NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: A Brother's Contribution
Unaware that his brothers were making their way to the Godswood, about to witness his 'miracle', Cregan arrived at the sculptor's house, known in this world as a stone carver.
The stone carver's house, nestled within the Winter Town, stood modest yet distinguished among its surroundings, marked by the scattered stone chips and dust that spoke of the craftsman's trade. As Cregan approached, the sound of chisel against stone greeted him, a testament to the sculptor's dedication to his art.
Before finding himself in this world, Cregan, or William as he was known then, hailed from a lineage steeped in artistic mastery, encompassing sculptors, painters, and musicians. His grandfather was a renowned sculptor, a legacy his father and older brother carried forward. His mother, too, was an artist in her own right, skilled in painting and proficient with various musical instruments and singing, which she imparted to others through teaching.
William was naturally tutored in these disciplines for several years, absorbing the essence of art and music, until destiny propelled him onto a markedly different path when he reached adulthood.
As memories of his past life surfaced once again, Cregan sighed, a mix of nostalgia and bittersweet reflection washing over him. Such recollections, though distant, shaped the person he had become, intertwining with the threads of his new existence in ways he was still discovering. With a conscious effort, he shelved these thoughts and focused on the present, gazing at the sculptor's house before him.
Stepping into the realm of the stone carver, Cregan felt an unexpected connection. The familiar scent of stone dust, the sound of tools shaping raw material into forms of beauty and significance—these elements kindled a sense of homecoming within him. Though his life had taken him far from the artistic pursuits of his family, the skills and appreciation for art they had instilled in him remained.
At this moment, Cregan recognised an opportunity not just to honour Lyanna Stark but also to reconnect with his own heritage. As he prepared to communicate his vision to the sculptor, he drew upon the artistic principles his family had taught him, ready to blend the traditions of his past world with the present rituals. This commission would not only serve as a tribute but also as a bridge between Cregan's former life and his current identity, merging the artistry of two worlds in memory of a soul dearly missed.
Upon laying eyes on the sculpture Bael was crafting, Cregan felt a twinge of disappointment. Lyanna's facial features had already been completed on the granite, and Bael was now diligently chiselling away at the unfinished parts of her body. Cregan's disillusionment stemmed not from a lack of effort on Bael's part but rather from a discrepancy in artistic execution by the standards he had internalised from his previous life. Cregan was, in essence, comparing the work of sculptors from two vastly different ages, equipped with dissimilar tools and methodologies.
Moreover, Bael was working at a disadvantage, lacking a suitable picture or detailed likeness of Lyanna to guide his work, making the absence of a faithful resemblance somewhat inevitable. This discrepancy highlighted the challenges of capturing someone's essence purely from descriptions or the sculptor's interpretation and memory, especially when the subject held significant personal meaning to the observer.
Bael's assistant, spotting Cregan at the gates, hurried over to inform his master. Bael, momentarily pausing his work, approached Cregan with a respectful nod. "Good day, m'lord. The statue of Lady Lyanna will be ready by sunset," he announced, a hint of pride in his voice as he would complete his work before the promised schedule.
Cregan returned the greeting with a polite nod, "Good day, Bael. I see your work is almost finished. It looks good."
"To tell the truth, I'm here not just to observe the progress but also because I wish to lend my hand in sculpting my sister's statue," Cregan said.
The air grew tense with Bael's hesitation. Caught off guard, he wrestled internally with how to respond. 'How do I tell him? The risk of damage is too great, yet how does one deny a Stark, especially in a matter so personal?' Bael thought, the weight of the decision pressing down on him.
"Master Cregan," Bael finally replied, his voice measured, "I'm deeply honoured by your offer, and I understand your wish to contribute to Lady Lyanna's memorial. However, sculpting is a delicate process, and any small mistake could require us to start anew."
Cregan maintained a calm demeanour, his voice carrying a hint of understanding. "Indeed, Bael. I understand your concerns about my inexperience potentially compromising the work. It's the last thing I would want, especially for something as important as my sister's memorial."
Bael, relieved yet still cautious, noticed the maturity in Cregan's response. It was clear that despite his initial request, Cregan respected the art and the artist's expertise.
Cregan, thinking to contribute meaningfully yet unobtrusively, decided to utilise his painting and drawing skills. Given the sculptor's unawareness of Cregan's true capabilities in that area, he understood Bael's hesitation to allow him to sculpt. However, Cregan was confident he could offer something just as valuable: a precise and lovingly crafted portrait of Lyanna for Bael to reference.
"Carry on with your work, Bael. I believe there's another way I can help," Cregan announced, his tone infused with resolve. Turning to one of the guards, he instructed, "Please, run back to the castle and fetch some parchment from the Maester's library. It's urgent."
Though initially hesitant to undertake what seemed a menial errand, one of the guards was dispatched to fetch parchment from the Maester's library at Cregan's request. As Cregan settled himself to observe Bael's work, the air around them was filled with the distinct sound of chiselling, each strike a testament to the sculptor's dedication.
When the guard returned, glistening with sweat but successful in his quest, Cregan wasted no time. Selecting a piece of charcoal from near the fire, he set to work on the parchment on a nearby table.
The strokes were confident and precise, each one capturing a fragment of Lyanna's essence as Cregan remembered her in her memories.
The resulting portrait was a revelation. Even with the simplicity of charcoal on yellowed parchment, Cregan managed to bring forth a strikingly realistic depiction of Lyanna. The details of her features, the expression in her eyes, all were rendered with an intimacy and accuracy that only someone who knew her well could achieve.
Cregan extended the parchment towards Bael, who had just put down his chisel to drink some water. "Bael, I know it's not right to disturb your work, but if you could take a moment to look at this and share your thoughts, it would be greatly appreciated."
Bael, wiping his hands on a cloth before accepting the parchment, glanced at Cregan with a softened gaze. Despite the vast difference in their social standings, the young Stark's respectful approach had made an impression on him. "Such a polite child," he mused internally, his respect for Cregan growing.
Taking the parchment in hand, Bael carefully examined the drawing. The charcoal lines, masterfully applied, brought Lady Lyanna's features to life. He never thought someone could draw such a realistic portrait of a person using just a simple charcoal.
"Master Cregan, this... this is remarkable. You've captured her essence in a way that words—and, I must admit, my initial attempts—could not. This drawing... it speaks with the voice of her memory."
Turning to his sculpture, then back to the drawing, the contrast was stark. The discrepancies he had glossed over, motivated by the limitations of his reference, now stood out sharply against the vividness of Cregan's artwork.
"You are so good at art, m'lord. I have never seen such a realistic picture in my life," Bael acknowledged. " I think I can improve the statue of Lady Lyanna with this. Thank you, m'lord."
"No need for that, Bael. I just wanted to be helpful," Cregan said. Just as he was going to ask Bael if he could work on the sculpture with him now that he had shown his artistic skills, a guard came at the entrance and said, "M'lord, Lord Stark has asked for your presence in the Godswood right away."
OOO
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