ingwë a little better and in a contest of wills he suspected Lirilissë would be the loser. It would be interesting to see how this all played out. That thought brought an anticipatory smile to his lips as he came to the gates of the Academy, giving the gatekeeper a warm greeting as he passed through.