1: Finrod’s First Day at Work

Finrod stared at himself in the mirror in his bedroom and tried not to sigh. He wore a pair of light brown corduroys with a pale blue dress shirt open at the collar and a cream-colored V-neck cashmere sweater. His feet were shod with brown suede ankle boots. His hair was carefully combed into a queue and tied back.

“You look just fine. Don’t sweat it.” The words were in English.

He turned to find Glorfindel leaning against the doorjamb, his arms and legs crossed, smiling.

“You are more used to this than I,” Finrod said in the same language, turning back to give his image a final scrutiny.

“You’ll get used to it, too,” Glorfindel said, coming further into the room to stand behind Finrod. “Don’t forget, I and the others have had millennia of wearing the latest fashion among the Mortals. After a while you just don’t bother to comment. Fashions change too quickly among them, or certainly they have these last two or three hundred years. Actually, today’s more relaxed style is very comfortable and you should be grateful that you are here now instead of, say, a hundred years ago.”

“I will still need to supplement my wardrobe,” Finrod said, brushing an imaginary crease from the sweater. “I cannot continue borrowing from you and I cannot wear the same outfit every day.”

“No, of course not, but you can get away with wearing the corduroys more than once and just change the shirt and the sweater combination. As long as you dress neatly, no one will really care, for you are unlikely to see the same people at the bookstore every day. Once you get your first paycheck, we’ll take you shopping for a few more clothes.”

“I promised Finda we would buy skates for him,” Finrod reminded Glorfindel.

“And you will, but a couple more dress shirts and pants will not break the bank, as the saying goes. You may not have much left over but that’s all right.”

“I should help contribute to the household as others already do.”

“You brought along plenty of precious metals and gemstones and they are being appraised and sold. I checked with the bank manager last week and we’re doing just fine. You should plan to save up as much as you can toward your own place.”

Finrod turned to stare at his gwador. “Do you wish me to vacate Edhellond?”

“No, not really, but you might be happier having your own place. You’ll certainly have more privacy than here. It’s something to think about. Now, as I said, you look just fine. You had better get going. You don’t want to be late on your first day.” He smiled knowingly.

Finrod gave Glorfindel a searching look. “Are you fine with me working at Nicholas Greene’s bookstore?”

“Yes, hanno,” Glorfindel said, giving him a sincere hug, “now that I’ve gotten used to the idea of the great and glorious Finrod Felagund being a working stiff, I am quite fine about it.”

“Working stiff?”

“Just an expression. I’m one, too, in case you’ve forgotten. Now, off with you. Why don’t you meet me for lunch at the café after your shift? You get out at one, right?”

“Yes, and I will be happy to meet you there.”

“Good. I know you’re going to be just fine.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said sincerely as the two exited Finrod’s room and headed downstairs to the foyer. Daeron was there as well, for he was going to drop Finrod off before heading for the Academy to check on the students who were still working for the various resorts as Elf Guides for the next week until the New Year.

“All set?” the former loremaster from Doriath asked, giving them a smile.

“All set,” Glorfindel said, speaking for Finrod, who occupied himself with putting on his cloak, which he preferred wearing rather than a ski jacket, as most of the others did. For some reason, he felt more comfortable wearing the cloak. So much of his self-image had changed since returning to Middle-earth; the cloak was a way of holding on to that part of him that was Finrod Finarfinion and not Quinn O’Brien.

“iValar raitar lyenna síra, meldonya,” Glorfindel said in blessing as Daeron opened the door and waited for Finrod to leave first. Finrod cast Glorfindel a grateful smile as he exited the mansion and headed for the car with Daeron right behind. In moments they were away and heading down Kodiak for the town center.

“Nervous?” Daeron asked sympathetically as he turned the corner.

“A little,” Finrod admitted. “This is all very new for me.”

“And yet you have had work before, have you not? As a Fëanturnildo as I believe Loren called it. You were under someone else’s command then, were you not? You were not your own master.”

“No, that is true. I answered to Lords Námo and Irmo. Yet, they gave me great leeway to do what I thought best, offering more suggestions rather than commands and only if I asked for their opinion, which was rare indeed.”

“Well, just remember, Nick is your boss and if you wish to implement something or change something because you think it will be beneficial to the business you have to ask Nick first rather than just do it on your own. That will probably be the hardest thing for you to remember, especially when you’ve always been in a position to issue orders rather than to take them.”

“I will keep that in mind, thank you,” Finrod said humbly.

Daeron gave him a bright smile. “You’re going to be just fine. I think this is a good match for you and when business is slow you will have an opportunity to read and learn something of how Mortals see the world these days or how they once saw it, if what you read is more historical.”

“Nick warned me that there might be days when I will be lucky to see even one customer,” Finrod said.

“Well, if you want my humble opinion, when the good people of Wiseman learn that the great and glorious Finrod Felagund is working at the bookstore, people are going to be flocking to see you and perhaps they may just buy a book or two along the way.”

Finrod laughed as Daeron pulled over to the curb. “Manadh vain na le, hîr nîn,” he said solemnly as Finrod stepped out of the car.

“Thank you, for everything,” Finrod said then watched as Daeron drove away, giving a wave. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and headed down the side street that would lead into the town square and made his way to the bookstore, where he saw Nick Greene just opening the door to the shop. The young Man turned at his approach and gave him a bright smile.

“Good morning! How are you?”

“I am fine,” Finrod said. “Thank you for calling my friends to see if I had made it home safely. If you had not….”

“Hey! We’re all here to look out for each other. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had failed to check to see if you were okay. Now, here is the key to the front door.” Nick handed him a pair of keys, pointing to one of them, “and this one unlocks the back door which opens up on a service alley, since there’s only pedestrian traffic inside the square. Let’s go inside.”

Nick opened the door and switched on the lights. “So how was your Christmas?” he asked as they went inside. Nick fiddled with the thermostat to turn up the heat while Finrod doffed his cloak and hung it in the back room.

“It was very good. Everyone loved the pins. How was yours?”

“Quiet, which is the way I like it,” Nick responded with a grin. “Now since this is your first day, I’ll stick around in case you need assistance, but I think you’ll do fine. Here, I wrote this up.” He fished out a piece of paper from a pocket and unfolded it. “It’s step-by-step instructions for using the register in case you forget the procedure for, say, doing a credit card charge as opposed to doing a cash transaction.” He placed it on the counter next to the register. “So, let me see if you remember how to log into the register. I wrote that out as well, just in case. It took me a bit to remember all the steps I needed to make to get the stupid thing to open up.”

“I think I remember, but I am glad you wrote down the instructions,” Finrod said and proceeded to log in, having to consult the written instructions just once before he was in the system.

“Good,” Nick said with a satisfied nod. “So, I’ll go make some coffee for us while you man the fort.”

“Do you think we will get many customers?” Finrod asked as he checked the counter to see that he had everything at hand.

“Hard to say,” Nick answered from the back room. “The kids are off from school this week so we might see some come wandering in wishing to use their gift cards. No two days are the same and some days are so busy I barely have time to think and other days I’m the only person here.”

“What brought you here to Wiseman and why this bookstore?”

Nick came out. “Coffee should be ready shortly. Would you believe a woman? Met Heidi at university down at Fairbanks. Her folk come from Chandalar. Anyway, I thought it was love, she had other ideas. It didn’t work out but I did not want to return to Fairbanks or to Richardson where my parents live. Was looking around for work and saw that this place was up for sale. The last owner of the store was retiring. I’ve always loved books and as I had the money I bought the place, remodeled it a bit to make it more homey looking and, well, here I am, and here I plan to stay.”

“And Heidi?”

Nick shrugged. “Hooked up with some trucker and now lives in Anchorage last I heard. Anyway, if we’re trading stories, what’s your deal? I assume you’re married, since I know your son came with you.”

“My wife, Amarië, was not able to join me at this time, though I hope she will be able to soon.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

“Hardly, but I had to die first before we finally married.” Finrod gave him a merry look.

“Er… well, that’s… um… interesting.” Nick stammered, looking rather nonplused.

“Do not concern yourself, my friend. My death was a very long time ago and was a temporary state, as you can see.”

“Still, it has to be just weird to be dead and then to be alive as if nothing happened.”

“Oh, it is not as easy as that. I had a long period of adjustment to living again once I was re-embodied. Glorfindel is also a Reborn, as we who have died are called.”

Before Nick could respond to that, the door opened and a woman stepped inside with a young girl who had one hand on the woman’s elbow and carried a cane in the other. Finrod guessed she was about twelve, though he still had difficulty figuring out ages among Mortals. He realized with some sadness that the child was blind. The woman’s eyes went wide as she took in Finrod. Nick apparently recognized the pair for he smiled.

“Good morning and Merry Christmas, Gail, and you, too, Shelby.”

“Oh… er… morning, Nick,” the woman said, sounding a bit flustered. “Um… Shelby received some gift cards and wants to buy an audiobook.”

“Well, my new assistant, Quinn, would be happy to help you. The audiobooks are toward the back on the left wall,” he reminded Finrod, who nodded.

“Would you follow me, please?” he said to Gail.

“Thank you,” she said, pulling herself together and concentrating on her daughter. “Why don’t you go with… er… Mr. Quinn while I visit with Mr. Nick,” she suggested.

“Here is my elbow,” Finrod said and they headed toward the back. “Here are the steps,” Finrod warned her. They climbed the steps and he led her to the left. “And the audiobooks are right here,” he said, stopping before a wall of shelves. “What kind of book are you looking for?”

“Do you have any steampunk?” she asked.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Er… steampunk?” He cast an anxious look at Nick and Gail.

“That’s what I said,” Gail said with a laugh.

Nick just smiled, apparently willing to allow him to figure it out for himself.

Finrod glanced over the shelves, hoping that they would be labeled, but he did not see anything that could help. As far as he could tell the audiobooks were filed by author. “Do you have a favorite author?” he finally asked.

“Well, not really,” Shelby replied, “but I liked Paul Brandon’s book The Iron Angel. Maybe he has another book?”

Finrod looked, and found two titles with Paul Brandon as the author. He pulled them out. “You are fortunate, as we have two of his books: Crossing Midnight and Seraph’s Song.”

“What are they about?” Shelby asked.

“Why don’t we go over and sit down and I will be happy to read what they say,” Finrod suggested.

Finrod led her to one of the chairs before the stove and brought another chair closer and sat. “Well now, according to this, Crossing Midnight is about a boy named Jack who….”

He read the blurbs and when he was done he commented, “They both seem like interesting stories. Which one do you like?”

“I’m not sure,” Shelby replied. “How much are they?”

Finrod took a look and told her the amount.

“I don’t think I have enough on my card to buy both. I think I would like to try Seraph’s Song. That sounded very interesting.”

“Then, Seraph’s Song it is,” Finrod said. “I will just put the other one back. If you want to meet me up front, I believe the steps down are perhaps five or six paces from the chair. Do you think you can manage on your own?”

“Yes, thank you,” Shelby said, rising and slowly making her way toward the front, sliding the cane across the floor before her. Finrod watched in case she needed help, but she maneuvered the steps without much trouble. Satisfied that the child would reach the counter without mishap, he quickly put Crossing Midnight back on the shelf and made his way to the counter.

“And if I can have your gift card,” he said and the girl fished in a coat pocket and pulled out a plastic card and handed it to him. “Thank you. This will just take a moment.”

“Your voice is so lovely,” Shelby said. “Are you an Elf?”

Finrod nodded and then belatedly answered as he double-checked the instructions Nick had written out to remind himself how to handle gift cards. “Yes.”

“So Quinn isn’t your real name?”

“I am also called Finrod,” he answered as he ran the card through the scanner, “but Quinn is acceptable.”

“Oh, you’re that Finrod?” Gail asked as she came to the counter carrying a couple of paperbacks. “But… I thought they said you were a king… but kings don’t work in a bookstore, do they?”

Finrod smiled broadly at the nonplused expression on Gail’s face as he slipped the audiobook into a plastic bag. “Only if they no longer have a kingdom and must earn their bread like everyone else. Here you go, Shelby, and you have five dollars and forty-three cents left on your card. I’ve put the card in the bag along with the sales slip.” He handed her the bag.

“Thank you, Mister Finrod,” she said. “Did you find something, mama?”

“Yes, I did and if you would like to go and see what kind of donuts the bakery next door is selling I will be there shortly.”

“Okay. Nice to meet you, Mister Finrod.”

“I am glad to have met you, Shelby. I hope to see you again soon. You must tell me how you like your new book.”

The girl made her way to the door. “Bye, Mister Nick. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Shelby, and I hope you enjoy your new book.”

Shelby exited and Finrod watched as she turned right and found the bakery door. He then turned his attention to Gail, who held out her purchases, which he took and processed.

“Thank you,” Gail said softly.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For not treating Shelby the way most people do.”

“Well, as you may notice, I am not most people,” Finrod replied with a slight grin. “That will be twelve sixty with tax. Cash or credit?”

“What? Oh, yes, sorry. Here’s my card.”

Finrod competently ran the card and soon the woman was on her way out, leaving Finrod and Nick alone.

“Nicely done,” Nick said.

“I still have no idea what steampunk is, though,” Finrod said.

Nick laughed. “Tell you the truth, neither do I.”

“It would be helpful if we could shelve the audiobooks by genre rather than strictly by author.”

“I know, but I have so few audiobooks in comparison to regular books that it’s almost not worth it, which is why I shelved them alphabetically by author. However, if you want to shelve them differently so it’s easier for you or anyone else to find a particular audiobook, go ahead. I have some blank labels that you can use. If you can’t figure out what the genre is, look for the book itself on the computer. Oh, I haven’t really taught you how to use the computer for ordering books and such, have I?”

“Perhaps you can show me when we are not too busy,” Finrod said. “I think we’re about to have another customer.” He nodded toward the door and they could see an elderly man approaching.

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Nick said, grabbing his coat and putting it on. “I need to do some banking and run a couple of errands that I’ve been putting off. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. If you get really stuck, you have my cell phone. I wrote the number down for you.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said.

“Morning, Amos,” Nick said as the door opened and the man stepped inside.

“Morning, Nick,” the man answered. “Ya leavin’ already?”

“I have a new assistant. His name’s Quinn and he’ll be more than happy to help you if you need it.” With that he stepped outside and closed the door, leaving Finrod with Amos who, when he removed his hat, revealed a shock of white hair.

“Is there anything in particular you are looking for?” Finrod offered politely.

Amos gave him a skeptical look. “Ya got any books on ice fishing? Been meaning to do some since retiring from the post office, but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

Finrod smiled. “Why do we not look and see?”

****

When Nick returned to the bookstore a couple of hours later, he almost had trouble opening the door for the crowd of people who were milling about inside. He saw Finrod standing behind the counter.

“…and that will be twenty-two fifty with tax, Mrs. Cramer,” Finrod was saying as Nick came inside.

The woman handed him a credit card and in moments she was making her way to the door clutching a bag with three books, looking somewhat stunned for some reason. Nick made his way around several customers standing in line waiting to make their purchases and reached the counter, removing his coat and throwing it carelessly on a stool.

“How’s it going?”

Finrod gave him a glance, smiling slightly. “You can see it is going very well.” Then he turned back to the young man standing before him. “So, Jonathan, which books did you decide on?”

“Well, I couldn’t find anything by Martineau, but I found this one by Zimmerman that sounds interesting and he writes sort of the same kind of stuff. Thought I would give it a try.”

“Good. Trying new things is always fun and something like an adventure. Why I remember when I was newly reborn how I was very suspicious of the oatmeal which my caretakers gave me to eat. They had to convince me that I should give it a try and when I did, I thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten.”

“Oatmeal?” Jonathan asked and he wasn’t the only person there to give Finrod a disbelieving look, all of them hanging onto every word the Elf-lord was speaking.

Finrod nodded and smiled. “It is still one of my favorite foods, especially with apples, raisins and cinnamon. That will be nine thirty.”

Jonathan fished out a ten dollar bill and a minute later he was on his way out the door. Two other people made their purchases and left, but the bookstore was not empty of customers. Nick could see a young woman with two children sitting beside the electric wood stove, now burning brightly, reading from a picture book. Along one aisle he saw an older couple quietly discussing a book between them and there were two teenagers lounging on the steps leading up to the back reading area, actually reading, apparently lost in their books.

“You’ve been busy. I’m sorry I left you alone to deal with it,” he said to Finrod.

“I am not. I have been enjoying myself very much.”

“I’m just surprised to see so many people here at once. It’s usually not this crowded.”

“I think you can blame Amos,” Finrod explained. “He was unsure of me at first and not because of who and what I am, but I was able to help him find the books he wanted and we had a nice discussion about ice fishing.”

“Ice fishing? Have you actually done it?”

“Oh, yes, but a very long time ago in Beleriand. Anyway, after he left, I had the place to myself for about a half an hour and then a couple of people came in claiming to have met Amos at the Safeway and he told them an Elf king was minding your shop and they were rather curious about that. Well, before I knew it the place was full of people, all of them here to see me. I was able to encourage most of them to take a look around and see if there was anything they might like to buy. I was surprised when one or two even admitted that they had never been inside the shop before and barely realized it existed. At any rate, most have gone away with a book or three and I have no doubt they will return for more.”

Nick just shook his head. “I knew you would be good for business, but I didn’t think you would be this good.”

“Mister Elf, sir?”

Nick turned to see a youngster of about ten or so standing at the counter, looking a bit uncomfortable. Finrod smiled at the boy. “Do you need any help finding a book, Christopher?”

The boy shook his head. “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Ah… well, I believe it is beyond this door here,” Finrod said, pointing to the door leading to the back.

“Thank you,” Christopher said, giving them a look of relief as he came around the counter and headed past them. Nick and Finrod exchanged smiles.

“You seem to know everyone’s name,” Nick commented.

Finrod shrugged. “It is a talent I have honed over the years. As a king, I found it very important to know who my subjects were so I could address them personally whenever I met them as I traveled through my halls.”

Christopher came out just then, smiling, and Finrod smiled back. “All is well?”

The boy nodded and practically skipped over to the section of books reserved for grade-school readers, plopping down on the floor to examine some titles.

“Well, I wonder if every day will be this busy,” Nick said as the front door opened and several people entered, all of them surreptitiously glancing Finrod’s way while pretending to be interested in the front display of books. Finrod glanced at Nick and rolled his eyes but he had a smile on his face, so the Mortal knew the Elf did not really mind. He gave Finrod a huge grin. “I need to do some end-of-year inventory. I’ll get started on that while you handle the customers.”

With that, he headed toward the back room, leaving Finrod to man the front. Finrod didn’t mind. He smiled warmly at the new arrivals, still standing there trying not to openly stare at him and failing miserably. “Welcome to the Aurora Borealis Bookstore,” he said. “My name is Quinn. May I help you?”

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Hanno: Colloquial form of háno: Brother.

iValar raitar lyenna síra, meldonya: ‘The Valar smile upon thee today, my friend’.

Fëanturnildo: Friend (male) of the Fëanturi, i.e. Nämo and Irmo. The Fëanturnildi are an order of healers dedicated to healing the ills of Aman as a whole that were caused by the Marring rather than healing individual Elves.

Manadh vain na le, hîr nîn: (Sindarin) ‘Fair fortune to you, my lord’.

Notes:

1. My thanks to Alassiel for providing me with information concerning the ways in which blind people navigate.

2. The names of the authors and their books that are mentioned here are all fictional, though the steampunk genre is real enough.

2: Conversations

Glorfindel looked up from the menu he’d been perusing to see Finrod approaching. The ellon slipped off his cloak and sidled into the booth across from him.

“How did it go?” he asked Finrod, speaking Quenya, hoping he did not sound too anxious. His otorno would never know how much he truly worried for him. He knew that Finrod was having some difficulty adjusting to his new environment, more so than the others, it seemed. But then, he reflected, the others had not been shot and nearly died. However much Finrod was healed physically, Glorfindel knew from experience that he was far from healed emotionally and psychologically.

Finrod smiled and replied in the same language. “It went very well. Nicholas is quite pleased with me.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad,” Glorfindel said with some relief. He started to say something else but the waitress came over to take Finrod’s drink order. Glorfindel assured her that they just needed a few minutes more to look over the menus. She left and they both spent a moment or two deciding on what they would have.

“So you think you will enjoy working at the bookstore?” Glorfindel asked after he had decided on a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and some chili.

Finrod nodded. “Oh yes. I haven’t had this much fun since… hmm… can’t remember, actually.”

Glorfindel grinned. “More fun than working in the royal kitchens?” he asked slyly.

Finrod chuckled. “Definitely. There’s no bossy Maia about telling me what to do.” He gave Glorfindel a knowing grin and Glorfindel laughed lightly in agreement.

The waitress returned just then with Finrod’s tea and they gave her their orders with Finrod having decided on chili as well, but eschewing a sandwich to go with it.

“So, what are your plans for this week?” Finrod asked. “The Academy is still running, is it not?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered with a nod as he took a sip of his own tea. “The students will remain here until the New Year. Most of them head home a day or two later and those who have been hired permanently by one of the tour companies or resorts will have found accommodations in Wiseman or Bettles or even Chandalar. The Academy officially closes on the seventh. Everyone has to be out by then and then we send in the cleaning crew to scour the place.”

“It seems odd that the building remains empty for, what, eight months? Rather a waste,” Finrod commented.

“Oh, it still is used,” Glorfindel assured him even as the waitress was returning with their lunches. She put their plates down and they thanked her. “The administration still continues as we start accepting applications for the next class and we’re constantly holding meetings to plan the syllabus, deciding what didn’t work and what did, that sort of thing. The dormitories are let out to various groups who come to Wiseman for one convention or another during the summer months, as well as tourists, backpackers mostly, who are hiking their way north to Deadhorse or Barrow. It’s cheaper than a hotel and the Goldmine Inn is not all that large.”

“I see,” Finrod said. “I am glad. It just seemed an awful waste to leave the building empty for so much of the year.”

Conversation lagged at that point while they spent the next few minutes concentrating on their lunches, but then Finrod put down his soup spoon and began rubbing his shoulder, wincing slightly. Glorfindel gave him a concerned look.

“Shoulder still bothering you?” he asked softly.

“A little,” Finrod replied. “I’m afraid our little tussle didn’t help matters much.”

“Sorry,” Glorfindel said with all sincerity. “That was really stupid of me.”

“It was as much my fault as yours, hanno,” Finrod assured him. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“You’re still feeling depressed,” Glorfindel said, making it more a statement than a question.

Finrod opened his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he said, then chuckled when Glorfindel gave him a disbelieving look. “Does it surprise you that I finally admit to depression? Everyone from Lady Varda on down has commented on it this past month and as much as I tried to deny it, I knew it for the truth. I have been depressed, but I think working at the bookstore will help. Until now, I have felt as if I had no real purpose here.”

“And working at the bookstore gives you that purpose?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yes. Oh, not by being a… a working stiff, as I think you called me” — he had to resort to the English term, as Quenya had no equivalent phrase — “but in meeting with the people, becoming a part of their world and their lives, even if it’s only from behind the counter ringing up sales. The people who walked into the bookstore this morning are the people the Valar chose to form their Army of Light, the ones we have been commissioned to train for the coming War. I need to know who they are, what they hope for, what they fear. I need to understand the Mortals of this time so that I can help them to heal, to become whole.”

“You are acting as a Fëanturnildo, then,” Glorfindel stated.

“Yes. I never have stopped acting as one. Even after you left us, I still continued working to bring healing to our people, to the land itself. That never stopped, though as time went on, my duties necessarily changed. When Lord Manwë asked if I would come here, he told me specifically that my task was to act as a Fëanturnildo to the Mortals of Wiseman, to heal their fëar, to help prepare them for what is to come.”

“The war will most likely not happen in their lifetime, though,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“No, probably not, but we have to start now if we are to train them properly. Your task is to recruit the Mortals through Elf Academy; mine is to assure that these people are spiritually ready for what will come.”

“Well, I don’t envy you,” Glorfindel said sincerely. “Dealing with Elf Academy is headache enough.”

“I do not intend to do it alone, hanno,” Finrod said. “The others who came with me will help, each in his or her own way. That relieves you of the burden so you and the other Wiseman Elves can concentrate on the Academy.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Wiseman Elves. Valinórean Gang. I hope someday we will simply be seen by the Mortals as the Eldar, with no differentiation.”

Finrod chuckled. “Well, it’s not likely to happen anytime soon. I suppose that as more of our people return to Middle-earth, we who are here now will be referred to as Wiseman Elves to differentiate us from the newcomers.”

“You’re probably right,” Glorfindel allowed.

The waitress came by just then to clear away their empty plates, asking if they were interested in dessert, but they both declined and after finishing their tea, they paid the bill and left, heading for Glorfindel’s van to return to Edhellond.

****

Later that evening, as they were having dinner, everyone who was at Edhellond congratulated Finrod on his first day of work.

Eärnur, who now went by the Mortal name Ernest, though most of the Wiseman Elves tended to call him Ernie much to his dismay, gave him a wicked look. “Never thought I would see the day when the great Findaráto would be counted among the common folk, working for a living.”

Finrod gave his friend a disdainful sniff. “I’ve worked all my life, mostly in government, though I had a short stint overseeing the butteries when Fëanáro was sent into exile and my Uncle Nolofinwë needed everyone’s help to keep Tirion running smoothly.”

“And don’t forget the royal kitchens,” Glorfindel put in with a fond smile. “I’m sure they still speak of the time the two of us ruled there.”

“Oh yes,” Finrod said with a laugh. “You were quite firm with Marilliën, weren’t you?”

“No more than you,” Glorfindel retorted with a smirk.

“So, do you really intend to spend the rest of the ages until the War working at the bookstore?” Vorondur asked, giving Finrod a shrewd look.

“No, of course not,” Finrod replied. “But it is a start, is it not? I have to start somewhere in integrating myself into this society.”

“Yes, it is a start, and a very good one,” Vorondur said with a nod. “In fact, I think it was very brave of you to seek out employment on your own.”

Several eyebrows went up. Finrod’s son, Findalaurë, gave Vorondur a scowl. “Atto is no coward.”

“Hush, Finda,” Finrod said softly. “I am quite capable of defending myself, and that is not what Vorondur meant.”

“What did you mean, Ron?” Amroth asked. “What is so brave about asking for a job?”

Vorondur glanced about the dining room, apparently gauging the mood of his listeners, then addressed himself directly to Amroth. “You and I and the rest of us who have lived in Middle-earth these long ages do not think twice about applying for work. We’ve done it often enough when we’ve not gone into business for ourselves. And perhaps, for some of you from Valinor, that must also be true.”

“Oh sure,” Thandir said, entering into the conversation. He now went by the name Thaddeus or Thad. “I was not a lord when I lived here before, still am not, though my family is high in the Noldóran’s government. I gave up my titles when I fled Aman and never reclaimed them when I returned there, so in any case, I needed to find work to support myself and my family.” He gave them a rueful look. “You should have seen the fur flying the day my atar came to Tol Eressëa, demanding that I return to the family estate and take up my duties as his heir. I refused, of course. I had just been hired by the Hyarnarië Trading Company as one of their factomen and was about to leave for Vinyalondë. Competition for the position was fierce and I considered myself fortunate beyond words to have been hired.”

Vorondur nodded. “Yes, I am sure you were, but you see my point? You had to apply for the position and you probably did not think it strange to do so, and so it is with the rest of us, but Finrod, I am sure, has never had to apply for anything, he has simply been offered the work or has taken it up on his own, his status as a prince of Eldamar ensuring that whatever task he put his hand to no one would gainsay him. For him to walk into that bookstore and ask for a job, even if it wasn’t his original intent in going there in the first place, took tremendous courage on his part. He had to ask, not demand.”

“It was not all that hard,” Finrod insisted with a slight smile.

Vorondur just shrugged, not interested in pursuing the matter further. For a time, the conversation lagged until Helyanwë, who now went by the name Helena, said, “I understand that the Mortals celebrate the New Year soon.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, New Year’s Eve is Saturday.”

“Are there parties?” Nielluin asked, sounding rather excited. Her cousin Findalaurë and his two otornor, Calandil and Elennen, looked equally excited by the prospect of attending parties. The older Elves gave them indulgent looks.

“Well, people generally congregate in the town square to welcome in the New Year and then make their way to private parties,” Glorfindel explained. “Last year we hosted one such but not this year. People usually take turns hosting.”

“So what will we be doing then?” Helyanwë asked.

“Well, Daeron and I took it upon ourselves to let our friends know that we would not be accepting any invitations,” Glorfindel answered. “We’ll go to the square like everyone else, but I thought it would be nice to just celebrate on our own in the clearing in the woods behind the mansion. It promises to be a clear night.”

“Will not the Mortals think we are being rude by not joining in with their festivities?” Finrod asked.

“Our friends are aware of the fact that there are times when we Elves need to be alone without dealing with Mortals,” Glorfindel replied. “They may be disappointed but they won’t be offended.”

“And the reverse is true, as well,” Daeron added. “The Mortals occasionally need a respite from our presence. All of us together can be overwhelming to most of the good people of Wiseman, even those who know us well, or think they do.”

“Well, what should we plan to do, then?” Nimrodel asked.

“Why, have a cookout of course,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “What else would we be doing in the middle of the woods with the temperature well below freezing in the wee hours of the New Year?”

Everyone laughed and they spent some time deciding on a menu while they finished with dinner and began cleaning up. At one point, Prince Legolas, now going by the name Liam, commented, “Let us hope that no Mortal decides to blunder into the woods while we are celebrating. I do not think any of us have the power now to put them to sleep or to move the party elsewhere as we had to do once in Mirkwood when a pack of Dwarves came wandering through the Forest.”

“If any Mortal is stupid enough to be trekking through the woods in the middle of the night on New Year’s Eve, they’ll find themselves unable to find us,” Glorfindel stated. “I intend to raise a barrier around the woods, or a small portion of it, similar to the one Melian raised to protect Doriath. Animals will be able to pass through but the Mortals will simply find themselves unable to reach us even if they can see or hear us.”

“Can you raise that much power?” Legolas of Gondolin asked in surprise. He now went by the name Lance. “I have heard of Melian’s Girdle. I did not think any Elf had that kind of power.”

“My adar did,” Prince Legolas said categorically.

“And so do I, or rather, I will have with Finrod’s help,” Glorfindel said, giving his gwador a significant look.

Finrod nodded. “It should be easy enough to do. I once asked Melian how she created the Girdle and she explained the mechanics of raising that much power. I wonder though if any of the Mortals will sense it.”

“Or if the Enemy will,” Valandur added. He now went by Val. When they all gave him puzzled looks, he shook his head in disbelief. “Children, children,” he admonished them, “were you not listening to Lord Námo when he spoke at Findaráto’s Court? The Enemy has already made a move against us with its attempt to infiltrate that spy agency to which Alex Grant belonged. You heard Lord Eönwë tell Madison Washburn that he has been fighting on her behalf against the machinations of the Enemy. What did you think he was saying?”

“Even if that’s true, so what?” Glorfindel asked. “The Enemy knows we’re here, probably has known from the beginning. We haven’t hid ourselves away.”

“But neither have you done anything that would alert the Enemy as to the extent of your powers,” Valandur pointed out. “You have been very circumspect and rightly so. If you start raising the kind of power you’re talking about, the Enemy might assume you are planning battle and respond in kind.”

“So you’re saying we should not use our powers at all,” Laurendil, now called Randall, said.

“No. That would be foolish,” Valandur admitted, “but we should think carefully on how we use them. While I am sure most of the Mortals residing in Wiseman are on our side, I am not so naïve as to believe that all of them are. Some will hate us for who we are and have already joined with the Enemy and are its eyes and ears. It is only prudent to ensure that little about us is known to these people, for we cannot know yet just who they may be.”

There was a sober silence that lasted for several minutes as everyone contemplated Valandur’s words. Finally, Glorfindel shrugged. “Well, I suppose we can forget the barrier, then, and take our chances.”

“But really, what Mortal in his or her right mind would bother to go blundering in the woods on New Year’s Eve of all nights?” Cennanion asked with a dismissive sniff.

“From your lips to the Valar’s ears, my friend,” Amroth said and they all chuckled at that.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Ellon: (Eldarin) Male Elf.

Otorno: Sworn brother. The plural is otornor.

Fëar: Plural of fëa: Spirit, soul.

Noldóran: High King of the Noldor, Arafinwë’s title.

Hyarnarië: Southern Crown, the name of a constellation.

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.

3: New Year’s Eve

The rest of the week went by without much fuss. Finrod continued to work at the bookstore, which saw a great deal of business, more so than usual.

“Do not worry,” he told Nick on Thursday after they had seen five children and three adults out the door. “Once the novelty wears off of seeing me working here, I do not think we will see as many customers.”

“Pity that,” Nick said with a straight face and Finrod smiled knowingly. “Are you all right with staying late tomorrow and working on Saturday to help me with the year-end inventory?” Nick asked as Finrod grabbed his cloak, preparing to leave.

“Yes. What time should I come?”

“Well, the store will be closed to the public so we can start at any hour. Would you mind coming here around seven each morning? We’ll probably be working rather late on Friday, but we’ll stop early Saturday with it being New Year’s Eve and all. What we don’t finish by then, we’ll wrap up on Monday.”

“I will be here,” Finrod promised and true to his word, he was at the bookstore just as the town clock struck the hour. Nick came shortly thereafter and they entered the store together. The only other shop that was open this early was the bakery next door and the delectable smells of cinnamon and rising bread wafted through the air. Nick went over to the bakery while Finrod put on the coffee and returned a few minutes later with cinnamon rolls for them both.

“Straight out of the oven,” Nick proclaimed as he bit into one. “Ever do inventory before?” he asked as he downed some coffee.

“Of course,” Finrod replied. “As king of Nargothrond, I had to oversee the inventorying of our supplies of food and weapons and such.”

“Okay, well, here is the way we do it for books,” Nick said and he spent a few minutes explaining the system and then they went to work.

The hours passed in comfortable silence as the two men worked. Around one, they stopped for lunch, going across the square to the café for a quick bite. By then the lunch crowd had thinned so they had no trouble finding seats and getting served. By two, they were back at the shop. Nick ordered a pizza for their dinner and they ate standing up and discussing New Year’s Eve plans.

“I’ll go to the square like everyone else,” Nick told Finrod when he asked, “and then go home and fall into bed.” He smiled shyly. “Guess I’m not much of a party person. What about you?”

“I believe we, too, will attend the festivities at the square and then we will have a… a cook… out, I think is the term, in the woods behind the mansion. There is a clearing where we like to congregate.”

“A cookout in the middle of the night,” Nick said with disbelief.

“We are having filet mignon and lobster.”

“But it’ll be freezing!”

Finrod shrugged, amused by the Mortal’s reaction. “I am sure it will not be too cold. Certainly not as cold as crossing the Helcaraxë.”

He saw Nick shiver at that, now looking very upset. Finrod smiled at him sympathetically. “It is well, child,” he said softly, giving him a hug, which startled the Man. “Do not fret. Shall we get back to work, then?”

“What? Oh, yeah, work. Did you finish the fantasy and sci-fi books? Good. You want to start on mysteries? I still need to finish up the social sciences.”

They continued working for another two or three hours until Nick finally decided they should quit, trying not to yawn, but having little luck.

“Go and I will close up,” Finrod told him. “I wish to finish this section first.” He was now working through the children’s books.

“You sure?” Nick asked around a couple of yawns.

“Perfectly sure. Go and get some sleep. I will see you tomorrow.”

Nick just nodded and in a few minutes he was bundled up and heading out. Finrod saw him to the door, wishing him a good night. He started back to where he’d been working and then stopped, glancing at the clock and coming to a decision. He fished out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.

“DelaFiore.”

“It is I, gwador,” Finrod said, speaking Sindarin.

“Still at the store?” Glorfindel asked in the same language.

“I just sent Nicholas home. Poor child was dead on his feet.”

“You finishing up then? Would you like me to meet you somewhere? The café is still open or the Blue Petrel.”

“Actually, I had another idea.”…

****

When Nick showed up at the shop the next morning, he found the place already open and when he came inside he stopped in shock at the sight of several people, Elves to be precise, standing about with mugs of coffee in their hands, munching on cinnamon rolls.

“What’s all this?” he demanded, spotting Finrod who was sitting near the stove with Glorfindel. They both looked up and smiled identical smiles. “You’re here early,” he said as he doffed his coat and hat.

“I never left,” Finrod said.

“Never left? You mean you….” Nick glanced about, trying to understand. The store was no longer in the shambles it had been when he left the night before; every book was back in place.

“I was not tired, so I decided to stay and finish the inventory,” Finrod explained. “I called my friends to come help me.” He nodded to the others. Besides Glorfindel, Nick recognized Finrod’s son, and his two friends and Nell. Daeron was also there along with two ellith whom he thought went by the names Helena and Anna. Helena was sitting on the sofa with Glorfindel, his arm around her shoulders, and Anna was standing close to Daeron.

“You mean you worked through the night?” Nick asked, still trying to grasp what was happening.

“Hmm… yes,” Finrod answered. “As I said, I was not tired and decided to continue working. I called Glorfindel to see if he would be willing to keep me company. He brought the others along and together we’ve completed inventorying your entire stock. You will find everything is in order.”

“But surely you must be exhausted,” Nick protested. “You all must be. I know I would be. The days of burning the candle at both ends are long past.”

“I slept well on Thursday,” Finrod said with a shrug. “I doubt I will need to sleep again for another few days. Normally I can refresh myself by weaving waking dreams and sleep for real only a few times in a month, but since getting shot, I find I need to rest more often.”

“But…” Nick found he had no words. The idea that someone only needed to sleep a few times a month was beyond his comprehension. He had gone without sleep for a couple of days when he was younger but that was about his limit. To go for weeks without sleeping….

“Here, have a sticky bun,” Findalaurë, who was standing near him, said, offering him a cinnamon roll and giving him a clinical look. “You look as if you need something sweet. How do you like your coffee?”

Nick stared at the ellon he knew as Lawrence for a long moment. Until now, he had thought of him and his two friends and Nell as youngsters, mainly because all the other Elves spoke of them that way, but he suddenly realized how very wrong that was. He had only to look into Findalaurë’s eyes to know that he was no ‘youngster’. Young he might appear, looking no older than twenty or so, but his eyes gave away the truth, for they were old, old eyes. Here was one who had lived for a very, very long time, for longer than human history, if he remembered rightly, and that meant that Finrod and Glorfindel had lived even longer.

Suddenly, he felt his whole world, everything he knew or thought he knew, crashing in on him. Until now, it had been easy to accept the Elves as just better-looking humans, but now he realized how truly alien they were, for all that they looked as human as he. It was more than just the pointed ears that separated them from him; it was something more basic, almost on the cellular level, and the implications of that made him feel weak.

“I… I … I think I need some air,” he said faintly, closing his eyes. Before he realized what was happening, someone was opening the door and he was outside breathing in the cold. He felt someone standing beside him, wrapping him in a cloak.

“Deep breaths, my friend,” he heard Finrod say. “That’s it. All is well. Now, come inside. Finda, bring Nicholas some coffee. He likes it with one sugar and no milk. Here, sit. Good. Now drink.”

Nick took a sip of the hot, bitter brew and then a second one and had drunk half the mug before he sighed, feeling more himself. He looked over to see Finrod kneeling before him. Glorfindel was standing next to him, both of them looking concerned. The others hung back, watching in silence.

“Feeling better?” Finrod asked solicitously.

“I guess,” Nick replied. “Sorry. Suddenly, I felt like Alice looking back through the looking-glass and everything seemed so… so alien. I guess my brain couldn’t deal with it.”

“It’s alright, Nick,” Glorfindel said gently. “We understand, truly.”

“I am sorry if anything I said upset you,” Finrod said.

“No, that’s okay. I’m fine. It just sort of hit me how… how not human you really are. Sorry. That’s not what I meant. I mean…”

“It’s fine, Nick,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “We understand. We do. Now, we should be going. The Safeway will be opening shortly and I need to do some shopping for tonight.”

“Oh yeah, the midnight cookout,” Nick said with a grin, some of his equilibrium restored. “Filet mignon and lobster? You guys don’t fool around, do you?”

The Elves all grinned and Finrod stood up. “Do you wish for me to stay? With the inventory done you can open the store for business.”

Nick shook his head, standing up so he could remove the cloak that was still around him and handed it to Finrod. “No. I think I’ll just close up and go home. We’ll open again on Monday. Thank you, all of you, for your help. I really appreciate it, but don’t think I’m paying you for overtime, Mr. O’Brien, nor your friends, either.”

Everyone chuckled at his attempt at levity. “We’ll just clean up then and be on our way,” Glorfindel said and fifteen minutes later they were all trooping out. As Nick locked the door, he gave them a sly look. “So, now that you’ve spent the entire night working in my shop, does this mean that tomorrow night you’ll go down to the shoe repair shop and help out there?”

Finrod and those from Valinor gave Nick blank looks, while Daeron rolled his eyes and Glorfindel grinned, pretending to swat Nick upside his head. He ducked and gave them a smirk.

“Whyever would we do that?” Finrod asked in confusion, turning to Glorfindel. “I do not know anything about repairing shoes.”

Now Daeron and Glorfindel both laughed. “I’ll explain later,” Glorfindel said. “Come on, the Safeway is opening. Happy New Year to you, Nick.”

Nick wished them all a Happy New Year and headed home. At the last minute Finrod decided to accompany Glorfindel and Helena to the store and the others went their own way.

****

When the Elves arrived at the town square around eleven that evening, they found it nearly full. The Christmas tree was lit up and the high school band was playing. The bakery was still open and doing a brisk business as people stepped in for something sweet. Coffee, tea and hot chocolate were the beverages of choice rather than champagne as the Mortals huddled in their coats and waited for midnight. Several people were ice skating and Finrod gave his son and niece permission to join them. Elennen and Calandil went with them.

“We will head for the woods as soon as the ceremony is over with,” he told them. “Stay for as long as the rink is open and then come join us.”

“What exactly will happen?” one of the Valinórean Elves asked Daeron.

“Do you see that glowing ball suspended over there?” he pointed to where a bright yellow ball hung high above the roof of the courthouse, visible from the square, though it was a block away. Below it, a large digital timer was counting down the minutes and seconds. “A minute before midnight, it will begin to descend and it’s timed to reach the roof at the stroke of midnight. When it touches down it will set off a light show. The entire square is wired. You’ll see what I mean.”

They waited along with the Mortals. Several people standing nearby wished them a Happy New Year and they traded comments with the Wiseman Elves about the previous year’s light show and if there was going to be anything different this year. Then there was a minute left of the old year and an expectant hush fell across the square as everyone craned their necks to see the ball begin to descend, keeping one eye on the digital timer. Even the skaters had ceased to skate, standing about and looking on. When the timer reached ten seconds all the Mortals began counting down aloud, their voices rising in excitement as the seconds of the old year fled.

“…five… four… three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

The ball began sparkling and suddenly, the roofs of the buildings surrounding the square lit up in a dazzling display of pyrotechnics as the high school band began playing and the entire square exploded into song, the Wiseman Elves joining in, while those from Valinor looked on in amazement:

“Should old acquaintances be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintances be forgot
and auld lang syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.”

Everyone started cheering and clapping and hugging and kissing each other indiscriminately. Several of the Valinórean Elves found themselves unceremoniously hugged by strangers, kisses planted on their cheeks and good wishes for a Happy New Year ringing in their ears. It was bedlam and confusion and no one seemed to notice or to mind, enjoying the light show above them. Eventually, though, the pyrotechnics ceased and people began heading off, intent on continuing their partying in warmer conditions. The Elves remained where they were until the square was emptier and quieter.

“So, what did you think?” Glorfindel asked Finrod, giving him a grin.

“I do not think I have been kissed by so many females in so short a time before,” he quipped and everyone around him laughed.

“And this is tame compared to how people celebrate elsewhere,” Daeron said.

“The skating rink is closing,” Vorondur observed. “Let’s round up the youngsters and get on our way.”

With that they all agreed and in a short while they were making their way back to the mansion, grabbing the coolers already filled with food and drink before heading for the woods. Mithlas and Beleg, who now went by the names Mick and Bela, respectively, went ahead to start the bonfire, which had been set up earlier that afternoon, so when the others arrived, they were greeted by a merry blaze. It was not long before the steaks and lobster were sizzling away, wrapped in foil and covered with coals. Glorfindel went along the perimeter of the glade with Finrod in tow, the two of them raising a Song of Power, creating a barrier. It was a minor working, not the major working Glorfindel had originally planned. This barrier would not stop anyone from outside from entering the glade but it would cause them to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. The Elves were determined not to be disturbed by any Mortals fool enough to find their way into the woods.

“There, that should do it,” Glorfindel said when the two had come full circle. “Let’s see if there’s any champagne left.”

Finrod grinned and together they joined the others around the fire. Daeron handed them both champagne flutes.

“To the New Year,” he intoned, raising his glass.

“To the New Year,” everyone echoed.

“And may it be less exciting than the last,” Glorfindel added.

“Násië!” came the fervent response from the others.

And then Gil and Barry began singing a traditional song sung at the Elvish New Year and soon everyone was joining in.

4: Into the Woods

Alex Grant, once known as Artemus Gordon Meriwether, ex-spy — excuse me, former intelligence officer — saw his mother, Anne Meriwether, safely to the Goldmine Inn after they had been to the town square to see the New Year in. They were accompanied by Alex’s friend and fellow Elf Guide, Derek Lowell, and his dad, Andy. As he helped his mother out of her coat, she turned to him, a worried look in her eyes.

“Are you sure you and Derek don’t want to stay and celebrate, Artemus? You’re both welcomed to stay. It looks as if the inn staff has gone all out to provide their guests with a feast.”

Alex smiled fondly at his mother, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “You and Andy go and enjoy yourselves. Derek and I have other plans.”

“And what plans are they?” Anne demanded.

At that point, Andy Lowell intervened. “Leave the boys alone, Annie,” he said. “I’m sure they would much rather be celebrating with their friends instead of with a couple of old fuddy-duddies like us.” He gave Alex and Derek a wink and a grin.

“Hmm…” was Anne’s only comment, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Go and enjoy yourself, Mom,” Alex said, giving her another kiss. Then he turned to Andy, giving him a mock scowl. “Don’t keep her out too late.”

“Yes, boss,” Andy said facetiously, giving him a rather sloppy salute while Derek, who had remained silent through all this, started laughing.

“Have fun, you two,” he said.

“C’mon, Annie, they’re playing a waltz,” Andy said. “Let’s you and me show them how it’s done.”

Anne hesitated for a moment, her concern for Alex still evident. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Mom! You’re embarrassing me.” He sighed, deciding it was easier to give in. “But yes, I will be careful. I promise. Now, go. Have fun. We’ll see you tomorrow for brunch, okay? Around noon, right?”

“Yes, noon will be fine,” Andy said, taking Anne’s elbow and leading her away. Soon they were lost in the crowd of people dancing and drinking as the staff of the inn went about setting up the buffet. Alex pulled Derek across the lobby, dodging people coming and going. Outside, they paused for a moment or two to huddle further into their coats.

“Okay, so where are we going?” Derek asked. “Mind you, I wouldn’t have objected to us staying here with your mom and my dad, if only to keep an eye on them. I think my dad’s about ready to lure your mom into a state of sin.”

Alex grinned at his friend. “Unless she gets to him first.”

“You know, this conversation is taking a turn for the weird,” Derek commented.

“Tell me about it,” Alex retorted. He was feeling a bit ambivalent about what he thought he saw happening between his mom and Derek’s dad. For so long it had only been the two of them, mother and son against the world, but now it seemed that might no longer be the case, and there was a real possibility that he might not only gain a father but a brother all in one fell swoop. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. Time to deal with it when they had to. Right now…

“You up to a trip into the woods?” he asked Derek.

“What?”

“The woods behind Edhellond.”

“Why do you want to go there, mate?”

Alex fished a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “When we were at the town square, this got shoved into my hand.” He handed the paper to Derek who squinted at it in the light of a nearby streetlamp.

“‘The woods behind the mansion. Come alone. F,’” he read then stared at Alex. “Someone handed this to you?”

Alex nodded. “I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. Thought it was just someone wishing to get through the crowd. I turned around but there was no one there and then I felt someone shove that note into my hands. Never saw who it was, though.”

“Could be a prank,” Derek pointed out.

“Then again, it could be something else.”

“It says to come alone, though, so why are you inviting me?”

“Because, Watson, I am always suspicious when someone tells me to meet them in the woods in the middle of the night alone. I doubt it’s to give me a surprise birthday party.”

Derek grinned. “It’s signed ‘F’. Who could it mean? Farrell? But he’s in jail in Fairbanks, awaiting trial.”

“I thought of that,” Alex said with a nod. “If he’d somehow escaped, I would’ve been told. I made sure that the authorities would keep me informed of Farrell and the others at all times. No, I think the note was sent by Finrod.”

“Finrod!”

“Or Lawrence,” Alex added with a shrug.

“Yet, why would they send you a note asking you to join them in the woods and not invite me?” Derek protested.

Alex gave him a wicked smile. “Care to find out?”

Derek’s grin was equally feral. “Lead the way, mate.”

Alex turned and headed briskly for his car with Derek right behind him. “Come, Watson!” he cried in delight, feeling the excitement of the chase rising within him. “The game is on.”

“I love it when you talk dirty like that,” Derek quipped and Alex laughed.

It took them only a few minutes to reach Edhellond. Alex pulled over so that they could see the mansion and turned off the car. “It looks dark.”

“They must all be out partying,” Derek suggested.

“Or they’re in the woods waiting for us,” Alex said. “Ready?”

“Sure. Are we going in armed?”

“No. This may be completely innocent and carrying weapons….” He paused, his eyes no longer seeing the street before them. Instead, he was remembering another New Year’s, lying in a hospital bed, a victim of a bust gone terribly wrong. He shivered uncontrollably as the memory of that hellish trek across a snowfield tracking down the terrorists took hold of him.

“Alex… Alex… look at me.”

He heard Derek’s voice but could not make a connection. He felt his friend taking him by the shoulders, forcing him to face him. “Alex… it’s alright, mate, it’s alright. Come back to me, Alex. Tolo ’nan galad!”

Alex blinked at the sudden sound of Sindarin and the snowfields of Wisconsin became Sycamore Street once again and he was staring into Derek’s eyes full of concern. “Sorry. I… I…” But he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Instead he wrenched open the door, stepping out of the car, taking a couple of deep breaths. Derek followed more slowly. Alex ignored him for a moment, surveying the empty street. Further down on either side he saw the lights of other houses and heard the faint strains of music. Obviously the residents were whooping it up. He stared at the mansion. He had parked so they could see into the drive. There were no lights upstairs and none of the front rooms were lit. The place felt empty somehow. He knew enough about Elves to know that the place never fully emptied out or quieted down. While some might be sleeping, there would always be one or two up. No. The mansion had an air of desertion about it. The Elves were not in residence tonight.

He turned to Derek standing silently on his side of the car, waiting. “They must be in the woods,” he said. Derek nodded, but said nothing. “You can stay here, if you like,” Alex offered. “The note did say for me to come alone.”

“No. I’m curious to know what is going on.”

Alex nodded, grateful for his friend’s steadiness and loyalty. “C’mon then. Let’s not keep whoever it is waiting.” He went around and opened the trunk, fishing out a couple of flashlights, handing one to Derek, before closing the trunk. “All set?” he asked rhetorically.

They crossed the street, skirting the walls surrounding the mansion and coming around to the back of it, crossing the fields and then entering the woods, pausing for a moment to get their bearings. “There’s a clearing somewhere near here,” Alex said, speaking softly. “I’ve never been to it myself, but I’ve heard the Elves speak of it. It can’t be too far.”

“Isn’t there a path to follow?” Derek asked, flashing his light about.

“I don’t think so, not as such, but there doesn’t seem to be much underbrush so we shouldn’t have too much trouble. C’mon.” He set off and Derek was right behind him. They had not gone far when they both stopped to listen. “Hear that?” Alex asked and Derek nodded.

“It’s coming from over there,” he said, pointing a little to the left. “Sounds close, though I don’t recognize what the song is about, can’t quite make out the words.”

“Me neither. It’s Sindarin, that’s all I know. This way.” He headed to his left. They went about fifty more yards by his guess and then they could see firelight some distance off and the singing was louder. Now they could pick out words here or there. They stood, listening to the ethereal voices for a moment and then Alex shook his head to clear it of the spell the song seemed to be weaving around him and gestured for Derek to follow. They inched their way forward, trying not to make too much noise, though Alex had the feeling that the Elves knew precisely where they were, yet none of them stopped singing or turned to face them. They were almost at the clearing and then—

“Okay, is it just me or did we somehow teleport?” Derek asked, staring about.

Alex turned around to take in their surroundings, not quite sure what had happened. One minute they were about to enter the clearing and then the next they were standing on the outskirts of the woods. He could see the dark bulk of the mansion across the field.

“Some sort of Elvish trick,” he muttered. “Want to try again?”

“You mean go back inside there?” Derek nodded towards the trees. “It’s obvious we’re not wanted. Why bother?”

“Because someone sent me this note, and I want to know who and why. I’m going back in. Now that we know where they are maybe we can approach from a different direction and see what happens.”

Derek sighed. “Fine. It’s not as if I have anything else to do at—” He fished out his cell phone to check the time. “At two in the morning on New Year’s Day.”

Alex grinned at him. “That’s the spirit. Just think. You could be back at the Goldmine Inn drinking champagne and dancing waltzes. How boring can that be?”

“Don’t push it, mate,” Derek growled and Alex laughed.

Together they went back into the woods, moving more confidently now that they knew approximately where they were going. Alex led them more to the right, intending to circle the clearing and come at it from the north. As before, they heard the music before they saw the fire. And as before, as soon as they started to enter the clearing, they found themselves elsewhere, only this time it was not the same place, but somewhere else in the woods, in a very small clearing surrounded by trees watching them in silence.

“Okay, this is freaking me out,” Derek said. “I definitely think we should just leave. We’re not wanted here.”

“Then why the note?” Alex insisted. “Why bother?”

“I don’t know, mate. Perhaps it’s because I’m with you. The note said to come alone. Maybe whatever is keeping us out of the clearing is doing so because I’m with you. Maybe if you went alone….”

“I might be able to enter the clearing,” Alex completed Derek’s thought for him. “It’s worth a try, but come with me anyway. Just watch. If I can pass the barrier then maybe if I tell them you’re with me, they’ll let you through.”

“Worth a shot.”

“Okay, now all we have to do is figure out where we are,” Alex said, flashing his light about.

Derek did the same. “Here, look,” he said. “There’s a path of sorts.”

“Might as well follow it,” Alex said with a resigned shrug. “We don’t have too many other options.”

“After you, mate,” Derek said and they set off again.

The path, if that is what it was, was not hard to make out in the dark with their flashlights and soon they heard the music and followed it. When they saw the clearing, Alex stopped and motioned for Derek to remain where he was while he went on. He stopped at the very edge of the clearing, took a deep breath and stepped forward, half expecting to find himself somewhere else. He felt a slight resistance, as if he were passing through some invisible wall, and then he was on the other side and the Elves were all staring at him in shock.

“Happy New Year,” Alex said brightly.

“Alex!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind that, gwador,” Finrod interjected before Glorfindel could answer. “Alex, how did you come to be here? Should you not be celebrating with your mother and your friends?”

“You sent me a note, or at least, someone did. Look.” He fished out the note and took a few more steps closer, holding out his hand. Finrod took the note from him and read it.

“You think I wrote this?” he asked, handing the note to Glorfindel.

“You or maybe Finda. It’s signed with your initial.”

“But I never sent him a note, Atto,” Findalaurë protested.

“I believe you, yonya,” Finrod said. “Nor did I send you the note.”

“Alex, are you alone?” Vorondur asked suddenly, looking up from where he had read the note over Glorfindel’s shoulder.

“Ah, no. Derek’s with me. We’ve tried twice to come into the clearing and twice we got… teleported or something. This time round, we decided I would go first.” He turned to face the woods and waved. “C’mon, Derek.”

Derek appeared at the edge of the clearing, grinning. “No, wait!” Glorfindel shouted in warning, but it was too late. Derek took one more step and suddenly collapsed.

“Derek!” Alex screamed, and tried to rush to his friend, but Finrod held him back, while Glorfindel sighed and muttered something the Mortal could not hear. “What did you do to him?” Alex demanded, growing angry.

“Dan, bring him over by the fire so he doesn’t freeze to death in his sleep,” Glorfindel ordered as he turned to face Alex. “Stay calm, Alex. Derek is just asleep, nothing more. You should be asleep as well. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I… I … is that what’s supposed to happen? Uninvited guests fall asleep? So why didn’t it happen the first time or the second? Why did it only happen to Derek? Damn you! What the hell is going on?” He struggled in Finrod’s hold, unable to get away.

“Alex, what did you feel as you came into the clearing?” Vorondur asked, coming to stand between him and Glorfindel.

Alex ceased his struggling for a bit. “I felt… I don’t know, a resistance of some sort, like I was wading through molasses or something. There was a sort of popping sound and then I was in the clearing.”

“But he should have fallen asleep,” Roy protested. “You primed the barrier to send Mortals to sleep.”

“Well it worked on Derek,” Dan pointed out, “but not on Alex.”

“What did you mean that you tried twice to reach us?” Finrod asked, releasing his hold on the Mortal.

Alex took a couple of deep breaths and looked about him at the Elves, trying to gauge their moods. Those from Valinor seemed more shocked and a few even appeared angry at the interruption, while the Wiseman Elves just seemed curious. He glanced over at the fire where Elladan was wrapping a blanket around a still sleeping Derek, placing another folded blanket under his head.

“Alex?” Glorfindel said.

“What? Oh yeah, well, when I was at the town square for the fireworks, I got that note shoved into my hands and….”

He described what happened and at the end of his narrative Glorfindel scowled. “But that’s not the type of barrier we created. I don’t think I have that sort of power. The best I could have done would be to place an avoidance spell on the barrier. You would have simply found yourself wandering elsewhere in the woods. Something would make you avoid this clearing, but in the end, we decided not to evoke that kind of power. It would have alerted people who should not be alerted.”

“Whatever,” Alex said dismissively. “Can you wake him?”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Glorfindel said. “He’ll have to wake on his own.”

“When?”

“Oh, in about twelve hours, give or take.”

“Twelve hours!”

“Be grateful it is not twelve days or twelve years, my friend,” Finrod said with a grin. “But do not worry. Derek will be well. We will bring him back to the mansion and he’ll sleep in comfort, no worse for the experience.”

“I’m interested in knowing who sent the note, though,” Vorondur said. “None of us did so. We would have simply spoken to you directly if we had wanted you to come here. And, as you said, Farrell is not here but in Fairbanks behind bars.”

“And why would he send such a note in the first place?” Amroth asked. “If he wanted to set a trap for Alex, he would’ve done something less obvious. Farrell is obsessed by hatred and a need for revenge but he’s not an idiot.”

There were murmurs of agreement among the Elves.

“I think we’re overlooking the obvious,” Glorfindel said.

“What do you mean?” Finrod demanded.

“Think about it,” Glorfindel insisted. “You and I created a sleep barrier, nothing more. Mortals who blundered into this clearing would just fall asleep, like Derek, but Alex said that twice they attempted to enter the clearing and then they were instantly transported elsewhere. Doesn’t that sound awfully familiar?”

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Maiar.”

“Or Valar. They both have the ability to teleport us with a single thought.”

“But they’ve always had to take hold of us before they could do so,” Finrod pointed out.

“Or tamper with the barrier after we finished creating it, let it do all the work,” the Balrog-slayer countered.

“So why didn’t it work the third time that way?”Daeron asked. “Why didn’t any of it work on Alex?”

“Perhaps we should simply ask,” Glorfindel said, then raised his voice. “Okay, Fionwë. Fun and games are over with. Out with you.”

“Fionwë! Of course,” Finrod exclaimed. “That Maia is a regular mischief maker.”

“Fionwë!” Glorfindel shouted, turning about.

There was a sigh that came from nowhere and everywhere and then the night was infused with the scent of mint and apples and Fionwë was there in their midst, grinning at them.

“I did tell you to come alone, Alex Grant,” he said by way of greeting. “Why do you Children never listen?”

“You gave me the note,” Alex stated.

“A simple enough procedure even in a crowd,” the Maia responded with a sniff.

“Yet, why?” Finrod demanded, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Fionwë shrugged, giving them a sly look. “Must there be a reason?”

At the blank silence that followed as everyone stared at him, Fionwë sighed. “Fine. It was a jest. I overheard someone wondering what Mortal would be daft enough to be blundering about the woods in the middle of the night while you were celebrating and just couldn’t resist.”

“So you set me and Derek up,” Alex stated, his tone soft and dangerous.

“Derek being with you was not part of the plan,” Fionwë replied. “You nearly ruined it. I had to do some fancy shifting when you both tried to cross the barrier at the same time.” He paused and gave them a smile. “Though, that was fun, as well. You should have seen your face when you found yourself back in the field.”

“You were trying to scare us off,” Alex said, “or maybe, scare Derek off.”

“You should have come alone,” Fionwë shot back, “just as the note said.”

“Which just shows you how stupid Maiar really are when it comes to dealing with us,” Daeron commented with a malicious grin. “Even we Elves would never have come without backup if such a note had been handed to us.” There were nods of agreement and a few whispered comments that set some of them laughing.

“Telling one of us to come alone is like waving a red flag at a bull,” Glorfindel added with a nod. “All you get is a whole heap of trouble.”

Fionwë glared at them, but before he could make a retort, Valandur stepped forward. “It still does not explain Alex, though. Why did he not fall asleep?”

“It has to be his bloodline,” Finrod stated. “It has to be because he has Elven blood, diluted though it must be.”

“And Maiarin, don’t forget that,” Elrohir said. “He is of the lineage of Lúthien, after all, just as Dan and I are.”

Fionwë nodded. “I knew Alex would be able to pass through the barrier without being affected by the sleep spell, so I decided to lure him here.”

“Yet, why?” Glorfindel demanded. “Don’t get me wrong, Alex. Normally we would’ve invited you and even Derek, seeing you two are practically inseparable, but we knew you were with your mother and Andy, and we assumed that you would be celebrating the New Year with them. So why did you do it, Fionwë?”

“Yes, that is the question, isn’t it, my son?”

Alex and the Elves had the dubious pleasure of seeing the Maia cringe as a deep, melodious voice filled the air and then they were temporarily blinded by a flash of multicolored lights. When Alex’s vision cleared he found Lord Námo standing there looking at them with amusement.

“And a Happy New Year to you all,” the Vala said by way of greeting.

“Thank you,” Finrod said politely, as he and the other Elves bowed or curtsied to the Lord of Mandos.

“Truly, my lord,” Fionwë said softly, not quite looking at the Vala, “it was all a jest.”’

Námo glanced at the still form of Derek wrapped in blankets and snoring slightly before turning his attention to Fionwë. “I see, though I doubt young Derek will appreciate the joke when he awakes.”

“Loren says he’ll sleep for about twelve hours,” Alex said. “That means he’ll miss our brunch date with his dad and my mom. I need him awake before that because there is no way to explain it to them.”

“You could always say that Derek is too hung over to join you for brunch,” Glorfindel suggested.

Alex scowled at him. “A sailor too hung over? Give me a break and even if that were true Derek would not disappoint his dad by not showing up, even if he showed up feeling like hell. Well, I really don’t care why you did it, Fionwë, but since you lured me here, you can undo the sleep thing. I want Derek awake now.”

“It does not work that way,” Fionwë protested, “and I had nothing to do with that spell.”

“But you’re a Maia,” Alex shot back. “Your powers are greater so you can surely reverse it, or maybe you can.” He directed that last at Námo.

“I could, but I will not. You will have to deal with it yourselves, Children. Fionwë, Lord Manwë is expecting you.”

“No! He’s not going anywhere,” Alex nearly shouted. “Not until he wakes Derek up.”

“Alex—” Námo started to say but Alex was too angry to care. Without warning he grabbed Fionwë and threw him over his shoulder and then straddled him, holding him down.

“I don’t care if you have to dance naked around the fire and sacrifice a virgin to do it, but you are going to wake Derek up now or so help me you’re going to find out just what one pissed-off, highly trained and very lethal Mortal can do.”

Silence filled the glade as the Elves looked on, none of them willing to interfere. Námo sighed and with a negligent hand reached out and grabbed Alex by the back of his neck and lifted him off the Maia, who smirked at them all as he faded away.

Námo put a protesting Alex down. “Calm down, Alex,” he commanded and Alex felt all the anger leave him and he just stood there drained of energy. “Derek will waken soon, I promise,” Námo added and then he turned to Glorfindel. “Take Derek back to the mansion. He’ll be more comfortable there, I’m sure.”

Glorfindel nodded to Elladan, who casually lifted Derek into his arms and, without a word, left the glade with Elrohir beside him. The others, with a soft word from Finrod, began to gather up their supplies, a couple of them dousing the fire, plunging them all into darkness with only the stars illuminating the night, for the moon had long set.

Most of the Elves departed at Finrod’s command until only he, Glorfindel, Daeron, Vorondur and Valandur were left. Námo released Alex from his hold and gestured for Vorondur to take the Mortal’s arm. Alex did not protest, found he could not, feeling cold and empty. “Take him back to Edhellond,” Námo commanded. “Try to get him to sleep for a few hours. It should help.”

“Was there a reason behind all this, other than to interrupt our celebration?” Valandur asked.

“If nothing else, it confirms what you have all suspected,” Námo replied. “Alex is indeed of the bloodline of Lúthien and Eärendil, as is his mother.”

“A rather odd way of confirming it, though,” Finrod said with a sniff. “Well, we will sort it out later. Let us get Alex back inside. He’s shivering from the cold. My lord.” He gave Námo a bow and then the Vala was gone and Alex found himself being led out of the glade with Vorondur speaking to him softly, helping him through the woods.

In a short while they were entering the back garden and then they were inside. All the while, Alex did not speak, unable to find the energy to do much of anything except to do as he was told. Soon he was being shown into a guest room with assurances that Derek was sleeping in the next room. He allowed Vorondur and Valandur to remove his pants and shirt before they helped him into the bed. Valandur placed a hand over his eyes, muttering something he could not make out and then Alex knew nothing more.

****

Tolo ’nan galad: (Sindarin) ‘Come to the light’.

5: Discussions

Valandur and Vorondur made their way downstairs and into the kitchen where they found people bustling around. Amroth was making coffee while Nimrodel was boiling water for tea. Mithrellas was putting some cinnamon rolls into the oven and Glorfindel was scrambling up some eggs while Finda and Nell were setting out plates and mugs and silver on the dining room buffet. Finrod oversaw it all from the breakfast nook where he sat with a goblet of wine. He looked up at their entrance and gestured them over to join him.

“Alex?” he asked.

“Asleep,” Valandur answered. “He was very… quiescent, almost as if he were bespelled. Never spoke and did not resist.”

“Lord Námo’s doing, I think,” Glorfindel said from the stove. “He’s pulled that trick on me often enough. He tells you to calm down and somehow you do, all the energy drained from you. You barely have enough to keep yourself upright. Being allowed to sleep is a relief.”

There was a brief silence as people digested that bit of news and for a time no one spoke about what had happened, concentrating on putting together the breakfast, though it was only about four in the morning.

“Which just means we can have second breakfast around ten,” Glorfindel said with a grin when the subject arose. “We’ll have Belgian waffles.”

As they were eating, some sitting at the table and others standing around, Vorondur spoke up, addressing Prince Legolas. “I noticed that when Alex showed up, you appeared very angry, even went so far as to reach for a weapon. Would you care to explain, your Highness?”

“You noticed that too, did you?” Valandur said before Legolas could answer. “He and several others all went for weapons.”

“Who?” Glorfindel asked in surprise.

“Interestingly enough, just those who once lived here in Middle-earth,” Vorondur answered. “Oh, not all. Beleg, for instance, just stood there grinning.”

“I thought it was humorous,” the former marchwarden of Doriath said with a grin. “You should have seen your faces. If Morgoth himself had shown up dressed in Melian’s best gown, I don’t think you would’ve been half as shocked as you were when the Mortals appeared.”

For a moment, they all stared at Beleg and then Mithlas shook his head. “Reborn,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Glorfindel protested and the others chuckled.

“Well, getting back to the original question,” Vorondur said once they had calmed down, “I am still interested in knowing why the anger, Prince Legolas. Going for a weapon, I can understand. It’s an automatic reflex in a potentially hostile situation, but the anger? That’s something else again.”

“Well, were we not all angry at the interruption?” Barahir asked. “I know I was. I’d been looking forward to it all week, knowing we weren’t going to have Mortals mucking the place up and then Frick and Frack show up and ruin everything.”

“Yet, your anger was momentary,” Vorondur pointed out. “You became intrigued by the question of why Alex had not succumbed to the sleep spell, did you not?”

Barahir shrugged. “I guess,” he admitted reluctantly.

“And that was true for most of the Wiseman Elves,” Valandur pointed out. “Whatever anger you felt at the interruption was replaced almost immediately by curiosity and perplexity. But we are still waiting to hear what Prince Legolas has to say, for I think your anger goes much deeper than being upset by the interruption.”

“You don’t have to answer, Legolas,” Glorfindel said when the former prince of Ithilien hesitated. “You’re not on trial here and if Ron and Val are concerned, they can speak with you privately.”

“It is something that concerns us all, though,” Finrod interjected. “Come, child. Tell us. I promise we are not here to judge, only to learn.”

Legolas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing really. When Alex came into the clearing, I was suddenly reminded of when a certain band of Dwarves rudely interrupted our autumnal feast and what followed from that.”

“Ah yes,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “Bilbo told us all about it when he and Gandalf returned to Imladris. Remember, Erestor?”

“Yes,” the former administrator of Elrond’s realm said with a grin. “A good tale.”

“Especially the way Bilbo described it,” Elrohir chimed in and his twin nodded in agreement.

“But your anger went deeper than memory,” Vorondur persisted.

Now Legolas actually blushed. “Sorry. It is true I was angry at the intrusion, but it wasn’t Alex’s fault. To tell you the truth, my anger was directed more toward you, Glorfindel, you and Finrod both.”

“Oh?” both Glorfindel and Finrod said almost at the same time, both looking nonplused.

Legolas grinned. “My first thought upon seeing Alex was, ‘Stupid Noldor can’t even get a simple sleep spell right. My adar could have done it in his sleep without half trying. I could have done it in my sleep.’”

Now they were all laughing and the tension that had been there earlier lifted. When they had calmed down, Vorondur spoke. “Well, that aside, I am still a bit concerned about the reactions of others. Going for weapons might be a natural reflex, but it was unthinking and that could be dangerous. And it’s telling, I think, that only those who once resided here in Middle-earth did so.”

“Well, not all of us,” Erestor said with a grin. He now went by the name Eric. “I’m far too old to be jumping at shadows.”

Some of the others scowled at him, which he ignored. Vorondur nodded in acknowledgement. “Very true, but that’s just the point. We all should be too old to be jumping at shadows.”

“Yet, if we were under attack….” Mithlas, who now called himself Mick, started to say, but Valandur shook his head.

“It does not work that way,” he said. “Look, I know that things have not been easy for any of us. We all have had to make huge concessions. We who come from Valinor have given up much and we are still trying to adapt ourselves to this alien environment, but I think it must be even harder for you who once lived here, who are trying to reconcile your memories with reality and nothing fits, nothing is at all familiar. Most of you did not even interact with the Mortals of your time and now you have to deal with them constantly. When Alex and Derek inadvertently showed up, your anger was evident. The rest of us were more disappointed, I think, but not actually angry. Those of us who never lived here have no such… um…” He hesitated, as if groping for words.

“Baggage, ghosts,” Vorondur supplied and when Valandur nodded, he continued, “Yes, I can see that and it is something that should be addressed when we hold our anger management classes next week.”

There were many sighs but no one protested. Vorondur and Valandur exchanged knowing smiles.

“You would make a great psychologist,” Vorondur said.

“I suppose it’s part of my training,” Valandur offered. “I had to learn to read people very carefully when Ingwë made me his spymaster. I learned to be very observant of the small things.”

Vorondur nodded and then someone suggested that once they’d cleaned up the breakfast that they gather in the library and tell tales. To that everyone agreed and a half an hour later they were in the library trading songs and tales while the two Mortals continued to sleep on dreamlessly.

****

Alex woke disoriented, not recognizing his surroundings at first. A clock on the night table told him it was nine, though it was still dark out; the sun would not be seen for another hour or so and then only briefly. It took several precious seconds for memory to catch up with him and then he let out a groan and struggled out of bed, reaching for his clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair. Once dressed, he made his way down the hall to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and finger-comb his hair. Afterwards, he made his way downstairs where the smell of coffee lured him into the kitchen. Derek was there, along with Glorfindel, Finrod, Vorondur, Valandur and Amroth. Of the other Elves there was no sign.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Derek said with a grin.

“You should talk,” Alex shot back as he went to the counter to pour himself some coffee. “You okay?”

“Sure. Nothing wrong with me. Loren and Quinn were just filling me in on what happened. Woke about twenty minutes ago wondering how many glasses of champagne I’d had and then remembered I didn’t have any, which made my waking up in a strange bed with no memory of getting there rather like adding insult to injury. I don’t even have the joy of a hangover to remember last night by.”

Alex and the Elves grinned at Derek’s put upon expression.

“Sorry about that,” Glorfindel said. “Last thing we expected was having you two show up. We didn’t actually expect anyone to show up.”

“So why the barrier and the sleep spell?” Alex asked, leaning against the counter and taking an appreciative sip of the coffee, a Jamaican blend that was a favorite among the Elves.

“For the fun of it?” Glorfindel suggested with a shrug. The other Elves chuckled.

“Call it a precautionary measure, Alex,” Finrod said.

“But what was all that about getting teleported hither and yon, though?” Derek demanded.

“Not our doing,” Finrod explained. “That was all Fionwë’s doing. A practical joke, I think you would call it.”

“Fionwë! You mean that Maia?” Derek exclaimed. “Some joke, and then I get zapped by a sleep spell and miss all the excitement.” He shook his head in disgust. “Guess I’m just an ordinary human after all.”

“There is no such animal as an ordinary human, my friend,” Vorondur said with sincerity. “You are all amazing and brilliant and completely mad.”

“Thanks, I think,” Derek said.

Vorondur laughed. “Trust me, I meant it in a good way. You Mortals have a spark of something that seems lacking in most Elves, though lately I am revising my theories about that. With only one Reborn to study, I wasn’t sure, but with several more in our midst, I think I am beginning to see a pattern of behavior that is proving rather interesting to observe.”

“Well, we’ll leave you to it, then,” Alex said. “Derek and I need to get ourselves going if we’re to meet our parents in time for brunch.”

Glorfindel spoke up. “We were not sure how long either of you would sleep, so I had Dan run over to the Academy and bring back some changes of clothing and your toiletries. The bag is in the foyer. You’ll have to sort out what belongs to whom yourselves. We moved your car off the street, Alex. It’s in the drive. Keys are on the table in the foyer.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “You want to grab a shower first while I finish my coffee?” he asked Derek who nodded.

“Yeah, thanks. By the way, what happened after I fell asleep? You were just about to tell me when Alex came in.”

Glorfindel shrugged at Finrod, who answered. “When Alex told us about your two previous attempts to cross the barrier, we realized that it must have been a Maia who was involved, for we do not have that kind of power. The best we could have done was to set an avoidance spell that would make you not want to come near the glade without actually being aware that you were avoiding it for some reason. Then we knew it had to be Fionwë.”

“Because he signed the note with ‘F’,” Derek said with a nod of understanding.

“Yes,” Finrod said. “When we called to him, he appeared and admitted what he had done, claiming that it was merely a jest on his part.”

“And that is when Lord Námo showed up,” Glorfindel added with a malicious grin.

Derek’s eyebrows rose and then he gave them a sly look as he drained his mug. “Ah, so the dude got Námo’d, heh? I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

For a second they all stared at him. “Námo’d?” Alex finally said. “What—?”

“From what I’ve seen, that Vala is a verb waiting to happen, and not in a good way,” Derek explained.

Now they were all struggling not to laugh but failing miserably. Alex let out a whoop. “Námo’d! I love it,” he exclaimed. “I can just see it.” His expression sobered to one of concern and he stared at the space before him, as if seeing someone there. “You don’t look so good.” His expression altered again, looking more as if he were in pain, and his voice changed, obviously pretending to be someone else. “I just got Námo’d.” And then his expression changed again to his original persona. “Oh, that explains it.”

Now they were all laughing in earnest. “Ooh, I can certainly relate,” Glorfindel said in all sincerity when he had calmed down a bit. “I’ve been Námo’d often enough in the past.”

“We all have,” Finrod added with a grin, “at least those of us who are Reborn.”

“Actually, I think it’s fair to say that Fionwë got Alexed,” Amroth interjected, giving his former student a grin. “That’s the second time you’ve taken him down. I doubt he’s ever going to hear the end of it.”

Alex just smirked then turned to Derek. “You’d better go and grab that shower.”

“I’ll take the bag upstairs and pull out my stuff and then leave it outside in the hall for you,” Derek suggested and when Alex nodded his thanks, he got up and left. Alex poured himself some more coffee and took the seat Derek had vacated.

“About last night—” he started to say

“There is no need for apologies, Alex,” Glorfindel assured him. “You were as much a victim as we of Fionwë’s questionable humor.”

“And no harm done,” Finrod added.

“Yeah, but we ruined your party and I feel bad about that. I also noticed about half of you going for swords that weren’t there. Did you think the Enemy was attacking or something?”

“We were discussing the very thing earlier amongst us,” Vorondur said. “The matter will be addressed.”

“Good. See that it is,” Alex said and something in his voice seemed to grate on the Elves, for they all gave him scowls.

“You do not need to lecture us, Alex,” Valandur said stiffly.

“Don’t I?” Alex countered, scowling back. He looked at Amroth. “You remember what you told me about overreacting to a situation?”

“Don’t overreact,” Amroth answered.

“Right. Don’t overreact. It took me a while to figure out what you meant, because that’s all you said to me: don’t overreact. And you refused to elaborate, which really pissed me off at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my own sense of frustration was making me overreact to that one simple statement. After that, things became clearer.” He turned his attention to Valandur. “Your people overreacted last night, reaching for weapons that weren’t there. Now, I will admit that’s a natural reflex, especially among warriors, but totally inappropriate to the circumstances. This is not the Middle-earth some of you remember.”

“We’re aware of that, Alex,” Vorondur said. “As Val said, you do not need to lecture us.”

“Maybe not,” Alex conceded, “but we’re in this together and I am not afraid to call you, any of you, on the carpet if necessary. Most of the residents of Wiseman might be in awe of you lot, but I’m not.”

“Fair enough,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll take your warning to heart.”

Alex nodded and then relented. “Sorry if I came on like that, but these are dangerous times and people are paranoid. Odd behaviors are noted and reported. You Elves are already in a precarious position here. Don’t make it more precarious with unthinking actions.”

“Point taken,” Vorondur said, and then he changed the subject. “Are you still okay about us revealing ourselves to your mother?”

“Yeah, sure. Derek and I have been talking about it and we both agree that it’s the safest course for us all.”

“Then, we’ll see you Friday around six?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yeah, it’s all set,” Alex assured them. He stood up and took his empty mug to the sink, rinsing it and placing it in the dishwasher. “I’d better go up and get in a shower.” With that he departed, leaving the Elves to themselves.

For a moment or two no one spoke. Then Amroth stirred, casting them a wry look. “It seems rather odd having a Mortal reprimand us, doesn’t it?”

“Is he wrong, though?” Vorondur asked.

“No, more’s the pity,” Amroth responded. “As you said earlier, some of us are jumping at shadows when we should not be.”

“I am thinking that my anger management course will need to be modified slightly to encompass symptoms of separation anxiety.”

“Excuse me?” Glorfindel retorted with a scowl. “We’re not children being led off our mother’s apron strings.”

“No, of course not and that’s not what I meant,” Vorondur replied. “But you have to admit that those from Valinor must be suffering some anxiety, even homesickness. I really don’t think the Valar prepared you for life lived in these times as fully as they might have. I’ve seen the shock on your faces even over something as innocuous as the manner in which we are greeted.”

“I admit that the degree of familiarity was initially disturbing to me,” Valandur said, “but I’ve learned to accept it.”

“And that’s just it,” Vorondur insisted. “You are learning to accept it, but you don’t agree with it or like it.”

“And you do?” Finrod asked.

Vorondur smiled. “Your Highness, I ceased to even think about it and I’m sure that’s true for Amroth and Glorfindel and the rest of the Wiseman Elves. We’ve lived among the Mortals for too long and have experienced too many different cultures to even comment on it. We are like chameleons, changing our color with the times, blending in as best we can. I admit it’s a bit more difficult now than it was a few hundred years ago when even so-called enlightened peoples believed in what they called Faerie and other-worldly beings, such as Elves, but the fact of the matter is we’ve adapted to the point where we don’t even think about it. That cannot be said for any of you from Valinor.”

“We’ve only just arrived, though,” Finrod said.

“And that’s something that needs to be considered,” Vorondur acknowledged. “You are still finding your way, some of you still having difficulty reconciling what you remember of Middle-earth to what you see around you. Therein lies the anxiety, the sense of being at sea and feeling out of your depth and even lost. It’s natural to feel that way, don’t get me wrong, but we need to address those feelings, put them into perspective. I suspect some of the anger some of you are feeling stems from your anxiety, trying to cope in a world that is totally alien to everything you know.”

“Ron is right,” Glorfindel said before either Finrod or Valandur could speak. “I’ve noticed it as well and the funny thing is, I think the youngsters have adapted more easily than the rest of you. They seem to have integrated themselves better.”

“They are reveling in the freedom of this society,” Vorondur said with an indulgent smile. “They are no longer bound by the strictures of Elven society as it is lived in Valinor, which I gather is more formal and what people today would call ‘medieval’.”

Finrod shrugged. “It is true that our society is still very much as it always has been. We’ve seen no reason to change it.”

“Whereas change is the watchword of the day among the Mortals,” Amroth interjected. “A society that doesn’t change, stagnates and eventually dies, although, a society that changes too much and too soon is in danger of dying more violently.”

He started to say more but just then Alex and Derek came in with Derek clutching a duffle bag. “We’re off,” Alex said. “Thanks for everything.”

“Not a problem,” Glorfindel said, standing. “Give your parents our wishes for a Happy New Year and we’ll see you on Friday.”

“Happy New Year,” Alex and Derek both said in farewell and then they were making their way outside. Glorfindel and Finrod saw them to the door.

“Well, how about we make those Belgian waffles?” Glorfindel asked as they watched the two Mortals drive off.

Finrod nodded. “Sounds good.”

Glorfindel shut the door and the two headed back to the kitchen.

****

Note: “I think Námo needs to be a verb because he is Someone who happens to people. ‘You don’t look so good.’ ‘I got Námo’d.’ ‘Oh that would do it.’”— Kevana, from a private conversation. My thanks to Kevana for allowing me to use this wonderful description of our favorite Vala.

6: Finrod on His Own

Finrod reported for work on Monday to find Nick in a state of distress. “My mom called yesterday. My dad fell and broke his leg. I guess it’s a pretty bad break and he’s still in hospital. I need to leave and give her a hand for when he comes home. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, maybe a week or so.”

“That is a shame,” Finrod said sincerely. “Go. Be with your parents. I can handle things here. It is a good thing we completed the inventory before this.”

“Are you sure?” Nick asked doubtfully. “You’ve only just started and I probably haven’t shown you everything you need to know.”

“If I need assistance, I will have Amroth come and help. He worked in a bookstore years ago.”

“You can also call me if you’re really stuck. Here is my cell phone number. And you might not get as many customers as we saw last week. Kids will be back in school now that the holidays are over. Don’t think you have to stay open as long as we had planned. You can even put up a sign saying ‘Closed for a family emergency’.”

“But you will lose money that way. I have no problem working the entire day. I will have to close early on Friday because of dinner plans, but otherwise, I will keep to the hours you have posted on the door. Now, go. Be with your family. I will manage.”

“Are you sure?” Nick still gave him a dubious look, which Finrod found more amusing than annoying.

“Child, I ran an entire kingdom for over three hundred years. I think I can manage one bookstore for a week or so.”

Nick blushed, uttering an apology and then he was out the door, intent on getting on the road as soon as possible. Finrod closed the door and looked about the small shop, shrugged and went to make some coffee and then called Glorfindel to explain the change of plans.

“If you get lonely, holler and I’ll send someone over to keep you company, though most of us I think will be helping Ron, Amroth and the ellith move into their new house today,” Glorfindel said.

“I have an entire store of friends just waiting to introduce themselves to me,” Finrod replied, looking over at the shelves of books as he spoke, smiling in anticipation. “I will be home around seven.”

As predicted, he received few customers, though he did have some and when he explained about Nick they all expressed their condolences. Mid-morning, a woman came in with a small waxed paper bag in her hand.

“Hi, I’m Sarah Locke,” she introduced herself, looking a bit flustered, a typical reaction of most Mortals — past and present— when first meeting him. “I… um… own the bakery next door? Mrs. Gorman told me about you… ah… helping Nick out while he’s away. I thought you would… you know… like some fresh donuts. Nick usually comes over about this time if there aren’t any customers and buys something. Here.”

She thrust the bag at him. It was warm to the touch and a delicious smell of baked goods wafted from it. When he opened it, he found it contained a couple of different kinds of pastries. “Thank you,” he said with a smile. “I appreciate your kindness. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Sarah replied. “It’s on the house. Enjoy.” And before he could respond, she was out the door.

And so the day continued. He wandered about the store, straightening the shelves, looking at titles and reading blurbs. In a section devoted to myths and legends, he found a book about King Arthur and, keeping in mind the calendar he’d been given, he pulled the book out. He read the title: The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights. It was by someone named John Steinbeck. Taking the book back to the counter, he poured himself some coffee and pulled out one of the pastries Sarah had given him to eat and began reading.

Customers came and went. Around three-thirty, five older children — teenagers if he recalled the term correctly — came inside. The group consisted of three boys and two girls and he thought they were about fifteen or so. They gave him surprised greetings — they obviously had not expected to see him and he realized that normally Nick would have been there instead. They made their way to the upper reading room, huddling around the stove, whispering and giggling and casting furtive looks his way. He pretended to ignore them, but all the while he could hear every word of their conversation, which seemed to center around what he thought might be a game, but he was not entirely sure. It could easily be a mischief they were plotting.

He idly wandered through the store, returning the Steinbeck book he had finished reading and pretending to be straightening the shelves, all the while keeping a weather eye on the children even as they kept an eye on his movement without seeming to. He hid a smile at their clumsy attempts at being nonchalant and finally decided to end the cat-and-mouse game by climbing the steps to the reading area to face them. All conversation stopped and the children gave him nervous looks.

“Now you are either planning some mischief to perpetrate against someone or you are discussing a game,” he said without preamble. “Do you need any assistance?”

The five young Mortals just gaped at him in astonishment and he could not help but grin. “You remind me of five elflings, they were a bit younger than you, who plotted to sneak into my encampment one night on a dare and ended up serving me for a year.”

“Er… serving you?” One of the boys echoed. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. “You mean, like, they were your slaves?”

“Hardly,” Finrod said, grabbing a straight-back chair and sitting down. “They were my pages. Do you know what a page is?”

“Sure,” one of the girls said. She wore her strawberry blond hair in braids and had bright blue eyes. “That’s, like, in the old days, if you wanted to be a knight, you had to start out as a page and then later on you got to be a squire and you had to serve the knight, clean his armor and look after his horse and all that, and he taught you how to do, you know, knightly things.”

She stopped to take a breath and Finrod nodded. “Yes, that is it exactly.”

“So you were like punishing them?” another boy asked. His features were different from his fellows, his skin a rich chocolate, his hair in tight corkscrews rather than straight.

“And why do you think that?”

“Well, you said they sneaked into your… um… encampment and then they ended up serving you for a year, so it sounds like they were being punished.”

Finrod smiled. “You are correct. They were being punished. What they did was both dangerous and wrong.”

“Dangerous how?” the other girl asked. Her hair, which fell to her shoulders, was black with reddish streaks and her eyes were brown.

“They attempted to sneak into an armed encampment at night,” Finrod explained.

“Why were you armed?” the third boy demanded. He was heavy-set and had Inuit features.

“It was a tournament. Do you know what a tournament is?”

The boy with hazel eyes answered, “Yeah, that’s when a bunch of knights get together and beat the shi… I mean they… ah…do… um like you know, serious damage to their armor.” He gave Finrod a sheepish look.

The other children snickered and Finrod raised an eyebrow in amusement at the child’s near social blunder.

“Yes, that is what a tournament is and these particular children were very naughty sneaking out at night the way they did. So, I punished them by making them my pages, though I assure you that when I returned them to their parents at the end neither they nor I thought they had been punished.” His expression turned wistful and in his mind’s eye his present surroundings disappeared to be replaced by a scene from long ago as he remembered the day he had had to return the elflings to their family.

“So what happened to them, the kids that were your pages?” the blond girl suddenly asked, intruding on his memories.

Finrod blinked a few times, returning to the present, and saw that, in spite of themselves, these children were intrigued and wanted to know more. “They all grew up, as children do, and became productive, responsible adults.”

“That’s, like, so boring,” the Inuit boy said with a sneer.

“A fate that awaits you all,” Finrod shot back with a knowing grin. “Now, if you are indeed planning mischief, I would appreciate it if you would plan it elsewhere. I will not be complicit to your dastardly deeds even indirectly.”

All five children groaned. “Honest, we’re not plotting to overthrow society or anything,” the blond girl insisted. “We’re just gonna have some fun.”

“And will your victim appreciate the fun you are having at his or her expense?”

They exchanged guilty looks and Finrod nodded. “Well, I do not have the authority to stop you, but I will give you warning that whatever you are planning may well go wrong and someone might get hurt. You had better think long and hard on the consequences of your actions. The children of whom I spoke failed to do so and in the end they were separated from their parents and their friends for an entire year.”

He saw the dawning looks of comprehension on their faces. The elflings, of course, had not really thought the time away from their families all that long, but these Mortal children would have a different sense of time and the thought of not seeing their parents for that length of time would be daunting to them. He stood and gazed down at them, smiling slightly.

“Do take the time to think on my words and feel free to check out our new books. You might find something of interest, assuming you do read.”

“Of course we read,” the boy with hazel eyes retorted, rolling his eyes. “We’re not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” Finrod said.

Just then the door opened and Finrod turned to see a couple of women entering. Giving the teenagers a nod, he went to greet the new arrivals and then he was helping them to find a book on baby names, for it turned out that one of the women was pregnant with her first child. While he was helping them, he continued to keep an eye on the teenagers, who now had split up to wander among the shelves. In the end, the two girls each bought a book and one of the boys bought a magazine that apparently the other two were eager to read as well. They made their purchases and left. The two women also found what they were looking for and once they were gone Finrod was alone once more or so he thought.

He looked up from the register after making sure the last sale was securely in the system to find himself face-to-face with Lord Manwë dressed in the leather duster he had last seen him wearing, now sporting a bright red scarf around his neck and a wide brimmed hat, similar to the one Námo liked to wear when in his Nate disguise.

“Lord Manwë!”

“Happy New Year, Findaráto,” the Vala replied with a smile.

“Er… um… Happy New Year,” Finrod returned. “Um… were you looking to buy a book, sir?” he asked, not sure what else to say.

Manwë chuckled. “No, son, I came to see you. Shall we sit and be comfortable?” He removed his hat, pulled off his scarf and unbuttoned his coat. Finrod saw that the Vala was wearing a pair of black corduroy slacks, a blue pinstripe shirt and a dark blue tie painted with eagles. His feet were covered by black leather boots. Manwë sauntered over to the upper reading area, throwing his hat and scarf casually onto a chair before sitting in one of the rocking chairs by the stove. Finrod, after a moment’s hesitation, joined him, sitting in an overstuffed chair opposite him.

Manwë was looking around and nodding to himself. “Very cozy,” he commented. “Young Nicholas has done a good job of making this a welcoming place for all.”

“Yes, he has,” Finrod acknowledged. “I felt it the first time I entered the shop. Of course, having a bakery next door helps,” he added, keeping his expression deadpan.

Manwë burst out laughing. “Indeed,” he said, “and as they say, ‘location, location, location’. Now, let me come to the point of my visit.”

Finrod nodded and gave the Vala his complete attention, surprised to see Manwë’s expression sober and grow a bit grim.

“These are dark times,” the Elder King said softly.

Finrod could not help glancing across the store to the front window and the square beyond where it was dark out and had been for most of the day, for, this far north, darkness ruled the winter months.

“I meant metaphorically,” Manwë added wryly.

Finrod returned his attention to the Vala, giving him a sheepish look. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Physical darkness is one thing, spiritual darkness something else entirely.”

“I am not unfamiliar with either type,” Finrod retorted.

“No, you are not and that can be said for most of you of Valinor, but not all.”

“You mean Finda.”

“And Nielluin, Calandil, Elennen, Melyanna Helyanwë, Lindorillë and even Aldarion,” Manwë added with a nod. “They have known nothing but our Peace. For them, the Rebellion of the Noldor is but a rumor spoken in whispers; Melkor is not even that anymore.”

“You do not include Eärnur in your list or Vardamir,” Finrod stated.

“Vardamir is of the First Generation, those who made the Great Journey. He was also your atar’s battle surgeon during the War of Wrath, and while he never rebelled against us, he is quite familiar with the darkness that resides within us all. As for Eärnur, his time in Númenor sets him apart from his kin.”

“So you have come here to warn me to be vigilant where the children and those born after the Troubles that plagued us in the Second Age are concerned?”

“No. I have come to warn you about the darkness which lies within you all.” The Elder King sighed and a gentle breeze wafted through the store, ruffling Finrod’s hair. “I fear we Valar sent you into a dangerous situation without ensuring adequate safeguards.”

“I do not understand,” Finrod said, frowning. “I know that we little understood how different life here is compared to Valinor and we are still coping with the… the… culture shock, I think is the term Vorondur used, but what safeguards do we need?”

“Safeguards against your own history,” Manwë replied, “especially where the Noldor are concerned. They have ever been restless, more so than the other clans. Once we opened the southern reaches of the continent, many of the early explorers were Noldor.”

“And Teleri and Sindar,” Finrod pointed out. “Do not forget it was Olwë’s son, Falmarion, who spearheaded the exploration and many of the Sindar who followed Círdan, joined him.”

“Yes, but compared to the number of Noldor who crossed the mountains and mapped the interior, they are not so many. The point is, child, the Noldor have a long history of restlessness, and of the thirty-nine Elves presently residing in Wiseman, nearly half are Noldor. Even those of mixed blood, like Erestor, appear to associate themselves with their Noldorin kin rather than with their kin from other clans.”

“And because of this, you feel we are in danger.”

“Námo once warned young Derek Lowell that the enemy within is oft times more dangerous than the enemy without. It is harder to recognize, for which of us likes peering into the darkness of our own souls? Also, it takes many forms and not all of them are easy to discern.”

Finrod frowned, not liking the tenor of the conversation. “You are referring to my feeling depressed.”

“Oh, that’s just a small part of it,” Manwë said. “And as you have finally admitted to it, it can be addressed. I think you working here will help you.” He pointed at the shelves. “There are books on depression and how to deal with it and you can always consult Vorondur.”

“He is very wise, wiser than I, I think,” Finrod averred with humility. “He could be a loremaster if he so wished. He is certainly a great healer, though he heals the minds and spirits of Mortals.”

“And that is no small accomplishment, considering that he is not one himself and cannot know what it truly means to be Mortal.”

Finrod canted his head to the left, giving the Elder King a considering look. “Do you?”

“No, I do not. None of us do. We observe them and make many assumptions as to their motives, but they are a true mystery and wonder to us, even as you Eldar are. Námo, I think, is the only one who really understands them, given his role, but even he cannot safely predict their actions, no more than he has ever been able to safely predict yours.”

Silence fell between them and only the muted sounds of people passing the store could be heard. Finrod sat there, thinking over what he and Lord Manwë had said and what had not been said. Manwë gave him a slight, sympathetic smile.

“I will leave you now,” he said, standing and retrieving his hat and scarf, though he did not put them on. Finrod rose as well. “You have much to think about.”

“Should I speak of this to the others?” Finrod asked.

“If you feel you must,” Manwë answered and before Finrod could formulate a reply to that, the Elder King of Arda was gone in a flash of multicolored lights, leaving Finrod temporarily blinded.

When his vision cleared, he sighed and glanced at the clock over the counter. He still had two more hours before he could close the shop. He was almost tempted to close early and seek out Glorfindel, needing to speak to his gwador, but he did not. Instead, he took advantage of the fact that there were no customers to slip next door to the bakery. He returned five minutes later loaded down with a warm cherry turnover. He quickly boiled some water for tea — Earl Grey — and then he sat by the stove, enjoying his little snack, hoping that no one would come in and disturb him, for he had much to think about.

His hope was realized and for the next two hours he sat quietly in contemplation. When he heard the town clock strike the half hour, he looked up and saw it was six-thirty. He set out to close up shop, switching off the stove, cleaning up the dishes and going over the day’s receipts as Nick had shown him. As the town clock struck the hour, he threw on his cloak, turned off the lights and locked the door behind him before heading home in the dark.

****

Notes:

1. John Steinbeck, author of East of Eden and The Grapes of Wrath, among other classics of modern literature, actually wrote The Acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights, his only book of fantasy.

2. Eärnur’s visit to Númenor and what happened to him there is referenced in The Last Messenger: A Tale of Númenor.

3. The Troubles are the events chronicled in Elf, Interrupted.

7: The Rest of the Week

Edhellond was all lit up, seemingly with every light in the house on, which was unusual. When Finrod entered, the place felt curiously empty and yet was full of activity. Shaking the snow off his cloak, for it had started to snow as he walked home, he hung it in the front closet. He could hear voices upstairs though he could not make out any words. The usual smell of cooking that would have permeated the place at this hour was missing and it seemed that no one had thought to make dinner. Passing by the open door of the music room, he stopped in shock. The piano was missing.

It took a second to realize that it had not been stolen, but rather moved. It took him another second to realize that the piano must have been Vorondur’s for he could not remember seeing anyone else playing it. The absence of the piano brought home to him in a way that nothing could that changes were coming to Edhellond, and while he rejoiced that Vorondur and Amroth and their respective wives were finding their own way, he was also sad, for Vorondur, he realized, was a calming force among the volatile personalities of the Elves. Finrod realized that he would miss the ellon’s wisdom and humor and deep insight into the motivations of both Elves and Mortals.

He grimaced at that thought, shaking his head in disgust. The ellon was not dead or gone to another country, he was simply moving across town. And Amroth…

The Silvan king was also not dead and he would still be available to help Valandur set up their own intelligence agency along with Alex and Derek and anyone else they could recruit with the proper background. Finrod pushed the negative thoughts from him, realizing that perhaps he was reacting this way because of his conversation with Lord Manwë. He sighed and continued on his way toward the kitchen but was sidetracked by Daeron coming out of the library.

“Hello. You’re back,” the former minstrel of Doriath said with a bright smile. “Loren told us about Nick’s dad. That’s a shame but hopefully he’ll be able to help his mother out. Did you manage all right on your own?”

“Yes, of course I did,” Finrod replied with some exasperation. “Why would you think I would not?”

“Oh, I had every confidence that you would be just fine,” Daeron said. “Others were not so sure.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “By others, you mean Glorfindel.”

Daeron nodded. “And if we hadn’t kept him busy with helping with the move, he would’ve been at the store checking up on you. In fact, he would have been calling you every five minutes if I hadn’t conveniently… er… misplaced his phone.” He grinned and held up a hand in which he held a cell phone and Finrod recognized it as belonging to Glorfindel.

Finrod’s eyebrows went up even further and when he caught the glint of mischief in the loremaster’s eyes he gave him a brittle smile. “Well, I thank you for that, at least. I wish everyone would stop treating me as if I were ten or brain damaged. As I told Nicholas, I ran an entire kingdom for over three hundred years. I am not a complete incompetent.”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Daeron assured him, giving him a concerned look. “No one thinks you’re incompetent or brain damaged or a child, but the last month has not been easy on you and we’re all worried.”

“And I appreciate your concern, I do. It is just that…”

“You would like us to get off your back and let you breathe,” Daeron supplied when Finrod hesitated for a second, trying to find a diplomatic way of expressing his feelings. Finrod nodded. “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Daeron continued, “Ron practically told Loren to stop acting like an obsessive, overbearing mother hen when he was ready to run across town to check up on you after he realized he didn’t have his phone and the rest of us refused to lend him ours.”

Now Finrod felt appalled for some reason and something of his feelings must have been evident for Daeron suddenly took him into his embrace and held him tightly. “It’s all right,” he said softly into Finrod’s ear. “When he realized how ridiculous he was acting, Loren calmed down and apologized.”

“Hey, you okay?”

Finrod stepped out of Daeron’s embrace to see Glorfindel striding down the hall, looking concerned. He forced a smile on his face. “Yes, I am fine. When I saw the piano gone from the music room I felt….” He shook his head, realizing that he could not really lie to his gwador but unsure how to continue. Glorfindel mistook his hesitation and gave him his own hug.

“Yeah, it’ll take some getting used to,” Glorfindel said. “The place suddenly feels empty even though it’s full of people and when others move out eventually, it’ll just get emptier still.” He released his hold on Finrod and gave him a searching look. “So, how was work? Any problems?”

“No. It was not overly busy, and I did not mind the solitude.” Deciding to divert any more questions, he added, “So will there be any dinner?”

“Sorry, we ordered pizza and wings since we were all too busy helping with the move,” Glorfindel replied. “I’m afraid there’s nothing left. I can scramble up some eggs if you like.”

“No, that is fine. The day has been long and I am feeling tired. Perhaps I will just go to bed.” He hated to admit to such weakness, but it was the truth. He was suddenly feeling tired and his shoulder was aching, though he refused to acknowledge the pain; it was a minor annoyance by now.

“But you need something to eat,” Glorfindel protested. “Come on. It doesn’t have to be eggs. I can rustle something else up for you, but you should eat.” He grabbed Finrod’s arm and practically pulled him along with Daeron trailing them. The kitchen was dark and Glorfindel flipped the lights on and went to the refrigerator, opening it up and peering inside, while Finrod and Daeron sat at the breakfast nook. Finrod gave Daeron a resigned look and the ellon smiled back in sympathy.

“Let’s see, there’s some leftover chicken-something-or other or… I know, I’ll make you a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes. How does that sound?”

Finrod just shrugged. “Whatever you wish, gwador.” At this point he really did not care what Glorfindel served him.

“Well, don’t go all gushy on me,” Glorfindel retorted with a sardonic look and Finrod blushed in chagrin.

“Shoulder bothering you?” Daeron suddenly asked, giving him a shrewd look and Glorfindel’s attitude became more solicitous.

“You still in pain?” he asked, now looking worried.

“I think the walk home…” Finrod started to say and both ellyn nodded in understanding.

“Perhaps we should arrange for you to be picked up after work for now,” Daeron suggested.

Glorfindel nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. Frankly, I don’t like the idea of you walking by yourself. Wiseman is a relatively safe town with little crime, but there are people out there who don’t like us or want us around. I don’t like the idea of any of us walking about alone, especially at night.”

“It’s always night, at least for the next few weeks,” Daeron pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” Glorfindel retorted and both Finrod and Daeron nodded. “At any rate, if you don’t object, I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up after work.”

“No, I do not mind,” Finrod said, deciding not to argue and in truth there was some logic to what Glorfindel said. He had to admit, if only to himself, that he was not in top form yet and might not be able to withstand a concerted attack on his person. Better to be safe than sorry.

“Well, now that that’s settled, let me put together your dinner and you can tell us all about your day.”

“I think yours must have been more exciting than mine,” Finrod said with a grin. “Are they all moved in then?”

“Just about,” Daeron answered as Glorfindel fiddled about with the stove. “A few odds and ends still need to be taken over, but essentially we’ve got them moved. Even now they are probably still unpacking boxes and will be doing so for the rest of the night. They promised to have a housewarming party this weekend so we can all see the new place.”

“I still say you should consider finding your own place as well,” Glorfindel stated as he was whipping up some potatoes and heating up some gravy. “Has it been decided if Finda and his gwedyr will live here or move on campus?”

“I have discussed it with Valandur and Laurendil and we have agreed to let them live on campus if they desire. Nielluin however will not, though she wishes to. I do not feel comfortable allowing her that much freedom.”

“She is not a child, Finrod,” Glorfindel said as he brought over a plate piled high with slices of roast beef between two slices of bread and mashed potatoes, all covered with gravy. “You cannot expect her to live by the rules of Eldamar, not when the young women who will be her classmates are living on their own and most of them haven’t reached their majority yet.”

“Yet, I am responsible for her,” Finrod said. “Her parents placed her in my care. If Galadriel ever found out…”

“What? You afraid of your sister?” Glorfindel sneered as he sidled into the bench next to Daeron so he was facing Finrod. “That’s a new one. Well, I’m just warning you that if you insist on treating Nell as if she were ten and not the adult that she is, you’re going to find yourself in a whole heap of trouble, my friend.”

Finrod sighed and closed his eyes, feeling as if events were spinning out of his control. He opened his eyes and glared at Glorfindel. “You just warned me that none of us should be alone and now you are telling me that I should allow my niece to live by herself surrounded by Mortals. At least Finda, Cal and Elennen will be together, but Nielluin will be on her own and that concerns me.”

“What if she weren’t?” Daeron suggested.

“How do you mean?” Glorfindel asked.

“What if she moved in with the three ellyn? There is one dormitory where the rooms are set up as suites with a shared living space. Nell could move in with the ellyn. She will need to share a bedroom with Finda, but that should not be a problem, should it?”

“No, it would not,” Finrod allowed.

“It might be a problem for the Mortals, though,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “However, Darren’s idea has merit. What we could do is have Nell live in the same dormitory as the ellyn, but she would be next door or down the hall and she will be sharing a suite with other females. Yet, Finda can keep an eye on her for you. She won’t be entirely on her own.”

“Can that be arranged, assuming she is amenable to the idea?” Finrod asked.

“There should be no problem,” Daeron assured him. “I will contact Admin in the morning and make arrangements.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said sincerely, “both of you. You have eased my mind considerably.”

“That’s what friends are for,” Glorfindel said. “Now eat up before it goes cold.”

Finrod nodded and for a while the three sat and talked about inconsequential matters while Finrod ate his dinner.

****

Tuesday, around eleven, Daeron called Finrod at the bookstore and assured him that everything had been settled.

“Nell will room with three young Women who all come from Wiseman and are aware of our existence,” the minstrel told him. “She will be two suites down the hall from Finda.”

“Do not the students from Wiseman live at home?”

“Usually, but in this case, these particular students have elected to live on campus. It offers them the illusion of being on their own while still being only a few minutes away from home.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said sincerely. “Do you think Nielluin will accept the arrangements?”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that my friend,” Daeron said. “She will be overjoyed to know that you trust her that much. I have the feeling that she, more than anyone else who came with you from Valinor, has taken to this world like a duck to water.”

“I am afraid you may be correct about that,” Finrod averred. “Ah, I have customers. I will talk with you later.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven as planned,” Daeron said and then the phone went dead and Finrod replaced the receiver on the cradle and turned to greet the new arrivals.

Around one, several young children invaded the shop along with three adults. Finrod just blinked at them, unsure why they were there. One of the Women introduced herself as Mrs. Chambers, who ran the pre-school. “We’re here for story hour,” she explained. “Is Nick about?”

“Oh, sorry. Nicholas was called away yesterday on a family emergency,” Finrod said. “I am afraid he neglected to let you know he would not be here.”

“Oh dear, I hope it’s not too bad,” Mrs. Chambers said.

Finrod explained the circumstances.

“Well, that’s too bad,” the Woman said. “I know how eagerly the children look forward to their time with Nick.”

“There is no reason why I cannot read to the children,” Finrod said and he was not sure if he should feel amused or annoyed at the skeptical looks the three Women gave him. “I assure you I am quite capable of reading. Perhaps one of you could choose an appropriate book while we get the children settled.” He then turned his attention to the children, all staring up at him in curiosity. He smiled and several of them smiled back. “Mr. Nick had to go home so he asked me to help him. I will read you a story if you wish.”

Most of the children nodded their heads and then the next few minutes were somewhat chaotic as the children scrambled to remove coats and find places before the rocking chair where Finrod sat waiting for Mrs. Chambers to find a book for him to read. She pulled a picture book from the shelves and came up, handing it to him.

“This is a favorite of the children, so they will not mind hearing it again,” she told him and he glanced at the title, raising an eyebrow.

“The Hungry Caterpillar?” he asked and some of the children squealed in delight, clapping their hands. Mrs. Chambers just shrugged, giving him a wry look as she stepped away to stand with the other two teachers by the rail. Finrod opened the book and began reading aloud, memories of long ago when he told stories to his own children coming to the fore. He pushed them aside and concentrated on the story, which, in its own way was rather amusing. Certainly the children enjoyed it and at the end they all clapped and a few demanded that he read it again. He looked up at Mrs. Chambers who smiled.

“Nick usually reads a couple of stories to them, since they are so short and we are not due back at the school until two. I can find you another book if you don’t wish to re-read that one.”

Finrod turned to the children. “Instead of reading this story again, why don’t I sing you a story? Would you like that?”

“Sing a story? What kinda story do you sing?” one little boy asked, looking a bit suspicious, and the other children looked equally skeptical.

“Would you like a story about a dragon?” Finrod asked and when the children all nodded, their eyes brightening with anticipation, he closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he had his harp with him. He opened his eyes and began singing in Sindarin the Tale of Turin and the Dragon, a popular story with all his own children, making sure he did not exert his full power in singing so as not to overwhelm the little ones or their teachers and making the tale less dark than the reality, as he had done for his own children.

It was unlikely that any of them understood the words of the song. Even so, the children sat there enthralled by his singing and even the three Women were caught up with the tale, so that when he finally finished, there was not a sound from anyone. The children all blinked as if awakening from a dream.

“That was beautiful,” Mrs. Chambers whispered, speaking for them all.

Finrod smiled, glancing at the wall clock. “And now I see the hour is almost up.”

“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Chambers said more briskly. “Get your coats, children. And what do we say?”

“Thank you,” the children dutifully chimed.

“You are most welcome,” Finrod responded with a smile.

Soon the children were bundled into their coats and being ushered outdoors. Mrs. Chambers was the last to leave. “Thank you, again,” she said. “The children really appreciated it, as did I.”

“It was entirely my pleasure,” Finrod assured her and then he was alone again.

****

The rest of the week went by without any incident. When Finrod and Daeron explained to Nielluin about the housing arrangements they had made on her behalf, she thanked them profusely and then rather unexpectedly burst into tears. It was some time before they could settle her down.

On Thursday, Nick called to see how he was doing and to give him an update on his own situation.

“Dad’s home now and he has an army of parishioners helping him and mom out, so I’m heading back tomorrow. I’ll take over on Saturday, so you don’t have to come in.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. Any problems?”

“None to speak of. You forgot to warn Mrs. Chambers that you would not be here for story hour with the children on Tuesday.”

“Blast! I forgot all about it. Sorry.”

“Do not concern yourself. I had Mrs. Chambers pick out a book and I read it to them and then sang a tale from my own culture, one that I used to sing to my children when they were little.”

“That must’ve been something. Thanks again. I owe you. I’ll be in Wiseman Friday afternoon. What time do you need to leave? You said something about a dinner.”

“Yes. I was planning to close at five.”

“Well, I’ll be back before then, so I’ll see you when I get there.”

“Safe trip,” Finrod said and then they hung up.

On Friday, Nick came in around three. Finrod was just finishing ringing up a sale. “Welcome back,” he said to the young Man.

“Thanks. How are things going?”

“Quite well.”

“Good. Why don’t you go now? I’ll take over.”

“Are you not tired from your travels?”

“Exhausted, but I’m too keyed up to rest. I’ll work for a bit and then go over to the café and have something to eat. Don’t have anything at home. I’ll have to stop at the Safeway later and do some shopping. Now go. You’ve earned a break and thank you.”

“I might as well stay until five,” Finrod said. “It has been decided that none of us Elves should wander about alone and someone is planning to pick me up at that time.”

“Oh, okay. Well, why don’t I grab some coffee and then you can fill me in?”

Shortly before five, Elladan arrived. “Roy is outside keeping the car warm,” he told him and then he and Finrod were wishing Nick a goodnight.

“I’ll see you Monday and enjoy your dinner party,” Nick said to Finrod in parting.

“Let us hope that we do,” Finrod whispered to Elladan and the younger Elf nodded in agreement as the two headed across the square to where Elrohir waited for them.

8: Dinner with Parents

Finrod and the sons of Elrond arrived home to the delicious smells of a roast wafting down the hall. Entering the kitchen, they could see the dining room table set with fine china and crystal wine glasses. Candles graced the table and the sideboard. Glorfindel, Serindë, Helyanwë and Melyanna were busy putting the dinner together. Daeron was there as well, but sitting in the breakfast nook reading a book and sipping on some tea. They all looked up at the three new arrivals and greeted them. Elrohir went to Serindë and they kissed.

“Just in time,” Glorfindel said. “Ron and Amroth will be over soon, though Della and Holly are staying home. Della said she wasn’t feeling up to it.”

“I am surprised Amroth is not staying with her then to lend her his strength,” Finrod said with a frown.

“And normally he would, but apparently Della threw him out,” Glorfindel replied with a grin. “She claimed that he was hovering and she couldn’t breathe. She’ll be fine. Misty’s gone over to the house to stay with her and Holly. I am sure the ellith will appreciate some time to themselves. I suspect they’ll spend the evening redecorating the house and gossiping about us ellyn and how useless we are.”

The twins grinned and the ellith snickered, but Finrod merely nodded. “I will go freshen up then. Will we all be here?”

“No, that would be impractical,” Glorfindel said. “It will be you, me, Ron, Amroth, Helena, Anna, Sarah and Roy. With Alex and Derek and their respective parents, that will bring the total to twelve.”

“You are not staying, then?” Finrod asked Elladan, who was leaning against the kitchen island with his arms and ankles crossed, apparently watching his brother and future sister-in-law snuggle with one another with some amusement.

“Hmm… what? Oh, no. There’s a string quartet playing tonight at the library. Some of us are going over to listen to it. It’s only for about an hour. We’ll stop afterwards for a bite somewhere.” He glanced at the microwave clock. “I’d better get going. I promised to meet everyone at the library.”

“And so should I,” Daeron said, closing his book and getting up. “I’ll be back a little later, of course, probably not until eight-thirty or so.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Glorfindel said. “Good luck with the class. What’s tonight’s topic again?”

“Gregorian chant. I will be discussing how it is still a viable musical form even today and not just as church music, either.”

“Well, have fun and we’ll see you later,” Glorfindel said. “Enjoy the concert, Dan.” Both Daeron and Elladan uttered their thanks, wishing everyone a good dinner and then left.

Finrod excused himself to freshen up and followed the two down the hall to the foyer. As they were grabbing the coats, the door opened and Ron and Amroth came in. Greetings were exchanged and Daeron  and Elladan left with Daeron offering Elladan a lift.

“Glorfindel is in the kitchen,” Finrod said to Ron and Amroth as he closed the door. “I am just going to freshen up.”

“Are you all right?” Ron asked, giving him a discerning look.

“Yes, of course,” Finrod replied, not quite looking at the ellon. “Are you all settled in?”

“Just about,” Amroth answered. “Still have a few boxes to unpack and the dining room furniture won’t arrive until Monday, but otherwise we’re pretty much moved in. Feels a bit strange with just the four of us, though. It’s almost too quiet. I hadn’t realized how much I would miss the hustle and bustle of everyone being here under one roof.”

“It seems emptier somehow,” Finrod said, “even though we still have over thirty people living here. Excuse me.” He started climbing the stairs, hoping to avoid any further conversation. He could tell that Vorondur was not convinced that he was fine. Truth to tell, his talk with Lord Manwë still troubled him and he was not sure how he should respond to it. He had yet to tell anyone about it and was debating when would be a good time to do so or even if he should. Pushing that thought aside, he concentrated on the dinner and its purpose as he went to freshen up.

He was coming downstairs when the doorbell rang and, as he was there, he answered the door. As expected, Alex and Derek were there with Anne and Andy, all of them looking cold. “Happy New Year,” they all said to him as he ushered them in.

“And to you,” Finrod said as he handed them hangers for their coats.

“Something sure smells good,” Andy said with a grin.

Just then, Glorfindel came down the hall and more greetings were exchanged. “Dinner will be ready in a while. Why don’t we go to the library in the meantime? Would you care for a glass of wine or we have some beer.”

“I wouldn’t mind something hot right now,” Derek said as they headed down the hall to the library. “I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees just in the time we took to drive over here from the inn.”

“There is a storm brewing in the mountains,” Glorfindel said. “We might get a blizzard by tomorrow night.”

“Hmm… we were going to drive to Fairbanks tomorrow,” Alex said. “Mom’s flight is Sunday and so is Andy’s.”

“Oh, I doubt the storm will get that far south,” Glorfindel assured them. “Everyone agrees that it will move eastward into the Yukon Flats, so you’ll be fine. I would recommend that you and Derek stay in Fairbanks until Tuesday though. The roads will most likely be impassable until then.”

“Thanks. We’ll keep it in mind,” Alex said. “As it is, I was going to stop at the university on Monday and get the books I need for my linguistics classes. They start in a couple of weeks. We can hang out for another day, no problem.”

They entered the library where Vorondur and Amroth were waiting for them, along with Helyanwë and Melyanna.

“Öh! You still have your tree up,” Anne exclaimed in delight as she saw the Christmas tree all lit up. “How lovely. I hate it when everyone takes their trees down the day after Christmas.”

“We’ll be removing the ornaments tomorrow and putting the tree back where we found it,” Glorfindel said, ignoring the puzzled looks the two older Mortals gave him. “Now, let me get you your drinks. You remember everyone, don’t you? Ron, Ryan, Helena and Anna. Sarah and Roy will be joining us for dinner as well. They’re in the kitchen keeping an eye on things. I hope you don’t object to a roast.”

“Not me,” Andy said with a grin.

Anne shook her head as she accepted a glass of wine. “It was kind of you to invite us to dinner on our last night here,” she said a little primly.

“Alex and Derek are our friends,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “And there was a reason for asking you here tonight, but we will get to that later. For now, let us just enjoy ourselves.” He turned to Ron and Amroth. “All settled in?”

Ron nodded. “Just about. Holly says to plan coming over next Saturday around five.”

Glorfindel nodded, but before he could comment, Alex asked a question of Amroth. “How’s Della doing? She okay?”

“Yes, she’s doing just fine. She was feeling a bit tired so she decided not to come. Holly elected to keep her company and Misty went over to visit. You know how devoted she is to Della. The two are practically inseparable.”

“They’ve survived much together,” Vorondur said solemnly. A pall seemed to settle over the three ellyn and for a moment they just stood there, lost in their own thoughts while the two ellith and the four Mortals looked on, not sure how to break the mood that had settled about them, but then Vorondur shook his head and gave Anne and Andy a bright look. “So how have you been enjoying your time here?”

“Oh, it’s been lovely if terribly cold,” Anne said. “I thought New England winters were bad, but this place takes the cake. How do you stand it? I’m surprised Artemus actually wants to live here.”

“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Alex,” her son protested with a great deal of exasperation.

“Now, dear,” Anne said, “I’m too old to change and beside it is your name. It’s on your birth certificate, and you don’t like me calling you Gordy the way I did when you were little. Why Alex? It’s so… ordinary.”

“Which is the point,” Alex groused. “I think I’m having my name legally changed. I should’ve done it long ago. Really, mom, whatever possessed you to saddle me with such a stupid name?”

There was a hurt expression in Anne’s eyes. “Your father loved the Wild, Wild West and Artemus Gordon was his favorite character.”

“Yeah, I know, but still….”

“Hey, you’re lucky your dad’s favorite show wasn’t Gilligan’s Island,” Derek interjected with a wicked look. “Gilligan Meriwether. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

The Elves all smiled while Andy laughed outright. Alex punched Derek in the arm. Just then, Serindë came in and announced that dinner was ready. “Shall we?” Glorfindel said, gesturing for the Mortals to precede him with the other Elves trailing. As they entered the dining room, the Mortals all exclaimed over the beauty of the table setting. Glorfindel directed the seating. “Anne, why don’t you sit here on my left and Alex can sit across from you. Derek, you and Andy can sit on either side of Quinn.” He then had Vorondur sit beside Anne while Amroth was asked to sit on the same side as Derek with Serindë between them and opposite them were Helyanwë sitting next to Alex and Melyanna beside Andy with Elrohir between them.

Once everyone was settled, Glorfindel carved the roast while the others began passing dishes around. For a while conversation was limited to comments on the food and how everything tasted so good, but then, Vorondur began asking questions of Anne and Andy, seeming innocuous questions on the surface, but actually designed to gauge their willingness to believe in things that were not part of their everyday experience. Surprisingly, Andy appeared to be more open-minded about such things than Anne and when Serindë commented on it, he just grinned.

“But I’m from California. We’re all weird.” He gave them a wink and they laughed.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in such things,” Anne said in her own defense, “it’s just that there’s no proof. I am an empiricist. I need tangible proof that such things exist or are at least possible.”

“There is no need to apologize, Anne,” Vorondur said smoothly. “No one is judging anyone here. I was just curious. As a student of Jung,” — and of the four Mortals, only Alex and Derek realized he was speaking literally — “I am always interested in what people believe about such matters and why. Granted, today, most people don’t think that Elves and dragons and the like actually exist or existed in the past, yet they are sometimes willing to admit to the possibility of other sentient life elsewhere in the universe. It’s just a matter of perspective.”

“Me, I wouldn’t mind meeting a Vulcan,” Alex interjected. “I always thought they were so cool.”

“Klingons were my favorite,” Derek said. “I even tried to learn Klingonese.”

“Oh, please!” Alex protested. “That’s so lame. It’s not even a real language.”

“Just like Sindarin, heh?” Amroth said, giving his former protégé a knowing grin. Alex blushed and busied himself with his meal.

There was a lull in the conversation and Finrod, who had kept silent up till then, paying close attention to what was being said and not said by the Mortals, suddenly spoke up, for some reason needing to fill in the silence that had settled among them. “I had an interesting visitor at the store earlier this week.”

Everyone turned to him with expectant looks. “Anyone we know?” Glorfindel asked as he took a sip of wine.

“Manny,” Finrod replied and watched with some amusement as his gwador started choking. Alex began pounding him on the back. Amroth, Elrohir and the ellith all gave him surprised looks while Vorondur’s eyes narrowed and he nodded to himself, as if he’d just received the answer he’d been looking for. The Mortals just looked on with polite interest. Alex gave Glorfindel a shrewd look.

“Friend of yours?” he asked.

“You can say that,” Glorfindel answered after he took a sip of water. He stared down the length of the table at Finrod. “So, what did… er… Manny have to say?”

“Oh, you know, the usual.” He gave them an unconcerned shrug but he knew he was not fooling any of the other Elves, though the Mortals remained oblivious to what was really being said.

Several eyebrows went up. “Oh, well, if it’s just the usual drivel he’s always going on about, I suppose we can forget it,” Glorfindel retorted in a nonchalant tone.

Finrod just smiled, picking up his wine glass. Amroth took the opportunity to ask Derek if he and Alex were all moved into their new apartment and the conversation continued to drift along a number of unrelated topics as they ate. Once done, Glorfindel suggested that they all retire to the library for coffee and dessert. “It’s much cozier there,” he added and they all agreed. Elrohir and Serindë offered to bring the coffee, tea and dessert while the others headed for the library. Anne volunteered to help clear the dishes, but Glorfindel assured her that wasn’t necessary. “You’re our guest,” he said. “We’ll deal with dishes later.”

As they were heading into the library, the front door opened and Elladan entered along with several other Elves, both Wiseman and Valinórean. “How was the concert?” Glorfindel asked in greeting.

“Lovely,” Elladan answered. “How was dinner?”

“We’ve just finished. Roy and Sarah are putting together coffee. Why don’t you all join us?”

“I’ll go see if they need any help,” Nielluin said, making her way to the kitchen. Finda, Calandil and Elennen followed her, but everyone else went into the library, several of them giving Alex and Derek warm and friendly greetings.

“Quite a crowd,” Andy commented to Vorondur as the two were standing by the fireplace along with Derek while Alex and his mom were listening to Elladan describe the concert. “You all actually live here? Must make for crowded conditions.”

“Not all,” Vorondur replied. “Ryan and I and our wives live elsewhere now and Roy and Sarah will be moving out soon. They’re getting married in April. Quinn’s son, Lawrence, and his niece, Nell, are going to be attending the college and will be living on campus along with Cal and Alan. Others will probably move out over the next few months as well.”

“Still, you’ve got, what, thirty-odd people under one roof. Isn’t that illegal? Are you all related?” Andy enquired. “I mean, it seems odd that all of you would just be living under one roof like this if you weren’t.”

“We consider ourselves family,” Vorondur said, refusing to elaborate, giving Derek a small smile, which the younger Man returned.

“…Beethoven and Brahms, mostly, but they also did some Borodin and even Fauré,” Elladan was saying to Alex and his mother while some of the Elves who had also attended the concert looked on. “It was a nice mix of styles and I was impressed by the range of their repertoire.”

“Is it a local group?” Anne asked.

“Yes. Two teach music at the college and one teaches at the high school. The fourth runs the music store here in town. They’ve been playing together for about two years now, mostly just for the fun of it, giving recitals every now and then.”

“What did you think of them?” Alex asked Lindorillë, standing there with her husband, Erestor. She now went by Linda.

The Vanya shrugged delicately. “They were all right, I suppose, for Mo… er… amateurs.” She blushed slightly.

“Snob,” Elladan shot back with a grin that bordered on the malicious.

The elleth was saved from responding by the entrance of Serindë and Elrohir, followed by the four younger Elves, all of them carrying trays and for several minutes everyone was busy with grabbing coffee or tea and filling their plates with Christmas cookies. Once everyone was settled, Glorfindel spoke.

“Anne, Andy, I said earlier that there was a reason for inviting you to dinner, beyond the fact that Alex and Derek are our friends. I should tell you that we debated about this for some time before deciding on this course of action.” He paused, flicking a glance around the room. Several of the Elves nodded at him. Finrod smiled encouragingly. Both Alex and Derek also nodded and Derek even went so far as to give him a thumb’s-up. He turned back to the two older Mortals.

“At dinner we spoke about the possibility of life on other planets and the beliefs of earlier peoples in the existence of otherworld beings like Elves and Dwarves and such.”

“Yeah,” Andy said. “Like I said, I don’t discount the possibility. I mean, the stories had to come from somewhere, though I think they are mostly garbled accounts of some primitive tribe meeting people of a more advanced civilization and thinking they were gods or something.”

“And that is certainly a valid viewpoint, given what you know or don’t know about the past,” Vorondur said, “but what if the stories are real? What if there truly are Elves? Oh, I don’t mean those disgustingly cute Victorian Tinkerbell types. I mean the ones described in Celtic and Norse mythologies. What if those stories are based on a truth that has long been forgotten?”

“So, what’s your point?” Anne asked in puzzlement from where she sat on the sofa with Alex. “You mentioned life on other planets. Are you somehow suggesting that all of you are aliens from another world or something?” She gave them a skeptical look. “And I thought Californians were a strange lot.”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon them for a moment.

“Show them,” Alex said. “They need to know.”

Glorfindel nodded and spoke directly to Anne. “No, we’re not aliens from another world. We were all born here on this world… er… sort of.” He glanced about and some of the Elves grinned. “Anyway, the thing is, humans are not the only or even the first sentient beings to arise on this planet. Before you Mortals woke, there were the Firstborn, what you call Elves, though we call ourselves the Eldar.” With that, he pushed back his hair to reveal his leaf-shaped ears and all the other Elves did the same.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Andy whispered, his eyes wide with shock. Derek grabbed his father by the elbow to steady him.

“Easy, Dad. It’s all right. Here, come over here and sit. Let’s get you some water. Oh, thanks, Cal.”

While Derek tended to his father, Alex watched his mother, anxiously waiting for her response. For a long moment she just sat there staring at Glorfindel, her mouth open in an ‘O’. Then she looked around at the others before she turned her attention to Alex. “Is this a joke?” she demanded.

“No, Mom, it’s not a joke. Loren and the others are Elves, immortals.”

“Immortals? What do you mean by that?” Anne’s expression now became one of disbelief.

“We do not grow old and die as you Mortals do,” Glorfindel answered. “All of us are in fact older than your own civilization. I remember when the first cities of the Sumerians were being built.”

“Nonsense,” Anne retorted with some anger. “That’s absurd.”

“It’s true, Mom,” Alex insisted. “Loren and the others are Elves.”

“Well, really, Artemus. I know you’ve been playing Christmas Elf and all this last month, but I think you people are taking it a bit too far.”

“How do you explain the ears, then?” Alex asked.

“Plastic surgery,” his mother replied with a sniff. “You’re obviously all part of some cult or other. Do you dance naked around mushroom rings at Midsummer as well? And these are the people who convinced you to give up your career at the Agency? Honestly, Artemus, I can’t believe you would throw your life away to join some silly cult. Are you going to get pointed ears, too?”

“Mom, please! We’re telling you the truth, and no, there’s no cult. Loren and the others are Elves, and… and... we’re related… I mean, we have Elvish blood in us, too… you and I….”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Artemus, get a grip,” Anne fairly shouted, standing up. “Next you’ll be telling me there really is a Santa Claus.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you…”

“Annie, hush,” Andy suddenly said, speaking quite forcibly even though he still looked a bit pale.

Anne turned to him in astonishment. “Don’t tell me you actually believe these people, Andrew Lowell. There are no such things as Elves. It’s plastic surgery or a… a… recessive mutation… like those blue-skinned people in Kentucky. I read about them recently, some sort of genetic disorder.”

“Do you hear that, Dan?” Elrohir interjected with a grin to his twin as he stood with a loving arm around Serindë’s waist. “We’re a genetic disorder.”

“You, maybe, but there’s nothing disorderly about me,” Elladan quipped.

“Not now, you two,” Glorfindel growled, still keeping his attention on the Mortal woman who was looking both frightened and angry as Alex tried to calm her down.

“Anne,” he said soothingly, “there’s no need to panic—”

“I am not panicking!” Anne retorted, her voice rising. “Artemus, I absolutely forbid you to join this cult. The very idea! The whole thing is absurd. Now take me back to the inn.” She headed for the door, the Elves parting to give her room.

“No, Mom! Wait!” Alex shouted. He fished something out of a pocket of the tweed jacket he was wearing and thrust it into Glorfindel’s hands. “Play this,” he ordered.

“What—?”

“Just play it,” Alex nearly shouted as he ran after his mother, reaching her before she made it out the door. “No, Mom. Come back. We really need to discuss this.”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Anne protested as Alex dragged her back into the room. “And you can let go of me right now, young man. I’m your mother. I can still give you a spanking.”

“I doubt it,” Alex muttered. “Damn it, Loren! I said to play the CD.”

Glorfindel just stood there staring down at the CD in his hand, looking puzzled. Vorondur took the initiative and grabbed the CD, quickly going to the player and putting it in.

“Clear a space,” Alex ordered everyone and people complied with alacrity, opening an area in the middle of the floor.

“Really, Artemus, what are you doing?” Anne demanded, trying to pull herself out of Alex’s hold. Then the strains of Leroy Anderson’s Blue Tango filled the room and she blanched. “Oh no, oh no. Don’t you dare! Artemus Gordon Meriwether, I warn you, I will not—”

Alex spun her around so that she was facing him, giving her a wicked grin. “Calla, Madre, y baila,” he whispered huskily and, finding the beat, he swept her into the tango. Even more surprisingly, she allowed him to.

Jaws dropped all around.

Glorfindel pulled his attention away from the dancers to glance about, wishing to see what everyone’s reactions were. He wasn’t too surprised to see Elrohir and Serindë swaying to the music, wrapped in each other’s arms, and he thought perhaps they would love to join in, but there was barely enough room for Alex and Anne to dance. Amroth seemed to be watching with clinical interest, as if gauging how well the couple danced, or perhaps he was just concentrating on Alex’s form. Glorfindel wondered if the former king of Lorinand had taught the young Man how to dance as part of his training as an agent. Vorondur, on the other hand, had the silliest grin on his face, and Glorfindel wasn’t about to analyze that. Others from Wiseman seemed as nonplused as those from Valinor. Finrod, he noticed, had a yearning look on his face, and Glorfindel suddenly realized his gwador must be missing Amarië. He recalled how the two loved to dance. He reached over and gave Finrod a squeeze on his shoulder. Finrod looked at him and seeing the sympathy and understanding in his gwador’s eyes, gave him a grateful smile, then turned his attention back to Alex and Anne.

The music was coming to an end and Alex did a final dip. Anne, Glorfindel noticed with some amusement, had her eyes closed and there was a very serene look on her face. Alex helped his mother to stand, then in a very courtly manner, took one of her hands and kissed it. Anne just stood there, breathing a little heavily, blinking, as if waking from a dream. He led her over to the sofa and helped her to sit. Vorondur, meanwhile, was turning off the CD just as the next selection started playing.

Derek was the first to break the silence that followed, giving Alex a jaundiced look. “Tango? You can dance the tango?”

Alex rewarded him with an innocent look. “Doesn’t everyone?”

****

Calla, Madre, y baila: (Spanish) ‘Be quiet, Mother, and dance’.

9: Revelations

Everyone started talking at once, demanding an explanation (most of the Wiseman Elves as well as Derek and Andy) or commenting on the dance form (the Valinórean Elves — Finda and Nielluin were dancing together, trying to imitate the dance steps, as were Calandil and Elennen, all four of them giggling). Vorondur stepped into the fray, speaking loudly and with much authority.

“Let’s have a little quiet please,” he called out and everyone subsided. “Alex, let’s get your mother some water. Are you alright, Mrs. Meriwether?” He knelt down before her, taking her wrist and checking her pulse.

“She’ll be fine, Ron,” Alex assured him. “Here, Mom, have some water. Feeling calmer?”

Anne nodded, taking a few sips. “Yes, dear, thank you.”

Glorfindel gave Alex a wry look. “Do you usually go around carrying a tango music CD in your pocket?”

“No, but I know my mom so I came prepared.”

“What do you mean?” Vorondur asked, still keeping a clinical eye on the Mortal Woman.

“She and my dad loved to dance the tango. Mom taught me some when I was a kid, though I learned more when Amroth was training me. Anyway, Mom told me that Dad used to make her dance it whenever she got riled up over something. It seemed to be the only thing that would calm her down.” He grinned, looking sheepish and suddenly younger than he was. “He would speak to her in Spanish, which he’d learned while living in Mexico for a time. She loved listening to him speak Spanish. It was the first foreign language I learned.”

“But seriously, Leroy Anderson?” Glorfindel couldn’t help asking, casting the Mortal an amused look.

Alex shrugged. “It was always a favorite of theirs.”

Vorondur stood up, giving Alex a considering look. “You suspected she would react as she did and came prepared.”

“Hey! Boy Scout, remember? Always be prepared,” Alex quipped.

“Sure beats Prozac,” Derek said with a grin. “I think I need to learn that dance.”

“Amroth can teach you,” Alex said distractedly as he sat beside his mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I had a feeling you would react this way. You know you don’t do well when reality doesn’t meet your expectations.”

“I still don’t believe these people are Elves,” Anne said firmly. “It’s just too absurd.”

“How can we convince you?” Vorondur asked, bending down to check her pulse again.

“I have no idea,” Anne replied, “and frankly, I’m not sure I want you to convince me.” She sighed and closed her eyes, looking all of her nearly sixty years. “I think you should take me back to the inn, Artemus.”

“Yeah, sure, Mom, whatever,” Alex said. He gave Vorondur a shake of his head, looking defeated.

Vorondur smiled back sympathetically. “Give her time, son,” he said in Sindarin.

“What about her moving here?” Alex said in the same language, though not very fluently. “She needs to move here for safety.”

“What are you gabbling about?” Anne demanded, looking cross.

Alex looked down at her. “It’s called Sindarin, Mom. It’s the language of the Elves.”

“You mean you made it up as part of your elf personae,” she offered.

Alex shook his head. “No, Mom. It’s not made up. It’s a real language.”

“Sounds a bit like Welsh, doesn’t it, though?” Anne retorted.

“A little, but it’s far older than Welsh or any other language spoken by humans,” Glorfindel said, entering the conversation. “Anne, I know this is hard for you to understand, but we are telling you the truth.”

“But you have no way to really prove it, do you?” Anne countered. “Pointed ears could be plastic surgery and you can claim to be immortal but unless I spend the rest of my life in your presence and see for myself that you do not age, there’s no way to tell, is there?”

“Why don’t you?” Alex suggested, taking the opening his mother had inadvertently given him.

She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you stick around long enough to see?”

“You mean, move here to Wiseman?” Anne gave her son a look of disbelief. “I would have to give up my job.”

“You’ve been telling me for years that you’re ready to take early retirement,” Alex countered.

“And move to Florida, not Alaska!”

“But at least you’ll be with me. We’re a team, remember?”

Anne shook her head, leaned over and gave him a kiss on his cheek, smiling faintly. “We haven’t been a team in a long time,” she said somewhat sadly.

“But we can be again,” Alex said pleadingly. “Please, Mom, think about it. And you don’t have to stop teaching, you know. I’m sure we can find you a job here. You might be able to teach at the college. You’ve done that before back home.”

“I don’t know,” Anne said with a sigh. “I just don’t know.”

“It’s not something you have to decide tonight, Anne,” Vorondur said, giving her a smile. “Go home. Think it over. And think carefully about this as well: in all these years, has your son ever lied to you about anything, except possibly about his job for obvious reasons?”

“He’s never lied to me even about that,” Anne replied. “Oh, I don’t mean he told me state secrets or anything, but he’s always been honest about what he does and where he’s gone even if he can’t give me actual details.”

“And that should tell you something right there,” Vorondur said. “Now, it is getting late and you have an early start tomorrow if you want to beat the storm, so I think you should take your mother back to the inn. Andy, how are you doing?”

“Oh, good, I was wondering if anyone had noticed my fainting away from shock or not,” Andy said dryly, giving them all a grin.

For a second or two, everyone just stared at him and then Vorondur looked at Derek. “Now I know where you get your questionable sense of humor.” Derek just shrugged, looking not at all apologetic, giving them a smug look.

“You really believe them?” Anne asked Andy.

The Man shrugged. “A lot of things I’ve seen and heard these last couple of weeks are beginning to make sense in light of what’s been said tonight. I tried to talk to you about it a couple of times, remember? I could tell, though, that you were turning a blind eye on it all, that you really didn’t want to face the truth that these people were a bit… weird.” He glanced at Glorfindel and the other Elves, looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

“We’ve been called worse things, Andy,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “It’s all right.”

Anne shook her head. “I just thought, well, we’re in Alaska, and people have to be a bit strange to want to live here, like in the TV show Northern Exposure, remember? Everyone in that town was wacky.”

Just then, the lights began to flicker. Everyone automatically looked up at the ceiling. The lights dimmed, then brightened and then went out completely, plunging everyone into darkness, except for the glow of the fire.

“We’ll wait to see if the lights come back on soon before we go to generator power,” Glorfindel said.

“Where’s the lighter?” Roy said. “I can light the candles on the mantle.”

“Oh dear Lord,” Anne whispered in shock, staring about at the Elves.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” Alex asked worriedly.

“You… you’re all glowing. You’re radioactive!”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Alex said, having completely forgotten about that aspect of Elvenkind.

Anne gave him a searching look and then stared about her. The glowing was not so obvious about any who were standing near the fire, and one could put it down to the reflection of the flames, but the ones standing further away were definitely glowing and they were too far from the fire to allow for it. Before she could say something, the library door opened.

“Hey! Why are all the lights out?”

“Darren, you’re back,” Glorfindel said, turning to greet the loremaster. “What do you mean? We lost power.”

“That’s odd. All the other houses on this street are lit,” Daeron said, coming further into the room. “So what have I missed?”

Even as he spoke, the lights suddenly came on and everyone stood about blinking.

“Okay, that was weird,” Derek said.

“No. That was a Maia,” Glorfindel answered through gritted teeth. “Do they never learn?”

“Are there Mayans living in Wiseman?” Anne asked Alex, looking confused.

Alex blinked, trying to figure out the non sequitur and then started laughing. “No, Mom. No Mayans. Loren meant ‘Maia’. The Maiar are… um… sort of like angels.”

“Angels?” Anne retorted in disbelief. “First Elves and now angels? Are you sure the water supply here hasn’t been tampered with?”

“But you believe in angels!” Alex protested. “You even taught me that stupid prayer about my guardian angel when I was a kid.” He looked up at Amroth, his expression one of self-disgust. “Would you believe I actually used to pray that prayer before going on a mission?”

“Did it help?” Amroth retorted with a knowing smile.

“Sort of, I guess. I don’t know. Not important now.” He turned back to his mother. “So you believe in angels whom you’ve never seen and not Elves who are standing right here in front of you.”

“Angels are in the Bible, so of course I believe in them,” Anne rejoined with a bit of exasperation. “And how do you know I’ve never seen one?”

“This is getting a bit off topic,” Vorondur interjected. “Darren, Andy seems to accept the fact that we are who and what we say we are, but Anne is having a bit of trouble.”

“But I saw you glow,” Anne said somewhat excitedly. “You’re radioactive.”

“Hardly,” Daeron said with a grin as he came to stand before her. “Mrs. Meriwether, I can understand your confusion, we all do. The concept of Elves is not something that people today can wrap their minds around immediately, unless, of course, they’re from California.” He flashed Andy a bright smile.

“Most people think we’re from another planet anyway,” Andy offered with a shrug.

“But why was everyone glowing?” Anne insisted.

“Well, I wasn’t,” Derek pointed out, “and neither was Alex or you or my dad. We’re Mortals. Only Elves glow.”

Silence settled on them for a moment or two, the Elves perfectly still. Andy fidgeted slightly in his chair and he looked as if he wanted to say something but Derek put a warning hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Alex watched his mother carefully, gauging her mood. Anne stared about her and then shook her head.

“This is too much. I need time.”

“We understand,” Daeron said sympathetically. “Take what time you need. We hope eventually you will come to acceptance. I know Alex worries about you and rightly so.”

“What do you mean?” Anne demanded.

“I made enemies at the Agency, Mom,” Alex answered. “I told you about that. I am afraid that they might try to get to me through you. I’ve been promised that you’ll be protected, but I would feel a lot happier if you were here instead of on the other side of the continent. If anything were to happen to you because of me I would never forgive myself.”

“What sort of protection?” Anne asked.

“Angels, Mom. I’ve been promised that you would be protected by angels.”

Before his mother could respond to that, there was a hail. “Anyone home?” Everyone looked around to see the library door opening and then Námo was there in his Nate disguise, complete with duster and wide-brimmed hat which he carried in his hands. Underneath the duster he wore a black turtleneck and a black-and-white flannel shirt and black jeans. He strode in, giving them all a bright smile. “Ah, there you are. You’re having a party and you didn’t invite me. I’m crushed.”

His entrance brought those Elves who had been sitting to their feet and even Alex and Derek stood up out of respect. All the Elves gave the Vala bows or curtsies. Only Anne and Andy remained seated, both of them looking puzzled.

“Nate,” Glorfindel said carefully. “What a surprise. Can we do anything for you?”

Námo gave him a sardonic look. “I’ll have some sherry, if you would.”

Glorfindel just nodded, never taking his eyes off the Vala. “Dan, if you would.”

Elladan hesitated for a second before going to the sideboard and pouring some sherry into a glass, and then handing it to Námo, who smiled warmly at him. He took a sip. “Hmm… quite good.”

“Is this a social visit, my lord, or official?” Finrod asked, casting the Vala a wry look.

“What? Oh, purely social, I assure you. I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by and see how all of you are getting on.”

“I know you!”

Everyone turned to Anne, who was now standing, a look of shock on her face.

“Yes, dear, I suspect you do,” Námo said with a nod.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, looking at his mother in confusion. “How do you know Nate?”

“Is that your name?” Anne asked, ignoring Alex’s question. “You never told me.”

“It is my name at the moment,” Námo said. “I have had many names down the ages.”

“How do you know Nate, Mom?” Alex demanded, casting a suspicious look at Námo.

“Oh, it was before you were born, when your father died,” Anne said. “I was almost eight months pregnant with you. I had no family nearby and few friends at the time as your father and I had only recently moved into our new home. I felt so alone and frightened, unsure what to do next. I was even contemplating giving you up for adoption.”

Alex felt a chill and he stared at his mother in near horror. She gave him a pleading look. “I was twenty years old, a widow and struggling to make ends meet. I left college to marry your father and I had few prospects. I could barely make the mortgage on the house and was thinking of trying to sell it. Giving you up seemed the right thing to do. I figured you would have a better chance at life without me.” She paused and gave him a tender, sad smile, brushing his cheek with her hand. Alex took it and kissed it gently. Anne looked at Námo and smiled.

“And then you showed up one day out of the blue.”

“Where?” Alex asked.

“At the cemetery,” Anne replied.

“Figures,” Glorfindel muttered. Námo flashed him a knowing grin.

“I was visiting your father,” Anne continued explaining, “telling him about my plans to give you up, trying to justify it in my own mind, I suppose. Then suddenly I wasn’t alone. Nate was there. I thought at first he was one of the groundskeepers.”

“Do you remember what I told you?” Námo asked.

“How could I forget?” Anne said. “You told me not to give up on hope, to keep the baby. You told me to believe that all would be well.”

“And it was, wasn’t it?” Námo said.

“It was difficult,” Anne retorted. “At first, but eventually, yes, it did turn out well and I have never regretted taking your advice.” She gave Alex a loving smile and Alex smiled back.

“And now I will give you more advice, Anne Meriwether,” Námo said and the timber of his voice changed, deepening and becoming more solemn, more formal. Anne gave him an expectant look. “Trust your son if not yourself.”

There was a long pause. Anne gave Námo a puzzled look. “That’s it?”

“What more need be said?” Námo rejoined with a gentle smile. “And now I must go. Peace be with you all.”

Both Anne and Andy gasped in shock as the Vala turned and walked toward the door, fading away into the fabric of the universe before their eyes. No one moved or spoke for the longest time, staring at the space where the Vala had vanished. Then, Anne turned to her son, her expression almost smug.

“You see? I told you I’d met an angel.”

10: Concerning Alex and other Matters

Finrod leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of the burgundy in his glass, watching the interplay between the four Mortals and Glorfindel, who, for the moment, was acting as the spokesman for all the Elves as he attempted in a very short amount of time to cover ages of elven history and their relationship with the Secondborn. Alex and Anne were sitting on the sofa while Derek and his father were in easy chairs. Glorfindel was sitting in a straight-back chair between them. The Twins were standing behind the Mortals, with Elladan standing behind Derek and Andy and Elrohir standing behind Alex and his mother. Vorondur and Daeron hovered by the fireplace. Finrod had taken a seat somewhat apart, sitting in the shadows, watching them all.

After Námo had left, Andy began demanding explanations. Finrod suggested that they clear the room so the Mortals could breathe, for he could tell at a glance that both Andy and Anne were looking a bit flushed. Of the Elves, only Glorfindel, Finrod, Daeron, Vorondur, Amroth and the Twins remained — Daeron, because he refused to leave, saying he’d missed most of the evening’s fun already; Amroth because of Alex, Vorondur to keep an eye on everyone’s emotions and the Twins in case either of the older Mortals needed medical assistance.

“Although, if they haven’t suffered a heart attack by now, they probably never will, at least, not over this,” Elladan pointed out when Glorfindel asked the Twins to stay.

“Delayed reaction,” Elrohir rejoined and his brother nodded in agreement.

Finrod ordered wine all around, though Anne decided on sherry and Andy asked if there was any beer left. When everyone had settled, Glorfindel began to explain. Just now, he was telling them about the wars in Beleriand. Finrod found himself recalling some of the events Glorfindel spoke of, especially those concerning him.

“… mean you’ve been hanging out among us humans for all that time? Why didn’t you just go home to this… this… what did you call it?”

Finrod blinked, realizing he had missed a great deal of what his gwador had said as he sat there reminiscing. It was Andy who asked the question.

“Valinor,” Glorfindel replied. “The land of the Valar. You met one of them tonight.”

“You mean that Nate fellow,” Andy said.

“His real name is Námo, Lord of Mandos,” Finrod supplied, leaning forward, effectively bringing him out of the shadows. He hid a smile at all four Mortals starting and realized they had probably forgotten he was even there.

“In your mythology, you might call him the Angel of Death,” Vorondur added, “though he is more than that, much more.”

Andy looked a bit skeptical and he glanced at his son and then Alex and Anne, as if gauging their reactions.

“Well, I did meet him in a cemetery, so I suppose that makes sense,” Anne said with a shrug. “He doesn’t seem scary though.”

Alex chuckled. “Maybe he left his scythe at home because he said it was a social call and not official business.”

“Lord Námo does not have a scythe,” Finrod said in all seriousness, ignoring the eye-rolling he was getting from the Twins. He looked at Vorondur. “Why a scythe?”

“Long story,” Vorondur replied with a grin. “You and Glorfindel know him better than the rest of us, but I have to agree with Anne that Lord Námo doesn’t seem all that scary.”

“Then you’ve never been the victim of one of his ‘little chats’,” Glorfindel retorted, crooking his fingers to indicate a quotation. “Until you’ve been Námo’d, as Derek so succinctly put it, you have no idea just how scary that particular Vala can be.”

There was a brief pause and then Andy stirred. “Still haven’t answered my question. Why didn’t you just go home to this Valinor?”

“Speaking for myself, I simply had no desire to do so,” Vorondur said. “This was my home, still is, and the longer I lived among you Mortals, the more fascinated I became and I wished only to remain here and study you.”

“You make us sound like lab rats or something,” Andy retorted.

“Not at all,” Vorondur assured him. “I studied you much the same way as your own anthropologists and the like study you, to learn about all the ways in which Mortals define themselves and see themselves in relation to the rest of the universe. Studying you has helped me to understand my own people.”

“What did you mean about us being related?” Anne suddenly asked, directing the question at Alex. “You said we had Elven blood in us. How do you know? Is there a special gene or something that makes someone an Elf and not a Human?”

“We are all humans, Anne,” Daeron interjected, “in the larger sense of the word, that is. If we weren’t, there could be no viable offspring between us. We’re simply a separate, but related, branch of Humanity, homo sapiens immortalis, you might say.”

“That seems to me to be the great divide between us,” Anne said, “you claiming immortality. In that case, we homo sapiens sapiens have more in common with the lower animals than we do with you, since, like them, we die whether we wish to or not.”

“Except, that unlike them, you have the gift of self-awareness, including the awareness of your own mortality, as well as the ability to love,” Vorondur said. “That sets you apart from the lower animals and puts you on par with us. We are more alike than we are different and we can die. Holly and I lost our sons… a long time ago.” His expression became infinitely sad for a moment. Daeron reached out and squeezed his arm in sympathy.

An uneasy silence hung between them all and then Glorfindel stirred, addressing Anne. “Getting back to your question, certain things happened recently with Alex that alerted us to the possibility that he might be a very, very distant descendant of someone named Elros, who had both Elven and Mortal blood in him. He and his twin brother Elrond were given a choice by the Valar to either remain immortal or accept mortality. Elrond decided to remain among the Elves, but Elros chose to become mortal and became the first king of those Men who settled on the island of Númenor. His descendants later returned to Middle-earth when the island was destroyed and we think that you and Alex may have Númenórean blood in you. It’s very diluted, of course, but it would explain the fact that your family is generally longer-lived than most and not because of modern medical technology, at least from what Alex has told us.”

“And is that supposed to make us feel important or special?” Anne asked.

“No, Anne,” Vorondur said before Glorfindel could answer. “There is absolutely nothing special about that. I imagine that thousands, if not millions, of people around the world could make the same claim if they knew of it.”

“This is a lot to take in all at once,” Anne said.

“Amen to that,” Andy retorted. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Goodness! It’s nearly eleven. We better get going. We have an early start tomorrow.”

“Yeah, Alex and I will pick you two up at seven or thereabout,” Derek said, standing and stretching. His father also stood and Alex was helping his mother out of the sofa.

“Please consider carefully what we’ve told you,” Glorfindel said as he escorted the Mortals to the front door with the other Elves trailing behind, “especially you two moving here. We would all feel a lot happier knowing that you are here where we can protect you.”

“Even me?” Andy asked as he shrugged on his coat. “Why am I in danger?”

“Because of me, Dad,” Derek replied. “The Agency Alex once worked for knows who I am and that Alex and I are very close friends. If they can’t get to him through his mom, they might try through me and you’re my weakness.”

“Well, I’ll think about it, but I don’t promise anything,” Andy said. “At my age, change doesn’t come easily.”

“You’ve been hinting about retiring anyway, Dad. You could retire here and do all the fly-fishing you want.” Derek gave his father a knowing grin.

“I said I would think about it, and that’s what I meant,” Andy shot back with a glare.

“And that is all we ask,” Glorfindel said soothingly. “Have a safe trip home, the both of you. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Anne said.

Goodbyes were said and then the four Mortals were out the door, heading for Alex’s car. Only when Alex had turned out of the drive and headed away did Glorfindel shut the door, turning to look at the others standing silently.

“Well, that went well enough, I suppose, all things considered,” he said.

“Let us hope they make the right decision and agree to move here,” Vorondur said.

“Amen to that,” Daeron retorted. “Well, I think I will retire. Good night to you all.”

“Good night,” the others chimed as Daeron climbed the stairs. The Twins excused themselves, as well, saying they were going to take a walk. They threw on their coats and left.

“Ron and I had better get back home ourselves,” Amroth said and in a short time, Glorfindel and Finrod were alone.

For a long moment they just stared at one another, then Finrod smiled. “Chess?”

Glorfindel nodded. “Chess it is.”

****

Late Saturday, the predicted blizzard hit.

“I’ll be so glad when spring comes,” one of the Valinórean Elves was heard to mutter as some of them stared out the windows at what Thandir called ‘Helcaraxë White’.

“It was always white,” Glorfindel retorted with a smile at his friend. “And spring will come soon enough.”

Alex phoned them as they were finishing dinner, assuring Glorfindel that they were safely in Fairbanks and had had no trouble.

“Mom and Andy pestered me and Derek all the way down with questions, half of them neither of us could answer,” he said. “It was a very long trip.”

Glorfindel grinned. “I’m sure you managed.  The latest weather report says the blizzard will blow itself out by tomorrow, but I would still caution you to stay in Fairbanks until Tuesday.”

“Have to anyway, as the university bookstore doesn’t open until noon on Mondays during intersession. Oh, and speaking of books, Derek suggested that we give our parents our copies of the History of the Elves to read. I hope that’s okay. I know you barely skimmed over your history last night.”

“No. That’s perfectly fine. In fact, I should have thought of it myself and given them their own copies. Thanks. So do you think your mother will move here?”

“I have no idea. At least she’s stopped talking about genetic disorders and plastic surgery, so that’s a step in the right direction.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “Give her time, Alex. Not everyone comes to acceptance in the same way or all at once. Remember how you were when you first came here?”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Alex said with chagrin. “Look, I’ve got to go. We haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Then I won’t keep you. Give Anne and Andy our regards and wishes for a safe and pleasant trip home and we’ll see you when you get back. Call me or Amroth when you do, will you?”

“No problem. See you in a few days.”

They hung up and Glorfindel told Finrod and those who happened to be in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner about what Alex had told them.

“Andy is the one I worry about, more so than Anne,” Vorondur said where he was sitting with his wife at the breakfast nook sipping on tea. He and Ercassë had come over earlier to discuss Academy business with Glorfindel and had stayed for dinner. With the blizzard raging they had decided to remain for the night.

Glorfindel wasn’t the only one to give him a disbelieving look. “But why?” Daeron asked where he was standing at the sink washing pots and pans. “He seemed to be more willing to accept what we told him than Anne.”

“Just a feeling I have,” Vorondur said with a shrug. “He is very good at hiding his true feelings behind one-liners. He was scared last night. Nate’s disappearing act frightened him.” He paused, shaking his head. “I do wish our Alien Overlords would not do that.”

“Our Alien what??!!” Glorfindel exclaimed with a laugh. Everyone else just stared at the ellon in surprise.

Vorondur grinned mischievously. “Alien Overlords. Alex referred to them that way once. I thought it rather… descriptive of his frame of mind at the time.”

“You still treating him, then?” Daeron asked as he finished rinsing the last pan and placed it on the drainboard, wiping his hands on a towel.

“We meet once a week,” Vorondur stated, “at his request, not mine. Alex understands that he has several issues relating to his time at the Agency that he needs to resolve. I think for the most part he’s integrated himself quite nicely, but his life is going to be quite different now compared to what he was doing before. He may deny it, but he loved the excitement of the chase and the danger of possibly dying. And I think he was in danger of dying more often than any of us suspect and he thrived on it. It was an adrenaline rush for him. I think he will find his new life very dull and unexciting in comparison and that can be a problem.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him then,” Glorfindel said.

“Invite him to our council meetings,” Ercassë suggested with a sly look. “If he wants cutthroat action, that’s where he’ll find it.”

More than one Elf chuckled at that. “Still, he’s made this choice on his own,” Daeron pointed out. “I can’t imagine that every day at the Agency he was blowing people up or getting shot at. He’s told us he spent a lot of time just doing analytical studies and translations. There’s nothing too exciting about that.”

“True, but those times were interspersed with dangerous assignments,” Vorondur said. “Alex has spoken in generalities about his undercover work. Some of what he’s told me has been quite harrowing to hear and I don’t use that word lightly, nor will I describe them to you, but I will tell you this: Alex is always very animated when he is describing those assignments. He gets quite excited, almost, I would say, high, as if he were on something. And in a way he is. He’s an adrenaline junkie.”

“And that means what exactly?” Finrod asked, speaking for the first time. He was sitting opposite Vorondur, also having some tea.

“It means that sooner or later, he’s going to want to feel that rush again,” Vorondur said, “to feel alive and trust me when I say that Alex never feels more alive than when he’s staring into the barrel of a gun that’s aimed at him. Teaching Beginning French and Italian will never compare. We need to watch out for that. I’ve already spoken to Amroth about it. He, more than the rest of us, understands just what Alex has gone through and how it has affected him. We all need to be vigilant.”

“And we will be,” Finrod said decisively. “I have grown quite fond of Alex and Derek. They remind me so much of Beren and Barahir and some of the other Mortals I once knew.”

“And speaking of Derek, what do you think will happen with Andy?” Glorfindel asked. “You expressed concern over him.”

“As Andy pointed out, change does not come easily to someone at his age. Yet, he is flexible enough in his thinking that he recognized the future in computers and went back to school to learn about them. My concern is that he was genuinely frightened last night, though he hid it well. Did any of you see it?”

They all shook their heads and Vorondur nodded. “As I thought, but it was there and I do not know how that will affect him later when he’s back home and has had time to process what’s happened. I would love to order some Maia to keep tabs on him for me, but that’s not going to happen. I will suggest to Derek that he keep in regular contact with his father, more so than before.”

Silence fell between them all for a moment as they contemplated Vorondur’s words. Finally, Finrod stirred, speaking to Glorfindel. “What about the Agency? Do you know if the Maiar are still watching over it and Madison Washburn?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I’m assuming so, but let’s face it, the Maiar don’t answer to me or you or anyone else in Wiseman. They answer to the Valar and the Valar have not seen fit to keep us entirely in the loop.” He scowled. “You know, in some ways, they certainly act as if they were our Alien Overlords, ordering us about but never really telling us anything.”

“Preaching to the choir, boy, preaching to the choir,” Daeron said with a laugh.

“I would love to get them on my couch, separately and collectively,” Vorondur said, giving them all a sly grin. “I wish Sigmund and Carl were still alive. They would have a blessed field day with them.”

They all laughed at that. When they calmed down, Finrod said, “What you have told us about Alex concerns me. I have yet to tell you about my conversation with Lord Manwë.”

“Did he mention Alex?” Vorondur asked.

“No, but he warned me of something that Lord Námo told young Derek, that the enemy within is oft times more dangerous than the enemy without and we need to be vigilant against it for it takes many forms and it is not always easy to discern. Like… well, like my recent bout of depression.” He refused to look at any of them, keeping his eyes fixed on the tea cup before him.

“That you finally acknowledge it is a step in the right direction,” Vorondur said. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m always available and I won’t charge.”

Finrod looked up and saw the ellon smile with genuine warmth and there was no judgment behind it, merely acceptance. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Perhaps I will take you up on your offer… sometime.”

Vorondur nodded and Finrod was glad that the ellon did not press.

“So, what do we do, about this enemy within, I mean?” Ercassë asked. “How do we fight against it? It’s not as if we can shoot it or use a sword against it.”

“No, but we fight it nevertheless everyday of our lives,” Vorondur said. “We all of us have Darkness within us and most of the time we can control it, but sometimes things happen and we allow our anger and our sense of betrayal to rule us and we allow the Darkness greater purchase. That’s why I want to set up those anger management classes as soon as practical. There are too many raw emotions running loose around here and we need to deal with them before they destroy us.”

“Then schedule the classes,” Glorfindel said. “Finrod and I have already agreed to attend. Choose an evening or two. You’re not planning on having us all attend the same class at once, are you?”

“No, that would be counterproductive. I plan to have Max Connery and Sunny Madigan help me out with the classes. They each have held similar classes for the college students and I will coach them on how to handle things since they’ve never had to deal with Elves.”

“Fine. Do whatever you think best,” Glorfindel said. “Now, why don’t we forget about all that and join the others in the library?”

To that, none of them had any objections.

11: Personality Testing

Vorondur walked into the Counseling Department in the Administrative building of the college on Monday morning to see Max Connery and Sunshine Madigan sipping coffee and sharing a box of donuts and gossiping while at their respective desks. Max was middle-aged and balding. He had brown hair and brown eyes and always looked a bit rumpled, but he had the kindest smile and people tended to trust him almost at once. Sunshine was a good ten or so years younger, blond and vivacious with gray eyes, and very popular. She definitely lived up to her name, given to her, so she claimed, by ‘hippie-wannabe parents’.

They both looked up at his entrance. “Ron! Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year to you two as well,” Vorondur answered, smiling back as he headed for the counter where coffee and tea could be had and poured himself some coffee. “How was your holiday?”

“Fine, fine, and yours?” Max replied.

“All too short,” Vorondur said.

“Isn’t it always?” Sunshine retorted with a laugh. “So what brings you here?”

“Business actually,” Vorondur said, pulling up a chair so he was facing the two of them. “I need to set up some anger management classes and I need you, Max, to help me out. You, too, Sunny, if you’re willing.”

“Well, sure,” Max said, looking a bit dubious. “I thought you’ve held them before.”

“I have, but this group is a bit… different.”

“Go on.”

“I finally got Loren to agree to take the class.”

“Oho!” Sunshine exclaimed with a grin. “I would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. What sort of song-and-dance routine did you do to get him to agree?”

“He attacked Finrod.”

Silence fell between them and the two Mortals gave Vorondur disbelieving looks. “He attacked Finrod?” Max repeated.

Vorondur nodded. “I had to call in Jim Harrison to mediate.”

“Ohmygod! You’re really serious, aren’t you?” Sunshine said, her eyes widening in shock.

Vorondur simply nodded, taking a sip from his mug. After a moment, Max asked a question. “So what do you need us for? I’m assuming you’re going to be counseling your fearless leader yourself?”

“And you would be assuming wrong,” Vorondur said, leaning back in his chair. “Finrod agreed to attend the class with Glorfindel and then all of them agreed to take it.”

“All of them? The whole lot of you? That’s what, close to forty?” Max asked.

“Thirty-eight, not including me,” Vorondur said. “And actually, I don’t think all of them will attend, at least not all the Wiseman Elves, but certainly all of the Valinórean Elves, with the possible exception of the youngsters.”

“Youngsters?” Sunshine echoed. “Oh, you mean, Finrod’s son and niece and those other two… uh….”

“Calandil and Elennen, or Cal and Alan as they prefer to call themselves now, yes,” Vorondur supplied.

“Odd to call someone who’s older than recorded history a youngster,” Max said with a shake of his head.

Vorondur smiled. “It’s all a matter of perspective.”

“So, I take it you want to split everyone up into smaller classes,” Sunshine said.

“Yes. Even if we discount the Wiseman Elves, that’s too many for a single class. I want them to be smaller, no more than, say, six or seven in each class.”

“That’s four classes, six if you include the Wiseman Elves,” Max pointed out. “Hellava lot of classes. Between the three of us that’s two classes each on top of our other duties.”

“I know and I know I’m asking a lot from you both, but I think it’s important that we have these classes and soon. Spring semester doesn’t begin until the thirtieth. That gives us the next two weeks. If each of you takes one class, I can handle the rest, since my schedule is more flexible than yours.”

The two Mortals looked at one another and Sunshine shrugged. “I guess that might work. Kind of hard to think of counseling people who are so old though. I would’ve thought you’d had it all figured out by now.”

Vorondur smiled. “No. I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. My friends are all suffering from culture shock, both in the sense that this world is alien to them, and in the sense that they are no longer the lords and masters of all that they survey. Finrod, for instance, once ruled a kingdom, and quite successfully for over three hundred years, and even in Valinor he retained the title of ‘prince’ and all that that implies. Now, he’s working in a bookstore, one where he isn’t even the owner, but an employee, and his boss is a thirty-something Mortal. However much he may enjoy the experience, it is a situation that I imagine most of the folks back home would find distasteful, demeaning and downright insulting. He has to know this and it has to hurt on one level, even if he refuses to acknowledge it openly. And he’s not the only one to be suffering.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Max said with a nod. “So is that true for you Wiseman Elves as you call yourselves?”

“No, not really. We’ve all lived among Mortals for too long and have engaged in any number of occupations over the centuries. Their problem is that they are now surrounded by Elves from Valinor, from the Blessed Realm, as it is sometimes called, and there is a sense of inferiority among the Wiseman Elves, at least on one level. On another, they feel superior because they see their fellow Elves struggling to integrate themselves into this society while they maneuver through it without thinking.”

“Lots of conflicting emotions then on everyone’s part,” Sunshine said with a nod.

“Exactly,” Vorondur said.

“So, do you feel inferior to these other Elves?” Max asked, giving Vorondur a sly look.

Vorondur laughed. “Not at all. I’m a psychiatrist, remember? We’re superior to everyone.”

The two Mortals joined in the laughter. “Okay, so how do you want to handle this?” Max asked once they had calmed down.

“The first thing I plan to do is have them all take the Myers-Briggs,” Vorondur replied.

“Huh? But why? That’s really geared for, you know, us,” Max said, pointing to Sunshine and himself.

“We’re not so different, psychologically speaking, Max,” Vorondur replied gently. “We’re more alike than you might think and the Myers-Briggs will give us a baseline to work with.”

“If you say so,” Max said, still looking dubious. “I would suggest you administer it to them all at the same time and in a large group.”

Vorondur gave the Man a considering look. “Any particular reason why?”

“If they’re taking it together, first, they see that they are being treated like everyone else, and second, there’s no way for them to prepare for it if others have taken it first.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Very good. Then let’s do that. Can you get one of the larger lecture halls? That way they can spread out and will be unable to… cheat.” He gave them a conspiratorial smile and they both grinned back.

“No problem,” Max said. “Just pick the day and time.”

“The sooner the better, since we’ll need time to analyze the data,” Vorondur said. “Let’s say Wednesday at two. I’ll alert everyone so they can alter their schedules accordingly.”

“Wednesday at two it is,” Max said. “Sunny and I will gather all the materials for you. Do you want us to be on hand?”

“Yes. I want to introduce the two of you and you can help monitor. Some of them may have a problem understanding what a question is asking or may need clarification of vocabulary. English, after all, is a foreign language for most of them still.”

“We’ll be there,” Max said and Sunshine nodded her acceptance.

“I would’ve thought you’d had them all typed by now, though,” Sunshine said.

“Oh, I have, or at least I have a good idea what their dominant and auxiliary functions are, especially among the Wiseman Elves. We’ve all lived so long that we’ve pretty much developed all of our cognitive functions, but I’m noticing that a number of people are reverting to type and I mean that negatively. People are stressed for any number of reasons and it’s having a negative impact on their behavior. Finrod is clinically depressed and Glorfindel’s emotions are barely in check.”

“Which is why you want to hold these classes,” Sunshine said.

“Yes. We really need to get a handle on the anger and confusion that more than one of them is expressing before it impacts on all of us and that means everyone in Wiseman. The anger of the Eldar, when released, is a terrible thing to behold and no Mortal should be subject to it.”

Both Max and Sunshine raised eyebrows at that, exchanging considering looks. Max cleared his throat. “Well, Sunny and I will be glad to help. I suppose if we can deal with off-the-wall college students, we can deal with a few fractious Elves.”

Vorondur grinned, standing up and going to the counter to rinse out his mug before heading for the door. “Give me a call when you’ve got the room.”

“Will do,” Max said.

“See ya, Ron,” Sunshine added with a smile. “Have a splendiferous day.”

“I’ll try, Sunny,” Vorondur said, giving them a wave as he left the office.

****

“So what are we doing exactly?” Finrod asked Glorfindel as they shuffled into the large lecture hall with the other Elves.

“Ron didn’t say,” Glorfindel answered. “He just said to meet him here at two. I guess we’re going to have our first anger management class.”

“Well, I don’t plan to attend them all,” Barahir said, following directly behind Glorfindel and Finrod. “I don’t see the point. I’m not the one having trouble coping.”

“Yet, it would be unfair to make some of us attend these classes and not have everyone attend,” Finrod pointed out. “Also, I thought everyone had agreed to do so.”

“No one is being forced to take these classes,” Vorondur said from where he was standing in the front of the classroom with Max and Sunshine, having overheard the conversation. “Attendance is completely voluntary. The only ones who have to attend are Quinn and Loren by order of Judge Harrison. The rest of you may attend or not. So take a seat but spread out. I want at least three seats separating you on either side and don’t sit directly behind anyone.”

The Elves took a few moments to get themselves situated before Vorondur continued, introducing the two Mortals. “Max and Sunny are going to help me with the classes, but before we get to that I want to start by having you take something call the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator.”

“You mean we’re taking a psych test to see if we’re normal or not?” Glorfindel asked, giving him a brittle smile.

“No, Loren,” Vorondur said with infinite patience. “This is not that kind of test. The Myers-Briggs is a psychological testing tool to help people understand themselves and others. It is completely nonjudgmental. Lawrence, Cal and Alan would take this test as part of their Psych 101 class, so they’ll have a jump on the other students in that respect.”

“So what is this test supposed to reveal about ourselves?” Finrod asked.

Instead of answering, Vorondur turned to Max, who looked surprised but then nodded and addressed the Elves. “Have you ever noticed how people identify others by some descriptive term, either positive or negative, and usually very subjective, in other words, not necessarily true? You might refer to someone as a know-it-all or uptight. Loren’s a space cadet—”

“Hey!” Glorfindel protested while the Wiseman Elves all laughed and Finrod was demanding to know what a space cadet was.

“That means our fearless leader’s a brainless fool,” Daeron answered with some glee. Glorfindel turned around and gave him a raspberry, which just set everyone laughing again.

Max grinned, pointing to Daeron. “And there’s the perfect example, ‘fearless leader’. It’s a judgmental descriptive that categorizes a particular person, in this case, Loren. You all understand to whom it refers and why and if we took the time to have everyone provide a descriptive for everyone else in the room, you might be surprised at how close your descriptions are to one another, though some of them will be totally inaccurate. But that’s other people labeling you. The Myers-Briggs is a self-reflective test. In other words, you describe yourself and you do so through preferences, choosing one option over another.”

“Thanks, Max,” Vorondur said. “Sunny, why don’t you describe the test itself?”

“Sure, Ron, no problem,” the Woman said, stepping forward a bit to address the Elves. “The test consists of a series of questions with opposing choices. For instance, a question might ask ‘After working all day, would you rather attend a party or stay home and read a book?’. Each choice is equally valuable. There is no right or wrong in any of this. Each of us makes choices based on how we perceive the world and how we prefer to interact with it. So, in taking this test, keep in mind that there is no judgment here. There is no good or bad, merely personal preference.”

“Thanks, Sunny,” Ron said and then continued with the explanation. “Once Max, Sunny and I have analyzed the data, we will break you up into smaller groups and arrange for a time and place to meet. You will be given the results of the test and we will explain the meaning of it all. Hopefully, you’ll then have a better idea of where you and other people are coming from, as the saying goes.”

He nodded to Max and Sunshine, who began handing out the forms and pencils while he continued talking. “Fill out the front using your Mortal name and then I’ll tell you when to start. There’s no time limit to this. Take as much time as you need, but don’t agonize over any particular question. Just remember, each choice is equally valid and valuable.”

“What if you cannot decide between choices?” Finrod asked.

“You must make a choice,” Vorondur said. “Leave no question unanswered.”

“Choose the one option that you can live with more than you can live with the other if such a choice were presented to you in real life,” Sunshine suggested.

“In other words, do you prefer death by balrog or death by orc?” Glorfindel quipped with a mischievous grin and all the Elves laughed.

“When you are done,” Vorondur said once they had calmed down, “you are free to leave or you may sit quietly and wait for everyone else to finish. If you have any questions about what you are reading, just raise your hand and we’ll come around to help. Everyone set? Then go to it.”

There was the rustle of papers and then silence as the Elves set about answering the questions. Vorondur kept an eye on everyone. Max and Sunshine, veteran test-givers, were alert and not at all bored as they helped to monitor the Elves. Vorondur saw more than one set of eyebrows lift in surprise at the questions being asked and hid a smile. Some of the choices were not what one would expect.

The Wiseman Elves, for the most part, seemed to take the questions in stride. Daeron was actually smiling through the whole of it and he noticed that Amroth was going through the questions rather rapidly, taking little time to contemplate the two choices and he suspected the former king of Lorinand had taken the test before and already knew which choice he would make. Glorfindel, he saw, was frowning but he did not linger over any question. The Twins were purposely seated on opposite sides of the room at Vorondur’s insistence, for he thought that they were more telepathically joined than most suspected. He would’ve preferred to have those two in separate rooms if not separate buildings but that was impractical and unfair. He hoped that being separated by several other Elves would help mitigate their psychological closeness so that their answers reflected their own thoughts and not their twin’s.

The Valinórean Elves were slower than the Wiseman Elves, all of whom finished within a half an hour. A couple of times, someone raised a hand and either Max or Sunshine went to them, quietly explaining the meaning of a word unfamiliar to the Elf in question. Vorondur purposely refused to help on that score, preferring to let his Mortal counterparts handle it, since they would be dealing with the Elves on a professional level anyway and they all had to get used to the idea.

Eventually, the last person finished and Vorondur was unsurprised that it was Finrod. The tests and pencils were gathered up.

“We will schedule the classes to begin next week,” Vorondur said. “I’ll let everyone know when and where.”

“Are you really going to have these Mortals run the classes, though?” one of the Valinórean Elves asked, casting a dubious look at said Mortals.

“Max and Sunshine are my colleagues,” Vorondur said with quiet authority, “and well trained to handle any of you. Please do not think that because they are Mortals that they are incompetent. I assure you they are not.”

With that, he dismissed them. Most of the Elves made their way out, quietly discussing the test, some of them commenting on the strangeness of some of the choices they had been asked to make.

“I kept thinking, well, it all depends on the situation,” Vorondur overheard Aldarion say to Gilvagor, speaking in Quenya. Aldarion now went by Aidan and Gilvagor now called himself Gavin.

“Yes, I know,” Gilvagor said with a nod. “I kept thinking, well, if I’m in Ingwë’s court, I would do this, but if I were running about Beleriand being chased by orcs, I would do the other, so which do I choose?”

There were many nods of agreement among the other Elves as they exited the room.

Glorfindel and Finrod lingered, which did not surprise Vorondur, but the four youngest Valinórean Elves also remained behind, which did. Finda and his gwedyr made a beeline for Sunny, practically surrounding her and asking her questions about the test and about psychology in general. Vorondur was not entirely surprised at that. Sunny was very attractive even by Elvish standards and the ellyn were naturally attracted to beauty. Sunny, for her part, took their attention in stride and answered their questions in a straightforward manner.

Nielluin, on the other hand, went to Finrod who automatically drew her into his embrace as he and Glorfindel conversed. Vorondur joined them while Max stood by listening.

“A most interesting experience,” Finrod said. “I look forward to learning what it all means.”

“Keep in mind that, whatever the test reveals about yourself, it is not a judgment either for or against you,” Vorondur reminded them. “Each personality type is equally valid and valuable. This test explains what is normal rather than what is abnormal psychology.”

“So, have you taken this test?” Glorfindel asked Vorondur.

“Of course, and I will be happy to tell you what my baseline personality type is when we meet in class.” He turned to Max. “Do you and Sunny want to get a start on these tests? I have a counseling session at three-thirty, but I’ll join you as soon afterwards as I can.”

“Sure, no problem,” Max said, then gave them a wry grin, “just as soon as I rescue the fair damsel from that lot.” He nodded toward where Sunshine was still answering the ellyn’s questions. Vorondur, Glorfindel and Finrod all smiled.

“Finda, á tulë si,” Finrod called out and all three ellyn stopped their questioning, gave Sunshine respectful bows and came at once.

Max shook his head in wonder. “Wish I could get my kids to do that,” he muttered as he gathered up the test booklets and shoved them into a briefcase. The older Elves exchanged amused smiles.

“You all have a splendiferous day,” Sunshine called out as the Elves exited the room.

“I’ll see you two later,” Vorondur said with a wave.

For a moment, after the Elves had all left, the two Mortals just stared at one another. Then, Sunshine gave Max a shrug. “Well, it should be interesting to see how this all goes, shouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it should. C’mon, let’s get started on these.” He grabbed the briefcase and the two headed back to their office.

****

Á tulë si: (Quenya) ‘Come now’.

12: “What’s Your Type?”

“So do you agree with the ENFJ type for Finrod?” Max asked Vorondur as the two, along with Sunshine, sat in the office munching on pizza, taking a break from analyzing the tests. It was nearly eight in the evening and they had been working for the last three hours.

“Oh, definitely,” Vorondur said. “He’s a natural leader who envisions possibilities in others and mentors them, encouraging them to reach their fullest potential. Unlike your ENTJ types, he’s not at all impersonal in his dealings with others as a leader. He’s focused on the well-being of those around him, rather than on the outcome. That’s why he was able to give up his crown for an oath given to a Mortal. It’s why he sacrificed himself for Beren. All ENFJ.”

The two Mortals nodded.

“Glorfindel doesn’t seem to fit any of the types well, though,” Sunshine said. “I know based on his responses to the questions he comes out as an ESTJ but he seems to have a lot of ENTJ in him as well.”

“He’s a natural administrator, though,” Vorondur pointed out. “He’s very grounded, organized, and socially deft, but not arrogant or intimidating, which is a weakness of the ENTJ types.”

“He seems pretty intimidating to me,” Sunshine said with a snort.

Vorondur smiled. “Matter of perspective, I suppose. He’s assertive, no doubt about that, but there’s a compassion in him for others that normally is lacking in your typical ENTJ. The problem is that all of us have lived for so long that we’ve managed, for the most part, to maximize all of our cognitive functions, but we all started out with a baseline type and that’s what we are seeing here. No matter how fully functioning we may be, we still prefer to revert to type when push comes to shove.”

He paused, and gave the two Mortals a wide grin. “I wish I’d been able to give the Myers-Briggs to Glorfindel before he died. It would be interesting to see if and how death may have changed him personality-wise, and that goes for all the other Reborn.”

Both Mortals shook their heads. “That is just too weird a concept to wrap my brain around,” Max said with some feeling.

“Amen,” Sunshine added. “I am surprised that Dan and Roy did not type the same, though.”

“That is not uncommon, even among twins,” Max pointed out. “In fact, I can’t remember ever having seen a study that showed that twins, even identical twins, always share the same type. Usually one is more extraverted than the other, the way Dan seems to be more openly expressive and outspoken compared to Roy.”

“Yes, that’s certainly true,” Vorondur said with a nod. “They both can be considered protectors and caretakers, which traits characterize both the ESFJs and ISFJs, but as an ESFJ, Dan’s dominant function is Extraverted-Feeling and he likes to test the emotional waters, as it were, gauging the reactions of the people around him, usually by saying something outrageous as a means of deciding on how to act, while Roy, being an ISFJ, tends to use Introverted-Sensing, being more content to use past experiences to dictate present behavior.”

“So are there any surprises here, or did you peg them correctly?” Sunshine asked Vorondur.

Vorondur chuckled. “Oh, for the most part I had them pretty well pegged, at least all of the Wiseman Elves, since I’ve had more time to observe them. Some of the Valinórean Elves show themselves to be not what I expected based on their responses, but that’s fine. I don’t claim infallibility.” He gave them a conspiratorial grin. “I’ll tell you who I would love to have take the Myers-Briggs and that’s the Valar.”

“Really?” Max asked, looking surprised. “Why?”

“Professional curiosity,” Vorondur answered. “Whenever I encounter them or hear about someone else’s encounter with them, I keep wishing Sigmund and Carl were still alive. They would have a field day with them.”

The two Mortals laughed. “Well, if you ever get even one of them to agree to counseling, I would love to be in on it,” Sunshine said, giving Vorondur a wink.

“Well, one can dream,” Vorondur responded. Then he straightened. “Let’s finish up these assessments and decide who’s going to take which group. I imagine you two would like to get home soon.” Max and Sunshine both nodded and the three spent the next hour finishing their assessments and allocating the Elves among them.

“I’ll let everyone know what’s been decided,” Vorondur said as the three got ready to leave. “I suggest holding meetings in the evening. I’ll let you decide where you want to meet your groups.”

“Fine by us,” Max said and Sunshine nodded in agreement. “It should be interesting, to say the least. I just hope I don’t get intimidated counseling all these people. Even the youngest is way older than I am.”

“I’m with Max on that,” Sunshine said as she grabbed her purse.

“Remember that you are the ones in charge and, coming from a hierarchical society, they will respect that so long as you let them know it from the very beginning,” Vorondur said as he turned off the office lights and the three made their way out of the building. “Treat them as you would any group of adults in a support group and you’ll do fine.”

****

Vorondur walked into Edhellond to be confronted by a number of Elves all demanding to know what the results of the test were. He held up his hands to stem the tide of questions.

“You will each of you be given the results when you meet next week,” he told them. “Until then, you’ll just have to be patient. We’ve divided everyone up and here’s the list.” He automatically handed it to Finrod with Glorfindel looking over his shoulder and everyone else waiting for their turn to review the list.

“Except for Finrod and Glorfindel, the others were divided arbitrarily, though we tried to have a mix of Wiseman and Valinórean Elves in each group. You Elves from Valinor necessarily outnumber us Wiseman Elves and that’s why each group consists predominantly of Amanians.”

“And that makes sense, since we are the ones in need of counseling, I think, more so than you of Wiseman,” Finrod said, passing the list to Valandur who happened to be standing next to him.

“But that is not to say that they will not benefit from these meetings,” Vorondur said. “Let me stress again that, except for Finrod and Glorfindel, these meetings are entirely voluntary. Attend as many or none of the classes as you see fit. I would encourage everyone to at least go to the first meeting so you can get a profile of your personality type, but if you feel uncomfortable doing so, speak to me and I will arrange a private time to meet with you one-on-one and we will go over the profile together.”

Everyone nodded and they began to go their separate ways, leaving Vorondur alone with Finrod and Glorfindel. “I just stopped by to give you the list,” he told them. “I need to get home or Holly will forget what I look like.”

Both Finrod and Glorfindel grinned. “I doubt that, Ron,” Glorfindel said. “Thanks. We’ll catch you later. Have a good night.”

“Good night,” Vorondur said and left.

****

“I’m a what?!” Valandur exclaimed as he stared at the profile describing his particular personality type. He now went by Val Landry. “Introverted Intuitive Thinking Perceiving? What does that mean?”

Max gave him a grin as he handed Daeron his profile, which read ‘ISFP’. They were in the reading room of the Academy. Max thought it would be less stressful for the Elves to meet in a more relaxed setting than a classroom. “I promise to explain once everyone’s gotten their results. Uh… Liam Prince?”

Prince Legolas raised his hand and Max gave him his profile. “That everyone? Good. Now you will notice that each profile has a four-letter code, INTJ, or ISFP or the like. These are shorthand ways of describing the sixteen basic personality types and each of us falls into one of the sixteen categories. In your case, Val, you tend to internalize your world rather than seek meaning from external things. So, your inner reflectiveness, that’s the Introversion, enables you to explore all the imaginative possibilities that the Intuition preference provides, and we use an ‘N’ so as not to confuse it with the ‘I’ of Introversion. At the same time, your objectivity — that’s the Thinking function — demands the analysis of all information, and your open-ended and flexible attitude, which is Perceiving, prompts you to be responsive to whatever new data presents themselves.”

Valandur stared at the profile for a moment and then looked up at the Mortal, his expression one of surprise. “You were able to discover all that about me simply by having me take a rather pointless test?”

Max grinned. “Not so pointless if it enables me to describe you more or less perfectly. Does it? Do you see yourself in this profile?”

Valandur nodded, a look of grudging respect on his face. “All too well.”

“So what exactly does it mean to be ‘Judging’?” Eärnur asked. His profile said he was an ISFJ. “I am not in the habit of judging anyone. Indeed, that is a lesson Lord Irmo was at pains to teach all his healers, never to judge one’s charges, especially if they are Reborn.” He flashed a smile at Beleg sitting next to him. Beleg smiled back, looking slightly smug.

“It has nothing to do with judging or being judgmental, Ernest,” Max said. “Judgers tend to be organizers with everything in its place and a place for everything. Unlike Perceivers, who love spontaneity, Judgers generally have a clear sense of how their day is likely to unfold and like to stick to schedules.”

“In other words, they’re stick-in-the-muds,” Prince Legolas said with a grin. His own profile said that he was an ENFP.

“Now… Liam, is it?” Max asked and when Legolas nodded, he continued. “This is not an opportunity for name-calling. Every personality type has strengths and weaknesses. There are no good types versus bad types. Each is valid and valuable. Without all the different personality types available to us, this world would be a rather dull place.”

“But why only sixteen personality types?” Legolas asked and some of the other Elves nodded giving the Man curious looks.

Max sighed inwardly. He had a feeling explaining all this was going to take a while.

****

Sunshine sat back and watched with clinical amusement as the Elves in her group, meeting in one of the upper lounges off the cafeteria of the Academy, began to read their personality profiles, some of them silently mouthing words. One of the Elves in her group was Elrohir, though not Elladan, for Vorondur had decided to keep them separate. Elladan had in fact been assigned to Vorondur.

Elrohir looked up from his reading and spoke. “I’ve heard of this, of course. You sort of pick up things like this when you’re living under the same roof as a psychiatrist like Ron, but I’m a bit confused with this explanation.”

“In what way?” Sunshine asked.

“What exactly is this ‘functional analysis’?”

“There are eight cognitive functions. Four of them deal with perception and the other four with judgment. Perception deals with how we access information about the world around us, while judgment deals with how we organize that information within us so it makes sense. Under perception we have sensing and intuition and under judgment we have thinking and feeling. Now, we all engage in these functions but we do it differently because we’re all different, right? Even you, Roy are different in many ways from your identical twin.”

Elrohir nodded. “Yes. Do you know if Dan typed the same way as I?”

“Actually he didn’t. You’re an ISFJ and he’s an ESFJ. You actually use the same cognitive functions but not in the same order, so you actually complement one another pretty well.” She paused to let that sink in a bit before continuing with her explanation.

 “So, as to cognitive functions, we are either extraverted, in other words, oriented to the external world of people and experiences outside ourselves, or introverted, oriented to one’s internal world of thoughts, ideas, feelings and memories. So, let’s take a look at your profile Roy. As an ISFJ, your primary process is Introverted Sensing. That means you tend to review past experiences, what was, to inform you about what is. Coupled with that is Extraverted Feeling, which tends to consider others and the group, organizing to meet their needs and honor their values and feelings. These two are your main cognitive functions, the ones you rely upon the most when dealing with the world around you. You’re a healer, I believe is the term you use, right?”

Elrohir nodded. “We prefer to use that term to keep us separate from Mortal doctors, since our approach is more holistic, even more so than those Mortals who do practice holistic medicine.”

Sunshine nodded. “And I bet that when you act as a healer, you draw upon your past experiences dealing with illness and disease and what-have-you to deal with the patients you treat today and you are constantly considering the needs of your patients over your own. Am I correct?”

Elrohir nodded again, his eyes unfocused as he thought through what the Mortal was saying. When he refocused his attention on her, she was surprised to see real respect in his eyes. “And these other two functions, Introverted Thinking and Extraverted Intuiting?”

“Your thinking is introverted, turned toward the subject,” Sunshine explained. “You tend to take the information you’ve gathered to fit a preconceived framework or model, figuring out the principles on which something works and checking for inconsistencies, clarifying definitions to get more precision. And because your thinking process is introverted, when it is operative, you appear to others as aloof, as if you find them wanting in some way when all you’re really doing is focusing your energy inward.”

“So Roy isn’t being a snob when he’s thinking hard, then?” Cennanion asked with a smile.

Elrohir gave him a supercilious look. “I’m always a snob, Conan. You should know that by now.”

The others in the group laughed. When they calmed down, Elrohir turned back to Sunshine. “And this last thing, Extraverted Intuiting?”

“That means that as you interpret situations and relationships you are usually drawn to change what is for what could possibly be. You are good at noticing what is not said and evaluating the situation within that context. I imagine that’s a very good trait for any healer to have, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” Elrohir said with much feeling.

“Now this fourth function, in humans at least, is the least used during the formative years in one’s life,” Sunshine continued. “Usually it doesn’t manifest itself until later when the person is more mature. Sometimes it doesn’t show up even then.” She flashed them a sardonic look. “I suspect that with you lot that won’t be an issue.”

They all laughed. “Well, some of us are more mature than others,” Thandir said, “and some of us never seem to grow up.” He winked at Edrahil sitting next to him and the Reborn, who now called himself Ed, obliged him by sticking out his tongue and making a rude noise.

The others smiled at the byplay. “So, to finish up with Roy’s analysis, putting these four functions together, we get the ISFJ type, someone who likes to work behind the scenes. ISFJs tend to be quick, easygoing, neat, orderly and given to a higher sense of duty and obedience, finding their energy within — that’s the Introversion — and their reality in those things they can see, hear, feel, taste and smell, so Sensing. That energy is then focused outwardly in the service of others, which is where Feeling comes into play, but always in an orderly and timely fashion, hence your Judging preference. So, ISFJs tend to find meaning in life by serving others and making them happy. Does that about sum you up, Roy?”

“Wow! It’s right on the button,” Cennanion exclaimed before Elrohir could answer and the younger son of Elrond simply nodded. All the Elves in the group looked impressed and Sunshine could see the respect in their eyes as they re-evaluated her and her abilities.

“So, who’s next?” she asked and she wasn’t at all surprised when they all raised their hands.

****

“So I’m an ESTJ,” Glorfindel said, perusing the profile Vorondur had given him. “Are there any other ESTJs in the house?” He looked around the library where Vorondur was holding his class.

At the moment, it consisted of all four groups which he had agreed to take, but after this particular meeting, each group would meet separately. With his schedule being so flexible, Vorondur could meet with the groups at any time that was convenient, and for Elves, meeting at three in the morning was no more a hardship than meeting at three in the afternoon. The only consideration was to accommodate the shifts of the healers but again that was not a problem, since, at the moment, all of them worked during the day under Geoffrey Harris’ watch.

“Me,” Brethorn said, raising his hand. He now went by Brian. He flashed Glorfindel a smile. “Must be a Reborn thing.” Glorfindel smiled back.

“Well, it can’t be,” Finrod said with a little bit of exasperation, “because I’m a Reborn and according to this I’m ENFJ. So, what does it all mean, exactly? How do we use this information and what does it have to do with anger management?”

“The key to anything is self-knowledge,” Vorondur said. “Your depression and Loren’s anger are both symptomatic of a larger thing, namely the shadow of the Dagor Dagorath which looms over us.”

“Do you think so?” Finrod asked. “I thought my depression was from getting shot.”

Vorondur nodded. “Yes, but that was simply the trigger, if you will excuse the unintended pun. I may be wrong, but I suspect you’ve had ambivalent feelings about returning to Middle-earth, even about being reunited with Loren.”

“No, you are not wrong,” Finrod said in a whisper, giving Glorfindel a rueful look. Glorfindel simply reached over and gave his arm a squeeze in sympathy.

“And those feelings are perfectly normal and even expected,” Vorondur assured him. “But let’s look at it from Loren’s perspective.”

“His name is Glorfindel,” Finrod said with no little heat, which surprised even Glorfindel. “Do you know how often he had to remind people that he preferred ‘Glorfindel’ over ‘Laurefindil’ when he was living in Aman? So I do not understand why you keep calling him Loren when that is not his name.”

“But it is,” Glorfindel said before Vorondur could answer. “Legally, that is. There is no record of a Glorfindel anywhere here, only of Loren DelaFiore. I’ve been that for so long, I’ve ceased to think about it. And, like it or not, you’re going to have to do the same. You need to start putting ‘Finrod’ or ‘Findaráto’ aside and become Quinn O’Brien, body and soul, or you’ll never make it here. Trust me on that one. And the same goes for all of you.”

“It just seems odd to be accommodating Mortals in this way,” Brethorn said. “It just does not seem… right, somehow.”

“And that is an issue we can certainly address in our classes,” Vorondur said. “But Loren is correct. Until I came to Wiseman, I was more Dr. Ron Brightman than I was Vorondur Calandilion. Even now, that hasn’t completely changed. Now, I want to return to our original discussion with regards to Loren’s anger being symptomatic of the coming war. This past semester at the Academy has been very difficult for you and you’ve had to deal with a lot of unexpected events, such as the accreditation assessment, which was stressful enough, but then there was the blizzard and ice storm. On top of that there was Alex. You were in the unenviable position of having to protect the Academy from Alex and then having to protect Alex from himself.”

He paused, giving Glorfindel a sympathetic look. “Your anxieties have overwhelmed your individual ability to address potential threats, leading to that outburst with Stoner at the hospital when Alex was hurt in the avalanche and now it’s complicated your reunion with Finrod. You are as ambivalent about that as he is and neither one of you is able to decide if reuniting is a good thing or a bad thing, and for whom.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Glorfindel stared at the profile in his hand, his expression becoming more thoughtful. Finally he looked up at Vorondur. “And you got all that from my being an ESTJ?”

Vorondur laughed. “No, actually because you appear to be a counter-phobic Enneagram Type 6, but we won’t get into that. Let’s just concentrate on these personality types for now.”

“Counter-phobic?” Glorfindel repeated.

“You run toward danger, not away,” Vorondur answered simply.

Glorfindel nodded. “So, what now?”

“We’ll go through everyone’s profile so you understand exactly what it means and why,” Vorondur suggested and when everyone nodded he continued. “So, Loren, you and Brethorn share the same personality type. Why don’t we look at that first? ESTJ types are born administrators and….”

Olórin and Fionwë watched unclad as Vorondur went through the profiles with the other Elves in his group while keeping an eye on the other two groups being facilitated by Max and Sunshine.

*So, what’s your type?* Fionwë asked Olórin.

*Oh, I’m definitely an ENTP.*

*Really? How do you figure that?*

*I don’t prefer to lead unless pushed into it. You know my greatest gift is inspiring others to do the right thing. Also, I’m rather fond of verbal byplays and witticisms and improvisatory one-upmanship. That’s a strong and dominant Extraverted-Intuiting process. Yourself?*

“Oh, ENFP. You know how I like to live dangerously by interacting with the Mortals.*

They both laughed, though none of the Elves noticed.

****

Note: I would like to thank Kevana for helping me type many of the Elves and Mortals in the Elf Academy series. It’s been a lot of fun trying to figure these people out. For those who are interested in learning more, an excellent and very readable book is Otto Kroeger and Janet M. Theusen, TypeTalk: The 16 Personality Types That Determine How We Live, Love and Work [ISBN 978-0-440-50704-8]. You can also find information online. Check out personalitycafe(dot)com.

13: Culture Shock of a Dark Nature

“So how did it go? Any problems?” Vorondur asked Max and Sunshine the next morning when he stopped by their office for a chat.

“No, it went pretty well,” Max answered. “Had to do a lot of explaining, of course, probably more so than I would’ve done in a room full of hu… I mean Mortals. Sorry, old habits.” He blushed slightly.

“It’s fine, Max,” Vorondur assured him with a knowing smile. “Speciesism is a relatively new concept among you Mortals.”

“And it generally refers to animal rights, not Elves,” Sunshine put in with a chuckle.

“How did your meeting go?” Vorondur asked her.

“Oh, it went great,” she said with much enthusiasm. “I think I even impressed some of them with my superior knowledge.” She gave them an arch look which she managed to hold for about five seconds and then she crossed her eyes, gave them a funny expression and started laughing. Max and Vorondur smiled at her antics.

“I’m glad,” Vorondur said after a moment. “Remember, if there’s any trouble, defer to either Prince Legolas, Sunny, or Amroth, Max, let them handle it. It’s why I purposely assigned them to your respective groups. Elves, especially the Valinóreans, are very hierarchical and they recognize and respect authority. Amroth was once a king, and still is in the minds of most, and Legolas is not only a prince, but a hero. Each of them is the highest-ranking Elf in your group. I’ve already spoken to them both, explaining why I assigned them as I have and they both agreed to act as ‘head boy’, as Amroth put it.”

Max and Sunshine both raised eyebrows at that.

“Well, it’s nice to know,” Max said after a moment, “though, personally, I hope I never have to call on Ryan to keep order. If that happens, I fear my own authority will be called into question, especially being the only Mortal in the group.”

“I realize that and so do they. Legolas is somewhat unique among the Elves for having befriended Mortals. Indeed his closest friends at one time were a Man and a Dwarf and he was also friends with a few Halflings as well, so he’s very used to dealing with interspecies dynamics.”

“Halflings?” Sunshine asked, looking puzzled.

“A branch of Men who were small in stature, usually not much taller than three or four feet. You might call them pygmies these days. They apparently went extinct a long time ago. Certainly in all my travels, I’ve not come across them. No matter. The point I am making is that both Amroth and Legolas will keep an eye on things and help you out if needed, but they understand that you are the facilitators of your groups and you need to keep that in mind as well.”

“Well, we’ll see how it all goes,” Max said with a sigh. “I’m curious to know who will show up at the next meeting and who will decide not to bother. I hope someone shows up. It’ll be rather embarrassing if no one does, or if only a couple do.”

Vorondur flashed them a smile. “Oh, I think you will be surprised how many will show up. When I left Edhellond last night, they were all running around asking what each other’s type was and sharing profiles. I imagine that it was the main topic of discussion this morning as they were breakfasting. It certainly was in my household. Holly, of course, is quite familiar with the Myers-Briggs, and Amroth, too, but Della was all agog at how accurately everyone typed and could speak of nothing else.” He chuckled. “She even started wondering what the twins will be like personality-wise and was happily taking Amroth’s ISTP and her ENFJ and trying to mix them up like it’s a genetic code.”

He pitched his voice so they knew he was mimicking Nimrodel. “Oh, how about INTJ or ESTP or perhaps they’ll be ENTP. Is there an ENTP?”

Max and Sunshine both laughed and Vorondur grinned.

“Too bad we can’t know what our kid’s personalities are like before they’re born,” Max said when they had calmed down a bit. “It would save a whole world of trouble.”

“Amen,” Sunshine said.

Vorondur stood. “Well, let me know if you have any problems, but I’m sure you’ll both do fine. You’re very good at what you do, both of you, and I have every confidence in your success.”

“Thanks, Ron, we appreciate your vote of confidence,” Max said.

“See ya, Ron,” Sunshine said, “and—”

“I know, Sunny,” Vorondur interrupted with a grin. “Have a splendiferous day yourself, the both of you.” And with that, he left.

****

“So how did your first anger management class go?” Nick asked Finrod as the two were setting about opening up the bookstore. Nick was turning on the stove while Finrod was sorting through a shipment of new books, cataloguing them into the system before placing them on a cart. Later he would be putting the books on the shelves.

“We took a test, something called the Myers-Briggs. It turns out that I am an ENFJ,” Finrod answered, giving him a shrug. “We spent the time discussing our various personality types. Vorondur thought it would be a good way to learn more about each other and what makes us… um… tick, I think is the word he used.”

Nick nodded. “Makes sense. Know thyself and all that. I took that test back in college. I’m an INFJ, which is why owning a bookstore is the ideal job for me. Of course, being a librarian would also be a good choice since we like quiet… or a hermit.”

Finrod grinned. “A hermit?”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah. I always thought the greatest job in the world would be being a lighthouse keeper.” He shrugged, looking suddenly shy.

“Well, I, for one, am glad you decided to be a bookstore owner instead,” Finrod said, giving him a warm smile. “Now, under which genre should these books be labeled? I cannot decide if they are romance or horror.”

“Let me take a look. Oh, yeah, they’re a bit of both. It’s a new genre called paranormal romance. They’re mostly about women who become romantically involved with a vampire or a werewolf or whatever and… hey, are you all right?”

Finrod stood staring at nothing in particular, ignoring Nick, his focus inward, going deep and far into the past. He had fought both creatures of the dark in the wars in Beleriand and his last moments of life had been spent battling one such creature to save Beren’s life. And now, hearing that Mortals contemplated coupling with these creatures even if only in their imaginations made him feel physically ill. Waves of nausea rose within him and he blindly stumbled into the back room, desperate to reach the bathroom, only just making it as his entire body seemed to heave and he lost his breakfast and half his insides, or so it felt.

How long it lasted, he was not sure. Certainly only a few minutes, though it felt like hours to him. He was dimly aware of someone placing a cold cloth on his neck and rubbing his back and that seemed to help ease the spasms. Finally the heaving stopped and he wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked up to see Lord Námo in his Nate disguise, standing there, looking grave. Behind him stood Nick, his expression one of concern.

“Rinse out your mouth,” Námo said, helping him to his feet while reaching over to flush the toilet. “Nicholas, perhaps some tea would be in order.”

“Huh? Oh yeah. Tea… tea… I’ll just go make some tea, shall I?”

His attempt at sounding nonchalant was amusing but Finrod did not have the strength to smile. He turned on the tap and rinsed his mouth, splashing water on his face. Námo handed him some paper towels to dry himself off with.

Glancing into the mirror above the sink, he could see how pale he still looked. Námo stood behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders. The gesture comforted him and he took a deep breath. “Sorry. I…”

“There is no need to apologize. Let’s go see if the tea is ready.”

“I think I need something stronger than tea,” Finrod countered as the two left the bathroom and made their way to the front.

“But it’s not even noon yet,” Námo said with a smile. “And you’re working. It wouldn’t do to greet your customers reeking of wine, now would it?”

“To hell with the customers,” Nick said with great feeling as he handed Finrod a mug of hot black tea. He had one for himself as well, but when he offered another mug to Námo, the Vala gracefully declined. “I’m tempted to close up shop and spend the day at the Grey Whaler drinking Cam Delaney’s best single malt. You really gave me a fright.”

Finrod gave him a wan smile. “For which I apologize. I am afraid the shock was too much.”

“Yeah, what was that all about, anyway? I’ve heard of people turning white as a sheet, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone actually do it.”

Finrod sighed, busying himself with drinking the tea, not sure how to answer the young Man. He appreciated Nick’s concern, but he did not feel he could give any sort of explanation that would make sense. He glanced at Námo, standing there in serene indifference.

“Were you just in the neighborhood?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Námo replied and his tone alerted the former king of Nargothrond that he would not receive a better or different answer from the Lord of Mandos. Lord Námo was a law unto himself and his comings and goings were his concern alone.

“Well, I’m glad you happened by,” Nick said fervently. “Saved me from having to call Loren.”

Finrod stared at the Mortal in consternation. “Call Loren? Why would you do that?”

“Because you were freaking me out,” Nick retorted. “I had no idea why you were suddenly not there and then you were getting sick all over and I was scared. I was in the middle of calling Loren when… um… Nate walked in.” He gave the Vala a look that Finrod could not easily interpret. “Still can’t get used to seeing an angel in a black duster. Shouldn’t it be white?”

“Camouflage,” Námo said with a smile. Then he turned to Finrod, his expression sobering. “Do not let it fret you. The Mortals have forgotten what horrors such creatures truly are, preferring to romanticize them to satisfy their own dark desires. These books are all about lust and the craving for danger and excitement, nothing more.”

“It’s just that I cannot imagine anyone wanting to… I died at the hands of a werewolf, my body rent by its teeth and claws.” He gave an involuntary shiver.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nick said gently. “Look, go home. I’ll handle things here. You’re in no shape to work today.”

“No. I will be fine, I just need….”

“No. I insist,” Nick said, picking up the phone on the counter and punching in numbers. After a few seconds he spoke. “Yeah, Loren, this is Nick Greene at the bookstore. Look, could you send someone over to pick up Quinn? I’m sending him home but I don’t want him to go alone… No, he’s okay now, but he had a bit of a… a psychic meltdown I guess you would call it. Nate’s here, if that means anything to you…. Yeah… Okay…Thanks… Bye.” He hung up. “Loren’s sending someone over. They’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

“I really am fine,” Finrod protested. “There is no need to bother.”

“Yeah, well as your boss, I’m telling you to go home and spend the time with your friends and family. You can come back tomorrow. Don’t worry about the damn books. I’ll shelve them.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow, some of his humor returning. “Yes, my lord. Anything you say, my lord.

Nick smiled shyly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to—”

“It is quite all right,” Finrod assured him. “You are indeed my boss and you have the right to dictate my coming and going where this shop is concerned.” He drained the mug of tea and placed it on the counter. “I will go get my cloak.”

“I’ll stick around until your ride comes,” Nate said and Finrod knew that the Vala was saying that more for Nick’s sake than for his own.

A few minutes later, as Nick and Finrod were talking of inconsequential matters while Námo looked on, the door opened and Vorondur stepped inside. “Someone called for a cab?” he said with a smile, giving Námo a courteous bow.

“That would be me,” Finrod said, throwing his cloak around his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said to Námo, giving him a bow, then turned to Nick. “I will return in the morning.”

The Mortal just nodded and then Vorondur was opening up the door, allowing Finrod to exit first, leaving Nick alone with Nate. For a long moment Mortal and Vala stood silently watching the two Elves saunter off across the square and then Námo turned to Nick with a faint smile.

“While I’m here, I might as well pick up a few books.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Er… anything in particular?”

“Actually a couple of those paranormal romances that Finrod freaked out over.”

“You’re kidding!” Nick exclaimed and then, seeing the Vala’s expression, shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not kidding. Why?”

“Oh, not for me, for my wife.”

Nick’s eyes fairly goggled. “Your wife? Your wife reads romances?”

“Paranormal romances,” Námo corrected, his amaranthine eyes twinkling with humor. “She thinks they’re hysterical. You should hear her laughing as she’s reading. Likes to quote out loud certain passages to her maidens while they’re weaving. They all think it’s too funny.”

Nick could just stand there staring at the Vala, shaking his head, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of Valier enjoying reading what he considered garbage. He knew the genre was immensely popular, especially among teenage girls, so he put up with it, but he didn’t care for it himself.

“Yeah, well, feel free,” he said and he would have said more but then the door opened and a couple of people walked in and asked if he had any books on owning one’s own business. He excused himself to Námo and directed the customers to the correct aisle, spending a moment to point out certain titles for their consideration. When he returned to the front, the Lord of Mandos was gone, but on the counter was a pile of bills and a note that was signed ‘Nate’ stating that he had taken three books. The money on the counter turned out to be exact change, including tax.

“Will wonders never cease,” Nick said to himself as he opened the register to deposit the bills. “Never thought owning a bookstore would be this exciting. Who woulda thunk it?”

****

“You want to talk about it?” Vorondur asked as he pulled his car out of the Safeway parking lot and headed toward Kodiak.

“It was silly, actually,” Finrod answered, now feeling embarrassed. “I was cataloguing a new shipment of books and there were some that I was unsure which genre they were. Nick explained that they were paranormal romances and then he went on to describe what the typical story was about.” He closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat. “To think that anyone would want to mate with a vampire or werewolf… it sickened me, literally. I remember Thuringwethil and Draugluin. I fought against them both and died by one of Draugluin’s get.”

“Loren said that Nick told him you had a psychic meltdown,” Vorondur offered neutrally.

“I am not sure what that means,” Finrod replied opening his eyes. “I found myself being thoroughly sick. I have never had that experience before. I do not care for it.”

Vorondur chuckled. “No one does.” He pulled onto Sycamore and then he turned into the drive, stopping the engine and giving Finrod a searching look as they continued to sit in the car. “I think it’s affected you more than you know. You’re still looking white. I suggest you spend the day quietly. Sleep if you can.”

“It’s all too silly,” Finrod protested, looking embarrassed.

“Not if it truly affects you this way,” Vorondur countered, giving him a grave, though sympathetic, look.

“The Mortals of this time are so different from what I remember,” Finrod said, closing his eyes again. “They make no sense sometimes.”

“Welcome to my world,” Vorondur said with a grin as he undid the seatbelt and opened his door, exiting the vehicle. Finrod followed suit and as they made for the front door it opened and Glorfindel was there looking concerned.

“You all right? What happened? Did you have another flashback?” he asked as he stepped aside to let the two in. Others were congregated in the hallway, apparently having learned about Finrod’s episode. Most of them were the Valinóreans who had not yet found employment or, like Laurendil and Manwen, were not on call at the hospital that day.

“Aranya?” Laurendil asked, giving him a clinical look.

“I am fine,” Finrod insisted as he doffed his cloak. “I had a shock. I will recover.”

“What kind of shock?” Glorfindel asked, stealing a look at Vorondur. “Ron?”

“Apparently he learned about those paranormal romances, you know the type, like Twilight.”

“Sure,” Glorfindel replied with a shrug. “Stupid books. What about them?”

“Mortals coupling with… with those creatures, with the get of Thuringwethil and Draugluin?” Finrod burst out, his disgust evident in his tone. “Are they insane? Have they all gone over to Morgoth’s side in truth?”

“Whoa, Finrod, slow down and take a deep breath,” Glorfindel said, looking at Ron. “Seriously, he freaked out over some book?”

Vorondur raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel’s tone. Finrod went rigid, as if in shock, his lips compressed, his eyes flashing. Laurendil and the others looking on glared at Glorfindel.

“You’re being very cold toward your gwador. Why are you not more sympathetic?” the warrior-turned-healer demanded, speaking in Sindarin. Up until then everyone had been speaking in English, something that Finrod had decreed so the Valinórean Elves would have practice in speaking the Mortal language. Speaking Sindarin or Quenya was actually forbidden within Edhellond unless absolutely necessary.

“Look, all I’m saying is that there’s a lot about Mortals and their society that will seem very strange, even disgusting,” Glorfindel countered. “It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but really, getting upset over a book of fiction, something entirely made up and having no real connection with reality? I’m sorry, but get upset over the incessant wars that are being fought and the random acts of terror that beset this world, get upset over thousands of children dying of starvation every day or whole villages being wiped out by the AIDS plague, get upset over the President’s latest economic recovery schemes if you want, but a book? It’s time you all get a grip. Why did the Valar send you so unprepared to live in this society?”

“You’re being unfair, Loren,” Vorondur said. “No one can adequately prepare for culture shock. You and I and the other Wiseman Elves have the benefit of living among the Mortals and accepting their cultures even if we don’t necessarily approve of some aspects of them. The Amanians have not been here long enough to acquire that kind of distancing you and I have.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Glorfindel said, though he did not appear entirely convinced by Vorondur’s argument. He turned to Finrod, laying his hands on the ellon’s shoulders. “Look, gwador, I do sympathize, really, but try to keep some perspective here. It’s just a book, nothing more. The people who read that kind of stuff are indulging in forbidden passions in a safe manner. Frankly, if any of them actually did meet such creatures for real, believe me, they’d be totally turned off by the idea, but for now, it’s just a fantasy, nothing more.”

Finrod just nodded, then turned to Vorondur. “I think I will lie down for a while. Thank you for coming for me.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, just let me know,” Vorondur said. “Loren, a word of advice, and this goes for all of you: back off and give Finrod some room to breathe and time to adjust.” He nodded to them all and then saw himself out, leaving Finrod alone with the others.

****

Aranya: (Quenya) My king.

Ellon: (Eldarin) Male Elf.

14: The Wiseman Intelligence Agency Meets

The tensions brought on by Finrod’s episode and Glorfindel’s response to it did not disappear altogether, only fading into the background, but Finrod had the feeling that lines were being drawn and he wondered how that would affect them all. He wished that he could speak with his Atar or Anatar about it, for he had always valued their wisdom and missed it and them.

In the meantime, he returned to work the next day, assuring Nick that he was fine. “But please do not ask me to shelve those kinds of books,” he pleaded. “Just touching them leaves me feeling… unclean.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t care for the genre myself, although there are some books that aren’t all that bad and they don’t have vampires or werewolves in them. In fact, there’s one series where the woman falls in love with some Elf prince who’s been exiled to our world from Faerie because of political machinations back home.” He gave Finrod a knowing grin.

Finrod raised an eyebrow, but decided not to take the bait. “I think I prefer reading those fairy stories that are read to children.”

“Most of them are sanitized and sugar-coated for the little tots, but the original stories by the Brothers Grimm were often… er… grim.” Nick gave him an apologetic look. “Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better. Guess your estimation of us Mortals dropped below zero after this, huh?”

“Not at all,” Finrod assured him, “but I have to confess, my views about you have been altered somewhat. I cannot help comparing the Mortals of this time with those I knew before and finding you all wanting in some manner. It is rather arrogant of me, I know. You are all estimable and worthy of respect, but some aspects of your culture leave me cold and I have to wonder how deeply Morgoth’s influence has affected you all.”

Nick looked troubled and ashamed at the same time and Finrod’s heart went out to the young Man. Instinctively, he reached out and gave him a hug, which apparently surprised the Mortal, for he stiffened automatically and Finrod released him sooner than he would have had he been comforting one of his own kind, recognizing that such actions were not the norm for the Mortals of this time and place. Nick gave him a confused look, as if unsure how to respond to the Elf’s actions. Finrod forestalled anything the Man was about to say by turning away and busying himself with straightening some of the shelves in the children’s section.

The awkwardness of the moment was brief for the door opened just then and Alex and Derek walked in.

“Hey! Heard there was some trouble yesterday,” Alex said in greeting. “You okay?” He directed the question to Finrod, giving him a concerned look.

“And where did you hear this?” Finrod asked with a frown, glancing at Nick, who shook his head and shrugged, letting him know that he was not the source of the information.

“Derek and I overheard a couple of Elves talking about it,” Alex responded.

“Overheard?” Finrod echoed, now feeling suspicious.

“Yeah, over at the Safeway, just a while ago,” Derek answered. “They were speaking Sindarin and we heard your name come up.”

“Who were they?” Finrod asked.

Alex shrugged. “He had dark hair, she had blond. Um… Daisy was with them. I think she was doing the actual shopping while the other two were just tagging along. Daisy saw us and warned the other two and they clammed up. Derek and I pretended we hadn’t heard anything and just said hello and we chatted for a bit. Daisy introduced the others as Eric and Linda.”

“So, what’s the deal?” Derek asked. “All we heard was that you freaked out for some reason, though that’s not exactly what they said. I don’t think you can actually say ‘freaked out’ in Sindarin. They said something about you becoming very upset over some book and its contents and… er… Lord Námo showed up. Dude doesn’t show up unless there’s serious shi… I mean, stuff going on.”

Finrod sighed. “It is nothing really. I assure you I am fine. I would appreciate it if you would forget about it. It is no concern of yours.” Even as he said the words, he knew they were wrong, for he could see both Alex and Derek stiffening at the rebuff. “I am sorry. I do not mean to shut you out, and I appreciate your concern, but I really do not wish to discuss it. Not now.”

Derek shrugged and Alex seemed to unbend a bit, though he still looked hurt. “Well, yeah, I guess it’s none of our business,” he said. “Sorry to barge in on you like this. We’ll be going then. C’mon Derek. I still need to stop at the drug store. See ya, Nick. Finrod.”

Before either Nick or Finrod could respond, the two men were out the door and heading away. Finrod gave Nick a chagrined look. “I think I could have handled that better.”

Nick shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll get over it, but them overhearing those two Elves speaking about what happened? That’s not good. I don’t think Eric and Linda, or whatever their names are, realized that some of the people wandering about in that store are pretty conversant with Sindarin, probably more so than Alex and Derek, because many of us have been taking lessons in the language — and Quenya, too — for a couple of years now.”

“You are right,” Finrod acknowledged, “and I will make sure everyone is made aware of this. Erestor and his wife probably felt safe enough speaking in Sindarin, not realizing what you have said about some of the Mortals knowing the language.”

“Well, the last thing you need right now is for the good people of Wiseman to think there’s dissension in the ranks, so to speak,” Nick pointed out. “Whatever disagreements you lot may have between you, you need to present a united front to the rest of us or it all goes south in a real hurry and all that Loren and the others have accomplished here gets blown out of the sky.”

Finrod gave him a considering look. “You are very wise, Nicholas Greene.”

“Yeah, well, us INFJs are known for that,” the Man countered with a blush.

“Tell me more about what INFJs are supposed to be like,” Finrod said, willing to change the subject and Nick spent the next several minutes happily outlining the personality of a typical INFJ.

****

Alex and Derek got into Alex’s car but Alex did not start it up immediately, simply sitting there, staring out the windshield. Derek, recognizing his friend’s mood, remained silent. Finally, Alex turned to him with a steely look.

“Are you as tired as I am of being ‘put in my place’ by one Elf after another?”

Derek shrugged. “He’s right, though. It’s really none of our business. But I agree that honest overtures of sympathy should not be dismissed out of hand simply because we’re Mortals. Nick obviously knows about it. Did you notice how Finrod looked at him almost accusingly, thinking Nick had blabbed?”

“Yeah, I did,” Alex said as he put on his safety belt and turned the key over. “Still, I’m worried.”

“About what?” Derek asked as he fastened his own safety belt.

“You and I barely understand Sindarin, but I know damn well that probably half the people in that store know it better than we do and, while people don’t normally eavesdrop on other people’s conversations while in public, it’s impossible not to hear snatches and I saw at least two women lingering over the meats while those two Elves stood there discussing Finrod.”

“You noticed that?” Derek asked with an amused look.

Alex flashed him a smile as he began to pull out of the parking space. “Training, remember? I can’t even walk into Elf Academy, never mind a grocery store, without automatically cataloguing where all the exits are and where all the potential ambushes may be. It’s so ingrained in me, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

He suddenly stopped and shifted gears to forward, returning to the space he’d just vacated and putting the car in park but not turning off the engine. Instead, he undid his buckle, fishing in one of his pockets and pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” Derek asked, but Alex did not answer, holding up a finger for quiet.

“Ron?...Yeah, it’s Alex. Listen, I’m downtown with Derek. We’re just on our way home from shopping. Ran into Finrod, well actually we didn’t so much run into as we barged into. Anyway, I think you need to know this. While we were at the Safeway we overheard a conversation between two of your Valinórean Elves who were speaking in Sindarin and they were discussing Finrod. Not sure what it was all about exactly. Something to do with a book that upset him and they were not happy with Loren for some reason. That’s as much as Derek and I figured out before Daisy, who was there, told the other two to shut it.”

He paused and listened for a moment. “Yeah, well, if Derek and I who barely know the language can figure that much out and know that all’s not well in paradise, what about everyone else who was there and have a better understanding of the language than we do? You see where I’m going with this?”

He paused again, rolling his eyes at Derek, who merely grinned, then motioned for Alex to give him the phone.

“Hang on, Ron. Derek wants to say something.” He handed the phone to his friend.

“Ron?.... Yeah, I know it’s none of our business, but put your ear to the ground, man, and listen to the drums. I guarantee that if just one person overheard that conversation enough to figure out something, even if it’s the wrong something, it’s going to be on everyone else’s lips before sundown. We’re not saying anything you don’t already know, but we are saying you need to alert the troops that loose lips sink ships and all that. Your friends cannot make the mistake of underestimating us, especially those of us who are not on your side.”

He listened for a moment and then handed the phone back to Alex.

“Yeah, Ron, I’m here,” Alex said. He listened for a moment. “No. Neither of us have any plans.” He gave Derek an enquiring look and the former sailor shook his head. “Okay. We just need to go home and drop off the groceries and then we’ll be over.” He glanced at the clock on the dash. “About an hour? Yeah, that works. See ya.” He disconnected the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket while simultaneously pulling the seat belt around him. “He wants to see us in an hour at his place,” he explained to Derek as he shifted into reverse and pulled out. “Amroth will be there and I guess what’s-his-name, Val. It looks as if the Wiseman Intelligence Agency is about to go into action.”

Derek’s only response was a raised eyebrow.

****

Amroth met them at the door, gesturing them inside. “I’ve got coffee percolating,” he told them as they doffed their jackets and hung them in the front closet. “Ron went to get Val who was last seen by anyone heading toward Nolan.”

“Why?” Derek asked.

“I have no idea. I’ve been to Nolan. There’s nothing there, but Valandur is something of a maverick among the Elves.”

“Oh?” Alex said. “In what way?”

Amroth gave them an amused look as he led them into what was termed ‘the study’, gesturing for them to sit. “In a lot of ways,” he answered. “You may not have noticed, but he’s picked up modern idioms quicker than the others, even Finrod. That’s his training. He is a lambengolmo, what you would call a linguist.”

“I thought he was a spymaster,” Alex said.

“That too, but he was originally trained in linguistics, so he’s fascinated with the different ways in which Mortals communicate. He spends hours wandering about observing and listening to people speaking and interacting. He’s been pestering me and Loren and Ron about the various mortal languages he’s heard. Wiseman is a nowhere place but English is not the only language spoken here. We have a large Inuit community as well as a smattering of other ethnic groups, recent immigrants to America, who retain their own languages.”

“Yeah, you don’t think about that,” Alex commented. “You assume most immigrants are going to be in the large cities in the lower forty-eight, not finding their way to a place like Wiseman.”

“Well, at any rate, Val is in hog heaven and I suspect he decided to check out Nolan to see if there are any dialectal differences between the two communities.”

Both Alex and Derek shook their heads in bemusement. Before either could comment, though, they heard the sound of the front door opening and of what appeared to be an argument between two people. Alex and Derek recognized Ron’s voice and had to assume the other was Val. Both were speaking in what the Mortals recognized as Quenya, though neither understood the language as yet.

Amroth just grinned. “I’ll go see about the coffee,” he said as he left the study, looking down the hall to the front door and gabbling something in Quenya to the other two Elves as he headed in the opposite direction. Seconds later Vorondur and Valandur entered the study.

“Nolan?” Derek asked before anyone else could offer greetings. “Are you a glutton for punishment, mate?”

Valandur actually blushed and refused to look at either Mortal. Vorondur grimaced, obviously disgusted. “He was alone, too. No phone on him, either. If he’d gotten into any trouble, I don’t even want to think about it.”

“What trouble could I have possibly gotten into?” Valandur asked, looking puzzled.

Both Alex and Derek gave him disbelieving looks. “You’re kidding, right?” Alex demanded, standing to face the loremaster. “You’re in a foreign country, surrounded by people you don’t know, but some of them have no love for your kind and this is Alaska. Much of this place is still wilderness and not all the animals you might encounter are going to be cute little bunny rabbits hippiting-hoppiting down the lane. Elf or no, you have no business wandering about like that. And I’m sorry, but there are people out there who get off on raping and murdering hitchhikers and they aren’t necessarily choosy about their victim’s gender.”

Valandur stiffened, going pale at Alex’s words. Vorondur cast his fellow Elf an amused look. “Not used to being reprimanded by one of the Secondborn, are you?” he asked softly.

Valandur sniffed. “Say rather, I am unused to being reprimanded by anyone. Even Ingwë long ago ceased to try.”

“Oh man, and I thought us guys were bad with our pissing contests,” Derek interjected, giving them a whistle.

Before anyone else could comment, Amroth entered with a tray. “So where did you find him?” he asked Vorondur as he put the tray down on the desk that was nestled in one corner of the room.

“About two miles out of town,” Vorondur answered. “Had the devil’s own time convincing him to return here with me. Stubborn as the day is long. Are all Vanyar like that?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Amroth replied equably as he poured himself a cup. “Help yourselves.”

Alex and Derek took a few minutes to fix their own mugs of coffee, but neither Vorondur nor Valandur bothered. Valandur still looked miffed but said nothing.

“So, Alex, you want to explain?” Vorondur suggested as they all sat.

Alex took a sip of coffee and then spoke about what he and Derek had overheard in the Safeway and how Finrod had reacted when they stopped at the bookstore to enquire about him. Derek put in his own observations. Alex noticed that Valandur’s attitude shifted during the course of his narrative and he now had a troubled look on his face.

“Erestor should have known better,” he said when the two Mortals ceased to speak. “I cannot believe he would be that stupid or arrogant.”

“He and Linda appeared rather upset as they were speaking, but I couldn’t figure out if they were upset about Finrod or about Loren,” Derek chimed in.

“More than likely, both,” Amroth replied. “Erestor and Glorfindel were very close friends at one time, both serving Elrond in Imladris. They had mutual respect for one another, so I imagine that Loren’s reaction to what happened with Finrod upset him. His wife is Finrod’s squire, after all, so there is a loyalty issue involved.”

“And that loyalty is going to get stretched, I would imagine,” Alex commented, “especially if people are taking sides. If you’re not careful, it’s going to end up being Team Finrod vs. Team Glorfindel and that’s the last thing we need.”

“You are correct,” Vorondur said. “Unfortunately, we have no idea if anyone else overheard enough to figure out something was wrong. We’re going to have to wait until the rumors start coming in before we can counter them, if that’s even possible.”

“It is a pity you Mortals no longer have wandering minstrels,” Valandur said. “They have proven very useful in gathering and disseminating information, countering sentiments detrimental to the well-being of the kingdom with song.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll have to work around that little handicap,” Alex said somewhat sardonically.

Valandur was about to retort with what would no doubt be a biting remark, but Vorondur forestalled him. “Let’s all take a deep breath and a step back,” he ordered. “Val, your observation, while valid, has nothing to do with the situation we find ourselves in. Alex, Derek, you need to stop reacting to every little thing some of the Elves might say. Arrogance is something we all have in common and frankly the attitudes need to be parked at the door if we’re going to be successful in working together. We need each other.”

“Well said.”

They all looked up in surprise to see Fionwë standing in the doorway with Olórin right behind him.

Elves and Mortals rose, but Fionwë gestured them back down. “No need for that,” he said. “We decided to join you in your discussion and offer a possible solution to the situation in which you find yourselves.”

“And what would that be, my lords?” Valandur asked respectfully.

“Me,” Olórin replied.

“I don’t understand,” Derek said and Alex nodded in agreement.

Fionwë nodded at Olórin. “Show them.”

Olórin nodded in return. As the Elves and Mortals looked on, there was a shimmering and the Maia’s features began to change. In seconds they found themselves looking at someone who appeared to be a Man with gray hair and beard, dressed in faded jeans and a navy blue turtleneck under a ragged looking gray cardigan that obviously had seen better days.

“Neat trick,” Derek offered and Olórin rewarded them with a wide grin.

“So, how exactly does this help us?” Alex asked.

“One of Olórin’s talents is to be able to inspire hope and lighten spirits,” Fionwë explained. “He has often walked among Elves and Mortals unseen, or at least, unremembered, yet leaving wisdom and fair visions in his wake. He can do so here, and indeed, has done so these last two years, though you knew it not.”

“But what exactly can you do?” Derek asked.

“I can do nothing to stop the rumors should they appear,” Olórin answered, “but I can insert myself into conversations, countering any negatives. People will listen to what I have to say but once I leave their vicinity they will forget they ever saw me, yet my words will remain. They are free to accept or reject my message, but they will not be able to ignore it.”

“That sounds rather handy,” Amroth said.

Olórin smiled. “Lord Manwë has often commanded me to walk unseen among you Mirroanwi for that very purpose.”

“Seems to me that if you can do that sort of thing, we’re pretty superfluous,” Alex said.

“Not at all,” Olórin said. “After all, Maia I may be, but I cannot be everywhere at once. You must do your own bit, all of you. We Maiar have had limitations placed upon us by our masters with respect to how and in what manner we can help you. We cannot and will not do your work for you, but we will help as we can.”

“Well, I know how effective you are, Olórin,” Valandur said, “and I welcome your help. Are you aware of rumors spreading yet?”

“No, but give it time. It’s not even noon yet,” the Maia said with a twinkle in his eyes. “You should be hearing the first rumors by mid-afternoon. In fact, young Nicholas and Prince Finrod are about to see an increase in customers, curious to see if the rumors are true. And while they’re sneaking peeks at the once king of Nargothrond, they might even make a purchase or two along the way.”

Several eyebrows went up.

“Well, in that case, you have your work cut out for you,” Vorondur said with a knowing smile and Olórin chuckled, fading away, leaving his fellow Maia alone with three Elves and two Mortals. Looking at him, though, Alex had the feeling that Fionwë was not the one who was outnumbered.

****

Words are Quenya:

Anatar: Grandfather; in this instance, Olwë.

Mirroanwi: Plural of mirroanwë: An Incarnate, i.e. an Elf or Mortal.

15: What Happens in Edhellond Stays in Edhellond

Finrod returned home after his shift at the bookstore to find Edhellond in something of an uproar. Walking into the library from where the noise seemed to emanate, he found a number of Elves shouting and in their midst were Alex and Derek. And while it could not be said that either was being threatened by any of the Elves, Finrod found it suspicious that the two Mortals were surrounded by Amroth, Vorondur and Valandur facing outward, and their expressions were ones of frustration as they were obviously attempting to calm the others. Most of those he recognized as having followed him from Valinor though there were a few of the Wiseman Elves in the mix. All of them were shouting in either Sindarin or Quenya, with a smattering of English thrown in for good measure. Missing from the brew were the youngsters (thank the Valar!) and Glorfindel, nor did he see Daeron, or the Twins, but he knew the sons of Elrond were at St. Luke’s and would not finish their shifts until later.

“SILENCE!” Finrod shouted in English and the noise level dropped considerably. Before he could follow up with something scathing, he heard the front door open and then Glorfindel and Daeron were there, both of them looking bemused.

“What’s going on?” Glorfindel asked. “We could hear the shouting as we were driving up.”

“I was just about to find out,” Finrod answered. “If I did not know better, I would say that Vorondur, Valandur and Amroth were attempting to protect Alex and Derek from the wrath of everyone else, but I am sure my eyes were deceiving me.” He glanced at those in the room and was not surprised to see a few embarrassed looks. “Yes, well, why do we not see if we can get to the bottom of this, shall we?”

And it was amazing to see all the Elves straightening as Finrod adopted what Laurendil always referred to as his ‘king-of-Nargothrond-face’. Even Glorfindel took a step back and gave him a half-bow, as if he were in the presence of one of the High Kings… or Finrod’s cousin, Turgon.

Daeron, either less impressed or simply a better actor, gave them a brief smile and said, “I’ll just put the coffee on, shall I?”

Finrod flashed him a grateful look. “Coffee sounds good, thank you.”

“Won’t be long,” the loremaster said. “Anna, give me a hand?” He gestured to Melyanna, who hesitated for a second, looking first at Finrod, who nodded, and then joined Daeron. Finrod smiled as the couple went down the hall hand-in-hand, knowing that Daeron would get the story out of the elleth while they were fixing the coffee. In the meantime….

“Right, then,” he said briskly. “I am going to go freshen up. When I get back, I want to see everyone sitting quietly.” He turned to Glorfindel, making sure none in the library could see him wink. “Brother, I leave it to you to see that order is maintained.”

Glorfindel’s expression never altered. “Of course, Finrod. It need not be said.”

Finrod nodded and headed for the downstairs lavatory. When he returned to the library several minutes later, purposely lingering to give people a chance to cool down, he found everyone seated and Daeron and Melyanna were coming down the hall carrying trays.

“Heated up some scones left over from breakfast,” the loremaster said, “in case anyone wanted something to go with their coffee or tea.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said graciously and was not at all surprised when Daeron poured a cup of coffee and handed it to him with a short bow.

“Please help yourselves,” Finrod addressed the group in English as he found a seat and a few ventured to grab a mug of something for themselves. Neither Alex nor Derek moved from where they were seated with Amroth, Vorondur and Valandur sitting next to them, though Vorondur got up and poured himself some tea and snagged a scone. Glorfindel remained standing, leaning against one of the bookcases in a nonchalant pose, his ankles and arms crossed. He was positioned so he could see just about everyone and everyone could see him.

When all were finally settled, Finrod spoke. “Now then, what was the shouting all about? Valandur?”

Ingwë’s chief loremaster and spymaster raised an eyebrow but answered readily enough. “Our fellows were somewhat upset when we told them about the possible rumors.”

“Rumors? What rumors?” Glorfindel asked, forgetting that it was not his place to be asking questions when Finrod was the one holding court.

Before Valandur could answer, Finrod spoke. “The rumors that the Mortals are probably even now spreading based on the conversation between Erestor and Lindorillë that was overheard by some when they were at the Safeway.”

Glorfindel was not the only one to goggle at Finrod calmly sitting there sipping his coffee. “You know? Wait! What conversation?” he demanded, now looking to where Erestor was sitting with an arm around Lindorillë’s shoulders, both of them looking embarrassed. It was Lindorillë who answered.

“We did not think anyone would—”

“Understand Sindarin?” Finrod supplied, giving them a cold look. The elleth visibly cringed and Erestor gave her a comforting squeeze, kissing her on the temple.

“So what are these rumors? What were you two talking about?” Glorfindel asked, stepping forward to stand beside Finrod. “And what do Alex and Derek have to do with it?”

Before anyone could answer that, Finrod held up a hand, and looked at the two Mortals, both of whom sat with blank expressions on their faces, as if they knew that none of this was their affair and they were just there by sufferance.

“I am sorry,” Finrod said to them. “I fear I was unduly abrupt with you both when you were only attempting to show concern. Please forgive me.”

“Hey, not a problem,” Derek answered with a wave of a hand. “We were probably out of line.”

“Alex?” Finrod said.

Alex shrugged. “It’s cool.”

But Finrod could sense the anger within the Man and resisted a sigh. He glanced at Vorondur who gave him a brief nod, as if to assure Finrod that he recognized the anger and would deal with it. Finrod left it at that and turned his attention to everyone else. “To answer your question, Brother, it appears that Erestor and Lindorillë were discussing my… episode and your reaction to it. I do not know the particulars of their conversation, only that Alex and Derek came to the bookstore, having overheard something of it, and tried to warn me about it.”

“And you two were speaking Sindarin at the time?” Glorfindel asked, looking at Erestor and his wife, both of whom nodded. “And you just conveniently forgot what I told you about not assuming that the Mortals around you would not understand either Sindarin or Quenya because quite a few have been taking lessons in both languages over the last couple of years?”

Neither Erestor nor Lindorillë answered.

“So you were deliberately talking in public about something that was private between us?” Finrod asked, gesturing between himself and Glorfindel.

Again, neither gave an answer, which was an answer in itself. Finrod found himself counting silently backwards from twelve before he felt sufficiently calm enough to speak. “I see,” was all he said but the disappointment in his tone was enough and Lindorillë looked away in shame. Erestor scowled.

“It was not deliberate, Finrod, and no, we did not forget, Glorfindel, but we were honestly concerned about what was happening between you two and the rest of us. We were merely speaking about it between us. I did not think the Mortals would be so crass as to actually eavesdrop on our conversation.” He shot a dark look at Alex and Derek.

Alex leapt up, throwing off both Derek’s and Amroth’s attempts to stop him as he glared at Erestor. “You were standing there by the meat counter, not speaking all that softly. There were two women pretending to be checking the chicken selections further down. A stock clerk was idly rearranging a display of this week’s special on hot cocoa that didn’t need rearranging. An elderly couple were lingering two feet away, staring at cereal boxes with the man putting a box in the cart and the woman taking the same box and returning it to the shelves, plus there was the butcher setting out steaks and taking his sweet time doing it and….”

“And you saw all that?” Derek asked in surprise, looking a bit chagrined. “I only noticed the stock clerk.”

“I am surprised a Mortal could notice all that in how short a time?” Gilvagor commented. He now went by the name Gavin. Several other Elves nodded, obviously of the same opinion.

Alex shrugged. “Oh, in about the time Derek and I turned the corner and saw these two yapping. Maybe ten seconds, fifteen tops.”

“Fifteen seconds? You saw all that in fifteen seconds?” Now there was absolute disbelief on the faces of most of the Elves.

“If he hadn’t, I didn’t teach him properly,” Amroth retorted. “It’s called situational awareness, in case you want to know.”

Alex flashed Amroth a tight smile before addressing Erestor. “You had a whole store full of people listening in on your conversation. Derek and I could hear what you were saying an aisle away, though, admittedly, neither one of us understood more than one word out of three, but we understood enough that as soon as we checked out we went straight to Finrod to warn him.”

 “And I do appreciate you coming to warn me, Alex, Derek,” Finrod said. “What I do not understand is how you happen to be here and why were Amroth, Vorondur and Valandur protecting you?”

“As if I need protection from you sorry excuses for Elves.” Alex sneered and even Finrod raised an eyebrow at the Mortal’s words.

“That’s enough, Meriwether,” Amroth said coldly and Alex actually reddened at the reprimand. “Now sit down and keep quiet.” Amazingly enough (or perhaps not), the Mortal complied. Derek patted him on the shoulder. Amroth turned to Finrod. “To answer your question, Alex called Ron and told him about what he and Derek had overheard. I was there at the time and decided that the Wiseman Intelligence Agency should begin earning its keep. Ron went and rustled Val in and then the five of us discussed our options for containing whatever rumors might be circulating, because I assure you, they are.”

“What exactly are the rumors, though?” Glorfindel asked. “Has anyone heard them?”

“That’s when Fionwë and Olórin showed up,” Valandur said. “Olórin said he would wander about, find out what the rumors were and see if he could diffuse any negatives. I’m not sure what Fionwë was planning to do, as he failed to inform us.” He cast them a sardonic look.

“They do that sometimes,” Glorfindel said with a mirthless grin.

“And then you obviously came here,” Finrod said, “and that is when I came in. But why the shouting?”

“As to that, I’m afraid when we attempted to speak with Erestor about it, people got a little upset,” Vorondur replied, “and someone accused Alex and Derek of spreading the rumors themselves. After that, it simply got ugly.”

Finrod nodded, then looked at Daisy sitting in a corner. “Alex said you were there as well.”

“Yes. I told Eric and Linda to speak more softly or, better yet, change the subject, but they ignored me. After all, I’m just a Wiseman Elf,” she gave them a sneer, and Finrod realized that she was using the term pejoratively. “What the hell do I know about anything?”

“And there we have it.”

Everyone turned toward the doorway where someone was standing and, even though he was in his Finn disguise, there was no doubt as to who it was. They all started to rise.

“My lord?” Finrod enquired.

“Peace, Children,” the Maia said, gesturing them back down as he entered the room. “My fellows and I have been keeping a close watch on you all, to see how well you are adapting to your new environment and how well you Elves and Mortals of Wiseman are adjusting to the situation. We have noticed a decided lack of respect between you and are concerned.”

“Don’t you think we know this?” Glorfindel demanded. “Do you think us that blind or stupid and don’t you think we’re all old enough to figure these things out for ourselves and deal with them, as we’re dealing with it right now without you lot barging in and throwing your weight around?”

If Fionwë was upset by Glorfindel’s words, he did not show it. It was Vorondur who spoke next. “Take a deep breath, Loren, and let it out slowly. Come on, don’t stand there glaring at me, do it. That’s it. Again… and once more. We really need to deal with your anger and soon. You are too dangerous to others otherwise, Mortals especially.”

“I would never deliberately harm anyone, however richly they deserved it,” Glorfindel countered, giving him a sniff of disdain.

“Tell that to Kyle Stoner and see if he doesn’t laugh in your face,” Vorondur countered and Glorfindel had the grace to blush.

“Getting back to the discussion at hand,” Finrod said, giving Glorfindel a sympathetic smile before turning to Fionwë, “do you know if there are any rumors out there and what they are saying? Has anyone actually heard such rumors or is this all hypothetical?”

“Oh, no, not hypothetical at all,” Fionwë said. “Even now I believe Olórin is sitting in the Blue Petrel listening to a couple of men having a three-martini lunch and discussing… hmmm….” He closed his eyes and then he was speaking again but they could all tell that he was quoting someone or two someones, for he pitched his voice, alternating intonations as he spoke. “Can you believe these crazy Elves freaking out over a stupid romance novel? Must be they don’t get enough sex or something… I heard he got upset over one of those vampire novels that are so popular, you know, that kitschy teenage stuff my daughter gets hot over, imagining she’s Bella and wishing her latest beau was as mysterious and debonair as Edward…. Imagine getting all hot and bothered over something like that… Like I said, they probably don’t get enough sex… But there are all those female Elves living at Edhellond. You can’t tell me there’s no hanky-panky going on there. It ain’t natural.”

The Maia opened his eyes, giving them all a sardonic smile.

“Oh for the love of….” Glorfindel groaned, shaking his head. “That’s great, just great. And if that’s a typical conversation we’re all in the hole.”

“It may not be as bad as that,” Vorondur said. “If what Lord Fionwë—”

“Just call me Finn,” the Maia interjected with a grin, “I’m in disguise.”

Vorondur rolled his eyes. “If what Finn reported is an accurate description of that conversation, then the two Men weren’t saying anything that wasn’t true.”

“But you’re not having orgies every night, are you?” Derek asked, his expression deadpan. “Of course, who knows what you really do in those woods behind the house… at night… without any of us Mortals about.”

The Elves just glared at him but Alex actually snickered. “You have such a dirty mind. But we all know about sailors, don’t we?”

“Hey, mate,” Derek said with a disdainful sniff, “That’s Greek sailors. The American version of the species is upright, clean, noble and better looking.”

Alex laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“Getting back to the matter at hand,” Finrod said, deciding he needed to reclaim control over the conversation or they would get nowhere, “and ignoring the puerile imaginations of certain Mortals, why do you think that that conversation is not detrimental to our image?” He looked at Vorondur.

“I didn’t say that. I said that what they were saying was true, at least the part about the book, not about the sex, and we won’t go there, will we?” He gave both Alex and Derek a meaningful look but the two Mortals just leered back at him. Amroth leaned over and whispered something in Alex’s ear and everyone saw him reddening. He muttered an apology, not looking at anyone. Derek wisely settled down, adopting a neutral expression. Amroth gave Vorondur a nod and the psychiatrist resumed talking.

“Where was I? Oh, yes. Their speculation about what goes on behind these walls is fairly typical of Mortal males and symptomatic of the present culture where sex is readily available and people are generally open and above-board about it.” He shrugged. “I’ve overheard similar comments and am keeping tabs on it. If I feel it’s an issue that needs to be addressed, I will come to you. In the meantime, I’m more concerned about wilder rumors. Those two Men in the bar have an accurate account of what happened to you, Finrod, but there may be other rumors that are wildly out of proportion to the truth and those are the rumors that we need to address.”

“Assuming that we can,” Glorfindel said. “You know that people tend to believe whatever fits their preconceived notions of reality rather than the unvarnished truth, which often appears less interesting, exciting or titillating than whatever their imaginations have conjured up.”

“True, but if we present them with an unconcerned front, if we respond to the rumors with shrugs and tell them the plain truth, that Finrod, having actually fought against vampires and died at the hands of a werewolf, when he learned about these paranormal romances that are so popular now, became upset over the thought that anyone in their right mind would want to have sex with such creatures, who in reality are anything but romantic. And I know he’s not the only one here to have fought in the wars of the First Age and can attest to that.”

“That’s certainly true,” Gilvagor said with a nod. “So do we go out and start spreading rumors of our own to counter whatever rumors these Mortals are bandying about?”

“Not by my counsel,” Fionwë said. “Certainly address them if you are asked about them, though I suspect few of the Mortals will be brave enough to do so, but more important, cease to speak about what happened where any Mortal might hear you. Erestor and Lindorillë are not the only ones guilty of that. It’s natural for you to speak about things which are of concern to you, but limit yourselves to speaking of them only within these walls. To paraphrase a popular phrase, ‘What happens in Edhellond stays in Edhellond’.”

There were nods all around. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Finrod looked at Alex and Derek. “Are you two fine with this?”

Alex looked surprised. “Of course. Why shouldn’t we be? It’s your call. We’ll keep our ears open and if we hear anything detrimental to you we’ll set the record straight but we won’t go out and deliberately look for rumormongers. Besides, my spying days are over with and I have to get ready for the next term.”

“And don’t forget the trial coming up,” Derek added. “You think we’ll be involved in it for too long?”

“God I hope not,” Alex said fervently. “I’ll give them my testimony and that’s it. I’m not interested in sticking around to find out what the verdict is. Anyway, the trial’s at least a month away, longer if either the defense or the prosecution asks for a delay and the judge grants it. Take it as it comes.”

“A wise philosophy,” Fionwë said, “and the same can be said for you all. My fellow Maiar and I think you are trying too hard and too fast to integrate yourselves into this society.”

“But most of us do not even have proper employment,” Gilvagor protested. “I’m beginning to wonder why the Valar even allowed us to come if they knew that we would just be idling away our time here. I could have remained in Aman and trained with the other warriors. There is no training here, at least not yet.”

“Wiseman is not so large that it can easily absorb all of us,” Glorfindel pointed out, looking at Fionwë. “While I and the other Wiseman Elves appreciate the company, this many Elves all at once is putting a strain on more than our relationships. So far, the only ones who have found a purpose are the healers, and even they are in a precarious position because they are practicing medicine illegally, at least as far as the State of Alaska is concerned. Geoffrey Harris is walking a thin line on this and he could easily lose his own license. It only takes one phone call or email from some Elf-hater to ruin his and Kyle Stoner’s careers.”

“Oh, we are well aware of this,” Fionwë said, giving them a feral grin. “I’ve assigned one of the Maiar to the task of intercepting all such attempts, and so far there have been no fewer than three phone calls and five emails sent to the State Medical Board. Oddly enough, the emails never arrived and the phone calls were, oh, shall we say, intercepted and the callers never knew they were speaking to a Maia. It’s all rather amusing.”

“And you were going to tell us this when?” Finrod shot the Maia an amused look.

“I think I just did,” Fionwë shot back with an innocent look. “And no, I do not think you need to worry Geoffrey about this. He and Kyle Stoner are diligently working to get all the healers state certified and we are helping in that. None of the phone calls or emails came from anyone working in the hospital. Everyone there, from the administrators to the janitors, is behind the project and the patients are seeing positive results in their recovery. As for the rest of you, be patient. Opportunities will arise, I promise you. Remember this: time is on your side. Mortals die every day and job vacancies open up. It may not be what you would want to do, but it will give you legitimacy and purpose.”

He looked directly at Finrod. “Working in a bookstore may not seem like much, and it certainly is not heroic, but then you know that nothing done in love is ever menial and I think you truly love what you are doing.”

Finrod nodded. “I do. Of course, it helps to be working next door to a bakery.” He gave them a sly grin and there were chuckles all around.

Fionwë simply nodded and then turned his attention to the two Mortals. “Alex, Derek, be vigilant. All is not as it seems and there are many forces, most of which are unseen, at work here. You did well to alert Finrod and the others of what was happening, but remember, the Eldar have been at it a lot longer than you. Trust them. They are arrogant to a fault, but they are not your enemies.”

“Never said they were,” Alex rejoined in a tight voice. “But they have to remember that we Mortals weren’t born yesterday, either, and we’re no less competent than they. We don’t appreciate being dismissed out of hand.” He gave Fionwë a mirthless grin. “Maybe Eönwë should come have a little chat with this lot like he did with the Wiseman Elves.”

“Or that Námo dude,” Derek put in. “I bet he’s really good at setting people on the straight and narrow.”

“Oh, you have no idea, Derek Lowell,” Fionwë said with a rueful chuckle. “Your point, however, is well taken. Unless you all want to have a little chat with the Lord of Mandos, either singly or collectively, I suggest you get with the program, as the Mortals like to say. And now, I will leave you.”

Before anyone could respond, the Maia was no longer there, leaving behind the scent of apples and mint. For a long moment no one moved or spoke. Finally, Glorfindel stirred, looking at Alex and Derek, giving them a smile.

“As long as you’re here, why don’t you stay for dinner? It’s pot roast tonight.”

The two Men looked at each other and shrugged almost as one, then turned to Glorfindel and nodded. “Sure, thanks,” Alex said.

“Good,” Glorfindel said. “Well, I’d better get started on dinner. We’ll eat around seven.” He headed for the door.

“We’ll give you a hand,” Daeron said, nodding to Melyanna, and the two followed Glorfindel out. That seemed to be the signal for everyone else to stir from their seats.

“Where are the youngsters?” Finrod asked no one in particular as he stood up. “I thought they would be here.”

“Laurendil and Manwen wanted to spend some time with Cal so Conan and Alfa agreed to chauffeur them,” Daisy replied. “Finda went with them as did Alan and Nell. I think they’ve gone to play in the ice maze or something.”

Finrod nodded and then waited as Erestor and Lindorillë came to tender their apologies to him. Some of the others milled about, softly talking, while the rest left to pursue their own pleasures. Alex and Derek just stood there, not sure what they should do next. They were saved the trouble of deciding when Vorondur suggested they go up to the sunroom.

“It’ll be quieter and we can talk,” he told them.

“About what?” Alex asked, giving him a suspicious look.

“Why don’t we play it by ear?” Vorondur rejoined with a smile, taking them by their elbows and steering them out the door. “I’m sure we’ll find something to talk about.”

Alex and Derek exchanged grimaces but did not contradict the Elf as the three made their way up the stairs.

16: Zombie Hunter Boot Camp and Other Money Makers While Waiting for the Apocalypse

“So what do you want to talk about?” Alex asked Vorondur when they were settled in the sunroom. He and Derek were sitting together in a settee while Vorondur sat in a chair facing them across the coffee table.

“Your attitude,” Vorondur answered.

“My attitude or our attitude?” Alex countered, narrowing his eyes, as he gestured to Derek to include him in the question.

“Both,” Vorondur said, then raised his hand to forestall the two Mortals. “Alex, you are still a very dangerous person, more so than you probably realize. Your attitude downstairs tells me that, the undercurrent of anger, the disrespect toward us Elves, all that points to an explosion ready to happen.”

“And what about me?” Derek demanded, looking somewhat affronted, as if he resented being tarred with the same brush as Alex.

“You are in danger of becoming angry because Alex is,” Vorondur replied. “For all your laid-back, aw-shucks persona, Derek, you and Alex are very much alike, only you tend to keep your anger better hidden behind glib responses and sardonic smiles, but it’s there. I can feel it and so can the rest of us.”

“And this all concerns you how?” Alex asked, not exactly sneering but coming close.

“It concerns me because you are still under my care, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“But I’m not,” Derek pointed out.

“True, but you and Alex are gwedyr, mates. You have his back and he has yours and all that, which means what affects one of you affects the both of you. You’ve seen that with Finrod and Glorfindel.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Derek allowed somewhat reluctantly. “So, okay, I’m angry, not for myself, you understand. I don’t care what you people think of me, at least not much. Snobs are snobs no matter where you go and we Mortals don’t have a corner market on that, but Alex has proven himself worthy of your respect, and hell! he’s supposed to be related to some of you. That makes him kin, so I think you people should be a little more friendly toward him.”

Alex gave Derek a warm smile. “I appreciate you sticking up for me, but I think I can fight my own battles.”

“Of course you can, mate, but we were talking about anger.”

“And Derek, I hate to say this, but sometimes kinship means little to some Elves,” Vorondur interjected. “Remember the kinslayings you learned about in the history class?”

“Yeah, I was sort of forgetting that part,” Derek admitted ruefully.

“But it does not invalidate what you have said. Alex is considered kin, though the actual relationship is murky to say the least. At any rate, I think we need to talk about your anger, Alex.”

“Frankly, I’m not interested,” Alex said, standing. “I’m getting tired of being your whipping boy and having everything that goes wrong here be my fault.”

“I haven’t said that,” Vorondur retorted mildly, standing to block Alex’s path. “Please sit down, Alex. We’re just talking here, nothing more.”

“And if I don’t want to? How are you going to stop me?” Alex gave him a disdainful look.

For a second, no one moved and then before Alex could react Vorondur was on him, grabbing him by the shirt lapels and, in a move too swift for mortal eyes to follow, brought the startled Mortal down and Alex found himself staring up in awe at the immortal.

“I was a warrior long before I ever became a psychiatrist,” Vorondur said quietly. “I have fought in more wars down the long ages than you can ever hope to count and I have done my fair share of killing. Do not mistake my present demeanor for that of a coward or a pacifist. I assure you, I am neither.” He stood up, releasing his hold on Alex. “You’re free to leave any time, Alex, as are you, Derek,” and there was a finality to his words that meant more than permission to exit the room and both Men knew it.

For a moment or two the tension between the three was almost a physical thing as Alex continued to lie there staring up at the impassive expression of the Elf still standing over him while Derek sat holding his breath, wondering what his gwador would do next. Alex climbed to his feet and stared at Vorondur, who never moved, never blinked.

The Mortal licked his lips, giving Derek a sideways glance, and then he cleared his throat. “And pass up on Loren’s pot roast? I don’t think so,” he said, giving the Elf an uncertain smile.

Vorondur held his gaze for a long moment and Alex forced himself not to flinch or look away. Finally, a slow smile crept over the Elf’s face. “As good a reason for staying as any, I suppose. Shall we sit and talk?”

Alex nodded and resumed his seat next to Derek and Vorondur took his own seat. “So, why don’t we start over again? Alex, Derek, my apologies for anything I may have said that upset you. I assure you that was not my intent. There is too much anger and frustration running loose here and I need your help in containing it, but you can only do that if you have your own anger in check. Do you understand?”

Both Men nodded. “Good. Then let’s see what we can do about it, shall we?”

****

Dinner was a subdued affair, which Alex found unsettling, for, whenever he had eaten with the Elves before, they had been regular chatterboxes, talking about everything under the sun, or so it seemed. Those Elves who had been out earlier, unaware of the drama that had unfolded under their roof, were naturally upset when they learned what had happened. Alex watched Finda and his two mates and Nell sitting quietly at the table along with Laurendil and Manwen, or Randall and Manuela, as they insisted they be called by everyone. They had come home all excited about their day out, ready to tell them all about their adventures, but now they sat quietly and Alex could see that Finda, especially was upset, casting furtive looks at Finrod and Glorfindel, sitting at opposite ends of the table as was their custom.

“So how long did it take you guys to find the center of the ice maze?” he asked as he dug into his pot roast, almost as good as his mother’s.

For a moment, no one answered, but then Finda shrugged. “We did not pay attention to the time.”

“The better question is: how long did it take you to find your way back out?” Derek interjected, giving them a knowing smile.

Cal actually snickered. “I’m sure it’s this way or, no, we definitely came this way. Blast! I knew we should have carved a symbol on the ice as we went.” Finda reddened in embarrassment and several people chuckled, Finrod casting a fond look at his son. Surprisingly, Nell did not sneer or make any cutting remark. She just shook her head, giving them a rueful smile.

“By the time we finally found the exit, I was feeling cold,” she said, then turned to Finrod. “How did you stand it, crossing the Helcaraxë?”

Finrod shrugged. “We did, or rather, we simply endured. Glorfindel insists that not all of us who survived the crossing physically did so mentally.”

“I watched some of the people who followed Turgon,” Glorfindel said. “I am pretty sure not all of them came away from the experience completely sane. I know I wasn’t and it took a long time to put that experience aside and concentrate on simply living in a new land.”

“So you went from a place of relative peace and comfort to carve yourselves new kingdoms and identities in the wilds of Beleriand,” Derek said.

“And wilds they were,” Laurendil responded. “In fact, in many ways, Alaska reminds me very much of Beleriand, except there were no Mortals there at first.”

“It was not an easy time for any of us,” Finrod said with a nod. “And you are right that in some ways coming here has a similar feel of starting over again, except we do not have to build our cities from scratch.”

“You know, I was thinking,” Alex said. “Gavin mentioned that most of you are feeling a bit useless because you lack employment and I suspect that’s where a lot of your sense of frustration originates. Well, I may have a possible solution.”

The Elves all gave him considering looks. “Please tell us your thoughts,” Finrod said.

“Okay. Gavin said something about training and I am assuming that means training for this war that’s coming. I know you’ve been commissioned by the Valar to begin training us Mortals though everyone seems a bit vague on just how you plan to go about it. You’re not setting up training camps or anything.”

“Not yet,” Laurendil said. “We plan to wait until spring to begin implementing such things, but it has to be circumspect. We cannot simply open up a training camp out of the blue.”

“Why not?” Derek asked and when the response to that question was raised eyebrows, he grinned. “Yeah. Open up your training camp, only don’t call it that. Call it something like ‘Wilderness Survival Camp’ and you can advertise it on the internet. Hey! You can use the zombie card.”

“What?!” more than one person exclaimed, including Alex, who gave his friend a bemused look.

“Sure,” Derek said, warming to his subject. “In your advertisement you can say something like, ‘You bought your AR-15 and you have all the gadgets for hunting down zombies, but do you really know how to survive in the wilderness when World War Z hits? Come join your fellow zombie hunters at Camp Edhellond and learn how to survive any apocalypse.’” He stared around the table, grinning like a loon. “Boot camp for zombie hunters. How can you miss?”

“And that’s a camp that you could hold throughout the year, because, let’s face it, the zombies are not going to be accommodating as far as the weather is concerned so your clients will want to train in all kinds of climate conditions,” Alex said.

“What are zombies?” someone asked.

“Oh, man, you do not want to know,” Alex said with great feeling. “Another of those Mortal things, but Derek is right. The zombie hunter thing is pretty popular with the airgun players. Creating a place where they could actually ‘play’ in the wilderness would be a good money drawer.”

“Plus, it would give you another lead in recruiting people to the cause,” Derek added, “and, of course, you can use it to train those of us already in the know. Have summer camp for the kids, at least the older ones. Many of them are probably already playing zombie tag with their friends.”

“You could get the rangers involved, too,” Alex suggested. “Some of them like Paul Pettingill are former military. I bet they could help.”

“That is something to consider,” Finrod said after a moment, casting a meaningful look around the room. “Do you have any other ideas?” he asked Alex.

“Yeah, I didn’t think about the boot camp thing, but you’ve got the internet.”

“And how does that help us?” someone asked.

“Ebay,” Alex answered. “You sell stuff, stuff you’ve made, jewelry, metalwork, even embroidery and such. Or create your own website where you advertise your wares. Trust me, you’ll have people from all over the world willing to buy craft stuff and I imagine you can make some very unique items. You’ll need to look into the logistics and the legality of it all. I know you can buy guns and ammo online, not sure about knives or swords or whatever. Other stuff like jewelry wouldn’t be a problem. Basically, you create a cottage industry with a world-wide market.”

“And if you don’t want to do the internet just yet, why not open up a place here in Wiseman where you can sell stuff?” Derek said. “Then, when you’re more comfortable with the idea, expand to the internet and watch your sales triple overnight.”

“But how does that help prepare us for the coming war?” Manwen asked.

“It doesn’t, not directly,” Vorondur interjected. “After all, how does Finrod working in a bookstore prepare anyone for the war? But he is earning his keep and interacting with the Mortals, which means that they are learning more about him and by extension the rest of us, especially you newcomers. I think Alex and Derek’s ideas have merit and should be considered carefully. Opening up a shop where you sell your handicrafts would be a good start, and if you have a workshop where people can come and watch you, that will be a better draw.”

“You could even offer classes through the adult education center, just like Loren and the others do now,” Derek pointed out. “There’re tons of ways for you to find work and you don’t have to wait around for some of us to buy the farm and leave an opening that needs to be filled, because there’ll be Mortals who are probably better qualified than you to take those jobs that do open up.”

There were considering looks all around as people contemplated what had been said.

“May we help even if we are attending the college?” Finda asked. “I am intrigued by the, what did you call it, Derek, Zombie Hunter Boot Camp?”

“Your studies come first, my son,” Finrod admonished him.

“They do not seem all that important now,” Finda retorted.

It was Alex who responded, though. “No, that’s not the right attitude, Lawrence. Yeah, sure, the boot camp thing sounds exciting and even selling stuff on ebay can be a thrill, but your dad is correct. You and Cal and Alan and Nell should continue with your college plans. Nell’s idea of helping at a daycare center is perfect, for she will be able to interact with the little tykes from the get-go. You three could eventually earn your teaching degrees and that will give you an in with the education system. There are many possibilities and because you’re going to be around long after the rest of us have gone to our eternal reward, eventually you’ll all be able to own this town and most of the surrounding area. But get your degree first.”

“Baby steps,” Derek said with a smile. “Don’t try to do everything at once. It doesn’t work, but if you take the time to plan it all out and take the long view, I bet Alex is right that within a generation, two at the most, you will be firmly entrenched in this town and even the naysayers will hopefully see the light and realize that you’re not a threat to them.”

“Your words are wise, Derek Lowell, as are yours, Alex Grant,” Finrod said. “I thank you both for offering your ideas for us to consider. I would still like to know what zombies are, though. Are they like orcs?”

“Oh no, Finrod,” Glorfindel said, “they’re nothing like. Zombies are reanimated corpses and if they bite you, you become infected and you die, but you don’t stay dead, you become a zombie too, a mindless, killing machine that knows nothing of pain or sorrow or love. Let’s hope that the Enemy doesn’t employ them for real.”

“He never bothered to before,” Daeron said. “I’m not sure he can now. As an army their only strength is in numbers, but they are mindless and need to be directed by an intelligence.”

“But you say that there are people out there who style themselves as zombie hunters?” Gilvagor asked. “How can that be if there are no zombies?”

“It’s a game,” Derek answered. “Most times it’s just shooting at targets, other times people get together and have war games, pretending to hunt zombies, using paintballs as bullets. You can use that to sell your wilderness boot camp.”

“Well, you have given us much to think on, the both of you,” Finrod said. “I am glad you have decided to stay and help us.”

Both Alex and Derek gave him surprised looks. “How did—?” And they both gave Vorondur glares.

Finrod smiled. “No, Vorondur did not tell me anything, but we all heard him taking you down, Alex. It does not take a Maia to figure out what happened in the sunroom. I imagine Vorondur gave you the choice to stay or leave.”

“Yeah, but that Námo dude already did that with us, at least with me,” Derek said. “Whatever our disagreements with you lot might be, we’re both in it for the long-haul. There’s no backing out now. We know too much and I for one have no desire to go back to being blissfully ignorant of what’s really going on.”

“Me neither,” Alex said softly. “And I’m sorry about anything I may have done or said to upset any of you. I guess I’m still dealing with issues.”

“You have much to deal with,” Finrod said with a nod, “but know that we are behind you and are willing to help you, both of you. You need only to ask.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, then, deciding it was time to change the subject, he gave Glorfindel a sly smile. “So, any dessert?”

Glorfindel grinned back. “Help clear the table and we’ll see.”

“Deal.”

Dessert turned out to be chocolate cream pie.

17: A Conversation Overheard

Alex and Derek left soon after dessert, both pleading early mornings.

“I have to be down at Marty’s by eight,” Derek told them. “He wants me to start shadowing Bobbie while she’s working so I’ll know what to do once she leaves to get married.”

“And I have a meeting with the dean to go over my teaching duties,” Alex chimed in.

“Then we’ll see you later,” Glorfindel said, seeing them to the door.

“Don’t forget our appointment at three, Alex,” Vorondur said.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there with bells on my toes and all that.”

The two Elves laughed and wished them a good night. As he closed the door, Glorfindel glanced at Vorondur. “Sure would’ve liked to have seen you taking Alex down. That must’ve been a Kodak moment if there ever was one.”

Vorondur laughed. “The expression on his face was priceless,” he averred as the two headed back down the hall to the library where others were gathering.

“How long do you think he’ll be under your care?” Glorfindel asked.

“As long as necessary,” Vorondur replied, frowning slightly. “This upcoming trial will be a dangerous time for him, I think, at least emotionally. The defense is going to try to tear his testimony to shreds, his more so than anyone else’s. Also, I’m not sure what the legalities of the situation might be with regards to Alex’s status. He’s no longer an employee of the Agency, so he cannot plead immunity, but at the same time, he took oaths to preserve state secrets and if the defense attempts to make him divulge anything of that nature, there might be a problem. I am planning to speak with Gregory Sanderson. He’s promised to be here for the trial.”

“It does seem as if this trial is moving along much quicker than usual, though,” Daeron put in, having overheard part of the conversation as Glorfindel and Vorondur found seats by the fire where they joined Finrod, who was sitting on the settee with Finda and Nell on either side of him. “I don’t think they even bothered with a grand jury investigation.”

“No, I think Madison Washburn pulled certain strings to get them to go straight to trial,” Glorfindel replied. “She wants this done and over with as quickly as possible. Farrell needs to be behind bars. The other agents…” He shrugged. “I think they’ll probably get time served for their part in the kidnapping, but who knows? They’re being tried separately from Farrell anyway and I suspect that Maddy will attempt to have those charges dropped and the boys sent packing. They’re not necessarily evil, just misguided.”

“Tell that to Zach,” Vorondur retorted with a grimace. “And that’s another thing, if Alex has to testify in all the trials, I do not guarantee his mental or emotional state.”

“Which is why I think Maddy is hoping to avoid that,” Glorfindel said. “No one really wants to be airing the Agency’s dirty laundry in public. Farrell’s actions, however, simply cannot be ignored.”

“When will Zach return?” Finda asked. “I miss him.”

“We all do,” Calandil put in from where he was seated with Laurendil and Manwen.

“He should be back any day,” Glorfindel said, giving them a warm smile. “Have you heard from him?” he asked Vorondur.

“Not directly. I spoke with my colleague, Jonathan Atherton, who’s been seeing Zach while he’s been away, and he says Zach’s dealing with things much better. Jon’s prescribed some anti-anxiety medication which I approved and I’ll monitor that once he’s back here. I plan to have him check in with me periodically.”

“And I’ll make sure he sees you whether he wants to or not,” Glorfindel promised.

“What do you think of Alex’s and Derek’s ideas about earning our keep?” Beleg asked, entering the conversation. “Zombie hunter boot camp?” He shook his head.

“I’ve heard worse ideas,” Glorfindel said with a shrug. “The zombie hunter thing is just an angle, but I think their idea of providing a wilderness training camp is sound. We certainly can recruit Paul and some of the other rangers to help out.”

“Finding an appropriate place to hold the camp might be a problem though,” Elladan pointed out. “And we’d need a lodge and cabins and such as well. If we have to start from scratch, we’re not going to be in business immediately.”

“But as Alex pointed out, time is on our side,” his twin responded.

“We need to think about it and come up with a business plan, but I think it might be doable,” Glorfindel said, “as is the idea of using the internet to sell things. Jewelry is especially a good draw.”

“We need to start small, though,” Daeron suggested. “Test the waters, so to speak. Perhaps we can ask the various lodges and resorts to sell our products on consignment. Stress the ‘made by Elves’ angle to the patrons. They won’t be souvenirs that are sold in the gift shops, but quality pieces at reasonable prices and we can certainly sell things on Ebay as well as through our own website.”

“And not everyone would be involved with creating things,” Amroth said. “Once the business is up and running you’ll need salespeople, accountants, someone to oversee everything and the like.”

“So, why do we not draw up a business plan for that as well?” Gilvagor suggested. “Those of us who are involved with Elf Academy can help out when our other duties do not take precedence, and as some of us have owned our own businesses before, we can offer suggestions and help steer you through the legal shoals of setting up a business.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Finrod said, entering the conversation for the first time. “I am curious to see how this all turns out. It is important for us all to have a purpose beyond helping to prepare the Mortals for the coming war.”

“How are you doing?” Vorondur asked him.

“I am fine, thank you,” Finrod replied a little stiffly. “Nicholas and I talked and he was very sympathetic. I fear I frightened him.”

“He’ll be fine, though,” Glorfindel assured Finrod. “Nick’s a lot stronger than you might think.”

“Lady Varda said he was a warrior though he does not know this,” Finrod rejoined.

“When did she say this?” Glorfindel asked, giving his gwador a puzzled look.

“Not long ago. It was when I was walking in the woods one night alone. She came to me and talked. Apparently the Valar were behind my being employed at the bookshop, or at least, they set it up and hoped I would take the bait.”

“She actually said that?” Vorondur enquired, giving Finrod a discerning look.

“Not in so many words,” Finrod replied, “but that is what it sounded as if she was saying. She assured me that I found the job all on my own; the Valar merely inspired Nicholas to speak with Daeron who gave him advice.”

Daeron nodded. “I remember that. I was at the bookstore just before Christmas and Nick and I started talking. He mentioned that he’d put a help wanted ad in the local rag but so far he’d gotten no takers. I suggested he put a sign in the window and see what happened, since not everyone bothers to read the want ads.”

“And apparently, I am the only person to have applied for the position,” Finrod said. He paused, frowning slightly. “I have to wonder if the Valar inspired others not to apply for the position, leaving it open for me.”

“Well we always knew they were manipulative, though they try to claim otherwise,” Glorfindel said with a shrug, “but I would not worry about it too much. As Ron pointed out once, you were very brave to apply. When you went into the shop you didn’t have to tell Nick you were looking for work. You could’ve made your purchases and walked out. But you didn’t. You took control of your own destiny. If the Valar had a hand in setting up the scenario, so be it. At least it shows they are genuinely concerned for you and wish to help you.”

For a moment, everyone in the room just stared at him with various expressions ranging from disbelief to amusement. Glorfindel scowled back.

“What?”

“That was rather… mature of you,” Vorondur said in a careful tone.

“Hello! I can do mature when I put my mind to it,” Glorfindel retorted with a disdainful sniff and everyone started laughing.

“Well, as much as I would like to stay and chat, Amroth and I should be getting back home before our wives send out the posse,” Vorondur said, standing. “I trust everything is cool here, as the Mortals would say.”

“Yeah, Ron, it’s cool,” Glorfindel replied with a grin. “Go home, the two of you. Give our best to Holly and Della and we’ll see you later.”

Vorondur and Amroth took their leave and the other Elves continued to talk about a number of subjects as the evening wore on.

****

“I still think he should apologize.”

“They seem to be friends again.”

“Looks can be deceiving, though I grant you, they seemed to be working together quite well when those Mortals were here the other day.”

“They’re gwedyr after all. Brothers argue all the time and then they make up.”

“And not necessarily in public.”

“I still think he should offer a public apology. Finrod is our leader, after all.”

“Tell that to the Wiseman Elves, my friend. They practically worship the ground the Balrog-slayer walks on.”

“It cannot last, though. Something has to give. We need one ruler, not two, and whether anyone likes it or not, Finrod is the highest-ranking of us all.”

“There’s Amroth.”

“A Silvan? Please, don’t make me laugh. He is so far below Finrod or even Glorfindel it’s not even funny. No. No one will rally behind him. It’s Finrod or Glorfindel and as there are more of us from Valinor than there are those who remained here in Middle-earth, I think we need to make it clear that Finrod is our leader and no one else.”

“But many of us are friends of them both. How can we choose between them?”

“We’re not choosing friends, we’re choosing a leader and we need to let them know that, in the final analysis, Finrod is the most logical choice. I have nothing against Glorfindel personally. He is an admirable ellon, but he is not a king.”

“Well, if it comes to that, neither is Finrod, and he hasn’t been for a very long time. I think we should just let them work it out for themselves. There’s nothing wrong with joint rule. We need Glorfindel and the other Wiseman Elves to help us. Without them we would be lost, even Finrod.”

“If only he would apologize….”

Daeron willed himself to stillness as the three Elves passed under him where he was sitting in the branches of a northern spruce enjoying the rare spring-like day with its blue sky and warm sun, a harbinger of things to come. The three had been speaking in Sindarin as they walked through the woods behind the mansion.

They were not the only Elves wandering the woods and enjoying the day. He knew that the Twins were out here somewhere playing zombie tag with Finda, Calandil, Elennen and Nell. It had been Elladan who had suggested the game and they had taken the youngsters into town the day before to purchase paintball equipment. Now, he could hear the distant peal of laughter as someone made a hit and in spite of himself he smiled.

The smile fled as he watched the three Elves he had inadvertently overheard speaking wandering away and he wondered what, if anything, he should do about it. He knew that Finrod and Glorfindel needed to know, and it saddened him that one of the Elves had been Helena. It was she who had insisted that Glorfindel make a public apology to Finrod for his reaction to what everyone was referring to as the ‘horror book episode’.

He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun and the sleepy thoughts of the tree soothe him. He recalled the last time he had ‘told’ on someone and how that all turned out. He frowned. It had been so long ago and yet it still pained him. He had been in the wrong, he knew that now, but knowing it did not change what happened. And really, the two situations were not the same.

“Help me find wisdom,” he whispered, and he had no idea to whom he sent that particular prayer or if they were even listening. He continued to sit there for a while, wondering what he should do. At one point, the sun slipped behind fleecy white clouds and the light dimmed. Sighing, he decided he’d had enough communing with nature and climbed down to the ground, quietly thanking the tree for its company before he loped away, silent as a shadow.

****

Vorondur opened the front door, surprised to see Daeron standing there. He glanced in the driveway, not seeing the loremaster’s car. “Did you walk across town?”

Daeron shrugged as Vorondur let him in and handed him a hanger for his coat. “It’s a nice day for a walk.”

“Which is why Amroth and Della are out along with Holly, taking advantage of the warm weather.”

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“Lucky for you, I am not,” Vorondur replied, giving the loremaster a shrewd look. “I had some work I needed to finish up, otherwise I would be enjoying the great outdoors with the others.”

“Oh, sorry, Ron. I didn’t think.” He started to put his coat back on but Vorondur forestalled him.

“It’s not a problem, Darren. You’re more important than a bunch of files. They’ll wait. So why didn’t you call to make sure I would be home?”

“I didn’t want others to possibly overhear,” Daeron answered. Vorondur raised an eyebrow at that and Daeron continued. “I decided that if you weren’t home, you would be eventually and I would just wait. I’m not on the clock today and I am not answerable to anyone for my movements.”

“So why don’t we go into my office and you can tell me what is troubling you,” Vorondur suggested. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea would be nice, something minty.”

“Della has a mint blend. Come into the kitchen while I put the kettle on and we can talk.”

“When will the others be back? I really don’t want to have to explain my presence or why I’m seeing you on a professional basis.”

“And are you seeing me on a professional basis?”

“I need advice and you’re the only one I can trust not to repeat what I am about to say. You’re the closest thing to a priest we have.”

“Well, to answer your original question, they left about fifteen minutes ago and they plan to be out for at least an hour, maybe more. We’ll go to my office once the tea is made and we will close the door. The others know that when my office door is closed I am not to be disturbed except for an actual emergency, such as a fire.”

“But if they see me….”

“I have their assurances that they will respect doctor-patient confidentiality and will not speak of who comes to see me, including other Elves. It was a stipulation that I insisted on when Holly and I agreed to move in with Amroth and Della.”

Daeron nodded. “Well, let me tell you what I overheard, but I prefer not to name names at this time.”

“Fair enough,” Vorondur said, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m all ears.”

Daeron told him what he had overheard, mentioning only that the conversation had been between two ellyn and an ellith, all of them Valinórean Elves. “I can give you the conversation verbatim, if you wish.” And at Vorondur’s nod, he did just that, drawing upon his training as a loremaster to instantly recall the conversation.

In the meantime, the tea was made and they retired to Vorondur’s office, what had originally been a den or guest room. Two of the walls had built-in book shelves stuffed with books. Vorondur’s desk was in front of the room’s only window on the left and there were comfortable chairs for people to sit in. It was warm and inviting and Daeron felt relaxed and… safe as he settled into one of the chairs while Vorondur took the other.

When Daeron finished his recitation, Vorondur sighed. “What you tell me is not unexpected, though I had hoped seeing Finrod and Loren working together as they did would help ease the obvious tensions between the two groups.”

“I respect Finrod,” Daeron said slowly. “I remember his visits to Doriath. He was gracious and courteous to all whatever their social status, but Loren has been our leader for so long—”

“Yours perhaps,” Vorondur interjected with a smile. “I’ve only known him for a a couple of years, though I remember him from Imladris as well, but that was a very long time ago.”

“And except for the Twins, none of you will ever appreciate what it meant to me when he found me and rescued me.”

“Rescued you? How—? No, forgive me. I do not have the right to ask you. I have noticed a certain reticence between you, Loren and the Twins when it comes to sharing your stories.”

“Not out of shame, I assure you,” Daeron replied with a sigh. “In my case… I wandered for so long, filled with guilt and grief at what I had done and in the end it came to naught. I loved Lúthien and could not save her. For a long time I blamed Beren for that, but at some point I stopped blaming anyone, including myself. It was what it was. In the meantime, I wandered into regions never tread by Elves, or so I imagined. I never came across any of the Avari.”

“Neither did I, though I found traces of them, primarily in the legends and myths of the Mortals.”

Daeron nodded. “At any rate, when Loren found me….” He stopped, putting a hand to his mouth, his eyes tearing up. He shook his head and then he was crying. Vorondur went to him and held him through his tears until they slowed and then released him, reaching over to grab some tissues sitting on an end table just for that purpose. He handed the tissues to Daeron who took them with a whispered thank you, and then busied himself with refreshing the loremaster’s tea, giving him time to compose himself.

“You are not obligated to tell me anything about yourself, Darren,” he said as he retook his seat, “but if at any time you feel a need to talk about it in a safe environment, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you,” Daeron said. “Sorry to have fallen apart on you like that. I try not to think about it too much. My life is so much different now after joining with Loren and the Twins, and then when Della and Misty entered our lives, I felt so blessed. I still do. That’s why this rift that seems to be developing between the various groups of Elves troubles me. It’s Doriath all over again.”

“Not the same, though,” Vorondur pointed out. “But I am glad you came to me about this. I agree that we need to address this situation or it will only get worse.”

“What should I do?” Daeron asked almost pleadingly. “The last time I… I told on someone, well, it did not go well.”

“To say the least,” Vorondur retorted with a grin. “I will tell you what I tell everyone who asks me the same question: do what your heart tells you to do. If you decide to remain silent, I will respect your decision and no one will hear it from me. I will support any decision you make.”

“But you will not make the decision for me,” Daeron supplied the unspoken half of that sentence.

“That is not my job, and you know this.”

“I do and I appreciate what you are saying. I just hoped… frankly, I’m not sure what I hoped in coming here.”

“You needed a safe place to think out loud and I have offered you that space,” Vorondur said. “Ah, I think I hear voices. Amroth and the ellith must be back. Shall we go greet them?”

“What about… all this?” Daeron waved his hand.

“What do you want to do?”

For a moment, Daeron did not answer, his expression still, his eyes seeing nothing of the present moment. Then he focused on Vorondur. “I owe Loren more than I can ever repay and he will always have my loyalty. I do not want to see his authority undermined or destroyed. At the same time, I respect Finrod and I respect that he and Loren are gwedyr. I think they need to be told but away from everyone else. I think they should decide how to handle the situation. I have neither the wisdom nor the authority to do so.”

“You have wisdom enough, my friend,” Vorondur said. “I can arrange the meeting if you like and in such a manner as to not arouse suspicions.”

“If you don’t mind….”

“All part of the service, and I don’t charge extra,” Vorondur said with a grin as he stood. “Why don’t we go greet the others and don’t worry, we’ll just say you came over on a whim for a visit to see how we’re settling into our new home. You’ll stay for dinner, of course.”

“Thank you, for everything,” Daeron said sincerely.

“My pleasure. Shall we?” And with that, he opened the door and the two made their way to where the others were removing coats and boots, everyone warmly greeting Daeron and describing their walk.

18: Setting the Bait

“So who’s paying for this lunch?” Derek asked as he and Alex made their way to the Gold Nugget Café and Emporium a couple of days later.

Alex grinned. “I suspect we will even though the Three Amigos were the ones to invite us.”

“That’s what I figured,” Derek said, grinning back and Alex laughed.

“I meant to ask you how things are going at the lodge. You think you can handle the pressure of being an assistant manager?”

“Yeah, I think so. Can’t be any worse than when I was in the Navy and Marty’s a good guy, very caring for his people. Only real drawback is that I’ll have to work nights one week out of the month. The assistant managers rotate shifts. Marty has a room set aside for whoever works nights so there will be one week a month when I won’t be here.”

“That’s not a problem,” Alex said with a smile. “I’m sure I can manage on my own for a week. I’ll save up all the laundry for you to do when you get back.”

“Yeah, right,” Derek responded and then they were both laughing as they reached the café. Alex opened the door to the Emporium to let Derek enter first and then they were making their way to the left where the café was, stopping at the trellised entrance. “You see them?” Derek asked, scanning the area.

“There, in the back,” Alex said, pointing, and they saw the three ellyn sitting in a booth. The two Mortals made their way through the café and the three Elves looked up at their approach, smiling.

“Afternoon,” Alex said as he undid his coat, hanging it on a nearby peg, and slid into the booth opposite the ellyn with Derek sliding in beside him. “Thanks for inviting us to lunch, though we’re sort of at a loss as to why.”

Finda shrugged. “Is this not what friends do? Even… back home, we did similar things.”

“Do you miss it, home, I mean?” Derek asked.

“A little, but everything is so exciting here, it’s hard to remember what life was like before,” Finda responded. The other two nodded.

“So, going back is not an option?” Alex asked as he looked over the menu.

“Not for me,” Calandil answered. “Before I came here I could not understand the… the attraction. I mean, I could not understand why some of our people chose not to return to Aman. Why would they want to live among Mortals? It made no sense.”

“And now?” Alex asked, giving the young ellon a shrewd look.

“Now, I see why and the thought of having to return to Aman does not please me.”

“Can you though?” Derek asked. “I mean, if you wanted to, would you or anyone else be able to?”

“Theoretically,” Elennen answered. “But it has been my experience that theory and reality do not always coincide.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” Derek said with some feeling and they all grinned.

The waitress came by just then to take their orders and for a few minutes they were busy with that. When she left, Alex asked, “So how are things at home? Everything cool?”

“Yes,” Finda answered with a nod. “Or at least, it seems that it is. We were rather sorry to have missed all the excitement the other day.”

“Especially not being there when Ron took you down,” Calandil said to Alex, giving him a sly look. “I would love to have seen that.”

“We could have sold tickets,” Derek said to Alex with a straight face.

“I was… unprepared. It won’t happen again,” Alex retorted somewhat stonily.

“Yeah, right,” Derek responded, taking a sip of water. “If ol’ Ron can take you, I wonder who else can.”

“Can we drop it?” Alex demanded, giving his friend a cold look.

“Yeah, sure. No worries, mate,” Derek said soothingly. “So you three all set for college? Won’t be long now.”

“We have our books and our classes,” Finda said, ever the spokesman for the three. “We have been granted permission to reside in one of the dormitories, Seward Hall. It is a suite. We each have our own bedroom and we share a common living area and the bathroom.”

“Will this be the first time living away from home for you?” Alex asked. “Though why I’m asking you this as if you were all eighteen, I don’t know. Surely in all your years you should have had the experience of not living at home.”

“Oh yes, but this will be the first time we will be on our own,” Calandil answered.

“Not sure I follow,” Derek said and then conversation stopped as the waitress returned with their lunches. Once everyone was settled, and the waitress had left, Derek resumed talking. “What do you mean about this being the first time being on your own?”

Calandil and Elennen looked at Finda and he shrugged. “You have to understand, Derek, Alex. Alan and I come from royal families, though we are not in the direct lines of our respective kingdoms, and Cal’s great-grandparents, Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen, are high in the councils of the Noldóran and my Atto’s closest friends. As scions of royalty, or in Cal’s case, coming from one of the noblest families in all of Eldamar, we have always been surrounded by guards and servants and courtiers. Being the son of Prince Findaráto, who is haryon to the Noldóran, meaning he is the crown prince and heir to the throne, I never went anywhere without at least two guards once I was allowed out of the nursery and had my own household.”

“Sounds… restricting,” Derek commented.

All three ellyn shrugged. “It is what it is,” Finda said philosophically. “Until now.”

“Yeah, I noticed a decided lack of guards and servants and courtiers in your group,” Alex said laconically and everyone grinned.

“And for good reason,” Elennen replied. “For one thing, there was not enough room on Vingilot and for another, Lord Findaráto forbade it, saying that once here we would have to live as the Mortals do and that meant no guards, servants or courtiers, for which I am grateful. I never realized just how restrictive my life was until I came here.”

“Yet, I suspect your life was not without its rewards,” Alex said. “I seem to recall you saying that you never had to pay for anything.”

“True,” Finda said, “and thinking back, I know how arrogant we sounded at the time, for which we apologize. We were… prats.”

“Prats?” Both Alex and Derek laughed. “Wherever did you hear that word?”

“On TV,” Calandil replied with a grin. “We had to ask Loren what it meant.”

“Ah, well that explains it,” Alex said.

For a while, conversation ceased as they concentrated on their lunches, but after a few minutes Finda spoke again. “Dan and Roy took us into town the other day and bought us paintball guns so we could play zombie tag in the woods.”

“Oh?” Both Alex and Derek raised eyebrows, giving the three Elves enquiring looks.

“Yes, we had great fun, the three of us against the Twins and Nell,” Finda replied.

“Nell!” Alex exclaimed. “How did she like it?”

“She killed Finda,” Elennen answered, giving his gwador a sly grin.

“She is very good at tracking,” Finda allowed, looking rueful.

“Dan says that there are paintball leagues,” Calandil put in, apparently changing the subject for Finda’s sake.

“I guess,” Alex said with a shrug. “Don’t know much about them.” He flashed them a wicked grin. “I was too busy doing the real thing to bother playing games.”

“The Wilderness Survival Camp idea sounds interesting,” Finda said. “I know some people are looking into it and speaking with the rangers.”

“That’s good,” Alex said.

“Maybe. Not everyone is impressed with the idea, I mean, with the idea of having the rangers help set the camp up,” Finda responded.

“Why is that?” Derek asked. “They know the wilderness like the back of their hands. Even if they don’t necessarily help with the training, and really, that’s not their job anyway, they have more knowledge about the surrounding area than any of you.”

“Yes, and I agree, we all do,” Finda said, gesturing to Calandil and Elennen. “But there are some among us who once were something like rangers, though they called themselves marchwardens, and they had little or no dealings with Mortals and so do not think they are… worthy.”

“Worthy?” Alex echoed. “Worthy of what? Trust? Friendship? Respect?”

The three ellyn looked embarrassed. “It is not that they hate Mortals or anything,” Elennen answered, “but I think they suffer from the same… disillusionment that we did when we first met you.”

“I thought those chosen to come here had to be people who knew and respected us and wanted to work beside us,” Alex countered. “Now you’re saying that is not so?”

“I think the theory did not coincide with reality,” Elennen said slowly, glancing at his two gwedyr.

“Please do not mistake us,” Finda said pleadingly. “I believe that it is this… this culture shock that Ron speaks of. We are all experiencing it to one degree or another and some of us are taking longer to adapt than others. I think once the shock wears off, those who are skeptical now will be less so. You just need to give them, us, time.”

“You can take all the time you need, Lawrence, all of you,” Alex said. “Time is, after all, on your side.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Alex assured him, giving him a warm look. “Now, let’s change the subject, shall we?”

“What do you wish to talk about?” Finda asked, looking somewhat relieved, as did Calandil and Elennen.

The two Mortals looked at one another and then Derek shrugged before turning to the ellyn. “Hmm… okay, how about you tell us what you want to do after you finish college. Do you have any specific goals in mind or are you just taking courses for fun?”

“Well, it was Ron who suggested we start with Psychology and Sociology to get an overview of Mortals and their cultures and how they think and see the world,” Finda replied. “Beyond that, we have not really planned what we will do. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Well, it depends on your own interests,” Alex said. “What did you do back home? Did you have actual duties or did you just laze about?”

“We were all involved with government,” Finda replied. “Even though I am my father’s youngest child and my oldest brother rules in Vinyalondë, I have been a part of Grandfather’s court as one of his top diplomats.”

“A diplomat! You?” Alex interrupted with a grin and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Grandfather said I was a natural,” Finda muttered with a blush, not looking at anyone. Calandil and Elennen scowled at the two Mortals in defense of their gwador.

“I’m sure he was grateful for your sharp wit and ability to adapt to any situation you found yourself in,” Derek said judiciously. “I have no doubt he was sorry to see you leave his service.”

Finda gave him a grateful look, smiling shyly. “He said I would serve him best by helping Atto.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a real good guy,” Alex said by way of apology. “I wish we could meet him, but I doubt that will ever happen.”

“Not unless the war commences,” Finda said. “He has promised that he would lead the warriors himself, as he did in the War of Wrath.”

“So, what about you, Cal, Alan? What did you do back home?” Derek asked.

“Well, I served in the Lindarin fleet,” Elennen answered, giving them a proud look. “I was the captain of my own ship and commanded several more.”

“You were in the navy?” Derek gave a low whistle. “But why did you even have a navy?”

“We were responsible for safeguarding the seas for the fishermen and we were explorers, mapping new lands.”

“And you gave that up to come here,” Alex said.

Elennen shrugged. “I did not wish for my gwedyr to have all the fun.”

Everyone laughed.

“So Cal, what did you do?” Alex asked when they had calmed down a bit.

“I come from a line of healers. My great-grandparents, my grandparents, my uncles and aunts are all healers of one stripe or another. My father is also a healer. I actually grew up in Lórien under the watchful eyes of Lord Irmo and Lady Estë and their Maiar.” He sighed, looking a bit rueful. “Unfortunately, I did not show any aptitude for the healing arts. Lord Irmo arranged for me to be apprenticed to Lord Aulë and I eventually had my own business creating jewelry and such.”

“He does beautiful work,” Finda said, giving Cal a warm smile. “See? He made these.” He put out his hand to show them a ring and the other two did the same. The rings were all the same: an emerald mounted on a silver band intricately fashioned. “He gifted these to us when we declared ourselves to be gwedyr.”

“They’re beautiful,” Alex said as he and Derek admired the rings.

“Thank you,” Calandil said shyly. “I told Loren that I would be happy to craft items to sell as you suggested. He said that it would be fine so long as it did not interfere with my studies.”

By now they had finished lunch and were ready to leave. When the waitress came with the check, Alex was prepared to pay for it, but Finda took the check. “Our treat,” he said and all three ellyn fished out wallets and began counting bills. Alex and Derek exchanged amused looks.

“Thank you,” they both said and once the bill was settled they headed out.

“Damn this snow,” Derek groused as snowflakes greeted them. “I should’ve stayed in sunny California.”

“In Tirion snow is rare though it does get cold in winter,” Finda offered. “I rather like it myself.”

“That’s because you don’t get cold,” Alex pointed out. “Well, thank you for inviting us to lunch. Next time it’ll be our treat.”

“Thank you for accepting,” Finda said. “It was very enjoyable. When Zach returns we must get together.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Derek said. “Do you know when he’s returning?”

“I believe Ron said this weekend. I know Atto would like to invite him to dinner once he’s settled. Perhaps you could join us.”

“Let us know,” Alex said and they parted, the three ellyn claiming they wished to go ice skating while Alex and Derek headed home.

As they got into Alex’s car, Derek gave his friend a shrewd look. “We Mortals are unworthy?”

“I wondered how long you would stay silent about that,” Alex replied, shoving the key into the ignition and turning over the engine, letting the car warm up. He fished about for the snow brush and stepped back outside to clean the car of snow. Derek joined him.

“So, how many of them do you think are disillusioned by us?”

“Probably only a small minority. I think most don’t see us as unworthy of anything. Certainly, I don’t get that feeling from Finrod and the Three Amigos and Nell certainly seem to like us.”

“So what should we do?”

“Nothing for now, except to keep our eyes and ears open.”

“You don’t think we should speak to Loren or Finrod about this?”

Alex shrugged as he flipped the brush around to chip at some ice that had formed on the side windows. “I suspect that was the reason for this lunch. They wanted us to know and perhaps act on the information.”

“You think so?” Derek gave him a dubious look.

“Oh yes. They had a definite purpose in inviting us, but I really don’t wish to run to Loren or Finrod or even Ron and tell tales out of school. If there’s dissension in the ranks, so to speak, it’s not our job to deal with it. They must deal with it themselves.”

“Perhaps they can’t or won’t,” Derek said as they reentered the car and Alex set off. “Perhaps that’s why the lunch. They know things are wrong but have no idea how to fix it and so they came to us. Granted, it was very subtle and no one actually begged us for help, but still, they’re our friends and they need us.”

“I know, but look at it from, say Loren’s viewpoint. We come in saying we know that some of the Elves disparage us and then what? What will that actually accomplish, other than to piss said Elves off and make the situation worse than it already is? All the words in the world won’t change their minds about us. They have to come to acceptance on their own. The only thing we can really do is keep an eye on the situation and interfere only as a last resort. I am not going to be cast in the role of being these Elves’ babysitter.”

“Fine by me,” Derek said, leaning back in his seat. “But I’ll tell you something. Those three were worried, though they put up a good front. They were worried scared and that worries me.”

“Yeah, I know. That worries me, too.”

****

The Three Amigos put on their skates and raced each other around the rink a couple of times and then slowed to skate leisurely side-by-side.

“Do you think they will help?” Calandil finally asked, looking at Finda.

“I do not know. They both stiffened when I mentioned how some of us do not find the Mortals worthy of our consideration, but they did not pursue the matter.”

“They have to help us,” Elennen put in. “Everyone respects them, even the naysayers.”

“Perhaps we were too subtle,” Calandil offered. “Perhaps we should have said something more directly, tell them how we feel.”

“I know and I was going to,” Finda said with a sigh, “but Nell told me it would be better not to. She’s the one to suggest how we should approach this and I trust her judgment.”

The other two nodded. “Well, it will be what it will be,” Elennen said philosophically. “I only hope it will be enough.”

“Násië!” Finda exclaimed and then he began speeding up and soon the three were racing each other around the rink again.

****

Násië: (Quenya) Amen! So be it!

19: The Housewarming Party

“All right, Ron, what’s this all about?” Glorfindel asked as he and Finrod entered Vorondur’s house. “The housewarming party isn’t for another hour or so. Why are we here so early?”

“If you will come into my office, I will explain,” Vorondur said. “And don’t worry, Amroth took Della and Holly out shopping so we won’t be disturbed. This way.”

“You have done a lovely job of decorating,” Finrod commented as he and Glorfindel followed Vorondur down the hall.

“Not my doing,” Vorondur said with a grin. “I stayed firmly out of the way. Holly called me a coward. I won’t bore you with what Amroth called me.”

The other two laughed. “I know what you mean,” Glorfindel said. “Except for my own room, I refused to help with putting Edhellond together, though I was willing to give my decided opinion as to where the sofa should go.”

They all chuckled as Vorondur showed them into his office, but the laughter died on Finrod’s and Glorfindel’s lips when they saw who was waiting for them.

“Darren, what are you doing here?” Glorfindel asked. “I thought you were taking a walk.”

“And I did… across town, but I’ll gladly accept a ride back.”

Glorfindel exchanged a considering look with Finrod before turning his attention to Vorondur, whose expression had become sober, what Glorfindel thought of as the ellon’s professional look. “All right, will someone explain what all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense is about?”

“Why don’t we sit and be comfortable?” Vorondur suggested. “I made some peppermint tea.”

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” Finrod said graciously.

“Yeah, sure,” Glorfindel said with a huff of annoyance, “just so long as the tea comes with an explanation.”

“I asked you both here because Darren needs to speak with you but not where anyone would notice,” Vorondur said, ignoring Glorfindel’s attitude as he poured the tea and handed out the mugs.

Glorfindel and Finrod both gave Daeron considering looks. “You are gravely troubled, mellon nîn,” Finrod said softly. “Speak. We are listening.”

Daeron, however, did not speak but sat there, looking distressed and uncomfortable. Glorfindel put his mug down and went to stand before his friend, looking down at him, his expression grave. He reached out and gently caressed the ellon’s hair. It was an intimate gesture and Daeron shivered slightly at his touch but did not shrink away.

“You know you can tell me anything,” Glorfindel said just above a whisper as he continued to stroke Daeron’s hair. “You have nothing to fear from me or Finrod.”

“I know,” Daeron whispered back. “I just hate being in this position.”

Glorfindel stopped his ministrations and crouched to be more at eye-level with the loremaster, giving him a faint smile. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met?”

“How could I forget? Those words are etched onto my very soul to this day. They helped sustain me when all was dark and hopeless.”

“Then you know that I speak the truth: I will never desert you no matter what. You can never do anything for which I will ever withhold forgiveness and indeed you can never do anything that requires it. Daeron, we’ve gone through too much together not to trust one another with each other’s secrets. And Finrod is the same. Nothing said here will be repeated outside this room. I promise.”

For a moment, the two stared into each other’s eyes and then Daeron nodded. “I overheard a disturbing conversation the other day. I came to Ron for some advice on how to handle it. I knew you and Finrod needed to be told but I was reluctant to speak of it where others might hear.”

Glorfindel straightened and returned to his chair, picking up his mug. “What did you hear?”

“I was in the woods, sitting in a tree, a northern spruce. No one saw me.” Daeron gave them a sardonic look. “They were so busy yapping at one another they weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. You would’ve thought that they were clueless Mortals.”

The other three ellyn smiled at that. “Go on,” Glorfindel said encouragingly.

“Yes, well, I didn’t hear all of the conversation but what I did hear was disturbing enough,” Daeron continued and then he proceeded to give a verbatim account of the conversation.

While Daeron related his tale, Vorondur spent the time observing the other two ellyn. Finrod was pale, his eyes sorrowful, which was rather interesting because Glorfindel, by contrast, looked as if he was ready to skewer someone with his sword, the anger barely in check.

“Who were they?” he hissed when Daeron finished.

The loremaster shook his head. “I’d rather not say.”

“Darren—”

“No, Loren, please. Don’t make me tell you who they were. Does it matter? Is it not enough that some of our people feel this way about you and want the question of who leads us decided once and for all?”

“You know, I’m not even upset about that,” Glorfindel said.

“You’re not?” Vorondur demanded, narrowing his eyes, giving him a shrewd look. “What are you upset about.”

“Amroth.”

“Amroth!” the other three exclaimed almost as one. “And why are you upset about Amroth?” Vorondur asked.

“Those sanctimonious orc-lovers have no right to disparage him,” Glorfindel spat out with fire in his eyes. “Silvan he may be, but he is of royal blood and they are not good enough to lick the mud off his boots.”

“Whoa, Loren, slow down,” Vorondur said, feeling alarmed by the ellon’s venom. “Drink some tea and get yourself under control.”

Glorfindel started to do as he was told, then grimaced, setting the mug down. “I think I need something stronger than tea right now.”

“Fine,” Vorondur said, standing. “I have some sherry stashed away somewhere. Will that do?”

Glorfindel just nodded, his expression still set. Finrod leaned over and clasped his shoulder, giving him a slight shake. “Take a deep breath, gwador. You are giving them too easy a victory.”

Glorfindel gave him a surprised look and then nodded, inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly, forcing himself to calmness. Vorondur went to the bookcase next to the window  where there was a built-in cabinet. Opening it, he brought out a decanter and several glasses, pouring some for them all. “Cheers,” he said in salute and then they all took a sip. “Feeling better?” he asked Glorfindel as he took his seat. Glorfindel nodded but did not speak.

“So, let me get this straight,” Vorondur said. “You’re not upset about what these people said about you and Finrod but about what they said about Amroth?”

Glorfindel shrugged, taking another sip of the sherry. “Shouldn’t I be? He’s my friend, our friend, after all.”

“I’m not saying that,” Vorondur retorted. “I am simply surprised that you are less angry on your own behalf than you are on behalf of another.”

“Why are you surprised?” Glorfindel asked, looking puzzled. “You should know me better than that by now.”

“I apparently don’t know you as well as I thought I did,” Vorondur said with a smile. “I had you pegged five minutes after I met you, or thought I did, but you constantly surprise me. Just when I have you figured out you go do something stupid, brave or ridiculous that sets all my pet theories on their ears.”

“Welcome to life with a Reborn,” Finrod said, chuckling. “My atar pretty much said the same thing about me. I think it comes with the territory.”

“Yet, your re-embodiment was a very long time ago, as was Loren’s,” Vorondur pointed out. “Are you saying that….”

“Once a Reborn, always a Reborn,” Finrod interjected with a nod. Glorfindel merely smirked.

“Well, a discussion for another day,” Vorondur said. “I suggest we concentrate on Daeron’s overheard conversation. It disturbs me to no end that, after all we’ve been through these last few months, anyone would think this way. I agree that the issue of leadership needs to be resolved or spelled out without any ambiguities, but I think I’ve underestimated the extent of the discontent that permeates our little group.”

“You’re not Superman, Ron, nor are you Eru Ilúvatar, so don’t beat yourself up over this,” Glorfindel said. “We’ve all been a bit clueless about this, but it has to stop here and now or we’ll tear one another apart. I am more than willing to give Finrod a public apology if that’s what it takes.”

“I disagree,” Finrod said. “I don’t need an apology, public or otherwise, whether I think you should give it or not. I will not allow others to dictate to me in this fashion.”

“Do you believe that some decision about leadership should be made, though?” Daeron asked.

“What do you think?” Finrod shot back.

“Me? I’m just a lowly loremaster, Finrod,” Daeron retorted. “And on top of that, I’m a Wiseman Elf. My first loyalty is to Loren, who was our leader long before we ever came here to become Elf Guides. If he and you decide between you that you should be our undisputed leader, I will respect that but don’t ask me to decide for you, because I won’t.”

“There is nothing lowly about you, Daeron,” Finrod said firmly. “Do not disparage your worth.”

Daeron shrugged, then sat there sipping his sherry, not looking at anyone in particular. Glorfindel gave him a shrewd glance.

“I still would like to know who those Elves were,” he said, then raised a hand to forestall Daeron’s objections. “I am not seeking to punish anyone for honestly feeling the way they do, but perhaps if we knew who felt this way we can go to them quietly and speak to them without anyone else knowing about it.”

“It might be better to address the situation openly without naming names,” Vorondur suggested. “Everyone is going to be here tonight for the party. This might be a good opportunity to decide how we will resolve this issue, and resolve it we must or, I fear, we are doomed.”

“It is true we need to show a more united front,” Finrod allowed. “If nothing else, we need to stop referring to one another as ‘Wiseman Elves’ or ‘Valinórean Elves’. This is the Troubles all over again.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking sad.

“Troubles?” Daeron asked.

“A period of time when there was much tension between the various groups of Elves living in Aman, early in the Second Age,” Glorfindel supplied. “It took some time to resolve.”

“And that is what we are short of here,” Vorondur stated. “Oh, not for us, of course, but for the Mortals. They need to see us united as much as we do, more so, because there are already groups who are less than welcoming toward us and our dissensions give them fuel for their own fire. We cannot allow that to continue.”

“So how do we resolve it?” Glorfindel asked. “Have a show of hands? Problem is, we Wiseman Elves are slightly outnumbered and many of the Valinórean Elves are friends of us both. I am tempted to suggest choosing someone else entirely to be our leader but I know that won’t be accepted. We may live in a democracy but Elves are decidedly not democratic where politics is concerned. We’re too hierarchical in our thinking, seeing the title for the man, so to speak.”

Daeron flashed them a smile. “I can’t quite see the two of you stumping for votes and making campaign promises that will never be kept.”

Glorfindel and Vorondur both chuckled though Finrod looked slightly bemused, not quite understanding the reference but having a shrewd idea of what the loremaster was talking about. “Perhaps we should have the Valar decide,” he said and the other three gave him surprised looks. “Well, it is only a suggestion, but if one of the Valar came and categorically stated that Glorfindel was to lead us or that I or that we both were to do so, it will still all protests and we can get on with things. I fear if we try to decide amongst ourselves, there will still be pockets of discontent.”

“Joint rule would be my choice,” Vorondur said, “with each of you handling a particular sphere of activity related to preparing the Mortals for the coming war. Obviously, Loren would continue as Administrator of Elf Academy and that’s been our main focus up to now. Finrod keeps insisting he has no interest in taking over that part of the operation, though I think some view that with skepticism and they are simply waiting for you to take over completely.”

“And they will be sorely disappointed,” Finrod retorted with a huff. “My orders were clear: I was not to interfere with Glorfindel’s running of Elf Academy. Unfortunately, the Valar were less than forthcoming as to what I was supposed to be doing instead.” He shook his head. “This is impossible. We cannot continue this way.”

“I agree,” Glorfindel said, “and I think we need to resolve this tonight.” He turned to Vorondur. “I fear we will be ruining the party for you, Ron. Forgive us.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I’d rather that the party be ruined than see us so divided that even the Mortals take notice.”

“So what will you do?” Daeron asked. “Enquiring minds want to know.”

If either Glorfindel or Finrod intended to answer the loremaster they were forestalled by the sound of voices. Vorondur stood up and set his glass down. “That will be Amroth and the ellith. Shall we go give them a hand?”

The others nodded and soon they were heading for the front door, giving greetings and helping with the groceries. Neither Amroth nor the ellith asked them what they were doing there so early and Daeron wondered if that was because of what Ron had told him about them agreeing to be incurious about who came to see him. For the first time he saw Ron in a wholly different light and found himself silently giving thanks to Eru for the ellon’s presence among them.

****

The other Elves arrived as scheduled, along with a few Mortals who had been invited, including Alex and Derek. The Michaelsons, Nicole Lord and her children and Tim Saunders, her beau, were also invited. The Elves all admired the house, the Mortals all came bearing gifts.

“Not that we need anything,” Ercassë said when Nicole greeted her with a gaily wrapped package, “but thank you.”

“You said it was a housewarming,” Nicole said. “One always brings a gift to a housewarming, and I know you’re not into things like this, but every home needs something to bring good luck and ward off evil spirits.”

Ercassë opened the package to reveal a kitchen witch made out of rattan and calico. “And I know just where to put it, thank you,” she said showing it to Della and Amroth.

“Come along and we’ll give you the five-cent tour,” Vorondur said.

Meanwhile Alex and Derek were mingling, giving everyone greetings. Some were cool but polite, others were more effusive. Gilvegil gave them a hearty greeting. “I hear Ron took you down,” he said with a laugh. “Sorry to have missed it.”

Alex groaned convincingly. Derek grinned. “You see, I told you we should’ve sold tickets.”

“I wasn’t prepared,” Alex insisted. “He took me by surprise.”

“Oh, yeah, the great superspy taken by surprise,” Gilvegil said with a wicked grin and then faster than either Mortal could see he was grabbing Alex and sweeping him down in one fluid motion. Derek jumped back and the Elves who happened to be in the vicinity looked on with disinterest, as if taking down Mortals was an everyday occurrence with them. The Michaelson and Lord children who happened to be in the room at the time just gaped in surprise. Alex stared up at Gilvegil in shock.

“What is this? ‘Beat up on Alex Day’ or something?” he nearly shouted, trying to push Gilvegil off him and failing.

“Take it easy, my friend,” Gilvegil said soothingly. “If I let you up do you promise not to attack?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you will not succeed.”

Alex looked to see Vorondur standing over them. “Says you.”

“Yes, says me. Alex, you are in a house full of Elves, many of whom are warriors who fought against balrogs and orcs and other denizens of the Dark. We’ve had far more experience than you in that respect. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, but do not mistake us. We are deadly in ways you can never comprehend.”

“Well, cut it out, will you? I’m getting sick and tired of you all treating me like your own personal punching bag.” Alex glared up at the two Elves.

“Easy, Alex,” Gilvegil said, holding out his hand. “Just having a bit of fun at your expense. You really make it too easy sometimes.”

Alex allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Here, have some wine,” Vorondur said, handing him a glass. Alex glared at him but took the glass and drank the wine in a single swallow.

“Okay, playtime’s over,” Derek suddenly said with a firm voice, taking the glass out of Alex’s hand and grabbing his elbow to steer him to a chair. “You sit and get yourself together, mate, and you lot back off. Honestly, it’s like supervising a playground full of alpha males or something. And don’t forget we have children present. Act accordingly.”

“That’s telling them,” Alex said with a grin. Then he moaned slightly, holding his head. “Man that was stupid. I shouldn’t have drunk all that wine in one shot without something on my stomach.”

“I’ll get you something to munch on,” Gilvegil said by way of apology and left them.

“Stay still and breathe normally, Alex,” Vorondur said. “Bathroom’s that way if you feel the need.” He pointed to his left. “And I’ll have someone bring you some water as well.”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Glorfindel asked, entering the room along with Finrod. “Ron?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with, Loren,” Vorondur said smoothly. “It’s under control. Oh, Zach, I didn’t see you there. Welcome back. How are you doing?”

Zachary Austin grinned and held up his left arm and waved it. “All mended,” he said. “Man, I really missed you guys.”

Several people, Elves and Mortals, went over to greet the young Man, congratulating him on his mended arm and welcoming him back. Derek made Alex stay in the chair and Gilvegil returned with a plate of appetizers.

“Here, eat something, and here’s some water.”

“Thanks,” Alex said softly and began nibbling on the cheese and crackers and sipping on the water as he watched Zach mingle with everyone, finally making his way to where Alex was sitting with Derek hovering over him in a protective manner. Zach shook Derek’s hand and looked down at Alex.

“Can’t stay out of trouble for five minutes, can you?”

Alex chuckled as he held out his hand to shake Zach’s. “Apparently not. Glad to see you back. Have a good holiday?”

“Yeah, sure, but I’m really glad to be back here. This is where I belong now.”

The other two nodded and they spent a few minutes speaking of inconsequential things, catching up on each other’s news. Alex felt well enough now to get up and soon the three were mingling with the others. About an hour into the party, Finrod and Glorfindel called everyone together in the basement rec room, which was the largest space in the house. Even so, it was rather crowded but no one seemed to mind. When everyone was settled, Glorfindel spoke.

“Finrod and I have decided that certain things need to be addressed tonight before we go any further. We are aware that some here are concerned about who is to lead us at this time and loyalties are being tested and divided because there’s no clear chain of command. Finrod and I think we need to resolve this issue now.”

“How does that concern us, though?” Dave Michaelson asked.

“Because you have to deal with whoever we decide should be our leader,” Glorfindel replied.

“That may be a problem,” Dave said with a frown.

“How so?” Finrod asked.

“Look, you need to see it from our perspective. If you were to ask any of us who we think is leading your merry band, nine times out of ten, I guarantee you the answer will be ‘Loren’.”

“Which is fine, as far as it goes,” Glorfindel said, “but so what? Mortals change their leadership all the time. Why should it matter to you who leads us?”

“Loren, there have been times when I wanted to strangle you in the town square in front of everyone, and there have been other times when I wanted to kiss your feet,” Dave said with a grin.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Well, just so long as you weren’t tempted to kiss other parts of my anatomy.”

The Mortals all sniggered and Alex said something in Spanish to Derek that had him nearly rolling on the floor in laughter. The Wiseman Elves reacted similarly, though one or two simply rolled their eyes. Most of the Valinórean Elves, however, glared at Dave, who ignored them, grinning widely at Glorfindel.

 “I’ll take that hit,” he said genially. “The point I’m trying to make is that we see you as the leader of the Elves because, quite frankly, we trust you and even those who are against you respect you enough not to cause trouble. None of us know Finrod, not enough to trust. He hasn’t been here long enough. So, whatever decision you make here tonight, keep in mind that whoever is chosen has to also deal with us.”

“So you are saying that if it is decided that I should lead, you Mortals will still come to Glorfindel with anything that concerns both our peoples.”

“I know it sucks, but that’s the way it is,” Dave said. “It’s taken us some time to get used to the idea of Elves at all, but if you ask the person on the street who’s their favorite Elf, I’ll bet you anything that the answer will be Loren every time.”

“Why should the opinions of Mortals matter to us, though?” Edrahil asked. “They never did before.” Several of the Valinórean Elves nodded, muttering amongst themselves.

“And that’s the sort of attitude that is going to get you all in trouble,” Alex chimed in, stepping forward slightly. “I get the feeling that some of you deem us unworthy of your consideration. You are dismissive of us, remembering our ancestors who lived under your benevolence and patronage. I suspect that you conveniently forget that they also fought and died for you.”

“We do not forget,” Finrod said softly.

“No, I’m sure you do not, but I know that there are those among you who had no dealings with Mortals at all and they may be suffering from… disillusionment. We don’t measure up to their expectations and so they dismiss us as unimportant, but the sad truth, boys and girls, is that you need us far more than we need you.”

“Alex speaks truly,” Vorondur said. “I know that this is not true of us all, but there are some I suspect who feel that Mortals are not really all that important.”

“Except as cannon fodder,” Derek interjected.

“No, Derek,” Finrod said firmly. “That you are not. You are our allies.”

“Then you need to start treating us that way,” Derek shot back, pointing a finger at them. “You go around beating up on Alex because you can and call it sport.” He glared at Gilvegil who had the grace to blush. “You sneer at us and leave us out of your discussions, deigning to tell us afterwards what role you’ve decided we shall play in your little war game. We have Maiar and Valar popping in and out all over the place assuring us that we’re important to the war effort but frankly I don’t see it. It’s all about you and we’re just an afterthought, as usual. Elves first and the rest of us a sorry second. Even God thinks so, according to you.”

There was a stunned silence as everyone stared at Derek, many of the Elves in disbelief, some of the Mortals nodding as if in agreement. A sigh came from nowhere and everywhere and somehow standing in their midst was Manwë, his robes of sky blue and rose billowing in a breeze that none there felt, a diadem gracing his head.

“Please forgive me for intruding,” he said mildly, giving them a gracious smile, “but I could not help overhearing your discussion and decided to… um… drop in for a chat.”

****

Mellon nîn: (Sindarin) My friend.

20: Chatting with Manwë

Finrod was the first to recover from his shock, giving Manwë a bow. “You are always welcome, my lord.”

The other Elves also bowed but the Mortals just goggled, most of them not even sure who Manwë was.

“Maia or Vala?” Dave said, looking at Glorfindel.

“A Vala, Dave. Actually, you can probably say the Vala. Let me make you known to Manwë, the Elder King of Arda and Eru’s vice-gerent.”

“Vice what?” young Adam Lord asked in puzzlement from where he was standing with his mother and siblings. Tim Saunders had a supportive arm around the youngster’s shoulders.

Manwë smiled. “It means that I stand in Eru’s stead in all matters concerning Eä.”

“Oh, so you’re like a deputy or something.”

“Yes, something like that,” Manwë allowed.

“Wait, you said you overheard us,” Jenna Michaelson said, giving him a glare. “You’re spying on us?”

The Elves all stirred at that accusation, but if Manwë was upset, he did not show it. “Spying? No. I have no need to spy. How can I explain it? What you see before you is merely a projection, what we call a fana. We Valar are spiritual beings. We have no actual physical form. We create the illusion of physicality for your benefit. As a spiritual being, I am aware of all that occurs within this Little Kingdom, as Tulkas calls the universe, and in comparison to the Timeless Halls, it is indeed quite small, though you think it otherwise. Even as I am standing here speaking with you, I am simultaneously having a rather amusing and quite irreverent conversation with Ingwë about the latest fashion among the ellith.” He paused and gave them a conspiratorial smile. “Ingwë is rather… old-fashioned about some things.”

Some of the Elves acquainted with Ingwë smiled.

“And at the same time,” Manwë continued. “I am also about twenty-three billion light years away in another galaxy completely overseeing the burgeoning of intelligent life on a planet similar to this one, though its denizens look nothing like you and it’s doubtful you and they will ever meet.”

Now even the Elves stared at him in disbelief and awe at what he said. Then young Caleb grinned, pointing at Manwë. “I remember you!” he crowed. “You had an owl.”

“Caleb, it’s impolite to point,” Nicole admonished her youngest, reaching to pull the boy’s arm down.

“That’s quite all right, my dear,” Manwë said with a smile. “Come here, child.”

Caleb looked to his mother for permission and when she nodded he stepped forward, gazing up at the Vala without fear. Manwë crouched down to be at eye level with him.

“Do you like my gift?”

The boy gave him a puzzled look. “What gift?”

Manwë gestured with his chin, looking beyond the boy at Tim Saunders, who paled under the Vala’s regard. Caleb turned to see where Manwë was looking and then turned back, his expression still one of puzzlement. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Your mother’s friend, Timothy. He was our gift to you and your family,” Manwë answered.

“But how can he be a gift?” Caleb demanded with all the indignation of a nearly six-year-old at the illogic of adults. “He didn’t come all wrapped up in a box.”

Several people, Elves and Mortals alike, attempted to hide their smiles at the child’s literalness. Tim blushed, as did Nicole, while Jenna gave her friend a knowing smile. Manwë kept his own expression solemn, apparently taking the child’s statement with all seriousness.

“No, he did not come in a box, but he came into your lives. Are you not happy that he did?”

Caleb nodded. “He tells funny stories and he likes chocolate chip ice cream.”

All the adults smiled indulgently at the child, understanding what he was saying.

“Ah, then he was definitely the right gift for you and your family,” Manwë said, glancing over Caleb’s head to smile warmly at Tim, who blushed even more, but looked immensely pleased at the same time. Nicole leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Manwë stood and placed a hand on Caleb’s head. He said nothing, but the Elves at least felt the power flowing from him in blessing. Then he released him and the boy went back to his mother. Manwë looked about the room.

“So where were we?” he said rhetorically. “Ah, yes. I will not dictate to you to do this or that. That is not why I am here. I will, however, explain how we Valar view the situation, and perhaps, in doing so, provide you with some ideas as to how to continue from here.”

He paused, glancing around, as if gauging everyone’s reactions. “Let me address Derek’s concerns first.” Derek startled, his eyes widening and he started to protest, but Manwë raised a hand to still him. “I am not here to criticize or judge, child, but to clarify certain misconceptions. Such terms as ‘Firstborn’, ‘Secondborn’ and ‘Aftercomers’, terms invented by the Elves, not by the Valar, imply that Mortals are indeed afterthoughts, not really worthy of regard. We Valar never thought of any of you in that light, however, for we understood that your existence simultaneously arose with that of the Elves within the mind of Eru. You and the Elves are coeval in Eru’s Thoughts, though you awoke within Eä at different times and to different circumstances. You are both Children of Eru and his alone, for we who helped to shape the universe as you know it today had nothing to do with your creation. Each race has gifts and abilities the other does not, and yes, you who are Mortal may think that the distribution of such gifts is rather uneven and in favor of the Elves, but a careful examination will show you that this perception is not necessarily true.”

“So what gifts do we bring to the table that are equal to anything the Elves have?” Dave asked.

“That is something each of you must decide for yourselves,” Manwë answered. “Alex claimed that you Elves needed the Mortals more than they needed you, but in truth, you need each other.” He turned to Finrod. “Do you recall what I said at the Midwinter celebration that marked the first All-Aman Conference?”

Finrod nodded. “You mentioned something about each of us being candles.”

Manwë gestured and everyone gasped as all the lights went out, plunging them into total darkness. Before anyone could respond further, a single lit candle appeared in Manwë’s hand.

“A single candle is weak and fitful in its illumination and cannot fully drive away the darkness,” he said, “but a multitude of candles may.” Now a whole host of lit candles appeared, floating in the air above them, brightening the room. There was much oohing and aahing among them as they looked up in amazement. Manwë continued speaking. “When you each contribute your one little light to the whole, welcoming the light of others, then you are strong and the Dark cannot conquer you. Do not dismiss the light of your fellows, be they Elves or Mortals. It may be that the one light that you disdain is the one most needed to keep the Dark at bay.” As he finished speaking, he gestured and all the candles disappeared and the ceiling lights came on, causing everyone to blink.

“How did you do that?” Caleb demanded, giving Manwë a childish glare.

Manwë placed a finger to his lips. “Trade secret,” he replied with a smile before turning to address the adults. “Now I know the main concern among you is the question of leadership. I understand that there are elections coming up in the near future.”

“The mayoral race,” Dave said with a nod. “Harry Whitman just announced he’s not running for another term so everyone is scrambling to find a suitable candidate.” He grimaced. “Damn Harry. If he were running again, there’d be no question who would win, but now, it’s a crap shoot and we may all lose if the wrong person gets in.”

“And that is certainly something to keep our eyes on,” Manwë said. “I only bring it up because that is one solution to the question of leadership among the Elves: vote on it. Make it anonymous and have one of your Mortal friends count the votes.”

“Do we get to vote as well?” Nicole asked.

“If the Mortals vote then there’s no point in an election because we all know for whom they will vote,” Edrahil spoke up, glancing at Glorfindel.

“Oh, not necessarily,” Nicole retorted with a smile. “Finrod impressed a lot of people with his court.”

“Well, voting is only one option and not necessarily the best,” Manwë said. “There are other ways of deciding, including not deciding at all between them but acknowledging that they are both your leaders.”

“I’ve been saying all along that joint rule is the way to go,” Vorondur said where he stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. “If we have a clear understanding of what each of them has control over and what they have in common then we can go to either one and they can decide together.”

“I’m not sure I understand that,” Zach said.

“Loren is Administrator of Elf Academy,” Vorondur explained. “Anything that has to do with the Academy is for him to decide and we would go to him if we have a problem related to Elf Academy. We wouldn’t go to Finrod. On the other hand, relations between Elves and Mortals would be something that both can and should handle and if there are concerns in that area, then either one can be consulted and they would decide between them as to the course of action to be taken and in such cases where one speaks, the other speaks as well.”

“That is very much how we Valar do things,” Manwë interjected. “Each of us has a sphere of influence and we do not interfere with that, so, for example, how Námo administers the Halls of Mandos is for him alone to decide and even I have not the power to naysay him, but if one of us speaks outside of his or her particular sphere of influence, he or she speaks for all of us, for we all have agreed on it, though even now the Elves prefer to hear it from my lips as the Elder King. They still see the other Valar as more my emissaries and we have allowed them to think that way since it makes them feel more comfortable, but it is not how we actually operate.”

Silence hung about them as everyone contemplated Manwë’s words. The children, however, were fidgeting, bored by all the grownup talk. Manwë gave them an indulgent smile. “Boring isn’t it?” he said, addressing the children who nodded in agreement, much to the adults’ amusement. “I think so too,” Manwë confided, “but we all know how… slow the grownups are at times, don’t we?” He cast a wicked grin at said grownups, all of whom started blushing.

“You’re a grownup,” Kathy Michaelson pointed out.

“Really?” Manwë feigned surprise. “That’s not what my wife says.”

Now the children were giggling and many of the adults were trying vainly to smother their laughter and there followed a sudden bout of coughing and throat clearing among them. Manwë’s smile widened.

“I will leave you now,” he said, his tone deepening and his expression becoming more grave, “but before I do, I will issue one command to you Mortals, and you will pass it on to your friends and neighbors.” The Mortals gave him wary looks. “Oh, nothing you cannot handle, I assure you. I merely wish to remind you that whatever decision the Elves make concerning who among them will be their leader, you are to respect it and them. If it is decided, for instance, that Finrod will lead, you are not to go to Glorfindel instead. Do not seek to undermine the authority of whoever is chosen.”

“We’re not idiots, sir,” Dave said with a scowl, “and we know how to play the game. I have to do it every time there’s an election. We all do. We may not care for the change in leadership, but we adapt, as always. So please do not insult us. We get enough of that from them.” He nodded in the general direction of the Elves standing around him, some of the Elves bristling.

“Ah, Dave, you might want to try being a bit more polite,” Glorfindel said with a thin smile. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re speaking to the Elder King of Arda.”

Dave gave Glorfindel a disbelieving look. “I’m a lot ruder when I speak to God, Loren. If Manwë can’t handle the heat he should get out of the kitchen and that goes for everyone else. As far as I’m concerned, his command to us was uncalled for.”

“You said yourself that you see me as the leader because you trust me,” Glorfindel reminded him.

“I know what I said, Loren, and it’s true, up to a point. We trust you because we know you, but don’t think that trust came easily or suddenly. You’ve proven yourself to us over the last couple of years. Finrod is too new here for any of us to really know him and trust him. A year from now, that might and most likely will change. I have no problem with how you decide amongst you who will be your leader, but recognize that we Mortals will have to deal with that leader and if there is no basis of trust, then we’re all in trouble.”

“Yet, you had no problem working with me from the very beginning,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“Shock,” Dave retorted with a grin. “We were all so much in shock that if you had told us to jump we would all have asked how high and in which direction. By the time the shock wore off we were too used to having you around. So, when you spoke, we listened.”

“That’s true,” Tim Saunders interjected. “I know that’s how I felt, but I agree with Dave. We may be clueless Mortals but we’re none of us babes in the woods. Whoever you decide should be your leader, we will respect that decision and work with that person for the benefit of all. Frankly, I’d like to see more of you lot be involved with government, be on the town council where policies are shaped.”

“There are reasons why we have not attempted to do so,” Glorfindel said. “Up to now we’ve primarily been concentrating on Elf Academy. We’re not in any position to take over Wiseman.”

“I’m not saying that,” Tim retorted. “I’m saying you should be more involved in policy-making. If you really want to succeed here you need to be seen as being more active in community life, including politics. Yeah, I know, politics is the bane of our existence, but it’s a fact of life and you need to acknowledge that. The upcoming mayoral election might be an opportunity for some of you to be more active in the community, working with the rest of us to assure that the right person gets elected.”

“Do we know who the candidates are at this point?” Amroth asked.

“I know Tom Peterson is in the running,” Dave answered with a snort of disgust. “He made the announcement within an hour of Harry’s. He’s got a strong backing with the conservative religious groups and the neo-Nazi Elf-haters as Carl likes to call them. I haven’t heard about any other candidates as yet, though they have to declare themselves by the end of the month to be considered in the running.”

“Then you have much to discuss and to plan,” Manwë said and nearly everyone started, having forgotten he was there. “And David, if I have offended you, I apologize. It was not my intent, but understand that I’ve known your people for a very long time and I know Wiseman quite well. You do not think that we Valar just drew Wiseman’s name out of a hat or threw darts at a map in making our decision to have the Elves come here, do you? No child, the plans for Wiseman and Elf Academy have been in the works for well over a century.”

“Wiseman’s only been settled since 1919,” Jenna Michaelson said. “Are you saying you’ve been watching us since the first settlers came?”

“Oh, for longer than that, my dear,” Manwë answered with a smile. “Who do you think inspired those first settlers to come here in the first place?” And before anyone could respond, he simply wasn’t there.

For a moment, no one moved, all of them staring at the space that Manwë had occupied. Finally, Finrod, who had remained silent through all the discussion, looked over at Glorfindel. “Shall we rule together, Brother?”

“I have no problems with that,” Glorfindel answered. “What about the rest of you?”

“What responsibilities will you share and what will be separate?” Daeron asked.

“Well, Elf Academy is mine, obviously,” Glorfindel said. “I wouldn’t mind having Finrod handle anything dealing with Wiseman, though. Elf Academy is headache enough.”

“And anything that falls into a gray area of concern, you can come to either one of us and we will issue a joint decision,” Finrod added.

“And that includes any problems you have about us,” Glorfindel said, gesturing to Finrod and then himself. “I know some of you aren’t happy about how I handled a certain episode recently, and that’s fine, but instead of griping behind our backs about it and spreading discontent through the rest of Edhellond, man up, as the Mortals say, and bring it to our attention so we can all deal with it out in the open. We need to start thinking of ourselves as one community and not as two.”

“Now, this was supposed to be a housewarming party, not a council meeting,” Finrod said. “So, let us put aside our concerns for the moment and enjoy ourselves, shall we? I do not know about anyone else but I think it is time to have fun. Does anyone know a good game that we can all play?”

“Hide and find?” Brethil suggested with a smile.

“But only if we find all the doors and windows are locked and we cannot get out,” Finrod retorted with a grin. “Besides, I do not think this house is big enough to hide in with much success.”

“Well, we hate to be party-poopers, but I have to be at work early tomorrow,” Dave said. “So we’ll say good night.”

“We’ll see you out,” Vorondur said and everyone said good-night to the Michaelsons. Nicole decided that she would leave as well, pleading the fact that it was already past Caleb’s bedtime and indeed the child was nearly asleep on his feet. Tim picked him up and carried him. Zach, Alex and Derek, however, decided to stay. Some of the Elves also left, those who were on duty at the hospital in the morning, stating that Gregory Harris would be testing them on certain procedures.

“We need to review our notes,” Laurendil said as he, Manwen and Vardamir said good night. “We’ll see you all later.”

The rest of the Elves decided to entertain themselves with song and story and that is how the remainder of the evening went. Alex, Derek and Zach excused themselves around midnight and everyone wished them a good night. Finda, Calandil and Elennen went with them, stating that they wished to return to Edhellond. Alex offered them a ride, which they accepted. Once they saw Zach on his way, they climbed into Alex’s car. No one spoke as Alex maneuvered along the silent streets of Wiseman. He pulled into Edhellond and the three Elves climbed out. Finda knocked on Alex’s window, which he opened.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Alex asked.

“For doing what we could not,” came the answer. “I do not know if it will do any good, but we hope that what you both had to say tonight will cause others to think carefully about their own attitudes concerning Mortals.”

“You’ve certainly changed your tune on that score,” Alex couldn’t help saying with a grin.

Finda seemed to blush, though it was difficult to see in the darkness. “I had good teachers,” he said. “We all did. Good night.” He stepped away and Alex and Derek called out good-nights before Alex closed the window and drove off.

21: Finrod Gets Religion

Sunday morning, Finrod felt restless for some reason, and so, shortly after nine, once breakfast was over, he announced that he was going to take a walk. Several people offered to join him, including Glorfindel.

“We could spend the time discussing how we will handle things between us,” he suggested.

“And under other circumstances, I would welcome such discussion,” Finrod said, “but I really need to be alone, I think. Perhaps when I return we can discuss it.”

“Well, enjoy your walk then,” Glorfindel said with a smile.

“I will not be very long, perhaps just an hour or so,” Finrod promised and he grabbed his cloak and stepped outside, breathing in the fresh air with delight, enjoying the cold, piney scent on the breeze, which was unusually mild, hinting of spring yet to come. The sky was still dark, but most of the stars were fading into the midnight blue. The sun would be rising shortly, though it would not be staying for very long yet. Still, he could tell that already the daylight was lasting longer. He made his way past the gates and turned right, taking Kodiak with the intention of strolling through town. There was little traffic and no pedestrians, giving the place a deserted feel. As he reached the corner where St. Mary’s was, however, he saw the cars and heard the singing. The church was all lit up and its stained glass windows shone in a multitude of colors. On an impulse, he entered.

Once inside the foyer, Finrod hesitated, unsure of his welcome, and willed himself to stillness and being unnoticed by the Mortals. From where he stood he could see that nearly every pew was occupied and some people were standing in the back. Glorfindel had told him something about such places and their purpose, but the idea of worship was alien to him, for when one conversed with Valar on a regular basis, there was no need of worship. It seemed to be a Mortal need.

Curiosity drove him forward, stopping at the doorway into the sanctuary, not quite entering it, fearful of offending anyone with his presence. One or two of those standing in the back looked to see who had come in, and their eyes widened in surprise at the sight of him, but no one attempted to deny him entrance or ask him to leave. Had any done so, he would have complied with all humility, apologizing for his intrusion, but that did not happen and so he stood there in the doorway, his gaze taking in everything. Everyone was standing and he saw Charles in green robes standing at a podium and he was reading from a book.

“….A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho….”

Finrod listened to the tale of a man being left for dead with interest, wondering what the story was meant to convey. He was unsure what a Levite was or who a Samaritan was, but he felt he knew the moral as Charles finished reading.

“The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ,” the old priest intoned, holding the book up.

“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ,” the congregation said in return and then sat.

Charles placed the book on a side table and then came down from the altar to speak. “‘Who is my neighbor?’ the young scholar of the law asked. Now, on the face of it, that’s a pretty stupid question. After all, most of us know who are neighbors are, don’t we? Yet, what the young man is truly asking Jesus is: who should I consider my neighbor? Remember, he was a scholar of the law, he was probably a Pharisee, well versed in all the laws of the Jews and a faithful follower of them, yet, he needs to know just who, under the law, is his neighbor. Jesus, as was typical, answered with a parable. Now, you have to understand just how radical this story is. The man attacked by robbers is assumed to be a Jew and the first two people who come upon him, the priest and the Levite, were careful followers of the law, but they did not assist the victim, for under Jewish law, they probably would have become ritually unclean. It was a Samaritan, whom the Jews hated for many historical reasons I won’t bore you with, who comes to the poor man’s rescue.

“So you may say to yourself: I guess, like the Samaritan, I’m supposed to show compassion and do good works and that’s how I will earn my ticket to heaven. But that is not what Jesus is telling us here. Oh no, my friends, he’s not saying that at all. What he is describing is how God sees us, each and every one of us. God’s love and compassion makes human distinctions irrelevant, just as it did for the Samaritan. The Samaritan saw a fellow human in need and responded accordingly, without thought for himself. God does the same.

“And now you will say to yourself: Well that’s all fine and good, but what does that have to do with anything? I’m a good person. I treat most people fairly, although Mr. Smith across the street drives me bananas with his loud music and I could cheerfully strangle Mrs. Jones, the miserable gossip. So what’s the deal?”

The congregation chuckled at this point and Charles smiled. “The deal, my friends, is this. Who is my neighbor? That is the burning question of the day. Who is my neighbor? And the short answer is: everyone.”

All the time he was speaking, the priest had been moving back and forth, speaking directly to individuals in the pews, but at that moment, he happened to look up and his gaze locked onto Finrod and he hesitated for a split second before resuming his speech.

“Our neighbor is not just the person living next door to us, or across the street. Our neighbor is not just a member of this parish or a resident of Wiseman. Our neighbor is the stranger who shows up at the café for a cup of coffee on his way to Deadhorse. Our neighbor is the alien among us, come to us from distant shores. Our neighbor is anyone and everyone we encounter in our daily lives and like God, we are enjoined not to make any distinctions between them. They are our neighbors and our fellow sojourners in life, and just as the Samaritan showed spontaneous love and compassion for the man who fell victim to robbers, so we must do the same to whomever we meet, whether we think they deserve it or not.”

The priest spent a few more minutes speaking, mentioning passages from other readings which Finrod had missed hearing before finishing and making his way up to the altar to stand before a chair. “So let us stand and profess our faith. I believe in God….”

The congregation stood and began reciting the Creed, but Finrod paid little attention to it or to what followed. He was thinking of leaving, not wishing to intrude any further, but curiosity kept him rooted and he watched the ceremony unfold. He little understood what was being said or done or why and he vowed to himself to speak with Charles later.

“Let us offer each other a sign of peace,” Charles said and people began turning to one another to shake hands or, in some cases, exchange kisses. Finrod remained standing where he was, an island of stillness in a sea of movement. And then he saw a child, a young boy of perhaps ten or twelve approach him, holding out his hand. “Peace be with you,” he whispered shyly. Finrod felt rather than saw those nearby becoming still, watching. He looked down at the child and smiled, taking the proffered hand. “Sérë asetyë, hinya,” he said softly. “Hantanyet.”

The boy grinned and then ran back to his family where his mother gathered him into her arms and kissed him. The father nodded gravely at Finrod, who nodded back. He decided it was time to leave and ignoring the looks of the Mortals around him, he pulled up his hood and walked out of the church to resume his walk.

He was not sure where he was going, but he felt driven for some reason as he crossed through the town square and onto a side street, one he’d never been down before. He came upon a small white brick building nestled between two stores. A sign outside announced that it was the ‘Hickory Street New Jerusalem Gospel Church, Rev. Josiah Makepeace, Pastor.’ He could hear singing, something bright and cheerful and full of joy, and it drew him. He stepped inside, expecting to see something similar to what he had seen in St. Mary’s, but this was different. For one thing, it was very plain and there was no altar to speak of. A large group of people dressed in red and gold robes stood to one side and they were singing and clapping their hands, but so was everyone else sitting in the pews. Most of the people there were African-Americans, if he recalled the designation correctly, but there was a sprinkling of others with lighter skin tones and even a few whom he recognized as oriental. To his surprise, he saw his employer, Nicholas Greene, sitting in a pew to his right, singing and clapping along with everyone else.

Someone came up to him, a young Man with dark skin and a wide smile, dressed in what Finrod knew passed as formal wear among the Mortals of this day.

“Welcome, Brother!” the Man said, holding out his hand to shake.

“I do not wish to intrude—”

“All are welcome, sir. I’m Marcus Makepeace, by the way.”

“Quinn O’Brien,” Finrod answered automatically. Marcus gave him a surprised look, but he ignored it. “Makepeace. You are a relation of Josiah Makepeace?”

Marcus’ smile widened even more and he straightened. “My dad,” he said proudly.

The choir finished its song and then a Man stepped forward in black robes. His features were an older version of Marcus’ and Finrod knew this was the young Man’s father, Josiah Makepeace. The Man stood before a podium and began speaking. “Matthew five, verses forty-three to forty-eight. You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” As he finished reading, he closed the book.

“Amen,” the congregation intoned.

Josiah Makepeace moved down to speak more directly with the people. “Love your enemies. Now there’s a hard saying. It’s hard enough just to love your neighbor!” He pointed to a Man in the front row to his left. “Walter, here, don’t even like his neighbor, and Emily returns the favor.” Now he pointed to a Woman sitting three rows back on the other side of the aisle. There was some mild tittering in the audience. “Oh yes! We’ve seen you, both of you, snarling at one another, don’t you be thinking we haven’t. The whole town knows you two can’t abide one another.” He gave them what appeared to be a malicious grin, but Finrod detected a glint of amusement mingled with love, similar to one he had seen on many a Vala’s face when dealing with an Elf. Both Walter and Emily appeared abashed, keeping their eyes down.

“And if we poor Mortals can see it, surely the Lord can,” Makepeace continued.

“Amen, Brother!” someone shouted.

“Praise the Lord!” another added and there was a great deal of head nodding all around.

Finrod glanced at Marcus standing beside him, the young Man’s face wreathed with a smile and catching Finrod’s eyes, he winked, leaning over to whisper. “Dad always likes to pick on people. Ain’t no one who hasn’t been mentioned in one of Dad’s sermons.”

Finrod nodded and turned his attention to Josiah who was still speaking. “Love your enemies! Love your neighbor. Love God. Love. Love. LOVE!” He held out his hands wide, arching his back so he was looking up at the ceiling, though his eyes were closed. He held the pose for a split second before lowering his hands and looking about him. “The Lord don’t tell us to love just our neighbors, as he mentions in the Parable of the Good Samaritan.” Finrod started at that, remembering what had been read at St. Mary’s. “He don’t tell us just to love God and ourselves and nobody else. No. He tells us to love everyone.”

“Tell it like it is, Reverend,” someone yelled out.

Finrod hid a smile, amused by the people in the pews commenting on Josiah’s words. He had a sudden image of his atar’s court and people saying things like ‘Good judgment, Arafinwë’ and ‘That’s telling them, Sire’ and forced himself not to laugh out loud at the ludicrousness of it all, though he suspected that his atar would find it all very amusing.

Josiah moved up the central aisle to speak to someone in the fourth row. “Do you love everyone Asa Danforth?”

“I surely do, Rev’rend,” the Man said with a nod. He was elderly, with snow-white hair.

“Even those godless Elves?” Josiah whispered, though everyone in the church heard him.

Finrod stiffened and a thrill of fear ran through him as he unconsciously went for a sword that was not there. He started backing up, determined to leave, but Marcus grabbed him by the arm and whispered, “No, Brother. Don’t be running away. You’ll miss the best part.”

Finrod stared at the young Man, seeing the light of anticipation in his eyes, recognizing that Marcus knew exactly what his father was going to say and relishing the outcome. That alone intrigued him, and he relaxed slightly. Marcus released him, turning his attention to the drama unfolding before him. Finrod followed suit. Josiah had not moved, and neither had anyone else.

Asa Danforth just goggled at the pastor. “Wha’ you mean, Rev’rend? Them Elves ain’t human. Why should I love them or give them the time of day?”

“Why indeed?” Josiah said rhetorically. “Who are your enemies, Asa?”

“Why, nobody,” Asa replied hotly. “I ain’t got no enemies to speak of.”

“Indeed?” Josiah retorted skeptically. “I beg to differ.” He turned to look directly at Finrod and pointed. “There is your enemy!” he shouted and everyone turned to look and several people gasped and not a few moaned, looking terrified. Finrod found he could not move, frozen to the spot as he stared at the Man pointing at him, wondering how he was going to get out of there alive.

“Yes, he’s the enemy, ain’t he?” Josiah said with a sneer. “Not human, godless, ain’t got no soul, a deceiver and a liar, seducing your children to the Dark. Ain’t that true, Brothers? Ain’t that true, Sisters?”

Finrod felt his blood freeze as the litany of hate rolled off Josiah’s lips.

“Praise the Lord,” someone said rather faintly.

“Amen” and “Alleluia” were also uttered by one or two of the congregation.

“THEN LOVE HIM!” Josiah nearly screamed. “Pray for him!”

“Bu…but… Rev’rend he… he’s an Elf,” a Woman protested.

“But he’s your enemy, Carlotta. You just said so. And what does Jesus tell us to do? Love your enemies.” He glanced around, apparently gauging everyone’s reactions. Finrod noticed Nicholas sitting there grinning like an idiot and he could not figure out why. Did Nicholas truly believe him an enemy? The thought saddened and sickened him and he wanted to just leave, but the next words out of Josiah’s mouth stayed him.

“If you love someone, are they not your friends? Are they not your family? If you love someone, how then can they be your enemy? ‘Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect’ Jesus tells us. He don’t tell us to be good. He don’t tell us to be friendly. He tells us to be PERFECT! Are you perfect, Daniel?” He pointed to a young Man who shook his head in embarrassment. “Are you, Graciella?” he asked a middle-aged Woman who shrugged and gave him a tentative smile. “No. We’re none of us perfect. Why? Because we don’t love our enemies or those we think are our enemies. How can we call ourselves Christians, followers of Jesus, if we have hatred in our hearts for just one person?”’

“Elves ain’t persons, Rev’rend,” Asa retorted. “Ev’ryone knows that.”

“I don’t,” Josiah shot back.

“But they’s not in the Good Book,” a Woman shouted. “They’s devil spawn.”

Finrod felt himself grow faint, the air closing in. Marcus grabbed his elbow. “Steady, Brother. If you faint or leave, you’ll miss the best part.”

Finrod’s eyes widened and he steeled himself, focusing on Josiah, whose expression one could only call triumphant, as if he’d just won a great battle, and perhaps he had or was about to, Finrod realized: a battle for these people’s souls.

“True, true. I searched every word and passage and saw no mention of Elves,” Josiah allowed. “Saw no mention of dinosaurs, either, but we’ve seen their bones and know that once they ruled this world, before any of our ancestors ever came to be. Why not Elves? Who are we to tell God who He can and cannot create? We’re nothing but clay, my friends. Does the clay tell the potter what to make or how to make it? No! Nor should we. If there be no mention of Elves in the Bible, so what? There’s no mention of television or cell phones or computers either, yet we have them and use them and no one says, ‘Oh they’s the devil’s work’.”

“Except when they don’t work properly,” someone said and there were titters of laughter all around.

Josiah smiled. “Love your enemies, whoever they are,” he said softly, returning to the topic of his sermon. “Jesus doesn’t say, ‘Love the people you think deserve it’ and he doesn’t say ‘Love your enemies whenever you feel like it’. He says ‘Love your enemies and pray for them’. We pray for our friends and our family all the time. How many of us truly pray for those we think are our enemies?  And that’s the key, isn’t it? We think they are our enemies, but God doesn’t. You want to know why?”

“Tell us, Reverend!” someone shouted.

“Because God doesn’t see enemies. He sees children. His children. His creations. His universe and everything and everyone in it, including Elves. They’re all his and he loves it… and us… and him.” He pointed at Finrod. “And if God loves him, how can we dare do anything less? If we call ourselves God’s children, then we’d best be acting like it. Love your enemies and you will find that you have none, only friends.”

The silence that followed that statement was complete. Josiah remained still for a brief moment and then straightened. “Hymn one-forty,” he said as he turned to walk back to his chair. The choir rose somewhat hastily and there was a great deal of scrambling about as people grabbed hymnbooks. The organ sounded and then people began singing an upbeat song, the choir clapping and swaying in rhythm:

“Holiness is faithfulness, holiness is joy. I am not bound for loneliness when I follow Christ my Lord. Alleluia!”

Finrod made to leave, no longer interested in staying. He felt emotionally and physically drained, as if he’d fought a great battle, and all he wanted to do was to return home. Marcus stayed him. “My dad would like to meet you. There’s coffee and donuts after the service. Please stay.”

“I am not sure I am up to dealing with any of you at the moment,” Finrod said.

“My mama makes the best coffeecake in the whole wide world,” the young Man said, as if he’d not heard a word Finrod was saying. “She’ll love to meet you, too.”

Finrod sighed, glancing toward where Josiah Makepeace was standing, singing along with everyone else. Somehow their eyes met and the Man smiled, giving him a nod. Finrod turned to Marcus and shrugged. “I will stay,” he said simply and the young Man beamed.

****

Words are Quenya:

Sérë asetyë, hinya. Hantanyet: ‘Peace be with thee, my child. I thank thee’ [familiar form, used in addressing children and social inferiors].

22: Coffeecake and Conversation

Finrod followed Marcus down a set of stairs and along a corridor lined with small rooms which Marcus told him were Sunday school classrooms. At the end of the corridor they came to a larger room with folding tables and chairs and a gleaming kitchen just beyond separated from the room by a wide counter. There were Women already there, setting up the coffee and tea and laying out plates of donuts, muffins, cookies and coffeecake. Everyone looked up when the two entered, eyeing them suspiciously and Marcus grinned. Finrod felt apprehensive, wondering what kind of reception he would receive from these Mortals, but the Women ignored him, much to his surprise.

“What are you doing here, Marcus Makepeace?” one of them demanded. “I can still hear the choir singing. What are you up to, child?”

“Why nothing, Miss Odelia,” Marcus said, plastering an innocent look on his face. “Mister Quinn here’s a stranger, come to hear my daddy speak. I’m just showing good manners by escorting him before he gets run over by the crowd trying to get to my mama’s coffeecake.”

“Hmph, well, you’d best sit over there out of the way then,” the Woman said, giving Marcus a skeptical look. “Do you take coffee or tea, sir?”

It took a second for Finrod to realize she was speaking to him. “Oh, ah, coffee will be fine. Milk no sugar.”

Odelia nodded. “Well, welcome to New Jerusalem.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said as he allowed Marcus to lead him to a nearby table where he removed his cloak before sitting. Marcus offered to hang it up and pointed to some hooks along one wall for that purpose. Finrod nodded, handing him the cloak as Odelia came over with a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“Milk’s on the table,” she said, pointing. “Marcus, get him some goodies.” She gave Finrod a nod and returned to the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am,” the young Man said, winking at Finrod, and in short order Finrod had a plate of coffeecake and cookies before him. Marcus grabbed one of the cream-filled cookies to munch on as he sat with Finrod, who had just enough time to take a sip of the coffee — very good coffee — when he heard the sound of people coming down the stairs and stiffened, still unsure of his reception. His only real contact with the Mortals of Wiseman had been through the bookstore, one or two at a time, for the most part. Now close to a hundred people were about to descend upon him and he felt unusually nervous. Marcus must have picked up on that because he smiled.

“Don’t be nervous, sir,” he said sympathetically. “Dad’s been dying to meet you in person.”

“He could have simply come to Edhellond or even to the bookstore if he wished to see me,” Finrod said.

Marcus just shrugged, apparently not having an answer. But just then, people began streaming in and several of them stopped cold in shock at the sight of him. Finrod saw Josiah, taller than most of the congregation, push his way through the crowd, beaming. Finrod stood to face him, as did Marcus.

“Ah, my Lord Finrod, welcome,” Josiah said, holding out his arms in greeting. “Is that right? Did I get it correct?”

“I go by Quinn O’Brien now, Mister Makepeace,” Finrod said softly.

“As you wish,” Makepeace said. “I see you’ve met my son and here is the light of my life.” He gestured to a Woman. “This is Adele, my wife and the mother of my children.”

“Welcome to New Jerusalem,” Adele said, holding out a hand to shake, but Finrod turned the hand palm down and bowed over it, falling back on the customs of his own people. He still was unused to shaking hands with females as if they were comrades-in-arms.

“Thank you, mistress,” he murmured. Adele stood about a half a foot shorter than her husband, yet she had a presence about her that made her seem taller. She wore a coral-colored suit with a matching hat and pumps, a single strand of pearls and matching earrings her only jewelry, the very model of elegance. Finrod thought she could easily hold her own even in Ingwë’s court, never mind Arafinwë’s or Olwë’s. He could tell from the way Josiah looked at her that he adored her and worshiped her and he felt a sudden pang of loneliness, realizing that he missed his beloved Amarië more than he thought he would.

“And how did you like my sermon?” Josiah asked as he gestured for Finrod to resume his seat, while he took one across from him. Marcus ran to get his father some coffee and Adele shooed everyone else away, declaring that this wasn’t a zoo nor was Finrod a zoo specimen to be gawked at. People reluctantly turned away to line up for coffee, all of them studiously pretending that they were not interested in him, which Finrod found amusing.

 “It had its moments,” Finrod answered softly. “I am wondering what you would have said if I had not been there to be… picked on. Who would you have chosen as an example of an enemy to love if you had not had me?”

“Ah, but I knew you would be there, or rather, I knew one of you would be there.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Explain,” he commanded and even he knew how imperious and arrogant he sounded.

If Josiah was upset by his manner, he did not show it. Instead, he grinned more broadly, accepting the coffee Marcus handed to him with a gracious nod, then pointed with a finger to a chair, thereby giving his son permission to join them. Marcus sat next to his father, grabbing another cream-filled cookie.

“I knew that one of you would be there to be… picked on, as you say,” Josiah answered, after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Foretelling?” Finrod asked, frowning. It was a rare trait among Elves and even rarer with Mortals, at least that had been his experience, and with Mortals it usually came just before death. For that reason the Elves tended to refer to the phenomenon as nurucenië — a death-seeing — when the gift of foretelling applied to Mortals.

Josiah shook his head. “No, not foretelling. A vision.”

Finrod’s eyes widened. “What kind of vision?”

“I was sitting in my study praying to the Lord for guidance as to what my sermon should be this week. Usually I have no trouble deciding on the topic, but for some reason I could not seem to latch onto one this time, and so I sat there and prayed. As I was praying, a sound as of a mighty wind arose though it was a calm day and when I opened my eyes there was someone in the room, a stranger, beautiful beyond words, and I knew it was an angel of the Lord.”

Finrod quirked his lips into a faint smile as he sipped his coffee. “A rather dramatic entrance. Usually they just appear before you, filling the air with a floral scent of some kind and looking smug.”

Marcus began choking on his cookie and Josiah automatically began pounding him on the back while giving Finrod an appraising look. Finrod ignored him, quickly scanning the crowd of people. “Nicholas, get Marcus some water, if you please,” he called out and the young Man quickly left the line and grabbed a Styrofoam cup, nearly running to a drinking fountain on the other side of the room and then running back, shoving the cup into Marcus’ hand who nodded his thanks and then took a grateful sip.

Nicholas gave Finrod a sardonic look. “Do you always go about bossing your bosses?”

“I did say please,” Finrod retorted with a grin and Nicholas barked a laugh as he settled in a chair next to him. “Do you not wish for coffee?” Finrod asked but Nicholas waved a hand in dismissal.

“No worries. I’m fine.”

Josiah looked about and snapped a finger and several people turned at the sound. “Someone kindly get Mr. Greene his usual,” he ordered and one of the Women in the kitchen nodded and a moment later was bringing some coffee for Nicholas, holding a glass pot.

“Any refills?” she asked and Josiah nodded, handing her his cup with thanks. Finrod shook his head and the Woman left.

“Feeling better?” he asked Marcus.

“Yessir,” the young Man answered. “Sorry about that. Just that what you said took me by surprise.”

Finrod nodded and turned his attention on Josiah. “So a Maia appeared. Can you describe him or her?”

“Golden-red hair, eyes shining like emeralds and wearing a… a tabard I think you call it with an eagle on it.” Josiah paused, giving Finrod a worried look. “Is that important?”

“No. I was just curious. A messenger of Lord Manwë, then. Please continue.”

“Yes, well, he stood there beside my desk, ignoring me, or so it seemed, as he gestured at my Bible sitting on the desk before me. He never touched it, but the pages moved of themselves and then stopped. He pointed and said, ‘Son of Adam, read.’”

“He actually said that?” Nicholas asked, his eyes wide.

Josiah flashed him a smile. “I half expected to see a great lion appear in the middle of the room.” The other two Men chuckled.

“I do not understand your reference, but it matters not,” Finrod said. “What did Fionwë have you read?”

The three Mortals gave him surprised looks. “You know him?” Marcus asked.

“The description fits one of Lord Manwë’s most trusted Maiar after Eönwë.”

“The Maia at your court,” Nicholas said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Finrod as he made the connection. Finrod nodded, still looking at Josiah.

“It was the passage from Matthew that I read in church,” the pastor explained. “I read it out loud, though the angel… er… Maia did not command me to. Then he looked at me, his gaze piercing me to the very core of my soul and I felt… naked before him and was ashamed.” He looked grave at that admission and Marcus patted him on the arm in sympathy. Josiah gave his son a gentle smile before turning back to Finrod. “Then he spoke again, saying, ‘Son of Adam, a Child of the Stars will come on Sunday. Prepare thy sermon with him in mind.’ And then, I was alone and it felt as if I were waking up. That is why I say it was a vision. I must have dreamt it or perhaps was taken up unto the Lord as John was when he saw his visions of the End Times.”

“As I said, rather dramatic,” Finrod replied mildly. “They’re usually more subtle.” He leaned back in his chair, giving the three Men an appraising look. “And so you devised your sermon knowing that one of the Eldar, one of the People of the Stars, would be there. Interesting. I see they’re up to their old tricks, the manipulative little orc-lovers.” This last was barely breathed though the three Men heard him. Marcus and Nicholas both gasped at the swearing, but Josiah’s expression was more amused.

“I take it you have had great experience with these… creatures.”

Finrod nodded. “More than I would like to admit, unfortunately. Well, it is done and I am here where they wished me to be. I now understand my earlier restlessness which drove me out of the house. You are not the first church I visited today. I stopped at St. Mary’s where Charles Waverly spoke on the story of the Samaritan. It is interesting that your messages were nearly identical.”

“Charles is a wise scholar of the Word and a champion of the Lord in these dark times,” Josiah said. “He is also a good friend. He has few of them in this land of exile.”

“Exile?” Finrod asked, confused by the phrase. “Is that how you see yourselves, as exiles?”

“Yes, in a way, but I was not speaking of that so much as I was speaking of the fact that Charles Waverly is here as punishment. His superiors have banished him to this remote outpost of civilization. No, I will say no more, for it is not my tale to tell. I will only say that, knowing what I know now, Rome will regret this decision in the end, though we of Wiseman will benefit from it. You must ask Charles for the story.”

He paused, giving Finrod a considering look. “Charles and I represent the two extremes of Christianity. He belongs to a church that is steeped in history and tradition stretching back two thousand years, the oldest continuous organization in our world. I lead a church that has its roots in the dark times of this country when many of our ancestors were slaves to Nicholas’ people.”

“Now, Josiah, my people never owned slaves,” Nicholas protested. “I have ancestors who fought for the Union and one of my many-times great-grandmothers was a strong Abolitionist and helped with the Underground Railroad.”

“I stand corrected,” Josiah said. “My apologies. The point I am making is that this church is an off-shoot of the Southern Baptist church, primarily founded by the descendants of slaves after the Second World War. Most of the parishioners are Black, but lately we’ve attracted a few others, like Nicholas, here, and the Huong and Zhao families, recently come from China.”

“And you think this is significant?” Finrod asked.

Josiah shrugged. “I really can’t say. I just find it interesting that you felt compelled to visit St. Mary’s and New Jerusalem, but none of the other churches or even Temple Beth El, the Jewish synagogue.”

“There are no services there on a Sunday,” Marcus pointed out. “Mr. Quinn would have to go on a Friday night or Saturday morning.”

“You felt no need to be wandering down Homer Street to visit the synagogue yesterday or Friday?” Josiah asked.

“No, nor will I do so. If there is a need for me to go there, I will know of it. And now, I must go. Thank you for the coffee and the coffeecake. Both were very delicious.” Finrod stood, as did the three Men.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Nicholas said, holding out his hand.

“Bright and early,” Finrod replied, shaking it and then shaking Josiah’s hand.

Marcus ran to get his cloak, which he accepted with a gracious nod. Pulling it about him and clasping it closed, he gave Josiah a sly grin. “You are fortunate that it was I who was here today when you uttered your accusation of my being your enemy. If Glorfindel had been here, this building would no longer be standing. My brother does not take criticism well.”

With that parting shot, he bowed to them and started away. Marcus followed. “I’ll see you out,” he said and Finrod nodded.

“Thank you,” he said at the door leading onto the street. “It has been a most illuminating morning. Fare well, my friend.”

“You’re welcome to join us anytime, Mr. Quinn,” Marcus said, “you and any of the other Elves, including Mr. Loren.”

Finrod grinned. “I will be sure to tell him.” At that he strode away, lifting his hood to ward off the snow that was now beginning to fall, for while he’d been speaking with Josiah, the sky had clouded up. There would be no sun today.

Walking back down Hickory and entering the town square, he thought about his encounters that morning, trying to understand his feelings. He could sympathize with Glorfindel’s attitude and suspicion of motives where the Powers were concerned, for he was beginning to tire of the manipulations. If they simply had asked…

“Would you have come, then?”

Finrod looked to his right to see Fionwë walking beside him in his Finn disguise, dressed in a brown duster and wearing a wide-brimmed hat sporting a silver concho in the shape of an eagle. Around his neck was wound a powder-blue wool scarf.

Finrod stopped and gave the Maia his attention. “I am surprised to see you after the last time.”

Fionwë actually blushed. “I am on probation… again.”

Finrod eyebrows went up at that admission but before he could respond Fionwë asked again, “Would you have come?”

“I do not know since you did not ask,”  Finrod replied. “If I was convinced as to its importance—”

“If I had ordered you to go, would you have done so?” Fionwë interrupted, giving him a stern look.

Finrod reared back. “If I deemed it—”

“No, Findaráto. I am not asking for your approval.” The Maia’s eyes glittered with a strange light and Finrod realized that he was angry and that was never a good thing where the Powers or their lesser servants were concerned. Finrod willed himself to stillness, swallowing down the sick fear that had suddenly swept over him. It was easy to forget at times that even the lowliest of the Maiar was far above him in power and majesty and Fionwë was one of the highest-ranking Maiar, second only to Eönwë.

“You Children need to get a grip, as the Mortals will say, and grow up,” Fionwë said, his voice colder than the snow falling about them. Finrod felt himself grow hot and cold at the same time as the Maia continued. “You little appreciate how things truly are here in this world. Many of the Mortals today have ceased to believe in the existence of other intelligences, even those who confess to a belief in God and his angels, as they would say, do so more out of habit of culture than out of any real belief in our existence. A few hundred years ago you might have been more readily accepted but you would have been in danger of being burned at the stake for the soulless creatures of the devil that you are.”

Finrod paled at those words. “We are not soulless and we are no creatures of the Dark,” he hissed, automatically reaching for a sword that was not there. He stopped, appalled at the thought that twice in the same day he had done that.

“Of course not,” Fionwë said soothingly. “Findaráto, this war is being fought on more than one front and the physical front is not necessarily the most important. We are attempting to fight against something primal in the Mortals: fear of the unknown. They tend to react negatively when they encounter something different, something that threatens their preconceived notions of what is and what cannot be or shouldn’t be. They turn on one another without hesitation and their crusades against perceived evil in others are frightening to behold. The Wiseman Elves at least understand this, though they tend to ignore it, but you of Valinor have no experience with what Mortals can truly do, the power they possess to destroy you if they so choose.”

“If that is so, why were we sent here with so little knowledge and no weapons to speak of?” Finrod retorted. “Why are we so unprepared for any of this?”

“Would you have believed my masters had you been told the truth?” Fionwë shot back.

“How can I know that now?” Finrod exclaimed in exasperation. He rubbed the space between his eyes. “This has all gone wrong.”

“What has?”

“Everything! Glorfindel is a stranger to me. I hardly recognize him as my gwador anymore. This world is full of darkness and despair and hatred and there are times when I can barely draw a full breath. The Mortals—”

“The Mortals are my concern, not yours,” Fionwë interjected coldly. “That is why I brought you to St. Mary’s and then to New Jerusalem. You see yourself as being manipulated, as a pawn, but we are all pawns, Findaráto, and Eru Ilúvatar moves us as He wills across the cosmic chessboard, to borrow an image coined by a Mortal, for He is the chess master, not us. You have no idea how much good you showing up at those two churches did for our cause. Charles and Josiah allowed themselves to be instruments of Eru’s Will. Their sermons, along with your presence, helped to gain the Elves better acceptance among the Mortals of their respective flocks. Others may follow where they lead, for they are both respected within the community.”

“And the neo-Nazi Elf-haters, as Amroth likes to call them?”

“They have made their choice, and they will die for it,” Fionwë proclaimed in sepulchral tones that sent shards of ice through Finrod’s veins. He had a sudden vision of the Maia in full battle regalia, holding forth a sword of light, and hundreds, if not thousands, of Mortals were falling dead at his feet by the very power of his will. He blinked a few times as the vision of the warrior faded and he found himself back in Wiseman’s town square with Finn standing before him, looking rather ordinary in his duster and scarf.

“Findaráto?” The Maia gave him a questioning look.

“It is nothing,” Finrod said distractedly, trying to make sense of the vision. “I am sorry. I think I need to go home and lie down. I feel suddenly tired.” He began rubbing his left shoulder, grimacing slightly.

Fionwë gave him a sympathetic look and held out a hand. “Take it,” he ordered, and Finrod obeyed without hesitation. The snow seemed to swirl up around them like a miniature cyclone and the town square disappeared from view. There was an eternal second of disorientation and then the world righted itself and Finrod found himself standing in front of Edhellond. Of Fionwë there was no sign.

He went inside and was hanging up his cloak when Glorfindel wandered down the hall, holding a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “Wondered if you’d gotten lost,” he said by way of greeting. “Have a nice walk?”

“Yes, it was… interesting.”

Glorfindel gave him a shrewd look. “You look a bit pale. You okay?”

“Just tired,” Finrod admitted. “I seem to tire more easily since being shot. It is most annoying. You would think I was Mortal.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Why don’t you go rest? I was on my way up to the sunroom. The library is a bit crowded at the moment and I want to read in peace.”

“May I join you?”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows went up. “Of course, but wouldn’t you rather lie down?”

“I can rest as easily there as in my room and I do not feel like being alone at the moment.”

“Are you sure you are all right, gwador?” Glorfindel asked, looking worried.

“Yes, I am sure. Now, let us go up. You will read and I will watch the snow fall.”

For a moment, Glorfindel hesitated, and then shrugged, giving him a slight smile. “And it will be interesting to see which of us is lulled by the silence first and falls asleep.”

Finrod laughed lightly and began climbing the stairs with his gwador right behind.

23: Further Conversations

“So did you see anything interesting during your walk?” Glorfindel asked Finrod as the two settled in the sunroom. The snow was falling more heavily and there was little to see outside.

“I stepped into a couple of the churches during their services,” Finrod answered. “I was curious about them.”

“Which churches?” Glorfindel asked, looking concerned.

“St. Mary’s and New Jerusalem. You need not fear. I was welcomed at both. In fact, I had a very interesting conversation with Josiah Makepeace afterwards.”

“Josiah is a good Man,” Glorfindel allowed, “and smart. Adele, his wife, is a force to be reckoned with and in an earlier age she would have been a queen, I think.”

“I had the same impression,” Finrod admitted with a smile.

“Why those particular churches?” Glorfindel asked after taking a sip of his tea. “I was unaware that you knew about Josiah’s church.”

“I did not. I was lead to it by Fionwë.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh. I was displeased by the notion once I learned of it, but Fionwë set me straight on the matter afterwards. I fear we have all been purblind fools and arrogant beyond measure.”

“A rather harsh assessment,” Glorfindel said with a frown. “These last few months haven’t been easy on any of us, especially those of you from Valinor. Too much culture shock, I think.”

“It does not excuse us, though, not entirely,” Finrod retorted.

“Perhaps not, but it does mitigate things a bit.”

“I could never understand why you did not return,” Finrod said, seemingly changing the subject. “I still do not see the attraction you must have had to remain here among the Mortals.” Left unsaid was, and not return to me, the other half of your soul, though he suspected Glorfindel knew it.

“Attraction? There was no attraction, Finrod. Every time I broached the subject of Sailing, the Twins adamantly refused to consider it and my oaths to both Eärendil and Elrond precluded me from leaving them. I stayed because they did. End of story.”

“So you say.” Finrod eyed his gwador with unveiled skepticism.

“So I say,” Glorfindel retorted, opening his book and studiously began reading, clearly stating that the conversation was over with.

Finrod let it go, not wishing to fight with his heart-brother. Instead, he leaned back into his chair and watched the snow fall, the dark sky darkening even more as the sun, hidden behind the storm, set, though it was only early afternoon. The silence that lay between the two of them was broken only by the moaning of the wind outside and the whispering of pages being turned.

Eventually, he fell asleep.

****

Finrod woke to find a blanket had been wrapped around him. It was full night now, the storm long passed, and stars shone serenely down while a crescent moon rode the sky. A single lamp was lit, casting a warm glow around the room and he was alone. He stood up and stretched, automatically folding the blanket. Laurendil walked in just then.

“Thought you might still be sleeping, Aranya,” he said. “I was sent to call you to dinner.”

“I just woke up,” Finrod said, feeling embarrassed. “I had not meant to sleep, and to sleep so long.”

“You wouldn’t have if you hadn’t needed it,” Laurendil said with a sympathetic look. “Trust your body.”

“I do not understand why it is taking me so long to heal from my wound. The physical wound is closed and yet there are times….”

“Your body suffered extreme trauma, something you have not experienced since your death. This body has never suffered any real wounds such as you got in the wars we fought in. And the manner of your injury I think shocked you even more than expected. Sword or arrow wounds you understand and can accept, but bullet wounds… that’s a whole other ballgame, as Kyle Stoner would say.”

Finrod grinned at his friend. “You are picking up the idioms better than I am.”

Laurendil shrugged. “When you are spending hours with Mortals, it rubs off on you.”

“I have not had the opportunity to do so,” Finrod said with a sigh. “The bookstore is not overrun by customers, not since my first few days there.”

“The novelty has worn off,” Laurendil said with a grin. “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll let them know you’re coming down.”

Finrod nodded and Laurendil gave him a slight bow and turned to leave. Finrod stayed where he was for a few seconds, staring out into the night, thinking of what Laurendil had said, then he shook his head and made his way to the door, turning off the light as he went.

A few minutes later, having washed the sleep from his eyes, he was downstairs where people were bustling about putting food on the table and chatting about their day. Everyone looked up when he entered the dining room.

“Roasted chicken,” he said, sniffing the air. “Whose turn was it to cook?”

“Yours actually,” Glorfindel said with a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he placed a bowl of French green beans and slivered almonds on the table, “but you were otherwise occupied, so Daeron took over.”

“You should have woken me,” Finrod said with a scowl. “I really hate being treated like an invalid.”

“Fine,” Glorfindel said with a shrug, looking unconcerned. “Next time, I won’t be so solicitous of your health. You can help with the dishes afterwards if it’ll make you feel better.”

Finrod bit back a retort, taking a deep, centering breath. Everyone else had gone still and he realized they were waiting for a confrontation to erupt. He caught Glorfindel’s eye and in spite of the ellon’s seeming indifference, Finrod could see the actual worry in his gwador’s eyes. He gave him a sly look. “At least you threw a blanket over me instead of a bowl of cold water, for which I thank you.”

Glorfindel gave him a startled look and then burst out laughing. “It was Sador’s idea,” he said. “I was but the instrument of his thoughts. And you looked pretty ridiculous chasing me around the garden naked and dripping wet.”

Finrod noticed his son and niece goggling at him while others grinned at the image Glorfindel’s words evoked.

“I never did get my revenge,” Finrod said. “I was happily plotting it out when you left.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “One of us has lousy timing.” Now people were laughing and the atmosphere lightened considerably. He and Glorfindel exchanged knowing smiles.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Daeron said. “Shall we?”

“Yes, by all means, let us enjoy this lovely feast. Thank you, Daeron,” Finrod said, giving the ellon a gracious nod of his head.

As they began passing dishes, Finrod listened to the conversations around him. Laurendil, Manwen, Vardamir and the Twins were apparently discussing something to do with their medical studies. He knew that Gregory Harris and Kyle Stoner were pushing the healers through a crash course in medicine and medical techniques with the intention of having them take the medical boards later in the year so they could be certified to practice medicine in Alaska. Daeron was apparently helping by creating false records of university transcripts. It sounded rather complicated and he had asked Gregory Harris one time if it wouldn’t be simpler for the healers to attend university and achieve their credentials in the usual way. It might take nearly ten years, but that was nothing to the Elves.

“Dan and Roy are talking about doing just that as they have shown an interest in being surgeons which takes special training and I applaud their decision,” Harris had explained, “but the others are too new to these shores to safely pass as humans. They do not have even the basic knowledge of our culture that any recent immigrant would have from watching American TV shows and movies. Kyle and I are attempting to provide them with the necessary background so they can pass the boards. Afterwards, if any of them want to pursue more specialized branches of medicine, we’ll see about them getting the necessary education.”

Aldarion and Gilvagor, along with Eirien and Alphwen, were apparently discussing something called Etsy, with the ellith explaining its purpose and why it would be a good place to start in setting up the Elves’ crafts-selling ventures. Aldarion made a slightly disparaging remark about the quality of the workmanship of some of the crafts they had seen made by Mortals in local shops.

“Which is why we will not be competing with the people of Wiseman,” Finrod interjected firmly. “Their craftsmanship may not be up to our standards, but it is skillfully done and done with pride. Do not look down upon them, Aldarion. Arrogance on our part will only lead to hard feelings among the Mortals and that will defeat the very purpose of our being here. You are free to offer your assistance and knowledge, to teach them different techniques, but do not do so out of arrogance and a sense of superiority. Do it out of humility, knowing that you have as much to learn from them as they have from you. And that goes for everyone here.”

The room went still at Finrod’s reprimand. Aldarion looked abashed and would not meet anyone’s gaze. Glorfindel, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Finrod, lifted his wine glass in salute. “Hear, hear.”

Deciding to change the subject, Finrod glanced at Elladan and Elrohir. “Glorfindel tells me that he tried to convince you two to Sail but you refused. Is that true? What kept you from joining your family?”

The Twins stole glances at Glorfindel, who seemingly ignored them, concentrating on the food on his plate. Elladan turned his attention to Finrod. “Is that what he told you?” At Finrod’s nod, both twins sighed almost as one.

“Did he lie?” Finrod asked.

“No, not really,” Elrohir answered. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. There was Arwen and Estel to consider and their children and descendants. We felt obligated to watch over them, at least for a time. We promised our sister and our brother that we would. We always meant to Sail, sometime, but as the years and centuries passed, it just didn’t seem important anymore.”

“This world is the only one we knew,” Elladan put in. “It was our home and frankly I couldn’t see us living anywhere else. Yes, we missed our parents and our friends who had left, either by ship or by grave, and we would’ve enjoyed seeing them again, but then what?”

“What do you mean?” Finrod asked.

“We often talked about it,” Elrohir answered. “We wondered what we would do if we Sailed. What would our lives be like? From what we’d been told by Glorfindel, Valinor seems to be a rather idyllic place where little of import happens. Frankly, it sounds boring, and we don’t do boring. Never have and never will.”

“I can attest to that,” Daeron said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“As can I,” Glorfindel added.

“And I dread to think what would have happened to me had you Sailed,” Serindë said softly, standing next to Elrohir. “We would never have met and fallen in love.” Elrohir gave her a gentle smile and bent down to kiss her tenderly on the temple.

“What about the rest of you?” Finrod asked, looking about at the other Wiseman Elves. “What reasons did you have for not Sailing, other than the fact that you feared boredom to be your lot in life once you reached Valinor.”

Barahir, Gilvegil, Cennanion, Eirien and Alphwen all looked at each other and it was Gilvegil who spoke. “Well, beyond the fact that we’re all Sindar, though Daisy has Silvan blood in her as well, none of us fell victim to the Sea-longing and so we had no desire to Sail.”

“We talked about it, of course,” Alphwen put in, “but for some reason, we just never followed through with it.”

“You remember Denethor Mablungion?” Barahir asked, looking at Gilvegil and Cennanion. The two ellyn nodded. Barahir turned to the others. “It was near the end of the last ice age. We were all to the south, hiding in the Zagros Mountains, which are on the border between Iraq and Iran, in a region known today as Lorestan. Denethor came to us one day stating he had had a dream or a vision which he was convinced had been sent to him by the Belain, asking him to go in search of another, someone called the Exiled One. He tried to convince the rest of us to join him in his search. Some of us did, but the rest of us remained behind. We never did find out if they were successful in their search or not.”

“They were,” Finrod said. “They went in search of my cousin, Maglor, and rescued him. Eventually, they found their way to Valinor when the Straight Road opened once again at the end of the ice age.”

The Wiseman Elves all gave him startled looks. “You’ll have to tell us about it some time,” Glorfindel said and Finrod nodded.

“Well, I always felt guilty after they left,” Barahir said. “I felt… cowardly, hiding in the mountains. Around that time, Gil conceived the idea of leaving the mountains in search of adventure, as he put it. Conan, Daisy, Alfa and I joined him. We traveled far and wide and indeed had many adventures.”

“I had similar feelings of guilt after Denethor left,” Gilvegil explained. “One of the ellith who joined him in his expedition, her name was Glóredhel, well, she wanted me to go with her, but I didn’t.” He gave them an embarrassed look. “I have always regretted not going with her. You say she reached Valinor by ship?”

Finrod nodded, giving him a warm smile. “She is happily married to Maglor and they have been blessed with three beautiful children.” There were exclamations of surprise from the Wiseman Elves.

“Oh, I am so happy for her,” Gilvegil said with great feeling, tears running down his cheeks. “She deserved to be happy. I fear I could not give her what she wished.” Brethorn, who was next to him, reached over and gave him a hug in comfort.

“Do not be distraught, my friend,” Finrod said kindly. “She is well and happy, and I think I am beginning to see a pattern. You all talked about Sailing but in the end something kept you from following through. I think perhaps you were inspired by the Valar to remain here, to live among the Mortals until such time as you were able to come together here in Wiseman.”

“Do you think so?” Daeron asked. “Could the Valar have been so far-sighted as to plan for all of this that long ago? I find it hard to believe.”

“I cannot say,” Finrod admitted. “I do know that they often make contingency plans, as they put it. In speaking with the Valar, I sometimes have the feeling that some of those plans have been in the making since the creation of Eä, others are more spur-of-the-moment. At any rate, it seems to me that you remained behind because it was what Eru wished and that is all that matters, I think.”

“It does feel as if we’re being manipulated though,” Glorfindel said. “I really tire of it.”

“I know, but, as Fionwë pointed out to me just today, Eru Ilúvatar moves us as He wills across the cosmic chessboard, for He is the chess master, not us. That is a direct quote, by the way.”

“What else did he have to say?” Glorfindel asked. “You never really gave me any details.”

“He reminded me that there was a spiritual facet to this war and that he and his fellow Maiar are attempting to win the souls of the Mortals to our cause. All that they do is for that purpose and we have no right to object to what they do to secure that allegiance even if we feel we are being coerced into certain kinds of actions or situations, like my feeling of being driven to go to St. Mary’s and then afterward to stop at the Hickory Street New Jerusalem Gospel Church, where I met Josiah Makepeace.”

“I like Josiah,” Cennanion said. “He’s a good Man with a great sense of humor, and his son, Marcus, is a chip off the old block.”

“Josiah’s sermon was about loving one’s enemies and praying for them,” Finrod said carefully, not looking at anyone in particular. “He declared me an enemy and then told the people that that meant that they had to love me and pray for me and in doing so, they would find that I was not an enemy after all, but a friend.” He glanced up, giving Glorfindel a wicked look. “I told him afterwards that it was a good thing it was I who was there. If it had been you, the church would no longer be standing.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, in my younger days, that might have been true. These days, I simply wouldn’t have put anything into the collection plate.”

The other Wiseman Elves all laughed at that, well aware of Glorfindel’s many charitable contributions to the local community. When one of the Valinórean Elves asked what a collection plate was, Daeron gave a quick explanation and then the conversation drifted into other areas of interest and concern among the Elves as they continued eating, the atmosphere relaxed.

****

Aranya: (Quenya): My king; Laurendil’s usual form of address to Finrod.

Belain: (Sindarin) Plural of Balan: Vala.

24: Domino Effect

The week went by without much fanfare. Finrod continued to report to work and Glorfindel was busy with Academy affairs as he and Daeron and the others who were on the admissions committee began wading through the pile of applications for the next class. And, of course, there were the normal administrative duties related to the college that needed to be addressed, which meant dealing with the new college president, George Stillman.

“Damn Richard for dying when he did,” Glorfindel exclaimed one late afternoon as he stormed into the kitchen after returning from a college meeting with the president. “He had no right to leave us in the lurch like this.”

Alphwen and Helyanwë were there preparing dinner. Helyanwë stopped what she was doing to put the kettle on while Alphwen continued putting together the shepherd’s pie that would be that evening’s main dish. “George being obtuse again?” she asked sympathetically.

“To say the least,” Glorfindel replied, flopping into a seat at the breakfast nook, running his hands through his hair in a distracted manner. Helyanwë came over and sat across from him, taking one of his hands and holding it in wordless support. Glorfindel gave her a brief smile as he continued to answer Alphwen’s question. “The Man is impossible at times. He has no real love for Elves and he resents me in particular. I just wish someone else had been chosen to take Richard’s place, someone who actually believes that we are here to help, not take over the world. Why would we want to rule the blasted place, anyway?”

“What about the other administrators? How do they feel?” Alphwen asked.

“Oh, they’ll toe the party line that George is spouting and go along with it if they want to keep their jobs,” Glorfindel’s tone was acerbic.

“But George doesn’t have the power to fire them,” Alphwen pointed out. “They’ve all been appointed by their respective departments.”

“True, but some of them are just as disgusted with George as I am and I fear that if push comes to shove they’ll quit and then whoever takes their places will be as anti-Elf as George is and I’ll be in worse trouble.”

“Is he really so against us?” Alphwen asked, frowning as she placed the shepherd’s pie into the oven and set the timer.

“Apparently,” Glorfindel replied. “While Richard was alive he managed to remain civil in my presence and keep his feelings to himself. I warned Richard once that George could cause trouble but the Man wouldn’t listen. He and George were old friends from their college days.” He shook his head at the obstinacy of Mortals.

“Friendship is a powerful thing,” Helyanwë said softly, her expression one that Glorfindel could not interpret.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Glorfindel allowed. “I can’t really blame Richard, but I wish he hadn’t died when he did.”

Alphwen, meanwhile, took the kettle off the boil and proceeded to put together some mint tea for them all, handing mugs to Glorfindel and Helyanwë and then pouring one for herself. She settled on a stool by the island.

“You are wrong, you know,” Helyanwë said.

“How do you mean? George—”

“I am not speaking of the Mortal,” the elleth interjected. “I am speaking about you and your relationship with Lord Finrod.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Lord Finrod, is it? Up to now you’ve always called him ‘Uncle’. Why so formal?”

“Because you refuse to be,” Helyanwë exclaimed with some heat.

Glorfindel blinked, not sure how to respond. Alphwen stood up and said, “I think I’ll leave you two alone.” Before Glorfindel could protest, she left, taking her tea with her. Glorfindel frowned at Helyanwë.

“Helena, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“There is nothing wrong with showing proper respect for one’s superiors,” she replied, not quite looking at him.

“Finrod is your uncle.”

“He is also my prince, as he is yours,” she retorted.

“Whoa! Slow down. I have never given him my allegiance. If anyone has it it’s Turgon.”

“But Finrod is our lord, the highest ranking among us, and I think it’s time you remembered it.”

Glorfindel glared at her. “We’re also gwedyr, in case you’ve forgotten, and you’ve heard Finrod call me ‘hanno’, as if I were his blood-brother indeed. I suspect he still calls your great-grandfather Sador that as well.”

“Grandfather Sador is a prince,” Helyanwë said rather primly.

“And I’m not, is that it?” Glorfindel shot back. “Helena, we’ve agreed to share leadership duties. Why are you so upset about that?”

“I am not sure I approve of this… this demo…democrasy…”

“Democracy,” Glorfindel corrected automatically.

“Thank you. Democracy. It’s an absurd notion, thinking everyone is equal. There are always those who are superior to others. Lord Finrod is a prince of Eldamar, Arafinwë’s acknowledged heir, and you treat him with no more respect than you treat any of the Mortals and they take their cue from you, so they treat Uncle with the same level of disrespect.”

“It’s not disrespect,” Glorfindel protested. “It’s just the way it is. The Mortals of this country, at least, believe that respect is earned, not a given. Just because someone has a fancy title, it doesn’t mean that they are worthy of respect. They have to prove it, and if the way Mortals show it seems odd to you, I’m sorry. They are not being disrespectful. Believe me, if they were, you’d know it.”

“Well, I think you have been tainted by them, you and all the Wiseman Elves. You may have been their leader, but once Lord Finrod arrived, you should have immediately acknowledged him as your lord and given over your right to lead us. This sharing of power is absurd. What happens if you both disagree about a matter? How do you resolve it? Do you have a trial by combat? Do you put it to a vote with the rest of us? Or do you play that silly game I saw Cennanion and Barahir play the other day when they could not decide who would stack the firewood? What is it called?” She held up a fist and then extended two fingers in a V before opening her hand with the palm down.

“Rock, scissors, paper,” Glorfindel supplied, his voice gone cold, though the elleth sitting across from him didn’t seem to notice.

“Absurd, all of it,” she said disdainfully. “Finrod is a prince and you are but a lord, a lord of a House that does not even exist anymore.”

Glorfindel felt a shock run through him and he clenched the edge of the table tightly, his breathing sounding harsh to his ears as he tried to get himself under control. Helyanwë leaned back, her eyes slit, watching him warily.

“Is that what you think of me?” he whispered, his tone more sad than angry, refusing to look at her. “The last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship and dignity?” He remembered Gandalf telling him of these last words of the last Ruling Steward of Gondor so long ago, oh, so very long ago, and he felt suddenly tired. Without giving the elleth a chance to answer, he pulled himself out of the seat, stormed over to the back door, throwing it open, and slamming it behind him.

****

Serindë and Elrohir made their way to the kitchen, both of them wearing light jackets. They had planned to spend some time alone in the woods but when they heard voices, they stopped, shamelessly listening to the argument between Glorfindel and Helyanwë. At the sound of the back door slamming, Serindë drew her lover away back to the front foyer.

“Take me home,” she hissed.

Elrohir gave her a confused look. “Home? You are home.”

“I mean to my parents. Take me there.”

“Why are you so angry?” Elrohir asked. “I’m the one who should be angry the way she insulted Loren.”

“I just am. I’m going to go pack.” She started up the stairs.

“Wait! Pack? Why are you packing? Sarah, what in tarnation is going on?”

“I refuse to stay here with those stuck up… I’ll be down in five minutes. Go warm up the car.” With that she practically raced up the stairs, leaving a bemused Elrohir standing there, gaping. After a moment, he shook his head and went to do as he’d been told.

****

“Sarah, Roy, what a surprise!” Nimrodel exclaimed as she opened the door to find the two standing there. Elrohir was carrying a couple of pieces of luggage. “Come in, come in. To what do we owe the pleasure? Are you going somewhere?”

“No further than here, Della,” Elrohir said as he put the luggage down. “Sarah is moving out of Edhellond.”

Nimrodel gave them a surprised look. “Moving out? But why? No, let’s go find the others and you can tell us what is going on. Hang up your coats and take off your boots. Leave the luggage here for now.”

The two younger Elves did as she bid and then they began to follow her down the hall, but she raised her hand and they stopped while she continued on, stopping before a closed door, knocking on it. They heard Vorondur call out and she opened it.

“Sorry to disturb you, Ron, but your daughter is here and she’s very upset. She brought some luggage.”

“What? The wedding is off?” Vorondur exclaimed.

In spite of things, Elrohir and Serindë exchanged amused grins. “No, the wedding is not off,” Nimrodel said with a light laugh. “Roy is here with her.” The door flung open and Nimrodel stepped back as Vorondur strode out, opening his arms when he saw Serindë. She went to him and he embraced her while Elrohir joined them.

“What is it, child? What has you upset?” he asked, giving Elrohir a quizzical look.

“We overheard Helena and Loren arguing,” Elrohir answered for his fiancé.

Vorondur frowned, pulling his daughter out of his embrace to look at her. “Daughter? Surely you cannot be upset over that alone. People argue all the time. Even you and Roy argue.”

“It wasn’t that they were arguing, Ada, it was what they were arguing about,” Serindë said.

Vorondur gave her a searching look, then came to a decision. “Why don’t we make ourselves comfortable? Della, could we trouble you for some more tea?”

“No problem, Ron,” Nimrodel answered with a smile.

“I’ll give you a hand, Della.” Elrohir looked over Vorondur’s shoulder to see Daeron stepping out of the office, smiling at them.

“Oh, you’re in a session,” Serindë said, taking in the import of the loremaster’s presence. “We didn’t mean to—”

“It’s quite all right, Sarah,” Vorondur said soothingly. “Come inside and compose yourself. Darren and I will continue our discussion another time. Where’s my wife and your husband?” he addressed this last to Nimrodel.

“Holly was on the computer the last time I looked and Amroth is up in the nursery painting a mural on the walls. When I peeked in a while ago he was complaining that the walls weren’t tall enough to do a mallorn properly.”

They all grinned at that. “Well, see if you can tear them away from their work to join us,” Vorondur said. “I have a feeling we’re all going to want to hear what Sarah and Roy have to say.”

“I’ll go get Amroth,” Daeron suggested and, he and Nimrodel went back down the hall, leaving the others to themselves. Vorondur ushered Serindë into his office and asked Elrohir to pull a couple of chairs from the dining room so everyone could sit. The room was not overly large and seven people would make for cramped quarters. Ercassë showed up just as Elrohir was bringing in the last chair and then Daeron came, stating that Amroth was helping Nimrodel with the tea. No one asked any questions. Ercassë gave her daughter a hug and kissed Elrohir on the cheek in greeting. A few minutes later, Amroth came in with a tray, smelling faintly of turpentine, with Nimrodel right behind carrying another tray. They busied themselves with the tea and then when all were settled, Vorondur gave his daughter a nod.

“Right. Why don’t you start from the beginning,” he said. “You overheard an argument between Loren and Helena. A lover’s spat?”

“Not exactly,” Elrohir replied. He glanced at Serindë, who nodded, and then he proceeded to explain what they had overheard.

Daeron went pale and Amroth’s hands clenched in anger, while Nimrodel and Ercassë both looked shocked. Only Vorondur showed no emotion, his expression shuttered, but his eyes glittered. Elrohir was unsure what that meant. Vorondur was a full-blooded Noldo, not a half-breed like himself, and while he rarely displayed his power, the younger ellon was well aware of it and respected it. When he finished his narrative, describing hearing the sound of the back door slamming, Serindë spoke.

“I decided I could no longer remain under the same roof as those snobs,” she explained, “so I had Roy bring me here. I’ll sleep on the couch…”

“We do have a guest room, dear,” Ercassë said, gently admonishing her.

“I fear Helena’s views are not unique among the Valinórean Elves,” Daeron said, looking a little grim, “and this is not the first time I’ve heard Helena disparage Loren. Let me tell you what I overheard not too long ago.” And he gave them a quick synopsis of the conversation. When he began describing what had been said about Amroth, he gave the ellon an apologetic look, while Amroth simply looked embarrassed. Nimrodel put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him.

“They had no right!” Elrohir exclaimed angrily, looking at Amroth. “How dare they say that about you!”

“Well it’s true as far as it goes,” Vorondur interjected calmly before Amroth could comment.

Elrohir stared at his future father-in-law in disbelief. “I’m not saying that I agree with their assessment of Amroth,” Vorondur amended. “Obviously, they have no idea what kingship entails if all they can see is bloodlines, but he is Silvan and he never saw the Light of the Trees.”

“Neither did you,” Amroth retorted mildly.

“None of us did,” Daeron added. “The only one of us who has is Loren. Even among the Valinórean Elves only a handful can be said to have seen the Trees.”

“Well, if Helena thinks we’ve all been tainted by the Mortals, I wonder if others feel the same way,” Ercassë said.

“I thought we’d resolved all this the other night at the party,” Amroth commented with a scowl. “Surely Lord Manwë’s presence had to have helped ameliorate the resentment that’s been piling up between us.”

“Perhaps it would have been more effective if it had been Lord Námo who showed up,” Elrohir suggested with a feral grin. More than one person shuddered at that thought.

“Regardless, it appears that Helena, at least, still has some issues about this,” Vorondur said, running a hand through his hair, looking a little distracted. “I was hoping that the anger management classes would help, but the classes have only met a couple of times so far and there hasn’t been an opportunity to discuss things, especially since the party. I’ve been meaning to speak with Max and Sunny about what happened so they could address it in their groups, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“It sounds as if we have our work cut out for us, then,” Daeron said.

They all looked at him. “What do you mean?” Ercassë asked.

“I mean, that we Wiseman Elves need to find a way to show our kin from Valinor that we are not the… the country bumpkins they think we are and that we haven’t gone native, so to speak, even though we have in many ways.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Elrohir said with a huff, then he gave them a wicked grin. “Some of my best friends are Mortals. I just wouldn’t want one of them marrying my sister.”

They all dutifully groaned at that and Vorondur shook his head, giving his future son-in-law a knowing look. Elrohir smirked.

“Well, I’ve decided I’m not inviting them to the wedding,” Serindë said. “Snobs, every last one of them.”

“Including Finrod or the Three Amigos as Alex and Derek like to call them?” Vorondur asked mildly. “And what about Nell? You promised her she could be in the wedding party. Will you deny her that?”

Serindë shook her head, looking suitably chastened.

“Making blanket statements about them is no better than they making blanket statements about us,” Vorondur continued, “and if we are to rise above all this pettiness that lies between us, we need to practice our own version of the Golden Rule.”

“So what do we do?” Elrohir asked.

“My main concern is Loren at the moment,” Vorondur replied. “He’s on a knife’s edge emotionally and we’ve only just begun to address his anger issues. Helena picked a bad time to air her feelings. I wonder if she truly loves him or just thinks she does.”

“She’s like most females I’ve known,” Amroth said with a sly grin. “Just as soon as they have you in their grasp they try to remake you into what they think you should be instead of accepting you for what you are.”

All three ellith looked offended. Nimrodel punched Amroth in the arm and Amroth laughed. Vorondur nodded. “True, true,” he said deadpan, ignoring the glares from his wife and daughter, and then he gave Elrohir a wicked look. “So watch yourself, Sonny.”

“Don’t worry, Ada, I will,” Elrohir said right on cue.

Daeron started humming a tune and then quietly sang: “You’re probably thinking that you’re going to change me, in some ways well maybe you might, scrub me down, dress me up but no matter what, I’m still a guy.”

Elrohir chuckled and started singing part of another verse, singing to Serindë, his eyes twinkling with mischief: “I don’t highlight my hair, I’ve still got a pair, yeah, I’m still a guy.”

And then Amroth and Vorondur joined in with the final chorus: “Oh my eyebrows ain’t plucked, there’s a gun in my truck, oh thank God I’m still a guy.”

 “Men!” Ercassë muttered with a disgusted shake of her head and the ellyn laughed loudly while the ellith rolled their eyes.

“Well, at any rate,” Vorondur said once they calmed down, “you’ll stay for dinner at least, the two of you.” He nodded to Elrohir and Daeron, both of whom accepted the invitation. “And Sarah, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, even until the wedding, but it would be better if you and Roy found your own place sooner rather than later.”

“Working on it, Ron,” Elrohir said. “We’ve not found a place we can both agree on yet, but as of now I’m making it my first priority. I think I need to move out of Edhellond as well, and I know Dan’s been hinting about it also.”

“Speaking of which, where is he?” Vorondur asked as they all got up from their chairs to exit the room. “The two of you are rarely far apart from one another.”

“He and Vardamir are at St. Luke’s working the night shift at the Urgent Care Center. We’re taking turns helping out there,” Elrohir answered.

“I hope Loren is all right,” Amroth said.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine once he’s calmed down,” Daeron said, though he looked a bit doubtful about it.

“I wonder what Finrod will do when he learns of it?” Nimrodel asked and everyone nodded.

****

Finrod could tell something was wrong even before he opened the door. He’d been working late at the bookstore, taking over so Nicholas could go to his dental appointment. It was now nearly eight and he had been looking forward to a quiet dinner, but the tension in the air warned him that that might not happen. He resisted a sigh as he stepped inside, doffing his cloak and hanging it up. He could hear voices raised in anger further down the hall and he made his way to the kitchen where he found Alphwen, Helyanwë and Cennanion. Alphwen was glaring at Helyanwë who was looking very miserable while Cennanion was on the phone speaking to someone. They all turned to see Finrod and three sets of eyebrows rose almost as one.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s happened, Susan,” Cennanion was saying into the phone. “That’s not like him… Okay, no problem… Talk with you later.” He hung up.

“What is going on?” Finrod asked quietly.

For a moment no one spoke, then Cennanion sighed. “That was the Adult Education Center asking about Loren. He was supposed to teach a class tonight and never showed up.”

Finrod felt a frisson of fear rush through him. “Where is he?” he asked the three.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Alphwen said, looking both angry and worried. “The last time anyone saw him was almost four hours ago. He and Helena were… um… having a discussion.”

Finrod gave her a considering look before turning his attention to Helyanwë. “Daughter?” he asked and the elleth cringed at the tone. This was not ‘Uncle Finrod’ standing before her, but ‘Prince Findaráto’ and technically her guardian since she was unmarried.

“We had a… a disagreement,” she said softly, not quite looking at him.

Finrod gave her a skeptical look. “A disagreement. About what?”

When Helyanwë did not answer immediately, Alphwen stepped in, giving her an angry look. “Go on. Tell him. Tell him what you said to Loren to drive him away.”

“What do you mean by that?” Finrod asked.

Alphwen grimaced. “Just that I heard the back door slam. I was up in the sunroom and saw Loren stalk away. I watched him head for the woods and that’s the last any of us has seen of him. No matter how angry he might have been he would never have shirked his duties towards the Mortals. He takes them seriously. He never showed up for dinner but I didn’t think about it at the time. I thought perhaps he simply went into town to eat before going to his class. But when we got the call just now from the Center, I knew something was wrong.”

Finrod sighed, realizing that he was unlikely to have any dinner, quiet or otherwise. “Cennanion, who else is here?”

“Hmm… Barry and the Three Amigos and Nell for sure. I think the two Legolases are around here somewhere. Not sure about anyone else.”

“Gather everyone who is here,” Finrod said decisively. “We will meet in the conference room in ten minutes. We will need torches as well.”

“What do you mean to do?” Helyanwë asked.

“Search for Glorfindel, of course,” Finrod replied somewhat coldly. “We will quarter the woods and hope we can pick up his trail and if we are very lucky we may actually find him. I hope for your sake, Daughter, that we find him in one piece.”

Helyanwë looked stricken at the implication of his words. Finrod turned to Cennanion. “You have your orders,” he said.

“My lord,” the ellon replied, giving him a short bow before exiting.

“Go to the conference room,” Finrod commanded the two ellith. “I will be there shortly after I’ve cleaned up a bit.”

The two ellith gave him brief curtsies and left. Finrod closed his eyes for a moment, sighed and then headed for the back stairs. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long night for them all.

****

Ada: (Sindarin) Hypocoristic form of adar: Father.

Note: The song the ellyn sing is Brad Paisley’s, “I’m Still a Guy”. My thanks to Ellie for providing me with the lyrics. As always, you can hear it on Youtube.

25: The Dominoes Fall

“Anything?”

Legolas of Gondolin looked up from where he was crouched and shook his head at Finrod and the others standing around him.

“He came this far, but that is all I can tell you.” He stood up, looking about the clearing in the middle of the woods where the Elves liked to congregate. “I have no idea where he went from here. Sorry.”

“It is not your fault, my friend,” Finrod said. “There is no moon tonight and the stars are hidden behind clouds. I am amazed you can find any traces in the dark.”

“And it’s about to snow again,” Barahir pointed out. “We had better spread out.”

“No, that won’t do any good,” Brethorn said. “We need to be smart about this. Glorfindel is angry. He leaves the house and comes here. For how long? Did he rant and rave at the trees or sit quietly and stew? He never went to his class, so we know he did not go into town…”

“That is not necessarily so,” Alphwen pointed out. “He could have gone to any of the bars to drown his sorrows like most men. He could have gone to the Blue Petrel or the Grey Whaler or even, Eru help us, the Rusty Nail.” The Wiseman Elves in their group all shuddered.

“I take it this Rusty Nail is not a good place to go,” Finrod said with mild amusement at their reactions.

“Only if you’re feeling suicidal,” Barahir answered. “The Rusty Nail gives other dives a bad name.”

“Do you think he would go there or any other tavern?” Finda asked, looking dubious.

“It is a possibility,” Barahir replied. “Loren may have started out here, but it’s obvious he didn’t remain. There’s nothing in the woods to attract him and they’re not all that large. We would know if he or anyone else were here and I sense no one. Do any of you?”

Several Elves shook their heads.

“He could have gone to the Academy,” Elennen suggested. “Did anyone think to check there?”

“I called his office and I’ve tried reaching him on his cell but there’s no answer,” Cennanion answered.

“He might have turned it off if he did not wish to be disturbed,” Alphwen said.

“Have you ever known Loren to do that?” Barahir asked. “Has anyone thought to check with Ron and Amroth? Maybe he went over there to talk with them.”

“I confess, I had not thought of that,” Finrod admitted with some chagrin. “It is a logical assumption. If Glorfindel was in as much emotional pain as I suspect he was, he might well go to Vorondur for counseling. Just to be sure, though, I want these woods searched. Perhaps we will discover in which direction he went after he left here. Split up in groups of two or three. Barahir, contact Vorondur and find out if Glorfindel is there or was there.”

“I’ll need to go back to the house,” Barahir said. “I left my phone behind and I’m not sure we could get a signal out here anyway.”

“Then go and then come find me.”

Barahir nodded and loped off. Finrod looked around the clearing as everyone else began scattering in search of a trace of the missing ellon. “Where are you, my brother?” Finrod whispered to himself and then he sent a silent prayer winging to the heavens asking that the Valar and the One keep his heart-brother safe.

****

Elrohir was in the middle of regaling the others around the dining room table with a story of his and Elladan’s adventures while acting as guides to a group of French trappers, traders and Jesuits as they made their way into the wilds of North America during the seventeenth century.

“They thought we were natives and wanted to know to which tribe we belonged,” Elrohir told them with a grin. “Dan told them we were of the Peredhel tribe. One of the Jesuits fancied himself a linguist and tried to get us to teach him our language but we refused. They were rather disconcerted that we spoke fluent French when none of them had more than a smattering of the Algonquin tongue prevalent in that area.”

The others laughed. “And where were you, Darren, and Glorfindel at the time?” Amroth asked. “And you, my love? Were you not with them?”

“No,” Nimrodel answered. “Misty and I were back in Boston while Loren and Darren were tracking the Twins.”

They all looked at Daeron who raised an eyebrow. “Dan and Roy had the nasty habit of simply disappearing into the wilds without so much as a by-your-leave. The time Roy speaks of, they went missing for two years. Loren and I spent three months tracking them down. Finally caught up with them in New Orleans living a dissolute life, spending most of their time on one riverboat or another gambling.” He gave them a sly look.

The others looked at Roy, who returned their curious gazes with an unrepentant grin. “Loren was so angry when he found us he nearly leveled the entire city. Hurricane Katrina had nothing on him when it came to destruction.”

“It was the last time you two pulled something like that for about two centuries, as I recall,” Daeron said with a fond smile as he took a sip of his wine.

Elrohir was about to comment when the phone rang, startling them all. Vorondur frowned as he got up from the table. “I’ll get it,” he said unnecessarily, since no one else had moved to answer it. He went into the kitchen and picked up.

“Hello?... Barry!… What? No Loren never came here… When?... Have you called Stan?... The Rusty Nail! Even Loren would never go there, however he felt.”

At that point, Elrohir got up, a look of alarm on his face, and went into the kitchen. The others followed him. Vorondur looked about as they entered, shaking his head as he continued to listen to Barahir. Elrohir gestured for him to relinquish the phone.

“Barry, Roy’s here. He wants to talk with you.” He handed the phone over.

“Barry? Roy. What’s this about Loren?... How long ago?... Damn! He’s been gone that long? I know he was upset… Sarah and I overheard the argument between him and Helena… but… okay… look, he might have gone for a run. He sometimes does that when he’s really upset. There’s that road behind the college that leads up into the mountains. He likes to take runs there… Oh, if he were really upset, he might run for hours but I agree that he would never have forgotten his class. At the very least he would’ve called the Center and canceled it… Yeah, that’s what I figure… okay… I’ll run over to the Academy just to be sure. I’ll call you either way. Thanks, Barry.”

He hung up the phone with a grimace, addressing them all. “Barry says Finrod’s ordered a search of the woods behind the house. They know for sure he went there but he obviously went somewhere else afterwards. He’s not answering his phone.”

“That could mean anything,” Vorondur said.

“Maybe,” Elrohir allowed, not entirely convinced. “I’m going to run over to the Academy just to be sure. Barry says he and Conan will check all the bars.”

“You and I can do that as well,” Amroth said, turning to Daeron, who nodded in agreement.

“I’m going to call Dave Michaelson and Carl Graff,” Vorondur said. “If Loren’s been missing since the argument, something is definitely wrong.”

“You don’t think he’s in any serious trouble, do you?” Holly asked worriedly.

“With Loren, you never know,” Vorondur replied, shaking his head as he picked up the phone and began punching numbers.

“I’ll call you,” Elrohir said as he headed for the front door.

“I’m coming with you,” Serindë told him.

“We’ll make better time if we just hoof it,” Amroth said to Daeron and the two of them grabbed their coats and ran out the door, waving at Elrohir and Serindë as they went.

Inside, Vorondur was speaking into the phone. “That’s right, Dave, he’s been missing since about four this afternoon. No one’s seen hide nor hair of him and he never showed for his class at the Education Center. Our best trackers can find no trace. He went into the woods, that much we know, but after that it’s anyone’s guess. Darren and Amroth are checking some of the bars. Barry and Conan, too. Roy’s gone over to the college to check there… Okay… thanks… No. I’m heading over to Edhellond. Finrod’s coordinating things from that end… I’ll let you know. Thanks, Dave.”

He hung up and looked at his wife and Nimrodel. “Dave’s putting out an APB and he’ll contact Carl. I’m heading for Edhellond.”

“We’ll stay here, of course, out of the way,” Nimrodel said somewhat acerbically.

Vorondur raised an eyebrow. “If you wish to come, by all means, say so. I have neither the time nor the patience for female histrionics.”

“Ron,” Ercassë warned, giving him a frown.

Vorondur merely shook his head in disgust and opened the door leading to the mudroom, leaving the two ellith to themselves. They heard the garage door opening and then the sound of a car engine turning over, followed by the crunch of tires on the snow as the garage door closed.

Ercassë sighed. “Let’s clear the table and make some tea,” she suggested. “I think this is going to be a long night.”

Nimrodel nodded and soon they were clearing away the interrupted dinner, softly commenting on the turn of events, wondering what had happened to Glorfindel, hoping all was well but fearing the worst.

****

Elladan stretched, doing a few knee bends to get the kinks out of his body. Vardamir looked on in amusement. The two were in the kitchen of the Urgent Care Unit, taking a break after having spent a tense hour or so dealing with an overdose victim, now resting quietly in one of the wards and being carefully monitored. “You are too tense, my friend,” he said, speaking Quenya. “You need to learn to keep your hröa loose even when you are in a tense situation. Surely, you know this from your warrior training.”

“Yes, I do,” Elladan said with a nod, replying in the same language. “I guess I’m still not used to this. It’s been too long since Roy and I have acted as healers. Atto used to describe a healer as a warrior fighting a different type of enemy than orcs and such.”

“Your atar is very wise and he is one of Lord Irmo’s most trusted healers,” Vardamir said with a smile.

Elladan gave him a hungry look. “You know him?”

“But of course,” Vardamir said, looking surprised. “I was one of his tutors.”

“Tutors?! Atto?” Elladan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

The other ellon laughed. “Do not be amazed, child. Your atar might well have been the most gifted healer in Middle-earth, but he never had training under a Vala or his Maiar. There were things about the healing arts Elerondo did not know and so after a sufficient time had passed as he rested in Lórien, recovering from all that he had endured here, Lord Irmo invited him to become an apprentice.”

Elladan smirked. “Atto as an apprentice. I bet that suggestion went over well.”

Vardamir chuckled. “He was most resistant to the idea. Said he was far too old to be wearing an apprentice’s tabard, that he was a master healer whether any of us Valinórean snobs recognized it or not. Told Lord Irmo to take a flying leap, or words to that effect.”

Eladan gave the older healer a knowing look. “How long did that argument last?”

“Hmm…. it’s difficult to put it in words. Time runs differently in Aman than here, but I would say the equivalent of about a century or so before he gave in.” Vardamir gave his young colleague a wide grin. “Lord Irmo can be very persistent. Just ask Laurendil.”

Elladan was about to comment when Kyle Stoner walked into the kitchen, looking grim. “We just got word. EMT is bringing in a mugging victim. He was apparently found half-dead stuffed in a dumpster behind the gas station over on Evans. He’s in a bad way from what dispatch says. Dan, check to see that room three is ready. Mir” — he pronounced it as ‘meer’ — “get ready to type the victim when they bring him in. You remember how it’s done?”

“Yes, I do,” Vardamir said with a nod as the three left the kitchen. Elladan went to where the examining rooms were, entering number three while Vardamir quickly found gloves and put them on then checked to see he had the equipment he needed to draw blood for typing. Kyle was issuing other orders to the staff as they prepared themselves for the new arrival. Less than five minutes later they could hear the sirens and shortly thereafter they saw the flashing lights as the ambulance pulled up to the door. Immediately, people ran outside with a gurney while Vardamir stood by ready to take the blood sample. He watched dispassionately as the EMT personnel competently brought the victim out and placed him on the gurney, strapping him in. One of the nurses was wrapping a blood pressure cuff on the victim’s arm even as they were wheeling him inside. Vardamir, waiting by the door, stepped in, readying the needle, but now that he was closer and could get a good look at the person lying on the gurney, he froze.

“Mir!” Kyle yelled as he headed for him. “What are you—holy God! Is that—?”

“Glorfindel!” Elladan screamed as he ran to them.

Vardamir snapped out of his shock, his healer’s training taking over, grabbing the younger Elf and without thinking he began issuing orders, no longer the eager learner but a seasoned healer who had trained under Lord Irmo himself and had been the Noldóran’s personal battle surgeon. “Kyle, get David Michaelson here on the double, then call Edhellond and speak with Finrod. Tell him I need every healer here ASAP. Dan? Dan! Snap out of it. I need you to stay focused.”

Elladan glared at him, his eyes dark with fury. “How? Who did this to him? They threw him in a dumpster?”

“Questions for later,” Vardamir said, giving him a slight shake. “I want you to get the OR ready. Go on. There’s little time.”

The younger Elf hesitated for a split second and then nodded, his expression cold. “Rachel, with me,” he called out to one of the nurses as he turned and headed for the OR. Even as he was running down the hall he was pulling out his phone and speed dialing it. “Roy…” was all Vardamir heard as he turned his attention to the unconscious Glorfindel. In the short amount of time he had been dealing with the son of Elrond, the Mortals had transferred the ellon to the examining room and had hooked him up to the various monitors. Vardamir took a quick look at them.

“We don’t know what the baseline is for an Elf,” one of the male nurses on duty said to him. “What’s normal for you guys?”

Vardamir gave him a humorless smile as he started his examination, using both conventional and Elvish methods to determine the extent of Glorfindel’s injuries while an IV drip was being set up. “That is debatable,” he said, then shook his head as he lifted one of Glorfindel’s eyelids, shining a light into his eye and then doing the same thing with the other. “Pupils are dilated.” Now he ran his hands, palms down, along Glorfindel’s body, not quite touching it.” There’s internal bleeding, possibly a ruptured spleen. We’ll need to go in.” Glancing at the monitor that recorded the Elf’s vitals, he frowned. “His BP is too low. He had to have bled out but I don’t see any wounds.”

“Here,” one of the nurses said, lifting Glorfindel’s left arm. “God! Did he slit his own wrist?”

“No, but someone else did,” Vardamir said grimly as he looked upon the cut, now crusted over but still seeping. Then he began issuing orders just as Kyle came in.

“The police are on their way. There was no answer at Edhellond. I don’t have anyone’s cell phone number.”

“Dan was calling Roy,” Vardamir said. “Roy will see that everyone else is told.”

“Do we know what his blood type is? Would it even be compatible with any of ours?” Kyle asked.

“I can generate the necessary blood production but I can’t do that and operate at the same time.”

“Well, you’re not operating anyway. I will,” Kyle said sharply. “You’re not qualified to….”

Vardamir gave him a cold look and several Mortals, including Kyle, took a step back at his expression. “No Mortal will touch him, not even you, Kyle. In this, you have no say. Now, I need to contact Finrod. Keep him stable in the meantime.” And with that, he took a few steps back, out of everyone’s way, and to their amazement he simply stood there with his eyes closed for several minutes. Then he opened them. “Finrod is on his way with the others. I will not operate until they get here. Kyle, if you wish, you may watch, but do not interfere.”

“Why thank you, lord and master,” Kyle retorted sardonically.

Whatever Vardamir meant to say to that went unsaid as all the monitors started going wild. “Code Blue!” someone called out and immediately mildly controlled chaos reigned as people scrambled to get the cart and others got out of the way. Kyle began massaging Glorfindel’s heart and Vardamir grabbed the paddles.

“…four hundred. Clear,” the technician called out.

“Clear,” Vardamir echoed and Kyle immediately stepped out of the way as the Elf applied the paddles. Glorfindel’s body arched and they all looked at the monitors, still flat-lined.

“Again,” Vardamir called and they went through the routine a second time, all of them standing around impatiently while the machine powered up.

“Clear,” the technician called out.

Vardamir applied the paddles again, glancing at the monitor.

“We’ve got bee-vib,” the technician said and there was a general release of tension throughout. Vardamir handed the paddles to a nurse and turned his attention to Glorfindel. “Stay with us, meldonya,” he whispered in Quenya, stroking the ellon’s cheek.

“Can’t the Maiar help?” Kyle asked. “Why would they allow this?”

“For the same reason they allow everything else,” Vardamir replied. “Free will.” He turned to look at the door, his acute hearing already picking up the sound of running feet and voices he recognized.

It was an even bet as to who had gotten to the hospital first, Dave Michaelson or Finrod, for they both stood at the door.

“What the hell?” Dave exclaimed in shocked anger as he spied the still unconscious Glorfindel, lying there white as a sheet.

Finrod went white and his eyes darkened with fury.

“No time for that, David,” Vardamir said. “Findaráto!” He then gabbled something in rapid Quenya, describing Glorfindel’s condition, explaining what needed to be done. As he spoke, Finrod’s demeanor became clinical, his eyes cleared of the anger.

“Laurendil, Manwen and Eärnur are right behind me,” he said. “Where is Elladan?”

“Prepping OR,” Vardamir replied. “I heard him calling Elrohir.”

Finrod nodded. “Then let us prepare ourselves.” He turned to Dave. “I want the place where he was found sealed off until my people can get to it.”

“Your people!” Dave exclaimed angrily, giving him a scowl. “This is a police matter. We’ll handle it. And for your information, the place is already sealed off and a forensics team on its way. It became a crime scene the moment it was called in, though we didn’t know it was an Elf who was a victim. That was never reported to Dispatch.”

“Tell your forensics people to touch nothing until my people have had a chance to examine the area,” Finrod insisted. “Do not argue with me, David Michaelson. I am not in the mood.”

Something in Finrod’s expression gave the Mortal pause and the protest died on his lips. He nodded brusquely. “Fine. While your people are mucking up the crime scene I’ll have my people start looking for witnesses. That gas station is in a bad part of town. What the hell was he doing there and how did he get like this?”

“All good questions, but the answers will have to wait,” Vardamir said.

“Is he going to pull through?” Dave asked.

“That remains to be seen,” Vardamir replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to prep for OR.” With that, he issued orders and soon Glorfindel was being taken to the OR while Kyle offered to show Finrod where the scrub room was.

Dave Michaelson watched them go then turned to one of the officers who had followed him. “Call Tregarth. Tell him to stay clear of the crime scene until the Elves get there. We’ll let our alien overlords play with the evidence first.”

The officer gave him a tight smile and a salute, already grabbing his phone as he wandered away. Dave turned to the other officer. “I want a guard on Loren at all times, assuming he makes it through surgery. See to it.”

“Yessir,” the young man said, saluting, and then Dave was left alone to wander back into the waiting room. Even as he entered the area with the intention of giving the sheriff a call, several Elves came rushing in demanding an explanation. Dave held up his hands as they surrounded him.

“I don’t know anything for sure,” he told them. “All I know is that they’ve taken him to OR.”

Vardamir showed up just then, giving them a nod. “Good. You’re here. Laurendil, Manwen, I know you’ve not done any OR work here yet, but I’ll need you both. You, too, Eärnur. Glorfindel is going to need a great deal of blood and I need you to generate blood production.”

“While you are operating on him?” Eärnur asked in confusion. “I could not possibly provide enough blood for him that way.”

“I know. We’ll have to risk using Mortal blood to supplement what you cannot generate from Glorfindel’s marrow. But come, let’s get scrubbed up. There’s little time to lose. He’s bleeding internally and….”

He began rattling off Glorfindel’s medical condition as the others followed him, leaving Dave alone again. He speed-dialed a number and on the first ring it was picked up.

“Carl, Dave. He’s in a bad way. Internal bleeding, that sort of thing… Yeah, I got a quick look before they sent him to OR. Looks like whoever did this was quite brutal and knew how to inflict the most damage… No, I’ve got it covered, but have your people keep their eyes and ears open. It’s possible someone might boast of ‘doing in the Elf’. You know how these people are. They can’t help bragging about their latest kills… Yeah, later.” He closed down the call and then punched another number. This time he had to wait through three rings before it was answered.

“Hi, honey…. Yeah, it’s Loren. They’ve got him in OR. I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on things… No, don’t bother. I’ll pick something up here at the hospital… I’ll probably be up all night, so don’t wait up. As soon as Loren’s out of surgery I’ll be heading for the station… Yeah, I love you, too. Give the kids a kiss for me… Bye.”

At that moment, more Elves arrived and Dave was once again surrounded by people demanding answers to their questions. He noticed one of the ellith appeared particularly distraught and vaguely recalled seeing her at the housewarming party with Loren. Helena was her name, or at least the name she now went by. He couldn’t recall off-hand what her real name was. Two of the other ellith in the group were practically holding her up. Dave turned his attention to the others, giving them a terse explanation of what was happening. Even as he was speaking, Vorondur, Daeron and Amroth arrived with Elrohir and Serindë. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Dave couldn’t help grinning at the nonplused reactions of the other Mortals in the waiting room watching the invasion of the Elves. Among them he noticed Daniel Cohen, the rabbi at Temple Beth El, no doubt there in his role as a hospital chaplain. Dave knew that some of the ministers in the town took turns acting as chaplains.

Elrohir, ignoring everyone, bore down upon Helyanwë, his eyes blazing with fury as he grabbed her by the shoulders and began shaking her. “You drove him away! You’re responsible for this! If he dies, so help me—”

“Roy! No. Stop it!” Serindë cried out, as she and Dave attempted to pull him back while several of the Elves began shouting, some of them stepping in front of Helyanwë to protect her. Vorondur grabbed a still raging Elrohir and slapped him soundly a couple of times across his face. Elrohir went completely still, his breathing harsh as he fought to get himself under control.

“Enough!” Vorondur shouted. “All of you stop!”

The silence that followed was almost deafening. “Barry, Conan, take Roy outside. Throw him into a snow bank if you have to, but don’t let him back in until he’s calmer.” The two ellyn grabbed Elrohir and began pulling him away. “Go with them, Daughter,” Vorondur ordered Serindë and she went. Vorondur looked at the others, noting which of the Valinórean Elves had surrounded Helyanwë, while the Wiseman Elves were huddled to one side. There was a small group of Valinórean Elves who were standing apart, as if they did not wish to get involved. The Three Amigos and Nell were there, along with the three Reborn, Brethorn, Beleg and Edrahil, and, surprisingly enough, or perhaps not so surprising, Valandur, who gave Vorondur a brittle smile.

Before Vorondur could say anything more, Dave chose that moment to speak, his tone dripping with scorn. “My people are cordoning off the area where he was found. The great and powerful Wizard of Oz has ordered me not to send in forensics until you lot have had a chance to sniff the place out. When this is all over, someone better sit Finrod down and explain to him the facts of life. You have one hour to do whatever you need to do before I send my people in and God help you all if anyone tries to stop me. In case it’s slipped your Elvish minds, I’m the law here, along with Carl Graff, and you had better remember that. Ron, I’m placing a guard on Loren until this is all sorted out. I’ll let you know if we discover anything and I trust you will return the favor.”

“Of course, Dave. That goes without saying,” Vorondur replied smoothly. “Where was he found?”

“Over on Evans,” Dave answered. “Conrad will show your people where,” he added, nodding to the officer who had been standing off to one side waiting for instructions. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with Dr. Stoner.”

Without giving anyone time to reply, he strode away, issuing orders to Conrad who saluted. Vorondur looked at his fellow Elves, his expression grave. “Liam and Lance, you and Bela go with Officer Conrad and see what you can learn.” The two Legolases and Beleg nodded and went to the Mortal, quietly introducing themselves. As the four left, Elladan came down the hall.

“Ron, where’s Roy? We’re going to need all the healers, including you.”

“He’s outside cooling off,” Vorondur said. “Barry and Conan are with him as is Sarah.”

Elladan raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he went to the entrance and stepped outside. A moment later he returned with Elrohir who refused to look at anyone as he listened to his brother quietly explain Glorfindel’s condition, speaking in Latin of all things, much to Vorondur’s amusement. Everyone watched them as they headed down the hall to scrub up.

Vorondur turned and addressed the other Elves. “I suggest you all get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.” With that, he left and followed the Twins, leaving everyone else to wait and worry.

****

Words are Quenya:

Hröa: Body.

Elerondo: Elrond.

26: Rescuing Elves

Finrod entered the OR, feeling out of his depth as seeming chaos flowed around him. The Mortals in the room were quietly going about the business of getting everything ready while Vardamir was speaking to Kyle Stoner who had finished getting gowned up before him. The two of them were standing over Glorfindel lying on the operating table.

“We’ll go in from this direction,” he heard Vardamir say and Kyle nodded and then he began talking in the arcane language of surgeons about procedures, none of which Finrod understood except in the most general way. He was not sure what his role was to be and kept out of everyone’s way, knowing he was not in charge here.

Vardamir turned, and seeing him, gestured him to come forward. “There’s internal bleeding,” he said by way of greeting. “We need to go in and fix the tear. I am going to have Eärnur generate the production of blood but we’re using Mortal blood as well.”

“But our types are not compatible, are they?” Finrod asked in confusion.

“To some extent, but not all, else there could be no viable progeny between our two races,” Vardamir replied. “We’ve filtered out those aspects of Mortal blood that might be incompatible with ours. We’re using O negative blood, which is the universal donor. Glorfindel’s blood type is almost AB positive, which helps, since AB types are considered universal receivers. It’s not a perfect solution, but we have few other options. Eärnur cannot generate enough blood in his marrow.”

Finrod nodded. “What do you wish me to do?”

“And me.”

They all turned to see Vorondur there. “I may have a medical degree but I have no surgical experience. Not my field.”

“For the most part, I need the rest of you to lend me your strength. I want a shield raised around Glorfindel. In his present state he’s vulnerable to any forces of evil. He’s already suffered cardiac arrest and I think that was induced by an outside force.”

Finrod felt himself go cold. “I have not sensed any evil here.”

“And I’m glad to hear it, but I still want that shield,” Vardamir said.

“Then you shall have it,” Finrod responded decisively.

“And Finrod,” Vardamir said, “keep an eye on Glorfindel’s fëa. I notice he’s not wearing his ring.”

“Whoever did this to him probably took it off him,” Finrod said in a cold voice. “Once the shield is raised, I will see to it that he does not slip his leash.”

Vardamir nodded and then sighed. “Well, let’s get on with it. Kyle, if you insist on being here I can’t really stop you, but be aware that I will not necessarily follow standard procedures. There is much of Elvish medical techniques about which you know little. However strange it might appear to you, do not interfere. If you don’t think you can do that, then why don’t you join David Michaelson in the observation deck?”

“Trying to get rid of me, are you?” Kyle said in a tight voice. “Well, it won’t work. This is my OR and I’m just lending it to you, so let’s stop arguing about it and save your friend. We’ll take your orders for now, but don’t make it a habit, at least, not until you’ve passed the boards.”

Vardamir nodded, then raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “Laurendil, you and Manwen will assist Finrod and Vorondur in keeping this place shielded. Finrod will keep an eye on Glorfindel’s fëa, make sure it doesn’t wander off. Eärnur, you know what to do. Rachel, you’re with me.”

“What about anesthesia? Shouldn’t he be put under?” Rachel asked.

“No. I don’t trust anesthesia on one of us,” Vardamir said. He turned to see Elladan and Elrohir standing off to one side. “You two up to keeping him under?”

Elladan nodded. “We’ll take turns so as not to over-extend ourselves.”

“Good. The rest of you continue monitoring and seeing that we have everything we need. I have no idea how long this is going to take.” He stepped over to look down on Glorfindel. “Stay with us, meldonya,” he whispered in Quenya. Then, without looking at anyone he said in English, “Raise the shield and let’s begin.”

And in the observation deck, Dave Michaelson swore in shock as he watched a golden half-globe of light suddenly rise up and enclose the area below him, its opaque surface making it hard for him to see what was happening underneath it.

****

Valandur looked about the waiting room and resisted a sigh. After Vorondur had left, there was an uneasy silence between them all and then, almost as if on cue, those surrounding Helyanwë commandeered several rows of seats and were now sitting quietly, their expressions grim. Finda had whispered something to his gwedyr and Nell and they had wandered off, leaving Valandur standing in the middle of the waiting room feeling foolish, for Brethorn and Edrahil had also left, saying they wished to get some fresh air and would be back soon. Most of the Wiseman Elves were still clustered around Amroth and Daeron, quietly talking. He noted with approval that Melyanna, after hesitating for a moment, left the larger group and went to Daeron, who put an arm around her and gave her a kiss in comfort.

Valandur decided to join them, ignoring the glares from some of the Elves whom he passed. He was not about to get into a war of words over this. The Wiseman Elves were not the enemy. Amroth and Daeron looked up at his approach, their expressions neutral. Valandur hid a smile. “Anyone care to tell me what that was all about with Elrohir?” he asked quietly.

Both Amroth and Daeron shrugged.

“I see,” Valandur said, giving them a shrewd look, putting together a number of things from what had been said earlier and what was not being said now. Both ellyn looked embarrassed at his tone.

“I’m sorry Val,” Daeron said. “It’s not our tale to tell.”

“I understand, truly, and I don’t blame you for remaining quiet.” He glanced over to where the other Elves were sitting. “We need to do something about this or we will regret it.”

“Any suggestions?” Amroth asked with a sardonic twist of his lips.

“Oh, I’m full of suggestions, most of them having to do with drowning the whole lot of you or dropping you into a fiery pit. I’m about to swim back to Valinor and leave the rest of you to fend for yourselves.”

Several of the Elves surrounding them grinned. “And I’m about to join you,” Daeron said.

If Valandur meant to comment further, he was forestalled by the entrance of several distraught Mortals. Alex, Derek and Zach made a beeline toward them.

“What the hell happened? How’s Loren?” Alex demanded.

“How did—?” Daeron started to say but Alex cut him off.

“Finda called us and then we picked up Zach on the way.”

It was only then that Valandur noticed that Finda and the other three with him had returned, purposely staying in the background. Brethorn and Edrahil were with them, looking wary. Valandur recognized the look. He had seen it often enough on Ingalaurë and Intarion after they had been reborn and hoped that there would be no ‘Reborn incident’ on top of everything else.

“Well, we don’t know anything for sure,” Amroth was saying. “Loren’s in OR and all the healers are there. Beyond that, we have no further information.”

“Where was he though?” Derek asked.

“We don’t know,” Daeron answered. “He left Edhellond around four and no one saw him after that and then we got the call from the hospital.”

Alex narrowed his eyes, glancing at everyone, taking in every little detail. Valandur was fascinated by the way the Mortal quickly gauged everyone’s mood. He had even noticed him checking every exit, as if he might need to make a quick escape. He knew from speaking to the young Man how dangerous his life had been and he was seeing the consequences of that here. Alex Grant may no longer be a spy, but he was still acting as one.

“I see,” Alex finally said, and Valandur couldn’t help smiling at the response, an echo of his own.

“So why do I get the feeling we’ve stumbled into an armed encampment?” Derek asked in a rather laconic tone, his gaze flitting between the various groups of Elves.

“I’m afraid that certain things were said that has everyone else riled up,” Amroth answered.

“Well, someone better do something fast because you can cut the tension with a knife and I have a feeling something is going to explode and soon,” Alex said with a grimace then noticed Zach. “Zach, you’re looking faint. Let’s get you settled.”

“I’m all right,” the younger Man protested. “I… I guess I don’t handle things like this very well, not since….”

They gave him sympathetic looks. “It’s cool, mate,” Derek said. “I’m not feeling too sanguine myself. Let’s see if we can rustle up some terrible coffee. That’ll at least put hair on our chest if nothing else.”

Zach grinned.  “I’d better call Jud first and give him an update,” he said, turning to the Elves. “As soon as we heard, he started calling the others to let them know but I told him to tell them not to come here. This place is already crowded.”

Alex fished out some money from his pocket and asked Derek to bring back some coffee for him as well. The Elves assured Derek that they were fine. As he and Zach wandered off in search of the cafeteria, two other people came in, making their way to them.

“It’s Grand Central Station,” Daeron heard Alex mutter and suppressed a grin as he greeted the two arrivals. “Charles, Josiah, what are you doing here?” He shook the priest’s hand and then Josiah’s.

“We got called in,” Josiah answered.

“By whom?” Valandur asked, glancing to where Finda and the other youngsters were still standing, but he could see from their blank expressions that they had nothing to do with calling these particular Mortals.

“Not sure,” Charles replied. “Just was asked to come here. Oh, don’t worry. It’s an occupational hazard for us both.”

“So what can you tell us?” Josiah asked.

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Daeron replied. “We only know that Glorfindel went missing earlier today and then someone found him in a bad state. He’s in OR right now. Details are forthcoming.”

“Hmm… normally, someone calls one of us to give spiritual comfort and bless the person in the event that he doesn’t survive the trauma of surgery,” Charles explained, “but if Loren’s already being operated on, there’s nothing we can do other than pray.”

“Look, there’s Daniel,” Josiah said. “Daniel! Over here.” He gestured to Rabbi Cohen, coming out of one of the examining rooms. The rabbi was in his late forties, his hair still dark, wearing a neatly trimmed beard. When the Man neared them, Josiah held out his hand. “You on duty tonight?”

“Yes,” the rabbi replied, shaking Josiah’s hand and then Charles’ before nodding to the Elves and Alex. “Joseph Sorenson was supposed to be here,” naming the Presbyterian minister, “but he’s down with the flu so he asked me to take his shift. I was here earlier and saw all the action but couldn’t stick around as I was needed elsewhere.” He turned to the Elves. “So what has that mashuggner Elf done this time?”

Several eyebrows went up and Valandur saw Alex grin.

“He was mugged by person or persons unknown and apparently left for dead,” Daeron said softly. “He’s in OR now. We have no idea if he will pull through or not.” A pall settled over them all.

“That sounds so wrong on so many levels,” Daniel said with a shake of his head. “Well, what do you think we three should do about them?” He nodded to where the Valinórean Elves sat.

“You noticed that, too, did you?” Josiah said.

“Oy, the tension you can cut with a knife and I saw Roy go after that young woman sitting over there crying her eyes out. I smell murder and someone is bound to get hurt. We need to diffuse this before it gets out of hand.”

“You?” Valandur couldn’t help saying.

“But of course,” Charles said, giving them a serene smile. “Why do you think Josiah and I were called here, especially when Daniel was already here and could’ve been called in if needed? Now, what do you suppose we should do?” This last was directed at Josiah and Daniel as the three wandered away, their heads together.

Valandur gazed after them and then turned to Daeron and Amroth, his eyes full of questions. It was Daeron who answered. “I suspect that they will lead us all in prayer for Loren’s recovery,” he said with a shrug. “It’s a Mortal thing. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

About then, Zach and Derek returned with coffee. Alex accepted his cup gratefully. “What’s the deal?” Derek asked, nodding toward the three ministers.

“No idea, but we might find ourselves in the middle of a prayer fest or something.”

“Nothing wrong with prayer,” Derek said. “If nothing else, it’ll keep everyone too busy from wanting to strangle everyone else.”

“You feel it too, huh?” Zach said as he took a sip of his coffee. “This place is an explosion waiting to happen.” 

“Which is why we will diffuse it before it does,” Daniel Cohen said as he and the other two ministers rejoined them. Then, in a louder voice he addressed everyone in the waiting room. “Let us pray for one who hangs between life and death. Let us pray for those who fight to keep him alive. Come, let us all come together. Yes, all of you. You, too.” He gestured to where the Three Amigos, Nell and the two Reborn were congregated. “Come and join us.”

The six came closer with some reluctance, while Charles and Josiah chivvied the seated Elves to stand. Then Daniel spoke.

“For those who do not know us, I am Daniel Cohen, rabbi at Temple Beth El and acting as the hospital chaplain tonight. My colleagues are the Reverend Josiah Makepeace of the Hickory Street New Jerusalem Gospel Church on my right, and on my left is Father Charles Waverly, pastor of St. Mary of the Snow Catholic Church. We are all acquainted with Loren DelaFiore, whom you know as Glorfindel. We will lead you in prayer.”

“What do you mean by that?” one of the Elves asked.

“You’re about to find out,” Daniel said. “Let us begin.” He raised his hands on either side of him, palms up, and looked heavenward. “Blessed are you, O God, King of the Universe. We beseech you on behalf of one who lies between life and death. We ask you to bless him and those who work to save his life, and if it is your will that he lives, we thank you for your many mercies.” He lowered his arms and looked about. “Let us pray David’s psalm: The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…”

Valandur watched with interest as every Mortal and even some of the Wiseman Elves joined the rabbi in reciting the psalm. The others looked on in bemusement, not sure what was going on or why. He could tell that some of his fellow Elves found this praying a strange custom and he had to admit that he was one of them, but right from the very beginning he felt a sense of calm flow over him.

“… Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil…”

That sent a shiver through him, though he could not say why and he noticed one or two others gasping in shock at the words.

“… and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever. Amen.”

Daniel stepped back a bit and Charles stepped forward. “My brothers and sisters,” — and even Valandur felt his eyebrows leave his forehead at the Man’s form of address — “we are gathered here in this time of sorrow and grief over the fate of our brother, Loren, also known as Glorfindel, and we pray to the God Who created us all, to shower us with His blessings. Look kindly upon your poor children, Lord, and pour your Peace upon our troubled souls. Anger and sorrow consume us as we fear for one whom we love and we ask you to succor us and strengthen us in our hour of need. Let us, therefore, pray with confidence to the Father in the words our Lord taught us: Our Father, who art in heaven…”

Again, just about every Mortal there, including a few of the nurses and several others, joined in praying. Valandur noticed that Rabbi Cohen did not join in the prayer, but the Man had his eyes closed and his head was bowed in reverence.

“… and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory, now and forever. Amen.”

Valandur wasn’t sure, but it seemed that as the prayer was recited, a deeper sense of calm settled over them and several of the Elves breathed in and out deeply, as if releasing the tension that had been building up. Charles stepped back and nodded at Josiah who raised his hands in benediction.

“Blessed are the sorrowful, for they shall be comforted,” he cried out. “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called Children of God. Oh Lord, we ask for your blessings and pray that you look kindly upon these poor souls who are hurting, hurting with anger and unforgiveness. Yes, Lord, they are ahurting and their hearts are heavy with sorrow for their brother, Loren. Some are full of anger and others are full of vengeance, but all know that vengeance is yours, Lord, and you will repay. Now, I know, Lord, that you love us all, but I suspect you love Loren a little more than most, so we ask that you keep him safe for us and return him to us, for he is our brother and we love him, but we know that your will is supreme and so if it is your desire that our brother leave us at this time we thank you for the gift that he is to us all and we will strive to go on without his wisdom and his humor and his generosity to all.”

Amazingly, nearly every Mortal there answered with a loud “Amen!” at those words. Valandur saw Josiah smile as he finished his prayer, addressing the Elves. “Love your enemies. Pray for those who do you an injury. Forgive and you will be forgiven. Show mercy and you will be granted mercy in return. Be peacemakers with one another and show us that you are indeed Children of the One Who created us all. Be our brothers and sisters in truth.”

For a long moment, no one spoke or moved, yet, Valandur could see that several of his fellow Elves looked more relaxed and focused. Even Helyanwë, who had been in tears earlier, appeared calmer. Josiah turned to look at the Wiseman Elves still standing to one side. “And that goes for you, too,” he said. Then he addressed the other two ministers. “So who goes for coffee?”

“It’s your turn,” Daniel replied. “I like mine black.”

“Milk, no sugar,” Charles said with a smile.

Josiah sighed. “I’m sure I got the coffee last time.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what you always say,” Daniel retorted with a wave of his hand. “Oy, such a whiner.”

“Amen,” Charles intoned solemnly, though he was smiling, giving the two fellows a fond look.

Josiah grinned and gave them a wink before he left and Valandur understood that the exchange between the three Men was one of deep friendship.

“I wonder how Loren is holding up?” Zach asked no one in particular, but it was obvious that question was on everyone’s mind.

****

“How’s he doing?” Vardamir asked, glancing at Finrod. “Any trouble?”

“No. His fëa appears quiescent. Are you almost done?”

“Nearly so. We’ve managed to stop the bleeding. Valar! The amount of damage he sustained, it’s amazing he wasn’t D.O.A. Sponge.”

“D.O.A.?” Finrod asked, turning to look at Elrohir, who was taking a break while Elladan kept Glorfindel unconscious.

“Dead on arrival,” the younger ellon answered woodenly, not looking at him. He was pale and the strain he’d been under was obvious. Finrod glanced at the wall clock. They’d been at it for over three hours and even he was beginning to tire, but he kept himself upright and focused on his gwador. He had had to look away when Vardamir started cutting into him and one of the Mortals quickly ran and found a stainless-steel basin, thrusting it at him. It took him a second to realize what the nurse was doing and he gave her an embarrassed look. She merely nodded and went back to her own duties. He put the basin aside and forced himself to turn back and watch. It had not been easy but after a while he managed to obtain clinical calmness.

“You’re doing fine,” he heard Kyle murmur. The Mortal doctor had stood on the opposite side of the table and watched as Vardamir worked on Glorfindel, offering quiet suggestions. “Steady and even. That’s it. Suction,” he ordered, holding out a hand. One of the nurses handed him a tube-like instrument and he placed it inside the cavity. Finrod could see reddish fluid flow along the tube. Vardamir merely nodded.

“That’s it,” Vardamir said, straightening. “Let’s close up.”

It took them nearly another half an hour to accomplish that and then both Vardamir and Kyle stepped back, pulling off their masks. Kyle, in spite of being a Mortal, looked no worse for wear and Finrod knew this was a common occurrence for the young Man. Vardamir looked a bit more frazzled and Finrod realized that for the Elf this had been a whole new experience.

“Get him into ICU,” Vardamir ordered the nurses. “Laurendil, can you and Manwen keep him under in healing sleep? Elladan and Elrohir appear done out.”

Finrod silently agreed with the healer’s assessment of the Twins as he willed the shield down. He could see that they were barely able to stand straight and, while the other Elves looked tired, he knew that the Twins were beyond exhaustion. “We’ll see to it,” Laurendil said and he and Manwen followed the nurses as they wheeled Glorfindel away.

“I think he should be kept under for a couple of days,” he heard Vardamir say to Kyle.

“Whatever you think best,” Kyle answered.

“I’ll go tell the others,” Vorondur said.

“I will come with you,” Finrod responded. “Vardamir, perhaps you can arrange for Elladan and Elrohir to be given a place to sleep nearby. I do not think they will make it back to Edhellond.”

Both twins started to protest but then Elrohir yawned and Elladan copied him. Vardamir and Kyle both gave them sympathetic looks. “Let’s get out of these scrubs and I’ll find beds for you,” the Mortal said and soon the room was empty. Finrod joined Vorondur as he headed for the waiting room. The two of them stopped as one when they saw the Elves now mingling, speaking quietly with one another, a few sipping coffee. Finrod was surprised to see so many Mortals there as well, waiting with the Elves. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at Vorondur and Finrod.

“He’s out of surgery,” Vorondur said. “We’ve got him in ICU. Vardamir’s keeping him under for a couple of days to give him time to heal.”

There was a general sigh of relief. Vorondur raised his hands to forestall the inevitable questions. “Finrod and I are going to get out of scrubs. I suggest the rest of you go home. There’s nothing more any of you can do here. Loren’s in good hands. He’ll be closely monitored and guarded, I promise.”

“As do I,” Finrod said. “Please go home. I will join you soon. As I never got any dinner, perhaps someone would be kind enough to warm something up for me.”

“I’ll throw together something for you,” Daeron said. “I think I’ll just put some breakfast together and anyone who wants to can join you for a meal.”

“That sounds good,” Finrod said. “Any news from the police?”

“No and we are unlikely to hear anything for a day or two,” Amroth said. “Beleg and the two Legolases have not returned.”

“Someone should stick around so if they return here they will know where we’ve gone,” Finrod said.

“I’ll be here for a while,” Vorondur said. “I’ll keep an eye out for them. Let’s go change.”

“We’ll wait for you, Atto,” Finda said and Finrod nodded his thanks and followed Vorondur back down the hall.

“Thank you for your help,” Daeron said to the three ministers as people began making their way out.

“It was our pleasure,” Josiah answered for them all. “I hope it helped.”

“I’m sure it has,” Daeron said. “I’ll be sure to keep you informed as to Loren’s condition. Alex, Derek and Zach. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Alex said. “I don’t think we did much but hold people’s hands.”

“And that’s more than enough, believe me. Good night.”

Soon the waiting room emptied out until only Finda, his two gwedyr, Nell and Valandur remained, Valandur keeping a proprietary eye on the youngsters. Ten minutes later, Finrod joined them and they left, walking quietly through the dark town, each lost in their own thoughts.

****

Mashuggener: (Yiddish) Crazy.

Fëa: (Quenya) Spirit, soul.

27: Analysis

“Who called the Mortals?” Finrod asked Daeron as he dug into some scrambled eggs, scooping up some ham with it. Several of the Elves were gathered in the kitchen having breakfast even though it was the middle of the night. Besides Finrod and Daeron, Laurendil and Manwen were there, along with Valandur. Vorondur had gone home to his wife and Eärnur was keeping an eye on Glorfindel in ICU. The healers would each take a turn keeping watch over the Elf-lord. Serindë had also elected to stay at the hospital to watch over her beloved and future brother-in-law while they slept. The two Legolases and Beleg arrived at Edhellond shortly after Finrod had arrived and were having breakfast as well. Most of the other Elves had already retired by the time Finrod returned, so he had no opportunity to speak with Helyanwë. That conversation would have to wait. Finda and Nell and the other two youngsters had grabbed some food and retired to the sunroom to eat, leaving their elders to themselves.

Daeron, throwing together some more scrambled eggs for any who wanted some, answered, “Well, Finda called Alex, Derek and Zach. Charles and Josiah said that they received phone calls telling them to come to the hospital, but they did not recognize who spoke to them.”

“Yet they came,” Finrod commented. “Why?”

Daeron shrugged. “It’s their job. It is not unusual for them to be called in the middle of the night to attend to the spiritual needs of people who may be dying or are in danger of doing so. In fact that’s what Rabbi Cohen was doing there, acting as the hospital chaplain. However, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Charles and Josiah were not called to attend to Loren. He was already in surgery by the time they arrived, but all three Men recognized that they were there for a different purpose, to minister to us.”

“Us?” Finrod asked, leaning back as he took a sip of coffee.

“All of us,” Daeron said, gesturing with one hand. “Just about every Mortal in that waiting room commented on the fact that they could feel the tension that lay between us. Charles, Josiah and Daniel took it upon themselves as spiritual warriors, yes, that’s what they call themselves, to battle for our souls, to bring us to the Light. At least, from my experience, that is how they would describe what they were doing.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow and glanced at Valandur sitting across from him. Valandur nodded. “When Charles addressed us as his brothers and sisters, I wasn’t the only one to goggle. Never have I heard anyone address any of us so familiarly.”

“And yet, in a way, that is what we are,” Daeron said. “The Valar call us, Elves and Mortals, Eruhíni, in which case we are the elder brothers and sisters of the Secondborn.”

“I find it interesting that the Mortals recognize this relationship even if we do not,” Valandur said.

“Well, I am grateful for them being there,” Finrod said. “I feared that there would be more than one casualty from tonight’s events. What have we learned about what happened with Glorfindel?” This last was directed at Prince Legolas.

“We went to the place where Glorfindel was found,” Legolas replied between bites of his wheat toast. “It was a gas station?” He looked up at Daeron, who nodded, and then continued with his report. “A gas station. There is a dumpster, they call it, behind the building where garbage is thrown. That is where he was found.”

“Any idea as to who found him?” Valandur asked.

“According to the police with whom we spoke, a Man was rummaging through the dumpster looking for useable trash that he might sell. Apparently people throw away all sorts of things, not necessarily garbage. This Man was in the habit of visiting various dumpsters in the area and collecting items of interest. He found Glorfindel and ran to the nearest tavern and had them call the police.”

“Which tavern?” Daeron asked. “The gas station is on the corner of Evans and DeForrest. There are a couple of bars in that area. The nearest one, I think, would be McDuffy’s.”

“No, he went to the Rusty Nail,” the prince replied, “and we think Glorfindel was there earlier, at least, the barkeep recognized him from our description.”

“Valar!” Daeron exclaimed in shock. “So he did go there. It’s amazing he made it out alive.”

“He almost did not,” Finrod said sourly.

“But the surgery was successful, right?” Valandur asked.

“Yes, so far as it went,” Laurendil replied. He was leaning against a counter, an arm around his wife, the two drinking mint tea. “Mir did a good job of patching him up, but he’s not out of the woods yet. I was surprised that he didn’t slip his leash, Aranya. He wasn’t wearing his ring.”

“I know,” Finrod said with a sigh, rubbing the space between his eyes. “I thought I would have a fight on my hands, but he remained quiet. I am not sure, but I thought I detected the scent of at least one Maia with us, but with the antiseptic smells overpowering all it was difficult to tell.”

“Do you suppose that’s why Loren did not flee?” Daeron asked.

“I am assuming so,” Finrod replied. “I know from experience that the Maiar can keep a fëa anchored to its hröa, though if one manages to escape, it takes a Vala to get it back inside.”

There was much shaking of heads at that.

“So we know Glorfindel went to the Rusty Nail,” Valandur stated after a few minutes while everyone remained silent, either eating or drinking. “For how long? How far is this tavern from where he was found?” He looked at Daeron.

“Can’t be more than a block or two,” the former Loremaster of Doriath answered as he turned off the stove and poured himself some coffee.

“When he left this tavern, was he heading home?” Finrod asked.

“That’s hard to say,” Daeron replied. “The Rusty Nail is on DeForrest. For Loren to make his way here, he would normally walk to the corner with Evans and cross over and continue on DeForrest until he reached Morningside. From there he would go over the bridge and then he could cut across several streets and end up on Sycamore but about a couple of blocks further east of Kodiak.”

“Do we know where he was attacked?” Manwen asked. “Obviously it had to be somewhere where no one would hear.”

“Even if they did, no one would have come to the rescue or called the police,” Daeron replied with a scowl. “Wiseman isn’t the big city, but it is the home of Mortals and there is always a small element who thrive on crime and misery. People who live in that area do not always do so by choice but by circumstances and they learn early on to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear if they value their own lives.”

The Elves looked grim at that assessment. “So, you are saying that even if the attack had occurred in the open, no one would have done anything about it,” Finrod stated.

“Perhaps. I don’t know,” Daeron admitted. “My feeling is that whoever attacked Loren took him by surprise and then they dragged him away to do what they did. It could not have been very far from the gas station for them to conveniently dump him in with the trash, leaving him for dead. Did you find any traces of a fight?” He asked this of Prince Legolas.

“Even we cannot see that clearly in the dark and there was no moon,” Legolas replied and both Beleg and Legolas of Gondolin nodded in agreement.

“There was a trail, very faint, but there, and we believe that he was dragged to the dumpster,” Beleg said. “He lost much blood but there was little where he was found. Even the Mortal police agreed to that and they are even now searching for where the attack took place.”

“You did not assist,” Valandur said, making it more a statement than a question.

The three ellyn gave them thin smiles and Prince Legolas said, “We were politely told to keep out of the way. They gave us the hour promised to us and after that our presence was definitely not appreciated, so we left.”

“Why didn’t you return to the hospital then?” Daeron asked. “We were still there.”

“We may have left the place where Glorfindel was found, but that does not mean we left the area. The Mortals never bothered to look up. We had a good view of the area from above.”

“You were on the roof?” Daeron asked in disbelief.

Beleg chuckled and said, “And in the trees when there was one. As it is, there was very little conclusive evidence and we may never learn where the attack took place or by whom. Any traces can be easily covered by snow.”

“Perhaps Glorfindel will be able to tell us when he awakens,” Finrod suggested.

“We can only hope,” Valandur said and there were sighs of agreement all around.

****

“Well, that was interesting,” Derek stated as he and Alex sat at the kitchen table in their apartment drinking decaf, neither one ready for sleep even though it was after midnight. They had dropped Zach off at his place to find that Jud was still up and their other friends had gathered, waiting for news.

“To say the least,” Alex retorted. “I was sure we were going to have a war on our hands.”

“A civil war, though I doubt there would have been anything civil about it,” Derek replied with a grin. “Glad the God Squad showed up when it did.”

Alex choked on his coffee, trying not to laugh. “God Squad! That’s one way of putting it. They seemed to know what they were doing, though. Maybe they were able to get through to those bozos where even Lord Manwë couldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Did you see the eyebrows go up when Father Charlie addressed them as brothers and sisters? I thought they were all going to keel over from shock.”

 “Eyebrows on stun, Mr. Spock,” Alex quipped with a grin and Derek threw back his head and laughed and Alex joined him.

When they calmed down, Derek looked more pensive. “So what are the chances we’ll find who did this?”

“I have no idea,” Alex admitted. “We can only hope the police find something, or the Elves do. God help the bastards who did this, because if the Elves catch up with them, they’re toast and getting their day in court will not be an option.”

Derek grimaced. “That’s all we need, Elves bent on revenge. Never mind that the scum will deserve it, it will be Elves vs. Mortals as far as most people are concerned and that’s an unholy war none of us want.”

“Amen,” Alex said, draining his mug. He got up and went to the sink and rinsed out the mug, placing it on the drainboard. “Well, I think I’ll try and get some sleep. You don’t have to work tomorrow, do you?”

“No, thank God,” Derek answered as he got up from the table and washed out his mug. “I don’t have to be at work until six. I’ll be staying overnight.”

“Then I’ll see you later. Good night.” He headed for his bedroom and Derek took a moment to turn off the lights before making his way to his own bedroom.

****

Dave Michaelson looked up from his computer at the knock on his door and gestured for Conrad to enter, saving his work before giving the man his attention.

“So what do you have for me, Brad?” Dave asked.

“Precious little at the moment, Captain,” Conrad said with a sigh as he settled into one of the chairs before the captain’s desk. “We know DelaFiore was at the Rusty Nail, got there somewhere around six according to the bartender. He sat in a corner booth and ordered a boilermaker… several of them.” He gave his captain a sour grin.

“That’s not like Loren,” Dave commented with a frown. “How long did he stay there? Was there any trouble?”

“Well, you know those people can give clams lessons on keeping close-mouthed,” Conrad said and Dave snorted in amusement, “but no, no one caused any trouble while he was there and he was there for a good hour or so, but then he left.”

“End of story?” Dave asked, giving the officer a shrewd look.

“Not quite,” Conrad admitted. “People were naturally reluctant to talk to us, but we managed to learn that shortly after Loren left the bar, several… um… patrons also left… together.”

“How many?”

“Six or seven according to one witness, only three according to another. My guess is that six is closer to the truth. The bartender was more forthcoming with information. He claimed that when Loren came in, everyone recognized him for who and what he was. He ignored them all, grabbed a booth and ordered a drink. A couple of regulars, no names given, of course, attempted to ‘importune the Elf’. That’s a direct quote, by the way. First time I’ve ever heard anyone use the word ‘importune’ in a sentence. Guy must be a crossword fanatic or something.”

Dave hid a grin. “So what happened?”

“Nada according to the bartender. The two… er… gentlemen began razzing our favorite Elf and Loren just stared at them. Didn’t say a single word, just stared. Whatever they saw in his eyes though scared them and they backed off. No one bothered him after that, but the bartender said that once the shock had worn off, there was murder in their eyes. They were the ones along with a few of their friends who followed Loren out.”

“And we don’t know who they are,” Dave commented with a huff of disgust.

“Not yet, but you know those types can’t keep quiet. One of them will have one drink too many and will start boasting about it. I’ve already alerted our usual informants to keep their ears open.”

“And I’ve contacted the local TV stations,” Dave said, nodding. “They’ll run a piece during their morning programs asking for people to step forward if they know anything. There will be a reward, of course. That will bring us lots of callers.”

“Getting a bit cynical, are we, Captain?” Conrad said with a knowing grin.

Dave snorted. “I’m surprised you’re not.”

Conrad shrugged. “I like to believe that somewhere underneath all the grime covering people’s souls there’s a core of decency to be found, but sometimes you do need to give them a little incentive to do the right thing.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” Dave allowed as he ran his hands through his hair. “Forensics says Glorfindel was moved, so the attack took place somewhere else. Any evidence of that?”

“So far, no,” Conrad admitted, “but we’ve only begun the investigation. Oh, by the way, those Elves who looked the place over? They didn’t quite leave after their hour was up.”

“I didn’t expect them to,” Dave said with a tight smile. “I hope, though, that they stayed out of the way and did not interfere with the investigation.”

“In a manner of speaking. They pretended to leave, but Tregarth happened to see one of them on the roof of a nearby building watching us and when we finally got to the Rusty Nail it was to learn that one of them had already been there and had spoken to the bartender.”

“Hmmm…. Well, I’ll be stopping over at Edhellond later in the day and I’ll speak with them. It’s possible they got information out of people that you didn’t. Elves can be very persuasive when they set their minds to it.”

“You mean they can be very scary and can put the fear of God into us just with a single glance,” Conrad retorted with a shudder. “It’s the glowing bit that gets me.”

“Amen,” Dave uttered piously. “Okay, nothing more we can do until we can talk to Loren and find out if he can shed any light on this. Thanks, Brad. Go home and get some sleep. Don’t bother to come in before noon.”

“What about you?” Conrad said as he stood.

“I’m up for the duration. I need to contact the mayor and a few others and fill them in on what happened. By the way, who’s watching the Elves?”

“I have Reynolds, Huggins and Lopez keeping watch. They’ll spell each other every eight hours. Reynolds is on watch now.”

“Good. Now, go home.”

“Yes, Captain. Good night.” Conrad made his way out of the office, closing the door behind him. Dave leaned back in his chair and sighed, running his hands through his hair, wishing he were home in bed wrapped in Jenna’s arms. He hated the thought of her waking without him beside her, but knew that that was an occupational hazard for the wife of a police captain.

“I should’ve been a shoe salesman,” he muttered, then shook his head, snorting mildly at the thought, knowing that he could not have been anything but what he was. He went back to his computer, glancing at the clock on the screen. It would be a few more hours before he could contact Harry and some others. In the meantime, he needed to finish this report, but first…

He got up and grabbed the ‘World’s #1 Dad’ mug his kids had given him for last Father’s Day and went in search of more coffee. He was going to need it… lots of it.

****

Vorondur pulled into the driveway of his home and made his way to the front door, pushing in his key. The windows were all dark and he assumed that everyone else had retired for the night. He was looking forward to getting a couple of hours of sleep himself. Helping to maintain the shield around Loren had drained him. As soon as he entered the house, though, he knew that at least one person was up waiting for him. He put away his coat and wandered down the hall to his office where he was unsurprised to find Amroth sitting there. The former king of Laurinand looked up at his entrance.

“Della and Holly are asleep,” he said by way of greeting. “I decided to wait up for you. Hope you don’t mind my being here.”

“No, not at all. Would you care for a nightcap? I know I need one.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Vorondur went to the built-in cabinet, and opening it, pulled out a decanter of sherry and a couple of glasses, pouring the sherry into them and handing one to Amroth.

“Cheers,” Amroth said in salute before taking a sip.

Vorondur raised his own glass and drank, settling into the chair behind the desk. “So what is it you want to tell me?”

Amroth gave him an innocent look over the rim of his glass. “And what makes you think I want to tell you anything? Is it not possible I simply stayed up to wait for you so you did not return to a darkened house?”

“Possible, but highly unlikely,” Vorondur shot back mildly, leaning against the back of the chair and taking another sip of his sherry. “I know you, Ryan. You would not have bothered to stay up unless you wished to speak to me without Della knowing about it. You would have waited until later and I’ve come home to a darkened house on plenty of occasions.”

Amroth scowled. “You know, you’re a real pain in the derriere sometimes.”

Vorondur chuckled and then his expression sobered. “I truly expected to be walking into a war zone there in the waiting room given the animosities between various groups of people. I was pleasantly surprised to find all was calm when we got out of surgery.”

“You can thank Charles Waverly, Josiah Makepeace and Daniel Cohen for that,” Amroth said, “and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yes, I noticed they were there, as were Alex, Derek and Zach.”

“Finda called those three, feeling they should be there,” Amroth said, “Daniel was already there. He was on duty as the hospital chaplain but we don’t know who called Charles or Josiah. They each said that they received a call saying they were needed at the hospital and to go to the Urgent Care Unit. They didn’t recognize the voice, and that in and of itself is not unusual, but no one at the admitting desk called them. I know because I asked.”

“You think it was someone else,” Vorondur stated, giving Amroth a shrewd look, “someone, shall we say, who will remain invisible as well as nameless.”

“Can’t think of another explanation,” Amroth replied with a sigh. “Any one of those three could conceivably be called in the middle of the night to attend to someone in the hospital. What I found suspicious was that Charles and Josiah were called and that Daniel was already there.”

“And why those three in particular?” Vorondur added with a nod. “None of us adhere to their religious beliefs, so it’s not as if Loren would want to receive extreme unction or even a blessing. So why those three and not, say, the Reverend Michelle Daniels of St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church or Captain Jason McAuliffe of the Salvation Army?”

“And that’s what’s bothered me,” Amroth stated. “I know that Charles and Daniel, at least, have been ostracized by some of the other religious leaders of the community because of their friendship with us, especially Loren, but Makepeace is still on good terms with the more, shall we say, conservative ministers.”

“Yet, he has always championed us before others,” Vorondur pointed out. “If he has not been ostracized as Charles and Daniel have been it’s only because the others fear Josiah as they fear no one else, not even God, I suspect.”

“Odd, isn’t it?” Amroth said with a contemplative look.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just wondering what hold Makepeace has over the others that they fear him so.”

“Maybe he knows where all the skeletons are buried,” Vorondur ventured with a tight smile.

“Which is what is odd,” Amroth said. “Makepeace came to Wiseman only last year to take over New Jerusalem after Harley Sanford died. He’s not even local. He and his family come from Spokane, Washington, yet somehow he is asked to take over the reins at New Jerusalem. How did he even know Wiseman existed and even more important, how did anyone here know he existed? Who called him to this ministry?”

Vorondur frowned, mulling over Amroth’s words. “You think there’s more going on than even we are aware?”

“I know there’s more going on than any of us are cognizant of,” Amroth shot back. “I don’t think Makepeace’s appointment at New Jerusalem was accidental. I think it was planned and the oddest thing about it all is that the good folk at New Jerusalem accepted him with open arms and without a qualm, no questions asked.”

Vorondur gave Amroth a considering look. “How is it that you know all this and why didn’t you come to me earlier about it?”

“I may have been out of the Game for fifteen years, but I still maintain vigilance,” Amroth said. “Call it force of habit, if you want, but I keep a careful eye on the comings and goings of the good people of Wiseman. I know who’s moved away and who’s moved in. I know where many of the bodies are buried and in whose closets. If I did not come to you about it, it’s because I did not think you needed to know. You are not, after all, a spy.”

“Intelligence officer,” Vorondur corrected automatically, a sly grin on his face.

Amroth chuckled and took another sip of his sherry.

“But you’re telling me now? Why?” Vorondur asked.

“For the simple reason that I think you need to know,” Amroth replied. “I was not too surprised to see Charles Waverley and Daniel Cohen at the hospital. They are both good friends of Loren and us, but I wasn’t expecting Makepeace. I found it very interesting that Finrod was led to his church. I could see from the way the three ministers interacted with one another that they were friends and respected one another. I did not know that and that bothers me deeply. I should have been aware of their friendship, but all I ever saw between them before this was professional courtesy.”

“They are hiding their true relationship from others,” Vorondur suggested. “Tonight, the circumstances were such that they could not pretend indifference to one another, or more precisely, they could not pretend with Josiah. So, what exactly did they do to calm everyone, because I have to assume that was the purpose of their being there?”

“Yes. They understood immediately that there was a great deal of animosity between some of the Valinóreans and us, especially after Roy accused Helena of having driven Loren away and that’s why he was attacked and left for dead. Anyway, the three led the rest of us in prayer. I have to admit that by the time they finished, the tension between us had dissipated and we were all calmer.”

“So I noticed,” Vorondur said, taking a final sip of his sherry and putting the glass down on the desk. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m done in and need to sleep for a few hours. Help yourself to the sherry if you want more.”

“No, I’m heading for bed as well. Della is sleeping more these days and likes to wake with me lying beside her even if I don’t bother to sleep. I’ll wash up and turn off the lights. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Thanks. Good night.” Vorondur made his way to his bedroom where his wife waited for him. He was unsurprised to see her awake, lying in the dark. She said nothing as he undressed and climbed into bed beside her, but then she didn’t have to. He knew what she wanted and was happy enough to give it to her. It was sometime later before they both fell into a contented sleep.

****

Eruhíni: (Quenya) Children of Eru.

28: Fanning the Flames

Elladan woke in the dark, not sure where he was for a second or two, wondering at the fact that his eyes had been closed. Then he recognized the hospital room and all that had happened came to the fore of his memory. He sat up and saw his brother still sleeping. Serindë was sitting in a chair quietly reading from her e-reader, which she had in night mode, for none of the lights were on. She looked up.

“You should be asleep,” she whispered.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly four. You’ve only been asleep for about three hours or so.”

“Three hours. I must be getting old. Time was I could’ve gone with just an hour of sleep.”

Serindë grinned. “So should I be calling you gramps instead of brother?”

“No. Loren is gramps, remember?” Then the moment of levity passed as he recalled that Loren was in ICU fighting for his life. He knew that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were critical. At the moment Loren’s condition was labeled as ‘guarded’. He climbed out of bed, unconcerned that he was wearing only shorts and that there was an elleth who was neither his naneth nor his sister in the room. He padded to one of the lockers where patients could place their belongings and pulled out his jeans and shirt before making his way into the adjoining bathroom, closing the door. He came out a few minutes later, now dressed, and saw Elrohir was still sleeping and Serindë was still reading.

“Any chance of getting some coffee?” he asked quietly as he stood over his sleeping twin, automatically gauging Elrohir’s condition.

“There’s a kitchen down the hall. Would you like me to get you some?” Serindë said.

“No, I’ll get it, thanks.” He hunted about for his shoes and socks, and finding them under his bed, put them on. Straightening, he gave Serindë a brief smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“It’s to your left,” Serindë said helpfully and Elladan nodded and went around the privacy curtain that had been pulled across, blocking the view from the corridor. He found himself blinking at the relative brightness as he stepped out of the room, though he knew the lights had been dimmed for the night. The corridor was nearly empty with the nurses’ station at the other end on his left. One or two nurses were either going into or coming out of rooms, checking on patients, then logging the information into their laptops. Monitors were scattered about, as well as a wheelchair or two, cluttering up the hallway. Even as he headed down the hall, the call light over one of the rooms lit green, alerting the nurses that a patient was in need. He nodded approvingly at the speed with which one of the nurses responded as he passed her.

Reaching the station, he greeted the people there. Two Women and a Man were working. One of the Women wore the white coat of a doctor, and he recognized her as she looked up from the laptop sitting on a cart before her.

“Doctor Ronaldson,” she said. “How are you?”

“As soon as I’ve had at least one cup of coffee, I’ll let you know,” he responded with a grin and everyone chuckled. “Didn’t your shift end hours ago, Dr. Chandler?”

“Well you know how it is,” she responded. “One of my patients had a minor relapse. She’s stable now, but….”

“Care if I take a look?” Elladan asked, his healer’s curiosity getting the better of him, the wish for coffee momentarily forgotten.

“Sure. Here, let me show you.” She gestured at her laptop, moving slightly to give him room to stand beside her. “Patient came in complaining of cramps and….”

She began rattling off medical jargon and Elladan asked her questions relating to treatment and prognosis, listening to her describe the antibiotics that had been given as a matter of course and what the blood work and an ultrasound had revealed, or not revealed. He stared at the screen, mentally analyzing the data. He frowned. Something didn’t quite add up. “Mind if I examine the patient?” he asked.

For a moment the Woman hesitated and then shrugged. “Room three-oh-five,” she said and Elladan followed her around the corner to another hall and they entered the designated room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness but he could see there was only one patient hooked up to monitors. He automatically glanced at them, cataloging the information as he stepped closer to the bed. He looked down at the Woman, who stirred slightly in her sleep. She appeared to be in her thirties and was quite lovely even lying in a hospital bed hooked up to IVs.

He closed his eyes and held his hands out, palms down, and concentrated, feeling for the energy field that surrounded every living thing, just as his adar had taught him so very long ago. At the thought of his adar and what Vardamir had told him about Elrond, his concentration faltered and he mentally chastised himself for his inattentiveness. Putting aside all thoughts, stilling his mind as he’d been taught, he ‘looked’ into the Woman’s body, feeling the flow of blood, hearing the pumping of the heart and the suspiration of the lungs breathing in and out. He could see the energy field fluctuating in brightness, indicating illness, for in a healthy person, that field would remain essentially steady. There was a dark spot in the field and he focused his attention on that, recognizing what it meant.

He opened his eyes and looked over to where the doctor stood watching him and jerked his head in the direction of the door. She nodded and exited with him following. “What did you learn?” she asked softly as they headed back to the nurses’ station.

“The area around her womb is infected. She may need to undergo a hysterectomy.”

“We ruled that out,” Chandler said, frowning. “It was the first thing I thought of when she came to us, but there was nothing in the blood work or in the ultrasound to indicate there was a problem with her uterus.”

“Yet, the source of her affliction is there,” Elladan said with authority. “Her energy field is fluctuating wildly and there is a… hole… for lack of a better word, centered around her womb. Blood work can be inconclusive, and even ultrasound doesn’t always tell you what you need to know. Energy fields never lie.”

“I’ll check again. Damn! She was telling me she and her husband were thinking of trying for a baby. They have one child and want a second. If what you say is true…”

“Better to lose the ability to bear more children than to die, leaving the one child motherless,” Elladan said softly. “And they could always adopt. Too many children are without loving parents.”

“Tell me about it,” Chandler said. “I’m adopted myself. I know of what you speak.”

Elladan gave her a surprised look, not having known this. “Then you are obviously the right person to speak to her and her husband about it,” he said. “Well, I’m still looking for some coffee and I had better get some for Roy. He’s just woken up.”

“Twins,” Chandler said with a grin. “Thanks for your help, Dan. I appreciate it. Wish I had your gift for diagnosing problems.”

“You do well enough, Janet,” Elladan replied with a smile. “And I’m sure you would’ve figured it out without my help.”

“But not as quickly and the patient would have suffered longer because of it,” Janet retorted with a scowl. “I think I rely too much on technology and not enough on good old-fashioned intuition. Not a good thing for any doctor.”

“Well, I’m glad I was able to help. Good night or good morning, as the case may be.”

“I’ll catch you later. Say hello to Roy for me.”

“Will do.” Elladan gave her a short bow and made his way back to where the kitchen was and grabbed some coffee for himself and for his brother and, as an afterthought, made some for Serindë as well, finding a tray to put everything on. He nodded to the nurses as he headed back down the hall.

Inside the room, the main light had been switched on. Serindë was still sitting in the chair; Elrohir was nowhere in sight but the bathroom door was closed and he could hear water running.

“I got coffee for everyone,” he said as he entered and brought the tray down so Serindë could take a cup, thanking him. The bathroom door opened and Elrohir stepped out, turning off the light.

“Room service. I love it,” he said, accepting a cup.

“Next time, I’ll loll in bed while you go get the coffee,” Elladan retorted, putting the tray down and taking a sip, sighing in relief as the bitter brew slipped down his throat, warming him.

“How’s Loren?” Serindë asked. “Did you go check on his condition? I wondered why you were so long.”

Elladan shook his head. “Ran into Janet Chandler,” he said, speaking more to Elrohir than to Serindë. “She was having difficulty diagnosing a patient. I helped her out.”

“Well, let’s go see how Loren is, then,” Elrohir said, taking a gulp of his coffee as he headed for the door. The other two followed, turning right and heading for the bank of elevators. Even though the hospital was in shut-down mode and there were few medical personnel around, they still encountered one or two of the staff, giving them greetings. Everyone asked after Glorfindel and wished him a speedy recovery. Stepping off the elevator they moved down the dark hall to ICU, stopping at the front desk to speak with the nurses and to look at Loren’s chart.

“He’s in room three,” one of them said. “One of your people is with him at all times and there’s a police officer standing guard.”

The Twins nodded. Elrohir turned to Serindë. “They won’t let you in,” he said, giving her a kiss. “We won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait here,” Serindë said, kissing him back.

The Twins headed for Loren’s room. The police officer, a young Man who probably was fresh out of the police academy, was sitting in a chair beside the door. He stood as the two Peredhil approached.

“Sorry, gentlemen, but no visitors,” he said, holding up one hand to stop them.

“We’re not visiting, officer,” Elladan said. “We’re here to examine the patient. I’m Doctor Ronaldson and this is my brother, also Doctor Ronaldson.”

The young officer gave them a suspicious look, glancing at their attire. Neither was wearing a lab coat. Elladan fished about in one of the pockets of his jeans and pulled out his laminated hospital ID card hanging on a lanyard.

“Here,” he said, showing the officer the ID. Elrohir pulled out his own ID. The young Man scrupulously examined the two IDs before handing them back.

“I guess I can let you enter,” he said dubiously as the two Peredhil placed their IDs over their heads.

Elladan smiled. “Good lad. You’re doing an excellent job.” On that rather condescending note, he opened the door, letting Elrohir enter the dark room, lit only by blinking monitors and a single fluorescent light over the bed. Eärnur was there, sitting in a chair reading a magazine. He looked up.

“How’s he doing, Ernie?” Elrohir asked as he went to stand beside the bed, automatically glancing at the monitors.

“Ernest, please,” Eärnur said.

The Twins grinned at him. “Your fault for picking a wimpy-sounding name,” Elladan said.

The Teler sniffed. “Daeron said to pick a name that was as close in sound as our own to make it easier for us to remember it. I cannot help it if my name does not fit well with Mortal names.”

“Any change in his condition?” Elrohir asked, switching to Quenya.

“No. He’s been stable for some time now,” Eärnur answered. “Right now, he’s holding his own,” he ended. “We’ll know better what his ultimate condition is once we bring him out of healing sleep, but that won’t be for a while.”

The three stared down at the still figure of the Elf-lord, hooked up to IVs and monitors and with a oxygen tube in his nose, looking extremely pale. Eärnur glanced at the sons of Elrond. “I’m surprised you two are awake already. Last I saw you, you were dead on your feet.”

The Twins shrugged almost as one. “Well, we slept enough,” Elrohir said, not really paying attention to the Teler, brushing a hand through Glorfindel’s hair, an intimate gesture.

Elladan glanced at his brother. “Mir told me that Lord Irmo made Ada his apprentice,” he said, switching effortlessly to Sindarin.

Elrohir looked up in surprise, turning to Eärnur. “Is this true?”

Eärnur nodded. “Oh yes. Silly ellon fought against it, of course. Most of Lord Irmo’s people usually do, at least the better ones. I certainly did.” He gave them a grin.

“Why would Ada be made an apprentice, though?” Elrohir asked, frowning. “He’s one of the most gifted healers this world has ever known.”

“This world, yes,” Eärnur agreed, “but this world is not Aman and your adar never had the benefit of being trained by the Powers.”

“And Ada allowed himself to be humiliated by becoming a lowly apprentice when he should have been accepted as a master in his own right?” Elladan demanded hotly.

Eärnur gave them a puzzled look. “If there was any humiliation it was only in his mind and in yours. I assure you—”

“It’s because he’s peredhel, isn’t it?” Elladan interrupted. “If Ada were a pure-blooded Elf, I bet he wouldn’t have been treated so shabbily. No doubt he was never allowed to forget it, either.”

“You’re taking this the wrong way,” Eärnur said. “Of course Elrond is peredhel, so is his sire, Eärendil, yet he is highly respected as a lord of the realm, as is his lady, Elwing. No one disparages them or your adar.”

“And yet, you all are quick to disparage us,” Elrohir retorted.

“What do you mean?”

“Assigning us both to keep Loren under during surgery,” Elladan answered.

“And so? Look at you. Even taking turns you were both depleted of energy.”

“We were the only ones,” Elladan shot back. “No one else even looked as if they were tired. We even ended up sleeping here instead of going home with the others.”

“Elladan, anyone of us would have been as depleted of energy as you were had we been asked to keep Glorfindel under. That’s the hardest part in all this. What the rest did is as nothing.”

“Yet we do not even know how to raise such a shield,” Elrohir interjected. “Finrod and the others, they just did it and maintained it without raising a sweat.”

“And that is why your adar became an apprentice to Lord Irmo,” Eärnur said. “Even he did not have such knowledge, knowledge that any journeyman healer has, indeed, it’s a skill that is commonly taught to all our children. Even the Three Amigos and Nielluin can do it, though I doubt they can maintain it for as long as we did during surgery. Neither of you have any reason to be ashamed of your heritage.”

“We’re not,” Elladan protested, “but ever since you all came here I’ve gotten the feeling that you don’t think we’re worthy or something, that we’re inferior because of our mixed heritage.”

“Or simply because we stayed behind,” Elrohir added. “I think most of you still look down on all the Wiseman Elves because of that, even Glorfindel.”

“I know that some may have felt that way at first,” Eärnur said, “but I don’t think they see you that way now, especially with you acting as healers. You have acquired skills in treating Mortals that we have yet to learn.”

Just then the door opened and they all turned in surprise to see Finrod there. He glanced at Loren and then his gaze flicked between the three ellyn, apparently gauging their moods. “Come outside, all of you. No, Glorfindel is fine. Come. I think we need to talk.”

“What are you doing here, Quinn?” Elladan asked as he and Elrohir complied to the Elf-lord’s command. Eärnur hesitated for a moment before following them.

“I came to spell Eärnur,” he answered, nodding to the young police officer as he passed him.

“I am fine,” Eärnur said. “You need not have come, Findaráto.”

“Nevertheless, you should go home and rest, or find a place here,” Finrod said. “I will watch over Glorfindel. In the meantime, I want to know what all the shouting was about.”

“We weren’t shouting,” Elrohir protested.

“Perhaps not with your voices but I could sense the tension before I even opened the door. What has you two so riled up?”

“They were upset at the news that Lord Irmo relegated their atar to apprentice status,” Eärnur said before either twin could answer. He gave Finrod a knowing grin. “You remember how much he fought the idea?”

“He was appalled,” Finrod replied with a nod. “I was sure he was going to attack Lord Irmo right then and there and he refused to speak to any of us for days afterwards.”

“But he became an apprentice in the end, didn’t he?” Elrohir asked. They were back at the nurses’ station and Serindë came and wrapped her arms around him.

“Yes, eventually,” Finrod answered. “Laurendil helped him to accept it having had a similar experience himself when Lord Irmo called him to become a healer. You should not be upset by this. Elrond did not remain an apprentice for long and was promoted to journeyman status much sooner than is normal. He’s a respected master now.”

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?” Elladan retorted hotly. “It sounds as if everything he was, everything he knew and had learned while here counted for nothing. He was recognized as a master healer only on your terms and not his. I have no doubt there were things he didn’t know, like raising that shield you raised over Loren, but that’s just technique and easily taught, or so I would think. He should have been recognized as a master healer in his own right from the very first instead of being treated like some raw recruit who’s still wet behind the ears.”

“And what about us?” Elrohir added before either Finrod or Eärnur could reply.

“What about you?” Finrod asked.

“Mir made it clear that he knew we couldn’t keep Loren under on our own so he had us take turns. How did he even know that we wouldn’t be able to do that alone, that we would have to take turns? And how did Ron know how to raise that shield? He’s never been to Valinor. He was never taught by the Valar. So why didn’t Mir have him help us?”

“Vardamir is the oldest of us,” Finrod explained. “He remembers Cuiviénen and was my atar’s battle surgeon during the War of Wrath. He has been trained to gauge the capabilities of the people around him, to know where they can best serve. As for Vorondur, while it is true that he was born here and not in Valinor, he is a full-blooded Noldo and was taught the skills that all of us were taught as we were growing up. Unfortunately, by the time of the War of Wrath, so many of the Noldor had died and no more children were born because of the war, that the knowledge of these common skills was lost and as our Sindarin brethren were not as strong in the powers of the mind as we, such skills were not taught to them. I know that the Mortals who lived among us were in awe of our powers, powers we took for granted and did not think about as anything special. At any rate, you did not assist in the shield because there was no time to teach it to you. Vardamir knew you were capable of keeping Glorfindel under during the surgery and so he assigned you that task.”

“It still feels as if we’re being treated like… like clueless Mortals,” Elladan said with a sneer and stalked away, no longer interested in talking.

He did not get far, for suddenly an alarm went off and there was a scramble at the nurses’ station as someone yelled out “Code Blue! Room seven.”

Without even thinking about it, Elladan began running for the designated room along with Elrohir and Eärnur. Someone ran past with the crash cart. Finrod pulled Serindë out of the way. “Come, child,” he said softly. “Let us go see Glorfindel. He should not be left alone.”

Serindë did not protest as she allowed the Elf prince to lead her to Glorfindel’s room. The police officer did not try to stop them, but actually opened the door for them. Finrod thanked him softly and the Man nodded. Once inside, Finrod released Serindë and stood over Glorfindel’s bed, running his hands a few inches above the ellon’s supine body, his eyes slightly closed. Serindë stood to one side watching. Finally, Finrod opened his eyes wide and leaned down to kiss his gwador softly on the forehead, brushing a hand through his hair. He glanced over to Serindë as he straightened.

“Do you feel as Elladan and Elrohir do?” he asked softly.

“A little,” Serindë admitted. “The only ones who even talk to me are the Three Amigos and Nell. Even they don’t hesitate to remind me that I’m so much younger than they, that they know how to do things I was never taught. It’s embarrassing sometimes.”

“I do wish people would stop referring to Finda and his gwedyr as the Three Amigos,” Finrod said, giving her a smile to show that he was not chastising her.

Serindë grinned back. “Blame it on Alex and Derek. I don’t think Finda or the others mind. I think they take it as a…a term of endearment.”

“I am sorry that you feel as if we disapprove of you in any way,” Finrod said, sighing. “I have nothing but admiration for you all, for you have endured much and at great cost.” He gave her a gentle look. “I have met your brothers, you know.”

Serindë gasped. “Dar and Cani?”

“Is that what you called them?” Finrod asked with amusement.

She nodded. “I never knew Dar. He died before I was born. My parents talked about him all the time, though, and I guess ‘Dar’ was the name he used among the natives with whom he lived. ‘Cani’ was what I called Findecáno when he was a baby and I guess it stuck.” She gave him a shy look. “They are well?”

“Yes, child, they are well.” Finrod went to her and gave her a hug. “They were anxious to come, but I would not allow it, nor any of the relatives of those who were still here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I felt it would be distracting. We need to focus on our mission.”

“What exactly is your mission? Listening to the others, I get the feeling that they’re not here to help but to take over.”

“And you do not approve.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“But you keep telling us you’re not here to take over Elf Academy.”

“That is true. I am not. None of us are. That is the purview of Glorfindel and you who follow him. Ultimately, however, we need to expand our field of operations to include all of Wiseman and that is where we of Valinor come in. We will handle that part of it while you continue with Elf Academy.”

Serindë raised an eyebrow. “I see. So what you’re saying is that you Valinórean Elves will be doing all the important work while we of Wiseman are relegated to… to sweeping the floors so to speak with little thanks from any of you.”

“Child, you are taking this all the wrong way,” Finrod said mildly. “All aspects of this operation are important. No one part is more important than another. We need to pull together to make it work. What you and Glorfindel and the others of Wiseman do at Elf Academy is vitally important. Indeed, without it there is no point in any of us being here.”

The door opened just then and Eärnur entered along with the Twins. “The patient is fine,” Eärnur said and Finrod nodded. “Elladan and Elrohir did well.”

“Oh, thank you,” Elrohir said with a sneer. “Coming from you, Ernie, that’s high praise indeed.”

Finrod frowned, giving Eärnur a concerned look. The Teler just shrugged. “They take everything I say the wrong way. I only meant that I was impressed by how they handled the situation, in spite of their lack of, shall we say, special training.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elladan demanded. “What special training? We’re quite acquainted with all the Mortal medical techniques, more so than you, thank you very much.”

“Mortal techniques, yes, but not all the Elven techniques that are at our disposal,” Eärnur said. “I would be happy to teach them to you, as I’m sure the other healers would be. Once you’ve learned what we can teach you, then you will be master healers indeed.”

“But we are not master healers yet, are we?” Elrohir said. “Odd. I distinctly recall being told by Ada that we were, that we were second only to him in skill. Everyone in Imladris and beyond acknowledged that.”

“Elrond taught you all that he had been taught or discovered on his own,” Finrod said, “but even he admitted that there were aspects of the Elven healing arts that he only suspected but never really knew until he came to Valinor. Please do not take what we say in the wrong way, any of you.” He included Serindë with his gaze as he spoke to the Twins. “I am sorry you feel that we look down on you because you did not Sail or because you were born here. I assure you that is not the case. That being said, you need to acknowledge the fact that you do not have the skills which we of Valinor take for granted, but if you are willing we will teach them to you.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Serindë went to Elrohir who wrapped an arm around her, giving her a kiss. Finally, Elladan shrugged. “Roy and I will keep watch over Loren,” he said. “You two can go back home.”

“I’d like to stay, too,” Serindë said quietly, looking at Elrohir, who nodded.

Eärnur looked as if he might protest, but Finrod simply nodded. “If that is your wish. Come along, Eärnur. We will leave the children to watch over Glorfindel. You will call us if there is any change in his condition.” He directed the last to Elladan as the oldest of the trio.

“That goes without saying,” Elladan replied.

Finrod leaned down to kiss Glorfindel on the brow a second time, brushing his hand through the ellon’s hair. “I will return later, hanno,” he whispered in Quenya, then straightened and nodded to Eärnur who followed him out of the room, leaving the Twins and Serindë alone with the sleeping Glorfindel.

****

Peredhil: (Sindarin) Plural of Peredhel: Half-elven.

29: Elves in Distress

“Can you believe them?” Elrohir whispered to Elladan and Serindë as they stood over Glorfindel’s bed. Serindë was smoothing the blankets while Elladan was checking the monitors. Elrohir stood at the foot of the bed. “Only when you’ve been taught our healing techniques will you be master healers indeed. What rubbish! I still think we should tell them we already have our medical degree and there’s no need to fake one the way they will have to fake theirs.”

Serindë looked over at her fiancé, giving him a surprised look. “What do you mean you already have a medical degree? I thought you never bothered with being doctors.”

“We never bothered to practice medicine, Sarah,” Elrohir replied. “There’s a difference. Dan and I went to Columbia and then interned at John Hopkins back in the fifties. After the Second World War, Loren insisted that we get our medical degree. He said it was foolish for us not to have legitimacy in that field even if we chose not to practice. That’s why we were working at an electronics printing company before we came here. Even so, we still kept up with the latest medical techniques and procedures, attended medical conferences and kept all our credentials current. Loren and Darren both insisted on that and it’s not that we didn’t practice, we just didn’t practice on a regular basis. We’re really just going through the motions here. This is pretty much a refresher course for us. Our primary purpose is to be able to pass the boards and then we plan to return to school for specialized training as surgeons. When we were at Columbia we stuck to general practice medicine, but when this war comes, they’ll need surgeons, not family doctors.”

“I’ve known you for two years now, and I don’t know you at all,” Serindë said with a shake of her head.

“Which is just as well,” Elladan said, joining the conversation. “Couples should spend a lifetime learning about each other. That way they can never take each other for granted.”

Elrohir and Serindë exchanged smiles. “You’re very wise,” Elrohir said.

“Which is why I’m the oldest,” Elladan quipped and both Elrohir and Serindë chuckled in amusement.

“Well, I know that what Ernie said rubbed you two the wrong way,” Serindë said, “but I wouldn’t let it upset you too much.”

The Twins gave her considering looks and Elrohir frowned. “You’re changing your tune. Hours ago you were calling them all snobs and dropping them from the wedding invitations list. Does that mean you’re going to move back to Edhellond?”

“No. I still think they’re snobs, and no, I will not drop them from the wedding invitations list, but he did have a point about him teaching you those techniques you’re going on about, or if not him, then maybe Randall or Manuela. They don’t seem as snobbish as the others.”

“She has a point, Bro,” Elladan said. “We could do with some training in that sector, not so we can go around calling ourselves master healers, but because those techniques will be useful in the future. You know what Glorfindel and Ada always said: no warrior dismisses any weapon at hand however lowly. The same is true here.”

“I know, but it’s just the idea of having to beg for lessons,” Elrohir said. “No one offered to teach us and that just seems wrong to me.”

“Well they’re offering now,” Elladan pointed out.

“Only because we’ve griped,” his twin retorted. “They should have offered to teach us from the get-go, don’t you see? But instead, they looked at us and said to themselves, ‘Half-breeds. Probably couldn’t be taught anyway’, and simply dismissed the idea out of mind.”

“Except that they know that Ada, who is even more a half-breed than we are, was taught, so I think your reasoning is somewhat faulty,” Elladan said in a reasonable tone. “At the same time, I agree that they should have offered to teach us from the beginning, as a matter of courtesy, if nothing else.”

“And to think that Ron could raise the shield with the others and we never knew that about him. What else don’t we know?” Elrohir sighed.

“That can probably be said of any of us,” Elladan replied. “We all have hidden talents and we don’t necessarily advertise them to all and sundry, not even to our closest friends and family.”

“So you think we should ask to be taught these techniques?” Elrohir asked.

“I think it would be foolish not to even if it means swallowing our pride to do so,” his twin replied.

“I agree with Dan,” Serindë said. “You should take advantage of the offer however backhanded it was. If nothing else, you can show them that you’re just as good as they, better, in fact.”

“She’s right,” Elladan said.

“We don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to that lot,” Elrohir countered with a scowl.

“No, but maybe we need to prove it to ourselves,” Elladan rejoined and Elrohir’s expression became more thoughtful.

****

Finrod and Eärnur stopped at the nurses’ station so Eärnur could update Glorfindel’s file, informing those on duty that the Twins were watching over the Elf-lord, then they left. For a while as they stood waiting for an elevator, they were both silent. Finrod gave Eärnur a tight smile.

“I think they are determined to take everything we say as condescension on our part.”

Eärnur blew out a disgusted breath. “It’s Elrond all over again times two.”

“The apple does not fall far from the tree, my friend. We both know this,” Finrod commented. “Is there a reason why none of you healers have bothered to teach them healing techniques that they may not know or know only imperfectly? I confess I never thought to enquire. I think I simply assumed all of you were sharing your knowledge with them even as they were sharing their knowledge with you.”

“Mortal techniques are not as reliable as our own,” Eärnur said. “We are going through all this because we recognize that we have to do things legally by their standards, not ours.”

“But you do not like having to do so,” Finrod rejoined as the elevator door opened and they stepped in.

Eärnur pressed the lobby button and the door closed. “I admit it’s interesting to see how far they’ve come and they have been very ingenious in creating things like ultrasound and those MRIs, but our ways are so much more elegant and less intrusive. Vardamir is fascinated by it all, more so than the rest of us. Laurendil and Manwen are willing to play the game and find it amusing.”

“Yet, none of you bothered to find out what the Twins already knew about elven healing techniques and then offer to teach them what they did not know.”

Eärnur shrugged. “What can I say? Perhaps we were remiss in not doing so. To tell you the truth, I don’t think I really thought about it. The Twins are competent enough in scanning and diagnosis, and with the Mortal medical technology at hand, they can do well enough. Blood inducement, raising shields, those are more advanced techniques that I don’t think we thought would be necessary with Mortals and that is whom we will be ministering to for the most part.”

“Well, now that you are aware of how they feel, are you willing to teach them these techniques? I can certainly teach them about raising shields, or perhaps I’ll ask Vorondur to do it. His offering to teach them what he knows will not be seen as condescension. I will speak with him and with Vardamir about it.”

The elevator came to a stop and the door opened revealing the main lobby. They stepped out, nodding to those waiting to get on and headed for the front entrance.

“One question I do have is this: is your reluctance to teach the Twins due to your belief that their mixed heritage is a detriment?”

Eärnur stopped, forcing Finrod to do the same. “Of course not!” the Teler protested, but when he saw the skeptical look on Finrod’s face he revised his answer. “Maybe, in the back of my mind, I did. I remember what a time we had with Elrond.”

“And that was due more to the fact that he was resistant to the idea of being tutored by journeymen healers who were ages younger than because he did not have the ability to master those techniques. I do not think you will have that problem here, but you will have a problem because right now they are resistant to anything any of us from Valinor have to say to them. I would give them a few days to calm down before broaching the subject. Try for humility. Allow them to feel that they are in the right and you are in the wrong, even if you do not think so.”

Eärnur gave him a sour look. “If that is what you counsel, my lord,” he said stiffly.

Finrod rolled his eyes. “And I thought the Twins were being impossible. Yes, that is what I counsel. You are, of course, free to ignore my advice as you have done in the past, though you might recall that every time you did, you landed yourself in even deeper trouble than before. Now, let us go. I need to be at work soon.”

“Go ahead,” Eärnur said. “As it is, I’m officially on duty in another hour myself. I’ll just go find some breakfast in the meantime and I’ll continue to check in on Glorfindel. Who was supposed to take the watch after you?”

“Vardamir said he would. I was only planning to stay until I needed to be at the bookstore. I still have a couple of hours before the store must open but I think I will go there now and do some work. We got another shipment of books yesterday that needs to be sorted out.”

“Then I will see you later,” Eärnur said.

“Call me or have someone call me if there is any change in Glorfindel’s condition.”

“There shouldn’t be. Vardamir won’t bring him out of healing sleep before tomorrow.”

“Nevertheless….”

Eärnur nodded. “Nevertheless.”

With that Finrod left, and Eärnur watched in amusement as the Mortals who were in the lobby automatically gave way to him without even realizing that they were doing so. Once Finrod passed through the revolving doors and into the night, he went in search of breakfast, reviewing his conversation with the Elf-prince. If he hurried, he’d have enough time afterwards to check in on Glorfindel again before reporting for his shift in Pediatrics.

****

The first sign of trouble was noted by Serindë. Elladan was out of the room in search of more coffee for them and Elrohir was sitting in one of the two chairs for visitors brooding. Serindë was standing by the bed, brushing a hand through Glorfindel’s hair, quietly speaking to him. What she said was not important; it was her soft tone, full of caring and love for the injured Elf-lord. Elrohir had assured her that even in healing sleep, he would be able to hear her and speaking to him would comfort him.

“Roy, something’s wrong,” Serindë said, turning to him.

Elrohir was out of the chair and by her side in a second, automatically checking the monitors.

“What?” he asked.

“Look.” She pushed back Glorfindel’s hair and Elrohir grimaced as he saw the purplish–brown patch along the Elf-lord’s left temple, running down toward his ear.

“Let me examine him,” he said softly and Serindë moved away to give him room and Glorfindel privacy. He pulled down the bedcovers and pushed up the gown to examine the area of the surgical wound, noting similar patches of discoloration. The door opened and Elladan came in bearing a tray with coffee for them all.

“What’s up?” he asked, putting the tray down on the table between the two chairs.

“I’m not sure,” Elrohir answered. “It looks like post-transfusion purpura. What do you think?”

He stepped aside to give his brother more room to examine Glorfindel. Elladan did a brief visual examination then closed his eyes and held his hands out, scanning. Without opening his eyes, he said, “Find a stethoscope.”

Elrohir ran out of the room and was back with a stethoscope in a matter of seconds, pushing it into his ears. He leaned over as he placed the other end on Glorfindel’s chest. “I hear crackling,” he said as he straightened.

“ARDS?” Elladan asked.

“Possibly,” Elrohir replied with a shrug. “Look, BP has dropped a bit.” He pointed to the monitor where blood pressure was being recorded.

“But he’s not hypotensive, not yet. Hmm….possible dyspnea and hypoxemia, definite purpura,” Elladan muttered. “Let me take a listen.” He held out his hand for the stethoscope and Elrohir gave it to him and then took Glorfindel’s wrist and felt his pulse.

“Pulse is thready,” he said.

Elladan nodded as he listened to Glorfindel’s chest, grimacing. “He’s definitely in respiratory distress. You can hear the wheezing.”

Even as he was speaking, Glorfindel’s mouth opened, though he remained unconscious, and it was obvious that he was trying to draw in a breath.

“Do you think it’s ARDS then?” Elrohir asked, automatically increasing the flow of oxygen into the nose tube.

“Might be but I’m not sure. The breathing difficulty is pretty sudden. You don’t see that with ARDS. Might be TRALI. The time-frame is correct.”

“You think the use of Mortal plasma could be the cause?” Elrohir asked.

“It’s possible. Even with Mortals lung injuries can occur after transfusions if the transfused plasma contains antibodies that cross-react with the platelets in the recipient. I know they filtered the plasma as much as possible but it’s not a hundred percent foolproof. Damn! BP just dropped again. Look!”

Even as he pointed to the monitor, Glorfindel began struggling, gasping for breath. His eyes flew open but it was obvious that he saw nothing around him and they closed almost at once. His skin became bluish and his breathing became more and more ragged.

“Is he going to be okay?” Serindë asked anxiously where she was standing in a corner out of the way, but the Twins ignored her as they continued discussing Glorfindel’s condition and possible treatment.

“We need to get him on the ventilator,” Elrohir exclaimed as he helped Glorfindel to sit up to help him to breathe better. “This oxygen tube isn’t enough.

“We should try a corticosteroid,” Elladan suggested. “That should help with inflammation.”

“He needs a vasopressor, too. Epinephrine. We need to get that blood pressure back up.”

Elladan nodded. “I’ll get them. You get him on the ventilator. Sarah, come with me. You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, let her stay,” Elrohir said. “I need someone to hold Loren while I get him on the ventilator and the nurses won’t have the strength.”

Elladan nodded as he headed for the door, but it opened before he got there and Vardamir and Eärnur came in. Elladan didn’t bother to stay but ran out of the room.

“What’s going on?” Eärnur demanded, even as he and Vardamir rushed to the bed.

“TRALI,” Elrohir answered curtly as he began pulling out the nose tube to insert the throat tube.

“What? Are you sure?” Eärnur asked.

“Look for yourself. He’s having trouble breathing and he’s hypotensive and there’s definite post-transfusion purpura.”

“He may just be suffering from delayed hemolytic reaction,” Vardamir said. “Look. His temp just spiked.”

“Check his urine,” Elrohir said as he inserted the ventilator.  “I don’t think it’s dark and that’s one of the symptoms of a hemolytic reaction. Sarah, hold his head steady. I need to override the gag reflex.”

“I still don’t think it’s acute lung injury,” Eärnur said. “Fever isn’t one of the symptoms for that and now he’s definitely got chills.” And they could all see that Glorfindel now had the shakes, his skin glistening with sweat.

Elladan stepped inside just then, carrying a couple of hypodermics and some vials. “I’ve got a corticosteroid and a vasopressor.”

“Here, give those to me,” Vardamir said. “I’m not convinced he needs the corticosteroid. You two can go and take Serindë with you. Eärnur and I will take over.”

“Excuse me?” Elladan said in affront. “Who died and left you in charge of the universe?”

“That’s telling him, Dan,” Elrohir said as he stepped back and adjusted the pressure on the ventilator.

“As the one who actually did the surgery, I have precedence over you,” Vardamir said. “I’m taking over and you’re in the way. Now go.”

“I’ll order a diuretic,” Eärnur said.

“Diuretic! You don’t administer a diuretic if the patient is suffering from acute lung injury,” Elrohir exclaimed.

“And that’s assuming your diagnosis is correct,” Vardamir said. “Did you scan him?”

“Of course I scanned him!” Elladan nearly shouted in anger. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“I take you for someone who does not respect the chain of authority,” Vardamir said. “At the first sign of trouble, you should have contacted one of the healers instead of trying to do this on your own. You’re clearly not capable of making a sound diagnosis. Now, leave and let us do our work.”

“Contact one of the healers?” Elrohir retorted. “I’ll have you know—”

“I have no time for this,” Vardamir practically snarled as he administered the vasopressor through the IV. “Auta! Sí!”

And such was the force of his command that in spite of themselves Elladan, Elrohir and Serindë found themselves stumbling out of the room before they realized what was happening. The three stared at one another in shock.

“They’re going to kill him,” Elrohir whispered in anguish. “If they give him a diuretic, they’ll kill him.”

Before either Elladan or Serindë could respond they saw Kyle Stoner running toward them. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“It’s Loren, Kyle,”  Elladan explained. “We’re pretty sure he’s suffering from TRALI and we were in the process of putting him on the ventilator and administering a corticosteroid and vasopressor.”

“Which ones?” Kyle enquired and Elladan told him before continuing to explain about Vardamir and Eärnur.

“They’re planning to administer a diuretic. Mir threw us out, said we were incapable of making a correct diagnosis. He said since he was the surgeon in charge then he would make the decisions.”

Kyle’s expression hardened. “Oh, he did, did he? Okay. You three stay here. Don’t go away. I’ll handle this.” With that he stalked into the room and they heard him shouting, “Whatever you two think you’re doing, stop right now!” Then the door closed and they heard no more.

“Is Loren going to be all right, Roy? Dan?” Serindë whispered.

Elrohir gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know, vanimelda. I don’t know.”

****

Kyle Stoner took a quick look at the monitors as he reached the bed, effortlessly analyzing what they told him and coming to several conclusions at once. “Did you administer the diuretic?” he asked the two Elves as he gave Glorfindel a visual scan and then took his stethoscope out to listen to his heart and lungs.

“Yes,” Eärnur said and proceeded to describe which kind and how much.

“And you are convinced that Loren isn’t suffering from acute lung injury?”

“He’s got a high fever and we had to remove the ventilator because he suddenly started becoming sick,” Vardamir explained. “It’s clear that he’s suffering from delayed hemolytic reaction, which makes sense, considering that we pumped a lot of Mortal blood into him and it wasn’t completely compatible.”

“Then how do you explain the hypotension?” Kyle demanded. “How do you explain these purplish patches? Is his urine dark?” Even as he asked the question he was bending down to examine the urine collection bag. “No? And that’s one of the classic signs of DHR. Have you listened to his lungs?”

Both Elves shook their heads. “We scanned him…” Vardamir started to say but Kyle interrupted him with an impatient huff.

“How many times have I told you, do not ignore Mortal medical procedures? I’m not totally convinced that your scanning tells you everything and no doctor” — and he stressed the word so they knew he was speaking to them as if they were Mortals — “ever fails to listen.” Again he stressed the word. “Now, get him on the ventilator. We’ll administer an antiemetic so as to relieve the vomiting and…”

At that very moment, Glorfindel went into spasms and his breathing became more erratic. Monitor signals went off. “Hold him down!” Kyle shouted to Eärnur, then rattled off a series of instructions to Vardamir, sending him scurrying for an antispasmodic.

“He’s slipping his leash!” Eärnur shouted.

“What the hell does that mean?” Kyle demanded.

But before the Teler could explain, Glorfindel’s body arched again, almost bending in half at the waist and then he collapsed onto the bed and the monitors went flat-lined. “Code blue!” Kyle nearly screamed and he pressed an alarm button by the side of the bed. In seconds, the room was crowded with people as they struggled to save Glorfindel. It took them three tries to get the heart restarted. When the crisis was over and the ICU team dismissed, Kyle gave Vardamir and Eärnur a stern look, his voice cold and clinical.

“You administered a diuretic when you should have gone ahead with the corticosteroid. All the symptoms were there for a classic transfusion-related acute lung injury. If you had taken the time to actually listen to Loren’s lungs you would have known this.”

“But the fever and chills….”

“I admit they aren’t associated with TRALI, but the hypotension and the purple patches suddenly appearing, indicating subcutaneous bleeding? Those are classic symptoms. If you were really undecided as to a course of treatment, you should have contacted me.”

“You?” Vardamir asked, his eyes widening.

“Yes, me, Doctor! I’m the chief surgeon after Dr. Harris. You may be hotshot healers back home, but you are not doctors, not yet. Your arrogance, your refusal to even consider that you might be making the wrong diagnosis, nearly killed Loren. And I don’t appreciate you treating two of our doctors as you treated Dan and Roy.”

“They are not trained as we are,” Eärnur said. “We are planning on offering to teach them elven healing techniques they never learned.”

“That’s all well and good,” Kyle retorted, “but just remember this: unlike you two, Dan and Roy actually have legitimate Mortal medical degrees from a Mortal university. They’ve already done their residency and in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world. You can sneer all you want because they don’t know your fancy-dancy techniques, but don’t ever dismiss them. You do not have that authority. Not here. Not in this hospital. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a long pause before, first Vardamir, and then Eärnur nodded.

Kyle let out a breath. “Good. Now, I want you to go out and apologize to Dan and Roy. I told them not to leave. They should be outside waiting. And once you’ve done that, you’re both dismissed for the day. I’ll have Randall or Manuela come in and keep an eye on Loren. Let’s go see the Twins.”

But when they left the room, there was no sign of either the Twins or Serindë and those on duty could not tell them where they had gone.

****

Words are Quenya:

Auta!: Go away, depart.

Sí: Now.

Vanimelda: Beautiful and beloved.

Note on medical terms:

1. Antiemetic: an agent that counteracts nausea and relieves vomiting

2. Antispasmodic: an agent that relieves or checks spasms or cramps

3. ARDS: Adult Respiratory Distress Syndrome

4. Corticosteroids: a class of synthesized steroid hormones used to treat inflammatory or allergic conditions or diseases

5. Delayed Hemolytic Reaction: occurs when the donor blood-type doesn’t match or work with the recipient’s blood type. Symptoms include chills, fever, nausea, pain in the chest or back or dark urine.

6. Dyspnea: difficulty in breathing

7. Hypotension: abnormally low blood pressure

8. Hypoxemia: inadequate oxygenation in the blood

9. Post-transfusion purpura: purplish-brown spots or patches on the skin due to subcutaneous bleeding

10. TRALI: Transfusion-Related Acute Lung Injury, usually occurs within six hours of the transfusion

11. Vasopressor: a hormone, such as epinephrine, that raises the blood pressure by constricting the arteries

30: The Scene from Glorfindel’s Perspective

Glorfindel was floating in the dark.

He wasn’t sure where he was and didn’t particularly care. It was pleasant and there was no pain. Briefly, he considered that, wondering why the thought of pain should disturb him. He vaguely remembered that there had been pain… once… a long time ago…but no more and that suited him just fine. He would just sit here or lie here or whatever and float. Floating was good.

For a time that could have been measured in nanoseconds or centuries — Glorfindel could not decide which — he just floated, not really thinking, but then he began to detect other presences in this floating world. He was unsure who or what they were. He could hear people speaking, but the voices were soft and indistinct and he could make out no words, so, in the end, he ignored them, or tried to.

Now the voices were louder, almost as if they were shouting, though the words were still indistinct and he could not hear what was being said; he could, however, parse the emotions behind the shouting: fear and anger seemed prevalent. His curiosity piqued, he wondered if he could get any closer to the voices and perhaps actually hear what was going on.

There was, however, a slight problem: he couldn’t move.

When he attempted to go to the voices, he discovered that something or someone was holding him down, and rather insistently. He tried pushing against it, whatever it was, but to no avail and after a while he resigned himself to being unable to move and settled back into the darkness and floated. The pressure lifted slightly, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that if he attempted to leave where he was the something or someone would prevent him, so he sat there or lay there (he wasn’t really sure what his position was) and became more and more bored.

And a bored Reborn is a dangerous Reborn.

He chuckled at that thought, though no sound issued from him. The voices, so achingly familiar, though he could put no names to them, became more strident and, he thought, louder, but still he could make out nothing except the emotions. But he wasn’t going anywhere so he tried to ignore them. But then, there was the most infinitesimal shift of focus from whatever or whoever was holding him in place and without even thinking about it, he took advantage of the situation and willed himself to move, all the while expecting to be held back, but he wasn’t and for a second or two he reveled in the triumph of escaping. The joy of victory, however, was brief and then someone was there with him, willing him back to wherever he’d been previously.

He ignored the Presence, for he had something more interesting to occupy his attention. He was looking down on a scene of chaos. Someone was lying on a bed all hooked up to machines and quite frankly, to Glorfindel’s mind, looking like death warmed over. He felt a momentary pang of sorrow and compassion for the poor fellow, thinking he looked vaguely familiar but, as he could put no name to him, he turned his attention to the other people huddled around the bed doing strange and arcane things that made no sense to him.

The Presence kept insisting he should return to where he had been, but Glorfindel, now that he was ‘out’ — though he was unsure just what that meant to him — was curious and wondered if there was anything else to see in this strange place. (And all the while, it never occurred to him to ask himself just where he was and how he had gotten there.) The very wish to be elsewhere seemed to be enough, for he suddenly found himself in a hall, brightly lit, or seemingly so in comparison to where he’d been. There were three people standing in the hall and Glorfindel thought he recognized them but no names came to him. Two were male and as like as two peas in a pod and the third was female. All three looked both worried and angry and to Glorfindel’s everlasting delight, he could actually hear what they were saying.

“… should be in there,” one of the twins said, sounding anxious and upset.

“He told us to wait here,” the other replied. He was equally anxious but tried to hide it under a veneer of calm. He wasn’t all that successful as far as Glorfindel was concerned. “There are too many people in there as it is. We’d just get in the way.”

Hello, Glorfindel said, smiling at the trio. Can you tell me where I am and what’s going on?

But the three ignored him, as if they did not see or hear him.

“I’m through with waiting,” the first twin said. “I have half a mind to just leave.”

“We need to stay and find out if Loren’s okay,” his brother responded, still trying to sound reasonable.

“Roy’s right, Dan,” the girl chimed in. “I hope he’s okay. I did not think we could get heart attacks. That’s so… Mortal.”

“If one’s body is stressed enough, anyone can suffer cardiac arrest, Sarah,” the one whom Glorfindel knew had to be Roy said. The names meant nothing to him. “It has to have been the diuretic Mir administered.”

“Or possibly the effect of the lung injury,” Dan said. “You know the fatality rate is as high as twenty-five percent of patients who suffer from it. But I have no desire to stay and find out if Loren lives or dies. Whatever the outcome, it’s out of our hands entirely.”

So the poor fellow’s name is Loren, is it? Glorfindel asked. Again the name itself meant nothing to him. He didn’t look too good, I can tell you. I don’t think his chances of surviving are very high.

Neither the twins nor Sarah commented or even looked his way. Glorfindel waved his arms and then made funny faces, giving them a raspberry, but nothing. They ignored him completely and now he was feeling peeved, unused to being ignored by anyone.

Hello! I’m right here in front of you, he practically shouted, but still they ignored him.

“Sarah, how long would it take you to pack?” Dan was asking.

“I never got a chance to unpack,” she replied. “Why?”

But instead of answering her, he turned to Roy. “You want to split?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Fairbanks.”

“Fairbanks?! Why Fairbanks?”

“Why not?” Dan shot back. “Look, right now, I’m in no mood to hang around to see if we were right or not. You know we were right in our diagnosis and I think Kyle will agree with us but so what? Mir and Ernie are the hotshots, pure-blooded and all-knowing. No matter what, we’ll always be peredhil, we’ll always be less in their eyes, theirs and everyone else’s.”

“Not in mine,” Sarah said, squeezing Roy with a hug. “I’m a pure-blood, but I think your mixed heritage is actually an advantage, not a detriment. That’s why I fell in love with you.”

“Oh?” Roy said, giving her an amused look. “So you didn’t fall in love with me because of my good looks and charm, my scintillating conversation and razor-sharp wit?”

“Well, yes, those too,” Sarah allowed with a smile, “but really, it was the fact that you had Mortal and Maiarin blood that made you so exotic. I like exotic.” She nuzzled his neck and Glorfindel grinned at her antics.

Girl, you have it bad, don’t you? he commented, now convinced that for some reason they wouldn’t hear him anyway. And running away never solved anything, boys, he added, but, as usual, the twins ignored him.

“Well, you can discuss this some other time,” Dan said, rolling his eyes. “Are you two in?”

“I can’t just leave without explanation, though,” Sarah said, becoming more business-like in her demeanor. “I won’t do that to my parents. They don’t deserve it.”

“Fine, leave a note,” Dan said. “Don’t tell them we’re going to Fairbanks, though. Just say that you and Roy felt you needed to get away for a few days or a few weeks and you’d stay in touch.”

“I guess I can do that,” Sarah admitted, looking a bit dubious. “Nana won’t be pleased, though. I’m supposed to be getting fitted for my wedding dress next week.”

“Can’t be helped, unless you plan to stay behind,” Dan said.

Ah, weddings! Glorfindel commented with a smile. I do so enjoy them. I like to see what can go wrong with them and then bring it up in conversation to the newlyweds six months later and watch them get all red in embarrassment. It’s such fun.

“Do you mean to stay away forever, then?” Sarah demanded of Roy.

“Don’t look at me, dearest, it’s Dan’s idea to split, but I agree with him, I think we need to get out of here, go somewhere else for a while until things cool down. If Loren recovers, we’ll come back. If he doesn’t, well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it.”

“We’d better go now if we’re going,” Dan said. “I don’t want to have to explain to anyone what we’re about. Roy, take Sarah to pick up her luggage. I’ll go home and throw together some clothes for us and you can pick me up. We’ll just take your car.” Even as he was saying this, the three moved away, heading for the elevators

You’re making a big mistake, my children, Glorfindel called out to them, attempting to follow, but for some reason he found he could not, which was very frustrating. Running away is not the answer, even running away temporarily. You’d be better off staying here and dealing with whatever is going on.

They can’t hear you, my friend.

Glorfindel turned around to see someone standing there smiling. Do I know you? he asked curiously.

I’m a friend. Now you’ve been out for too long and it’s time to go back inside.

Inside where? And why should I? You make it sound as if I were three and you want me to come in for a nap or something.

The stranger laughed. No. I don’t want you to take a nap. I want you to go back inside where you belong. You cannot linger out here, child. It simply won’t do.

What if I don’t want to? Glorfindel protested, feeling suddenly mulish for some reason. What if I decide to follow Roy and Dan and Sarah instead? They’re making a mistake, you know. They really shouldn’t run away.

Whether they are or are not is not your concern at the moment, Glorfindel, and I will not let you leave here. You need to return to where you were for all our sakes.

Who are you again? Glorfindel demanded.

My name is Olórin. Now, please, come.

Glorfindel hesitated, not sure he wanted to obey. At the mention of Olórin’s name, he had felt a spark of recognition, but it was fleeting and he could not hold on to it. He thought he should know this person, but the memory slipped away. He turned to look down the hall and saw that Dan, Roy and Sarah were gone and he felt immeasurably sad for some reason.

I need to go after them, he said. I need to get them to stay. I don’t know why that’s so important, but it is. He turned to look at Olórin. I have to help them.

You can only help them if you return to your own place, Olórin said.

And where’s that?

Come. I will show you.

And suddenly, Glorfindel found himself back in the room he’d been in before and the people in there were still huddled around the poor fellow in the bed.

Why are we here? he asked. And who’s that? He pointed to the patient in the bed. One of the doctors was applying paddles to his chest and the body arched. At the same moment, Glorfindel felt an electric shock pass through him. He gasped in surprise. What was that? What’s happening? He could feel himself panicking but not knowing why and the need to flee rose within him, but he found he could not move and that frightened him even more.

What’s happening? Why do I feel so strange?

Stay calm, Glorfindel. It’s all right. You’re going to be all right, Olórin said soothingly, but Glorfindel was too agitated to listen.

No. No. Leave me alone. I don’t like it here. What’s happening?

Glorfindel, please! Olórin attempted to hold him, perhaps to give him comfort, perhaps just to keep him still, but Glorfindel resisted.

NO! He tried to flee, wanted desperately to be anywhere but where he was, but he couldn’t and now he was screaming as he struggled to escape. And then, another Presence was there. This one felt calmer, deeper, more powerful than Olórin and somehow it wrapped itself around Glorfindel like a blanket and all the fight went out of him and he collapsed, weeping.

The Presence held him, even rocked him a bit as if he were a little one in need of comfort and slowly, ever so slowly, Glorfindel calmed and became completely quiescent, slipping into sleep or unconsciousness, so he never knew that Námo, once Glorfindel was still, pushed him back into his body even as Kyle applied the paddles a third time and Glorfindel’s heart started beating again.

**** 

That was close, Olórin said and if he had been in fana, Námo was sure the Maia would have wiped his brow and whistled his relief.

Too close, Námo said as he watched dispassionately while Kyle Stoner reamed out Vardamir and Eärnur. How did he manage to slip his leash?

Olórin’s normal orange-yellow aura darkened towards red in embarrassment. Sorry, my lord. I fear I allowed myself to be distracted.

Hmm… well, see that it doesn’t happen again, will you? I’ve got better things to do than run after Glorfindel all the time.

Yes, lord, Olórin said contritely. What about the Elrondionath and Serindë?

Oh, don’t worry about them, Námo said, his violet-white aura brightening toward blue with amusement. We have plans for them.

And Olórin was wise enough to know better than to ask what those plans might be even as Námo thought himself away, leaving the Maia alone with Glorfindel, sleeping dreamlessly, while Kyle and the two Elves stepped outside to find that Elladan, Elrohir and Serindë were gone.

****

Elrondionath: (Sindarin) Sons of Elrond. As there are only two, the collective plural can be used.

31: Vorondur Loses His Cool

Vorondur woke, wondering what had pulled him out of the Path of Dreams. It was still dark out, though the clock by the bed told him it was almost eight. Ercassë was still sleeping and he was tempted to go back to sleep himself, but he had a nagging feeling that something had woken him, so, instead, he eased out of the bed and threw on his robe, stuffing his feet into slippers as he padded into the adjoining bathroom to splash some water on his face before he slipped out of the bedroom and headed downstairs. No one else was up so he assumed that Amroth and Nimrodel were still sleeping. Certainly Nimrodel was. She had reached the stage in her pregnancy where she needed lots of rest and Amroth was rarely away from her side for any length of time.

Downstairs, he checked the front door and saw that the newspaper had been delivered. He retrieved it from the porch and headed for the kitchen, glancing at the headlines as he went. Coffee was the first order of business and he quickly put it together, all the while reading the paper as he stood there by the counter, glancing at the various headlines on the front page. Thus, it wasn’t until the coffee was done and he had poured himself a cup and was sitting down at the breakfast table that he saw the note addressed to him and Ercassë. He recognized Serindë’s hand and wondered if his daughter had come and gone and that was what had woken him. Now that he thought about it, he thought perhaps it had been the sound of a door shutting and a car pulling out of the drive that had brought him awake.

Picking up the note, he opened it and began reading.

It took him three tries to get past the first sentence: Loren almost died.

He felt himself growing angry as he continued reading. It was a cold, calculating anger, an anger that had consumed him once a very long time ago after his beloved son had died in his arms. The grief had never left him, but he had sublimated it, turning to more positive ventures than vengeance against those who had killed his son. He had not felt that kind of anger for so long that its sudden appearance almost frightened him and he forced himself to breathe deeply, trying to regain his equilibrium. Drinking the scalding hot coffee helped.

Making a decision, he went back to the bedroom, and quietly, so as not to wake Ercassë, got dressed, grabbing his cell phone and wallet on the way out. He went back into the kitchen and picked up the note where he had left it on the table and re-read it. It was frustrating that his daughter had failed (deliberately, he had no doubt) to tell them where she and Elrohir were going. He didn’t think they would go too far. Perhaps Elladan might know where they were. He was tempted to call the elder twin, but was unsure of the ellon’s schedule and if he might quite likely still be fast asleep. Well, he would deal with that later. Right now, though, he needed to find out what Glorfindel’s condition was and he needed to speak with Finrod.

He shoved the note into a pocket and opened his phone, punching in numbers even as he went into the mud room that connected the kitchen to the garage and pulled on his coat, grabbing for his car keys hanging on a hook beside the garage door.

“Yes, this is Dr. Ron Brightman,” he said to the person at the other end as he headed into the garage, pressing the button to open its door and then climbing into his car, turning it on. “I am enquiring about the status of Loren DelaFiore… Yes, he should still be in ICU… Thank you.” He shut down the phone, feeling some relief, knowing that Loren was resting comfortably. He would need to contact Kyle later to find out what Loren’s actual condition was. Suffering from acute lung injury was a serious matter and if what Serindë said in her note was true, then the ellon was not out of the woods yet.

He pushed all that aside as he speed-dialed another number. At the second ring he heard Finrod’s voice.

“Quinn O’Brien.”

Vorondur almost smiled at the way Finrod was imitating Loren’s method of answering a phone. “Quinn, this is Ron. Have you left for work yet?”

“I am already there, though I have not yet opened the shop,” Finrod replied. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m heading your way. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“I will see you then,” Finrod said, hanging up, and Vorondur was grateful for the fact that the Elf-prince had asked no questions.

He shut down the phone, put the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive. He took side streets to avoid what passed as morning rush-hour traffic in Wiseman, taking the turns perhaps a little faster than was prudent or legal. About two blocks from the Safeway he was forced to stop altogether for a school bus picking up three children who, he thought, were taking their bloody sweet time climbing into the vehicle.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered impatiently as the last child entered the bus, his fingers drumming the steering wheel. “How long does it take to find a seat?”

It seemed forever, though it could not have been more than a minute, before the bus’s attached stop sign folded up and the blinking red warning lights on the roof switched off.

“Finally!” he breathed and continued on, forcing himself to go the speed limit now that he was closer to the town. He parked in the Safeway parking lot and reached the bookstore shortly thereafter. Finrod was at the door letting him in. The Elf-prince took one look at him and said, “Go warm yourself up. I’ll bring some coffee.”

With that he went into the back while Vorondur removed his coat and went to where the electric stove was burning brightly, giving off a cheerful glow. He wasn’t cold, at least not from the temperature, but his fëa felt frozen and he welcomed the warmth, however artificial it might be. He turned as Finrod came up the steps carrying a couple mugs and handing one to him. He sat in a chair and Vorondur did the same.

“Tell me,” Finrod ordered.

“What have you heard about Loren?” Vorondur asked.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. I checked on him earlier before coming here. He was still in healing sleep. Why? Has something happened? I left instructions that I was to be informed if anything happened.”

For an answer, Vorondur fished out the note from Serindë and handed it to Finrod. The Elf-prince took the note and quickly scanned it and Vorondur was unsurprised to see the blood rush from Finrod’s face as the shock hit him.

“Deep breaths,” he said automatically and was faintly amused to see his orders being followed.

Finrod looked up from the note, his eyes dark with something nearing fury and if Vorondur had been standing, he would have taken a step or two back as if hoping to avoid a blow. As it was, he went completely still the way a rabbit might when it felt a predator was nearby.

“Explain what this acute lung injury is,” Finrod said softly, and for some reason the very softness of his tone frightened Vorondur even more than if the ellon had started shouting. He remembered the terrible day when most of Nargothrond had turned their backs on this ellon sitting in front of him in his black corduroys and pale green shirt. He wore a teal-green silk tie with the shirt and a pullover cashmere sweater. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he would not have looked out of place lecturing at the college. His expression was the same now as then, though, cold and remote, as if carved in stone, his voice whisper-soft, but his eyes told a different story. Vorondur remembered that fury directed, not toward his subjects, but toward his cousins who had stood there smirking. And in a moment of absolute clarity, he wondered if this ellon and those same cousins were on speaking terms again after they had all been reborn.

He swallowed nervously, not even daring to pretend indifference, not before this particular Elf, and explained as succinctly as possible what a transfusion-related acute lung injury was and why it was so dangerous and then he had to explain what a delayed hemolytic reaction was and why Vardamir and Eärnur would have thought that was the reason for Glorfindel’s distress and why they had disagreed with the Twins.

“I can only speculate as to the last,” he said when Finrod asked him about that, speaking carefully. “I would not like to say that Mir and Ernest did what they did out of spite, either toward Loren or the Twins. I don’t think their professionalism would let them do that, but I have gotten the impression that they see Dan and Roy as somewhat… less in their eyes because they have not received the same training as healers as they.”

“Elrond all over again,” Finrod muttered and Vorondur forced himself not to ask what he so dearly wanted to know. Instead, he just sat there, waiting. It was a new sensation for him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to waiting. As a psychiatrist, he had often waited patiently while the person he was counseling thought about whatever had been revealed in the session, coming to terms with the new information, but that waiting had in many ways been on his own terms, for he had instigated it, but this was different. Here, he was waiting upon another who literally had the power of life and death over him. In ways that he did not understand and was not willing to analyze, he recognized that in coming to Finrod he was unconsciously accepting the ellon’s suzerainty over him, as if he were his liege lord. That realization was both comforting and appalling and he hated the way it made him feel. It had been too long since he had been anyone’s vassal.

Finrod looked up at him with a grim smile, almost as if he could read his thoughts or at least sense his ambivalence toward him. “Do you have any idea where your daughter has gone?”

Vorondur shook his head. “I was going to see if Dan knew. I thought I would check the Goldmine Inn to see if they registered there. I would think they would want to stay close for Loren’s sake.”

“Why do you not do that while I track down Vardamir and Eärnur? I wish to get to the bottom of this. Call Elladan as well and I would like to speak with Dr. Stoner.”

“Kyle’s probably sleeping the sleep of the just if he’s not on duty at the hospital. I can call and find out for you.”

“Do that and if you speak with him, ask him of his courtesy to attend Us here.”

Vorondur raised an eyebrow. “Finrod, this isn’t Aman. You don’t have the authority….”

“I am making it my authority,” Finrod said, standing. “Please do not argue with me about this, Ron.”

Vorondur blinked at the use of his Mortal name on Finrod’s lips. The ellon had been reluctant to use anyone’s Mortal name when addressing them or referring to them. For Finrod to call him ‘Ron’ was significant, but he was not sure to what extent. Resisting a sigh, he simply nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. Kyle Stoner may not come here. You may have to go to him.”

“If that is what it takes, so be it,” Finrod said as he pulled out his phone and consulted the address book, looking for someone’s number. He went to the front of the store and Vorondur saw him switching the store sign from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’, even as he began speaking in Quenya to whoever was on the other end.

Vorondur got up and went to the counter, checking for the phone book so he could look up the number for the Goldmine Inn. He was reluctant to simply call his daughter, respecting her privacy. It took only a moment to consult the Yellow Pages and then he was speaking to the front desk.

“Yes, this is Ron Brightman. I wonder if you have Sarah Brightman or Roy Ronaldson registered as guests… You don’t… hmm…. No one registered early this morning?.... No, that’s okay… Thank you.” He closed the phone to find Finrod staring at him.

“Vardamir and Eärnur are on their way. There is no sign of Elladan. Your daughter and Elrohir are not at the Inn?”

“No, no one’s registered there in the last few hours,” Vorondur replied. He opened his phone again and speed-dialed a number and waited.

“C’mon, Sarah, pick up,” he muttered, but she didn’t. Stifling an oath, he tried another number and then a third with the same results. “They’re not answering their phones. I’m not even being transferred to voicemail, so they’ve turned off their phones completely.”

“You believe Elladan is with them?” Finrod asked.

“I don’t know. I hope so.” He would have said more but the store door opened and a lone Mortal stepped in, looking a bit uncertain.

Finrod turned to the middle-aged man and smiled. “Good morning. May I help you?”

“I’m picking up a book?” the Man said somewhat hesitantly. “I got the email last night.”

“Yes, your name?” Finrod asked, going behind the counter. Vorondur stepped out of his way as he checked the shelves where the books on order were kept.

“Anderson.”

“Here you are,” Finrod said, handing him the book. “Is this what you ordered?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Shall I ring it up for you or do you wish to browse?” Finrod asked.

“No, no. I’m on my way to work.”

Finrod nodded and in a matter of minutes he had the sale rung up and the Man was on his way, happily clutching the bag and Vorondur could see the light of anticipation in the Mortal’s eyes at the thought of diving into the pages of his new book at the first opportune moment. He almost smiled at that sight, temporarily forgetting the reason for his being there.

“You appeared quite comfortable interacting with the Man,” he commented. “How do you feel about it?”

“I am not on your couch, Ron,” Finrod said with a glint of humor. “I was interacting with Mortals before you were born, as I recall, and after nearly a month working here, I should hope I am comfortable with what I do.”

“My apologies,” Vorondur said in all sincerity. “I’ll see if Kyle is available.” With that, he opened his phone again, punching in a number from memory. “Dr. Brightman for Dr. Stoner,” he said when someone picked up on the other end. “Yes, I’ll hold.” He rolled his eyes at Finrod and whispered, “I once heard a Mortal claim that he wouldn’t be surprised if when he got to heaven he found himself on hold at the pearly … Yes, Kyle, it’s Ron. I hear there was some excitement earlier…What?... Well, Finrod’s calling a conference with Mir and Ernest here at the bookstore… Aurora Borealis, that’s right. He would like you to be in on it… Okay, I’ll tell him.” He looked at Finrod. “He’s due to be off duty in about twenty minutes, but he’ll leave now and be here as soon as he can.”

“Tell him we will wait for him to arrive,” Finrod said.

“Kyle, Finrod says we’ll wait for you… Yeah, I know… Oh, have you seen either Dan or Roy?... No, not important. We’ll see you soon. Bye.” He shut down the phone, giving Finrod a concerned look. “Kyle says he spoke with the Twins outside Loren’s room and told them to stay put while he dealt with the crisis but when he came back out, they were gone and no one knows where they went.”

“We cannot worry about them now,” Finrod said philosophically. “I am sure they will contact us in due time, once they have reached their destination, wherever that might be. I would prefer to hear from them what happened but we must be content with getting their side second-hand.”

The door opened just then and Vardamir and Eärnur stepped in, looking wary. Finrod nodded to them. "I have asked Kyle Stoner to join us. He will be here shortly. There is coffee or tea in the back if you desire some, otherwise, please find a seat near the stove. We will talk there.”

Neither ellon spoke as they complied to Finrod’s command, eschewing the invitation for coffee and making their way to the upper reading area, settling in a couple of chairs, looking for all the world as if they were waiting for doom to fall upon them. Vorondur remained silent as well, the cold anger he had pushed away rising at the sight of these two. He had great respect for them as healers and as individuals, but the thought that Loren could easily have died due to their arrogance or perhaps just ignorance about the dangers of transfusions left him feeling torn between wanting to strangle them and offering them his professional services as a counselor. He looked at Finrod to gauge the ellon’s state and was surprised to see him smiling at him.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

“And why are you grinding your teeth?” Finrod retorted.

Vorondur blinked. Had he been grinding his teeth? He felt his jaw muscles relax and realized with some chagrin that he had. It was a bad sign with him. Ercassë always called him on it whenever he did it. It usually meant that he was feeling frustrated from being unable to follow through on an action, usually of a violent nature. It was an old habit from earlier times that he thought he had grown out of, but apparently not.

“Sorry,” he said contritely. “I haven’t felt this way in a long time. If Loren had died….” But he couldn’t complete the thought and was saved from having to even in his own mind by the door opening and Kyle Stoner walking in.

“Damn, it’s cold out!” He said in greeting, stomping his feet and pounding his gloved hands to get back circulation. “I really should’ve taken that job in Alabama, but no, I’m a sucker for punishment. Any chance of some coffee or a one-way ticket to Tahiti?”

Both Vorondur and Finrod grinned. “Coffee we can give you,” Finrod said, nodding to Vorondur, who accepted the silent command with equanimity.

“How do you like it?” he asked, as Kyle unbuttoned his jacket.

“Black, please.” Kyle answered and then turned to Finrod. “Okay, why have you asked me here? If you’re going to complain about no one calling you, one, there was no time and two, you couldn’t have done anything anyway.”

“But I still would like to understand what happened and why,” Finrod replied. “Ron’s daughter left him a note but it does not explain all.”

“A note? Why would she leave a note?” Kyle asked as Vorondur returned with the coffee.

“She and Roy and we think possibly Dan left, we don’t know where and none of them are answering their phones,” Vorondur explained.

“I told them to stay where they were,” Kyle said as he followed the two Elves to the upper reading area, “but they were gone when the crisis with Loren was over. I was going to try and get ahold of them later.”

“In the meantime, I wish to learn what happened and why,” Finrod said.

“Tell me what you know already,” Kyle said.

“Only what Sarah says in her note and it wasn’t too coherent as she has no medical background. Here, you can read it yourself.” Vorondur pulled the note out of his pocket and handed it to the Mortal.

Kyle glanced at it quickly and nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, sighing in relief as it warmed him, handing the note back to Vorondur. “Essentially true. Loren went into distress. Dan and Roy were already there keeping watch and….”

He described what he knew of what had transpired, rattling off medical jargon to Vorondur, who nodded in understanding and then restated Kyle’s description in layman’s terms for Finrod whenever Kyle took a breath. As he listened to Kyle’s explanation of what happened, Vorondur felt himself go cold all over again. When the Mortal finished, the silence was palpable. Finrod turned to Vardamir and Eärnur.

“Did I not warn you of this?” he asked softly, looking at the Teler. “Why did you ignore what Kyle says were obvious symptoms of this acute lung injury?”

“Because we were not convinced that that was what it was, not at the time,” Vardamir replied. “Finrod, I admit we were in the wrong and Elladan and Erohir were correct in their diagnosis, but at the time, Loren was also exhibiting some of the symptoms for DHR… ah… delayed hemolytic reaction.”

“Some, but not all, and not the most telling,” Kyle interjected. “And prescribing a diuretic when a patient is hypotensive is just plain wrong. If he’d been hypertensive, I could almost see it, but with indications of lung injury, even then, I would’ve hesitated using one. Corticosteroids are the way to go.”

“Look, we made a mistake and we apologize, all right?” Eärnur said with a scowl, though to Vorondur’s mind neither he nor Vardamir appeared particularly repentant. “Kyle has already reprimanded us, as is his right, but we do not need to be reprimanded by you, Finrod.”

“You dare!” Vorondur shouted, leaping from his chair and taking two strides to where Eärnur was sitting, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up with one hand, shaking him while Eärnur struggled against him, gurgling and turning blue as his windpipe was being crushed. Both Finrod and Vardamir grabbed at Vorondur with Finrod shouting at him to put Eärnur down, but Vorondur was too incensed to listen and he ignored them as he continued screaming at Eärnur, all his worry and fear for Sarah and Loren pouring out of him. What Kyle was doing he had no idea and didn’t care. His focus was totally on the Teler struggling to breathe. “Loren almost died because of your arrogance, yours and Mir’s. You dismissed Dan and Roy as if they were elflings underfoot. You ignored all the signs. And even worse than that, you drove my daughter away!”

He started squeezing harder, not caring that he was killing one of his own. The cold anger that had allowed him to hunt down and destroy the Mortals who had been responsible for the death of his son consumed him as it had consumed him so long ago, and the sick, dark exaltation of killing was like a sweet drug and he wanted it so badly. He—

There was a sharp pain in his shoulder that startled him enough that he loosened his grasp on Eärnur so that the ellon collapsed before him gasping for breath. Vorondur turned around to see what had struck him only to find Kyle calmly holding up a hypodermic. Before he could speak, whatever drug had been administered took effect and Vorondur tumbled into darkness, the madness that had taken him gone. His final thought was that Holly would be totally pissed when she found out.

32: Vorondur’s Very Bad Day

Vorondur blinked, finding himself gazing up at an unfamiliar ceiling. For a long moment, he wondered where he was and how he had gotten there. He could tell from feel that he was lying on a couch and for a second he thought perhaps he had had a row with Holly but this was not his couch and the lighting was all wrong.

“Awake, are we?”

He turned his head slowly at the sound of the voice to see Kyle Stoner sitting calmly in a rocking chair, a book in his hand and now Vorondur realized he was still at the bookstore, for he could see something of the shop from this angle.

“Do you always carry a hypodermic in your pocket?” Vorondur asked, struggling to sit up, finding that his coat had been draped over him as a blanket. “And what the hell did you hit me with?” He had to blink a few times to drive away the dark spots that threatened to engulf him once again.

“Easy now,” Kyle said solicitously. “There’s some water on the table next to you.”

Vorondur looked to his right and saw the table and the glass of water and reached over, picking up the glass and drinking avidly, and that helped to bring the world back into focus. He put the empty glass back down and stared at the Mortal. “You going to explain yourself?”

Kyle grinned. “Got into the habit of carrying a hypo and a couple of vials back when I was an intern in L.A. We often had gang members and druggies coming through. Some of them would become violent. There was this one time… well, let’s just say that had I had a hypo in my hand at the time, things would have gone differently. After that….” He gave an elegant shrug.

“I see, and the drug?”

Kyle rattled off the name of a fast-acting drug and Vorondur nodded. “Ernest?”

“He’s fine,” Kyle assured him. “Mir took him home. He said he could repair whatever damage you inflicted on him but I doubt the guy’s going to be singing arias anytime soon. He could still speak, if in a hoarse whisper, so you didn’t crush his trachea completely.”

Vorondur grimaced at that, running a hand through his hair.

“How is he, Kyle?”

Vorondur looked up to see Finrod standing there.

“He’ll be fine,” Kyle said, standing and putting the book on the table next to the empty glass. “And now that the crisis is over, I think I’ll leave. I should’ve been in bed four hours ago.”

“Four hours?” Vorondur took a quick glance at the clock over the counter and saw it was already after noon. He’d been out for about three hours.

He glanced up at the Mortal. “I shouldn’t have been out that long,” he protested.

Kyle just shook his head. “I gave you double the dose I normally would give anyone because I have no idea what effect any of our drugs have on you people. I really need to do a complete work up on you people and get a baseline for your vitals so we know how to treat you if we need to.”

“You have four full-blooded elven healers at your beck and call, Kyle,” Vorondur pointed out. “Why don’t you use them as guinea pigs?”

“I might just do that,” Kyle said.

“So I’ve been lying here unconscious for the last three hours while customers have been coming in? How did you explain that?” He addressed this to Finrod.

“I closed the store. I have a sign that says the store will open at one, which is when Nick is due to arrive. In fact, I’ve just reopened the shop.”

“And if I were still unconscious?” Vorondur asked, feeling amused.

“Then we would have told anyone who came in that you had had a rough night and didn’t want to go home to your wife just yet,” Kyle replied for Finrod as he shrugged on his coat which had been draped on another chair. “What conclusions they drew from that would be their affair. Well, I’m off. There’s a bed with my name on it and it’s feeling lonely without me.”

In spite of himself, Vorondur grinned and Finrod actually held out his hand for Kyle to shake, which surprised Vorondur and Kyle both.

“Thank you, Doctor,” the Elf-prince said quietly, “for everything.”

“No problem,” Kyle said shaking Finrod’s hand. He gave the two Elves a shake of his head. “You behave yourself, Ron,” he ordered as he headed for the door, then stopped with his hand on the knob and turned around. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask, what did Ernest mean when he said Loren was slipping his leash?”

Vorondur watched Finrod go absolutely still. “When did he say this?” he whispered and Vorondur winced at the tone, glad he wasn’t the object of Finrod’s regard.

Kyle was far enough away, though, that he probably did not feel the effects of Finrod’s rising ire. “When Loren went into cardiac arrest.”

For a moment, Finrod did not answer and when he spoke it was with a question of his own. “This cardiac arrest… you mean a heart attack?”

Kyle nodded. “But we got him back, so there’re no worries there. We’ll keep a close eye on him, I promise.”

Finrod nodded. “It is too complicated to go into it now, but in ages past my brother’s fëa, his spirit, I think you would say, sometimes fled his hröa, his body, whenever under extreme stress.”

“Oh, you mean he was having a near-death experience? Going toward the white light and all that? And Ernest was able to sense him doing so? Interesting.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he shrugged, as if to dismiss whatever he had been thinking, and opened the door. “Okay, I’m out of here,” he said briskly, giving them a wave, and then Vorondur and Finrod were alone.

Finrod looked down at Vorondur who looked up at him and the prince’s expression was completely unreadable to him. “Going toward the white light?”

Vorondur shrugged. “It’s rather complicated,” he said, using Finrod’s own words. He was not about to get into a discussion about NDEs.

Finrod raised an eyebrow and then he sighed and shook his head. “I really am tired of coming up with suitable punishments for people.”    

Vorondur stood up. “Punishment?”

“You do not think we can just ignore what happened, do you?”

“No, nor do I expect anyone to, but unless you want to have Eärnur lodge a complaint of assault against me with the police, there will be no punishment. You no longer have that authority over me. I will apologize to Eärnur and attempt to make it up to him in some manner but that will be between the two of us and you have nothing to do with it.”

Finrod frowned. “You were one of my subjects in Nargothrond.”

“And the operative word there is ‘were’, past tense,” Vorondur pointed out. “I was one of your subjects, but not one of your blood-sworn and I am not now. You are not king here, Finrod.”

“I know that!”

“Do you? Because I have to wonder with you going on about meting out punishment.”

“Do you believe you don’t deserve punishment?”

“I didn’t say that. Whatever punishment I deserve for what I did, it will not come from you. This is not Aman nor is it Nargothrond and I am not a subject of the Noldorin Crown.”

“You are a Noldo,” Finrod pointed out. “Of course you are a subject of the Crown even if you reside here. You are still your atar’s heir.”

“No, Finrod, that’s the point. I’m not. I’m a legal citizen of the United States of America. Have been for these past seventy years after Holly, Sarah and I fled from the Nazis when they took Austria. When I became a US citizen I gave up my titles and my rights as a noble. I am not Atar’s heir anymore, and frankly, I never considered myself to be his heir, not after he and Amillë and my brother Sailed. I never had any intention of joining them in Aman. This is my home, now and always.”

Finrod sighed, looking troubled, but whatever he might have said remained unspoken, for the shop door opened and the two Elves turned to see Nick coming in, shaking the snow off him and stomping his feet.

“Man it’s cold out today. Hey, Ron, how’re you doing? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m doing fine, Nick,” Vorondur said, giving Finrod a quick glance. The Elf-prince gave him a slight shrug and turned away.

“Would you like some coffee, Nicholas?” Finrod asked as he came down the steps. “I have a fresh pot on.”

“Oh, God! Thanks,” the Mortal said with much feeling as he began to divest himself of his outer wear.

“I should be going,” Vorondur said, shrugging on his coat as he came to the front of the store. “I’ll stop at Edhellond to see how things are there and then head for the hospital to check on Loren’s condition,” he said, addressing this to Finrod who was coming out of the back room with a mug in his hand.

“Yes, do that,” Finrod said and Vorondur could tell the prince was not happy with him at the moment, but that was something that would have to be addressed later away from Mortal eyes.

“Something happen to Loren?” Nick asked as he accepted the mug from Finrod.

“Quinn will fill you in,” Vorondur said and without another word he opened the door and stepped outside where it was snowing again. It was indeed cold, well below zero on the Fahrenheit scale, he suspected. Winter was by no means over with. He paused for a moment and took in a deep breath. The cold crispness of the air drove away any lingering cobwebs from his mind. His stomach grumbled and he realized he hadn’t bothered with breakfast in his rush to speak with Finrod and now it was nearly one in the afternoon. He thought about going over to the café for a quick bite, but elected instead to enter the bakery and buy something there.

Thus, a few minutes later he came out happily munching on a cinnamon roll as he strolled across the town square to his car. It was covered with snow, of course, more so than most of the other cars in the lot, for it had been sitting there for hours. It would take some time to brush it off and there might even be ice underneath. He fished out his keys and pressed the remote. The car started to turn on and then stopped. Frowning, he used his arm to brush the snow around the driver’s side door, unlocking it and getting in, inserting the key into the ignition and turning it. The car started to come to life and then died.

“Damn!”

He got out and fished for his phone with the intention of calling Triple-A, but his phone was dead too and he belatedly remembered that he had forgotten to charge it when he got home last night. Muttering curses, he opened the back door and retrieved the snowbrush and began vigorously brushing the snow off the front of the car, silently cursing the snow that was still falling. As soon as he cleared the hood he stopped long enough to open it. If people saw that, hopefully someone might offer to give him a jump. He had the cables in the trunk. In the meantime, he continued brushing snow off the rest of the car, wondering if the people in the Safeway might let him use their phone to call Triple-A if no one offered a jump.

“Need a jump?”

He looked up to see a couple of Mortals in a pickup truck, a middle-aged Man and his teenaged son. It was the younger Man who had spoken.

“Yes,” Vorondur said. “I have cables.”

He saw the older Man nod and then maneuver into the empty space next to his car. The young Man jumped out as Vorondur went to open the trunk, only to discover that the cables were not there.

“Blast! My wife must have taken them out for some reason,” he exclaimed.

“Hey, no problem, Mister,” the boy said. “We’ve got cables.” He went to the truck and climbed into the back, pulling out cables and in a moment he was connecting them to the batteries. Vorondur climbed into his car and turned the key. There was a slight hesitation and he feared the battery was actually dead, but then the engine came to life and he breathed a sigh of relief as he climbed out of the car.

“Thanks,” he said to the boy as he was unclamping the leads on the cable.

“No problem,” the youngster said. “You have a good day.” He threw the cables into the back of the truck and hopped in, giving Vorondur a wave as his father drove off. Vorondur closed the hood, gave the car another quick brushing while the engine was warming and then climbed back in and drove away. He would have to remember to tell Holly not to take the cables out of the trunk.

He had no further problems as he headed for Edhellond, purposely taking a long way there to give the car time to warm up; he didn’t want the battery to die on him again. Thus, by the time he reached Edhellond, it was nearly two. He didn’t bother to knock or ring the bell, but went right in.

“Hello, anyone home?” he called out as he shook the snow off him.

A moment later, one of the Valinórean Elves came down the hall leading to the kitchen.

“Ah, Aidan, good afternoon,” Vorondur said, addressing Aldarion by his Mortal name, “I’ve come to speak with Ernest and Mir. I need to….”

“Finish what you started?” Aldarion asked coldly.

Vorondur went still, attempting to gauge the ellon’s mood. “No, Aidan. I’ve come to apologize and to assure myself that Ernest is well. I—”

“He won’t see you. Not at this time.”

Vorondur looked over to see Vardamir coming down the stairs, his expression grave.

“How is he?” Vorondur asked humbly. “Kyle said the damage was minimal.”

“And it is a good thing that he was able to subdue you or you would be guilty of kinslaying,” Vardamir said coldly, clutching the bannister to the point that his knuckles were white and Vorondur could tell the ellon was barely able to contain his anger.

“I am sorry, truly. I’m not sure what came over me, but between what happened with Loren and now my daughter is missing—”

“Missing?” Aldarion asked.

“She and Roy and I think Dan left. I have no idea where, but they left because of you, Mir, you and Ernest.”

“I am sure they are fine,” Vardamir said somewhat dismissively and Vorondur could feel himself growing angry again and clamped down hard on his emotions.

“I hope so,” he said through gritted teeth. “I would still like to see Ernest for myself.”

“Master Healer Eärnur is not seeing any visitors at the moment, especially not you,” Vardamir said. “I think you had best leave, Vorondur. Your presence here is not welcome. What punishment has Finrod meted out to you, beyond making you come here to tender your apologies, which we do not accept at this time?”

Now Vorondur allowed himself to show a little anger. “As I explained to Finrod, he has no authority over me and he is not meting out any punishment. If Ernest wishes to lodge assault charges against me with the police, that is his privilege, but beyond that, whatever punishment I deserve, whatever restitution I should make, is between me and Ernest and no one else.”

“Well, be that as it may, as Eärnur’s healer, I am not allowing visitors at the moment. I will have someone contact you when he is. Good day to you.” With that, Vardamir turned and went back upstairs leaving Vorondur with Aldarion.

“What do you mean, Finrod has no authority over you?” the ellon asked, looking perplexed. “He’s our leader, even more so now that Glorfindel is injured.”

Vorondur sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I am not in the mood to explain,” he said. “Tell Finrod when you see him that I will call later to arrange for a time when I can see Ernest.” Then he opened the door and left, feeling somehow defeated.

And that sense of defeat followed him to the hospital where he found that he was unable to enter Loren’s room.

“They’re bathing him,” the nurse on duty at the ICU desk told him.

“I can wait,” Vorondur said.

“Sorry, but Dr. Stoner left orders that none of you Elves were to be allowed in, not even those blessed healers. He left strict instructions about that.”

“Why? And I’m not one of the healers. I’m a certified doctor of medicine. I don’t think Kyle’s orders apply to me.”

“Sorry, Dr. Brightman, but Dr. Stoner put all the Elves on the persona non grata list until further notice,” the nurse said apologetically. “The police officer guarding Mr. DelaFiore’s room will not admit you. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you speak with Dr. Stoner.”

“Yes, I will,” Vorondur said. “Can you at least tell me what his condition is?”

She glanced around, as if to see if anyone was nearby, but at the moment the two were alone. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but…” She fiddled with her laptop, not looking at him. “I need to check on one of the patients, so if you happen to be just nosy enough to glance at the screen while I’m away, you might find something of interest.” She gave him an arch look as she came from behind the desk and sauntered off. Vorondur smiled after her and then, giving the area a quick glance himself he moved around the desk and quickly scanned the screen with the latest update on Loren’s condition. He did not linger, but satisfied that the ellon was still holding his own, headed away.

Back in his car, after having to brush off the snow that was still falling, he sat for a moment while the car warmed up, feeling frustrated and tired. He dreaded going home to face Holly, but knew that it had to be done. Better she hear from him than from someone else what happened. He sighed as he maneuvered the car out of the physicians’ parking lot and headed home.

The snow was coming down heavily and he had to drive slowly with visibility nearly zero. It wasn’t quite blizzard conditions but there was plenty of whiteout. He turned one corner and felt the car slide a bit at the intersection and geared down to second, slowing even more, but as he attempted to brake at the next intersection, he must have hit some ice, for the car would not stop and before he knew it he was sliding through the intersection and spinning.

Uttering a curse, he turned the wheel into the spin, removing his foot from the pedals, and the car slid off the road and into a ditch, facing in the direction from which he’d been coming. “Oh that’s just great!” he muttered as he climbed out of the car to see what the situation was. The car appeared undamaged but he was going to need a tow to get it back on the road. He looked around to see if there were any houses nearby. This time of day, the kids might be out of school but the parents were likely still at work.

“You alright, Mister?”

He turned to see an old Man with a dog, a golden retriever, who barked at him.

“Hush, Rufus,” the Man hissed. “Sit.” And the dog obeyed.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Vorondur said, then stared at the car, giving a sigh. He looked at the Man ruefully. “This isn’t Friday the Thirteenth by any chance, is it?”

The Mortal grinned. “That was last week, son,” he said.

“Ah, I guess the gods are behind schedule then.”

The Man laughed outright. “You’re gonna need a tow. You got Triple-A?”

“Yes, but my phone died,” Vorondur explained. “Forgot to charge it last night.”

“Yeah, I know. I do that all the time.” He pulled off a glove and fished in one of his pockets, pulling out a smartphone. “Here, use mine.”

“Thanks,” Vorondur said as he got out his wallet and found the Triple-A card, punching in the number. It took a few seconds for someone to answer.

“Yes, my car slid off the road and is in a ditch. I need someone to come and help me get it out… Ah… street?” He looked at the Man.

“East Salina,” The Man said helpfully. “Nearest cross street is Morgan.”

Vorondur relayed the information to the operator who assured him that a truck would be sent but warned that it might take a while. “All our trucks are out in this. Lots of people either off the road or with dead batteries.”

Vorondur resisted a sigh and closed the phone, handing it back to the Man with his thanks. “It’ll be a while before someone comes.”

“Yeah, I figured that might be the case. Damn fool weatherman. Said we would have clear skies today. Idiots don’t know what they’re talking about. I swear they must just throw darts at a chart or something.”

Vorondur couldn’t help grinning. “Thank you for your help. You should be going. I’m sure Rufus would like to be home.”

“Rufus? Crazy dog loves this kind of weather. He’s worse than the grandkids.” Rufus gave a bark as if agreeing with him. “You gonna be okay?”

Yes, I’ll be fine, thanks.”

The Man nodded and set off with the dog leading and disappeared into the swirling snow. Vorondur sighed and went to turn off the car. He had no idea how long it would take for a truck to come and he didn’t want to waste gas or wear out the battery. He opened the trunk and pulled out a couple of emergency flares and set them on either end of the car.

Several cars came along in the meantime. Everyone stopped to check on him. A couple even offered to see if they could push the car out of the ditch, but Vorondur assured them that a truck was coming and thanked them. About an hour or so after he had put in the call, he saw flashing amber lights in the distance and hoped it was the truck. It was and twenty minutes later he was back on the road. Luckily, he was not far from home and the rest of the drive back was without incident.

He flicked on the garage door opener and in minutes he was in the mudroom removing his coat, the smell of cooking greeting him as he entered the kitchen where he met his wife. Ercassë looked up from where she’d been checking something in the oven and her expression was one of relief and worry mixed. “Ron! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all day.”

“Phone died. Forgot to charge it, and then my car wouldn’t start and I had to get a jump and then I slid off the road and I had to wait over an hour for a truck to come get me out of the ditch.” He decided to leave out what had happened at the bookstore and the hospital for the moment.

“Oh, you poor baby,” she said, giving him a hug and he hugged her back, enjoying the feel of her arms around him, making everything all right. After a moment, though, she pulled away. “You missed your ten o’clock.”

“Damn! Was Mrs. Penner terribly upset?”

“Not that I could tell. I said you had an emergency at the hospital and it had been too late to call her to cancel. She seemed to understand. I took the liberty of rescheduling her for tomorrow at four.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“You look frozen. Sit down and I’ll get you some coffee.”

“And something to eat. All I’ve had today is a cinnamon roll.”

“It’s nearly dinner time. Here, I warmed up some flatbread and here’s some cheese. Nibble on these. Now just what is going on? I called over at Edhellond and got a very strange response from Conan.”

“Oh?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Ron, what is going on?” She plopped down a mug of coffee before him and gave him a glare.

“Yes, that’s what I would like to know,” Amroth said as he walked in. “I’ve been chatting online with Darren. He refuses to give me details but he said that Mir brought Ernest home and he was in pretty bad shape and when I asked what he meant by that, he said to ask you.”

Vorondur closed his eyes, wishing he’d never gotten out of bed that morning.

“Ron?”

He opened his eyes to see the worry in Ercassë’s eyes and the sympathy in Amroth’s. He reached into a pocket and drew out a rather crumpled piece of paper. “I found this note from Sarah when I got up this morning.” He handed it to Ercassë to read. He watched her eyes widen and then she handed the note to Amroth who gave it a glance, nodding, as if its contents were no surprise to him. Ignoring the former king of Laurinand, he told them what had happened. As he spoke, he could see Holly getting more and more upset.

“Why the nerve of him!” she exclaimed.

“Who?” Ron asked, looking perplexed.

“Finrod, of course,” she said with a huff of disgust and he noticed Amroth smiling. “Who does he think he is? If he’s going to punish anyone, it should be those two clowns who disregarded Roy and Dan’s diagnosis and almost got Loren killed. You should’ve finished Ernie off and then gone after Mir!”

Vorondur couldn’t help it. He started laughing and Amroth joined him.

“It’s not funny, Ron!” Ercassë protested.

Vorondur just laughed some more, reaching out for his wife and bringing her close to kiss her. “I know,” he said when he had calmed down. “I think the day’s events are catching up with me. I’m worried for Sarah, though. She hasn’t called, has she?”

“No, and that’s not like her,” Ercassë admitted. “I tried calling her as well, but there was no answer. Where do you think they went?”

“They’re not in Wiseman. I think they went to Fairbanks. Hopefully one of them will call to let us know that they are all right and to find out how Loren is doing.”

“I hope so, too,” she said, kissing her husband back. “I thought we brought her up to know better than to worry us this way.” She straightened and moved out of Vorondur’s embrace. “Well, dinner will be in about a half hour. Why don’t you go clean up, check your emails and I’ll call you. Amroth, is Della up to joining us or should I make a tray?”

“I’ll go check, but I think she would like to join us. She’s feeling quite bored.”

Vorondur excused himself, went to the bathroom and then made his way to his office where he turned on his laptop, eventually accessing his emails. The very first one was from Daeron. Curious, he opened it and read the brief note:

Cheer up. If you’re lucky, the world will come to an end soon and you won’t have to worry about anything. In the meantime, here’s something to amuse you.

Below this was a caption that read, Unfortunate Burnt-Out Neon Signs, with images taken from a variety of sources: a funeral home sign that read ‘Fun Home’, a Burlington Coat Factory with the ‘o’ missing from ‘Coat’, and several others that, when combining letters produced some very naughty signs. He chuckled as he scrolled down, his mood lightening a bit, but he laughed out loud when he came to the last sign, a self storage sign that, with a missing ‘s’, now read ‘Elf Storage’. He hit ‘Reply’ and was keying in a message of thanks to Daeron when Ercassë came to the door.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she said.

He nodded, finished up the email and sent it before getting up and following his wife to the front door where he found Finrod speaking with Amroth, looking a bit uncomfortable. He looked up as Vorondur approached.

“Finrod,” he said in greeting, giving the Elf-prince a wary look.

“I heard what happened at Edhellond,” Finrod said by way of greeting. “I came to apologize on behalf of the others. Vardamir had no right to deny you.”

“You came all the way out here on foot in the middle of a blizzard to apologize rather than just calling,” Vorondur said disbelievingly.

Finrod shrugged. “I found I needed the exercise and it kept me from wringing a few necks.”

There was a long pause as the other three contemplated the import of Finrod’s words.

“Well, in that case, you’ll stay for dinner,” Ercassë said brightly after a moment. “Let me take your cloak.”

Finrod gave Vorondur an enquiring look. “By all means, join us,” he said with a nod, “and if the weather is still bad later you should plan to stay the night as well. It’s too dangerous to be walking or driving in this kind of weather.”

“No worse than the Helcaraxë,” Finrod said with a faint smile as he doffed his cloak and handed it to Ercassë. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“Ron, why don’t you and Amroth take Finrod to the living room and give him some wine. I’ll call you when and if I need any help in the kitchen.” Holly walked away, leaving the three ellyn to make their way into the living room where Vorondur went to the wine cabinet and pulled out some glasses and checked the wine stock, choosing a nice burgundy since he knew the dinner was a hearty venison stew. He poured the wine into the glasses and handed them to Finrod and Amroth, lifting his own in a salute. They all drank and there was an awkward silence.

Vorondur gave Finrod a considering look. “I appreciate that you came all the way out here to apologize and I apologize, too, for everything. Today has not been a good day for me. I hope others will be as forgiving.”

“I know and I am sorry that it came to this. I hope you and I can remain friends. I fear with Glorfindel in hospital, I must rely more heavily on you and Amroth and Daeron to help me maneuver in this very confusing world.”

“You will always have our support, Finrod,” Amroth said. “That goes without saying. Now, why don’t we put all this aside for the moment and just enjoy Holly’s venison stew and one another’s company?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Finrod said with a smile.

Both Amroth and Vorondur gave him surprised looks and Finrod smirked. “You see, working at the bookstore has already helped me with my idioms.”

Amroth and Vorondur chuckled.

“Ron, come help me with this,” they heard Ercassë call out, “and Amroth, go tell Della dinner is on. Finrod, bring the wine.”

The three ellyn grinned at one another as they separated to do Holly’s bidding.

****

Note: My thanks to Ellie for sending me the Unfortunate Burnt-Out Neon Signs for my amusement. It came at just the right time for this chapter. The ‘Elf Storage’ sign actually exists.

33: A Quiet Evening

By mutual consent, no one spoke about the events of the last twenty-four hours as they sat around the dinner table enjoying the venison stew. Instead, the main topic of conversation revolved around the list of names Nimrodel and Amroth were compiling for the babies. The fetuses had not developed far enough along for anyone to determine their gender as yet so the list included names for both boys and girls. At the top of the list (for now) were ‘Elfrida’ and ‘Aubrey’.

“At least Della likes Aubrey,” Amroth said. “I’m actually leaning toward Alexander, myself.”

“We’re hoping for one of each,” Nimrodel told them. “I don’t fancy having to deal with another set of identical twins. Dealing with Dan and Roy is headache enough.”

Everyone laughed at that. Finrod wondered why the list consisted only of Mortal names. “Surely they should be given Elvish names, for they are Elves, after all,” he said.

“They will be legally known by the surname McKinley,” Amroth pointed out, “and their birth certificates will reflect that. We’ve decided that their given names will be drawn from the Mortal culture and when they are old enough to decide for themselves, then they may choose an Elvish name if they so desire. We will have an essecilmë ceremony for them.”

They moved on to other topics of a more political type, discussing the upcoming mayoral race and who might be running for office. So far none had declared themselves  as candidates other than Tom Peterson.

“And we do not want that bigot in office if at all possible,” Amroth exclaimed with disgust. “If I have to, I’ll run myself. I ruled over an entire kingdom. I think I can handle one measly town.”

“Well, let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” Vorondur said with a grin. “I don’t fancy having to address you as Mr. Mayor every time I meet you in the hallway.”

Amroth gave him a smirk and the others chuckled.

During the dessert course, while everyone nibbled on shortbread and drank chamomile tea, Vorondur turned to Finrod and said, “I tried to see Loren after I left the bookstore, but Kyle has ordered that none of us Elves are to be allowed into his room.”

Finrod nodded as he started to take a sip of tea. “On my orders, actually.”

Everyone stared at him in surprise. “Do you mind explaining why?” Vorondur asked in a carefully neutral tone. “Even if you forbid certain people to be there I don’t like the idea of Loren being surrounded solely by Mortals.”

“Nor do I,” Finrod said, putting down his cup, “but I spoke with Kyle while you were… er…”

“Unconscious, I think is the word you’re looking for,” Vorondur supplied with a smile.

“Yes, thank you. At any rate, I felt that, for now, it would be best if we allow the Mortals to tend to him. Other than Elladan and Elrohir, none of the other healers really have any experience with the sort of trauma Glorfindel has suffered. We do not bother with blood transfusions since our master healers are capable of inducing blood production if needed. I know why we gave Glorfindel transfusions and I allowed it because there was no other option given his condition, but Vardamir and Eärnur simply did not have the requisite experience with the dangers of transfusions and so they made what could have been a fatal error in judgment. Only Kyle’s quick actions prevented that tragedy from happening. I think, for now, we will let the Mortals handle things. I will look in on Glorfindel in the morning before I go to work and let everyone know how he is doing. When we are ready to bring him out of healing sleep and he is awake, then I will allow visitors.”

“And you feel you alone have this authority,” Vorondur stated.

Finrod nodded. “Yes, both because I am the highest ranking Elf among us and because I am also Glorfindel’s nearest kin by virtue of the fact that Atar unofficially adopted him when he was released from Lórien and we have always considered ourselves brothers.”

“He had no family in Valinor, then?” Nimrodel asked, looking sad at the thought.

“None who would acknowledge him and his parents still resided in Mandos,” Finrod replied. “You must not worry for him. He was well loved by my parents and he and Sador and I considered ourselves brothers, since my own brothers had yet to be released from Mandos. By the time his own parents were reborn, Glorfindel had been out for several centuries and was mature enough to deal with having Reborn parents. When he was not traveling on the business of either Ingwë or the Valar, he resided in Aewellond with Eärendil and Elwing and that’s where his parents lived as well, still do, as a matter of fact.”

Ercassë was about to comment, when the phone rang from the kitchen, startling them all. “I’ll get it,” she said, rising. They heard her answer the phone. “Just a minute. Finrod, it’s Kyle.”

Finrod got up and everyone else did as well, following the Elf-prince into the kitchen where he took the phone from Ercassë. “Yes, Kyle? Is anything the matter?” He sounded calm but Vorondur noticed the tightness around his mouth and his brow was wrinkled in worry, but then his face relaxed and he smiled. “That is good news. Thank you. Yes, sorry about that. I was… um… upset with certain people and in my haste to leave the premises, I left my phone at Edhellond when I got home from work. I am afraid I am unused to it still…. Yes, I will tell him…. No. We have not heard from either one… I would like to give them a piece of my mind, too, but, knowing those two, I am afraid they would misplace it.” They heard laughter from the other end.

Finrod wished the Mortal a good night and hung up, turning to the others. “Glorfindel is responding positively to treatment and he is breathing on his own again.”

There was a general lifting of tension all around. “Well, that’s a relief,” Amroth said.

“Ron,” Finrod said, “Kyle asked me to tell you that he does not blame you for becoming incensed with Eärnur and Vardamir. He said to tell you that had you not gotten to Eärnur first, he would have gone after the ellon himself for his arrogance.”

“I appreciate him saying that but it really does not excuse my behavior,” Vorondur responded.

“Perhaps not, but it is understandable,” Finrod rejoined. “Indeed, I was feeling a bit uncharitable myself at the time. We Elves are very arrogant. I know I suffer from that particular disease at times, but I have endeavored to learn humility over the ages.” He gave them a crooked smile. “I suppose it’s easier to learn humility when one has to deal with the memories of how one was while abiding in Mandos.”

“We have never learned what that was like for anyone,” Vorondur said. “Loren refuses to speak of it.”

“And rightly so. As Fionwë might say, what happens in Mandos stays in Mandos. Now I think I should be going.”

“Oh surely not!” Ercassë protested. “The storm hasn’t lifted and you shouldn’t be walking in it. It’s too dangerous. You’ll spend the night here. If you don’t wish to sleep, I’m sure one of us will be up or you can read or even watch TV.”

“You may not be able to get to work tomorrow,” Vorondur pointed out. “It’s not too late in the evening. Why don’t you call Nick and find out what he intends to do? He may decide to open late.”

“I do not have my phone on me though, so I do not have his number.”

“Not a problem,” Amroth said, pulling out the phone book and looking up the number. “Good, it’s not an unlisted number. Here you go.” He rattled off the number as Finrod punched it in. After a few rings, he got through.

“Good evening, Nicholas,” Finrod said, “I am calling to find out about tomorrow. I am told that this storm may prevent you from opening the store… Oh, I could easily walk no matter how much snow falls… Ah, of course. I had not thought of that… Then we will just see how the storm progresses. I am not at Edhellond and I left my phone there. Here is the number where you can reach me.” He gave Nick the landline number that was printed on the phone. “Yes, that is correct… Then I will wait to hear from you. Good night, Nicholas.”

He hung up and gave the others a smile. “It seems that I will be spending the night, then. Let me call Edhellond to let them know.”

“I’ll make some more tea, then,” Ercassë said. “Ron, you want to check the weather channel and find out how extensive this storm is?”

“I’m on it,” Vorondur said and exited the kitchen.

“How are you holding up, dear?” Amroth asked Nimrodel as Finrod called Edhellond and Ercassë bustled about. He wrapped an arm around her solicitously.

“Oh, I’m fine,” she replied, patting his arm. “As long as Finrod is staying the night, why don’t we spend some time trading songs and stories? I rather miss doing that now that we’re living away from Edhellond.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Amroth said, giving her a kiss. “And it’s a good night for it.”

Vorondur came in just then. “It looks as if the Siberian Express is well and truly upon us. According to the meteorologists, this storm’s bound to last for at least another day. Schools have already been canceled for tomorrow.”

“Well, nothing we can do about that,” Ercassë said philosophically as she placed tea paraphernalia on a tray. “Let’s retire to the living room. Ron, why don’t you put some more shortbread on a plate for us?”

Vorondur complied with the orders and in a short while they were sitting comfortably in the living room where Amroth turned on the electric insert in the fireplace. “Not like the real thing, but environmentally more friendly,” he said to Finrod as the fake logs lit up. “I’ve suggested that they retrofit the fireplaces at Edhellond, but so far, no one’s done anything about it.”

“We’re old fashioned that way,” Vorondur said with a smile, then he turned to Finrod, his expression more sober. “Can you arrange for me to speak with Ernest? I want to apologize to him and assure myself that he is well.”

“I will see what I can do,” Finrod said, “but for now, let us forget about what happened earlier and enjoy each other’s company. Shall I tell you about the time I got lost in a blizzard and how a Mortal rescued me?”

The others all nodded.

“Well, I was visiting my brothers in Dorthonion, checking the Leaguer, when a storm came up rather suddenly and….”

****

The storm continued through the night. The Elves spent the time trading stories of their lives. Around two in the morning, Nimrodel excused herself, stating she needed to lie down for a while, and Amroth went with her. Ercassë decided that she wished to read, so she left as well, leaving Finrod and Vorondur to themselves. They spoke of inconsequential things then. Finrod expressed a desire to see something beyond Wiseman.

“I would like to visit this Fairbanks. I understand it is much larger than Wiseman,” he said.

“Oh yes, much larger, what is considered a city, though by comparison to cities such as New York or L.A., it’s not very large at all,” Vorondur told him. “We will need to go there for the trial anyway, or at least some of us will need to. While you are there for that there will be time to see some of the sights. It’s a lovely city, really.”

Around six, with no let-up of the storm, Finrod decided that he should try to return to Edhellond. “I cannot stay here,” he said. “There are some matters that need to be dealt with. I have yet to speak with Helyanwë as to what happened between her and Glorfindel that caused him to leave and go to that bar.”

“We only know what Roy and Sarah told us,” Vorondur said. “They overheard something of the argument but not all of it.”

“And what you know is hearsay,” Finrod said with a nod. “I need to learn it from Helyanwë and, when he awakes, from Glorfindel.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing seems to be going right. This is not how it was supposed to be.”

Vorondur leaned over to speak in a more confidential manner as if the ellon were one of his patients. “Finrod, it never is. As the Mortal poet Robert Burns put it: ‘the best laid schemes of Mice and Men oft go awry, and leave us nothing but grief and pain for promised joy’. It is simply the way of the world, and I doubt that life in Valinor is all that rosy and perfect, either.”

“No, that is true,” Finrod allowed. “I guess I was expecting… I am not sure what I was expecting, but Glorfindel is almost a stranger to me. He has changed.”

“And so have you, if I’m not mistaken,” Vorondur said. “Life is all about change, even if most of the Eldar in Valinor do not believe this. It is a lesson that they need to relearn, I think, from what little any of you have said about it. The very fact that any of you are here is a testament that you know that change is necessary if we are to survive as a race. It saddens and frightens me to think that no children have been born since before the last ice age. That means that your society is stagnating and that is a dangerous thing to happen.”

“They are afraid,” Finrod explained. “They have no assurance that when the end comes that they will survive it. If our lives are bound to Arda, then when Arda ends, so do we, or so that is the prevailing thought.”

“And because of that, they have already given up on themselves as a people,” Vorondur said. “They have doomed themselves, though I do not think they realize this.”

“When the Valar announced that they were permitting some of us to return to Middle-earth, I thought that there would be many asking to go,” Finrod explained, “and there were, but not as many as I thought there should be, considering all those who had once lived here. And of course, some of those who came with me have never been, like Aldarion and Valandur. They asked to come out of curiosity more than anything else.”

“And that is a hopeful sign, that there is still a spark of curiosity in some,” Vorondur said as he stood and went to the window overlooking the street, pulling back the drapes to look out. “Well, I don’t think we’re going anywhere for the moment. This storm is not going to let up for hours I suspect. Probably by the afternoon they’ll get around to clearing the roads once the storm passes.” He turned to Finrod. “If you wish to shower and change clothes, Amroth and I can lend you some.”

“That would be nice, thank you,” Finrod said, giving him a wry look. “And my original plan for the evening was to spend it quietly with my son. We have not had a chance to speak to one another lately and I desired to know how he and his gwedyr were doing as they prepare for college.”

“I’m sure they are very excited and Nell, too,” Vorondur responded with a smile. “It will be a whole new experience for them. I am glad they have already made friends with some of the Mortals. It will make it easier for them.”

“I am tempted to encourage some of the others to take courses at the college, particularly history. I think it is important for us to know as much about the Mortal world as we can if we are to be of any use in helping them and teaching them what they need to know.”

“That’s a good idea. You can audit the courses. That means that you sit in on the classes and, if you wish, you can take the exams but you’re not there to receive a degree. A number of adults, especially senior citizens do that as well as attend classes at the Adult Education Center. If you’re really interested, I can get you the relevant information about available classes.”

“Thank you. I would like that.”

“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, if you want to take a shower, now is the time to do it while everyone else is either asleep or otherwise occupied. I’ll get you some clean clothes and while you’re showering I’ll start putting some breakfast together. Della will be waking soon and she’ll be hungry.”

Finrod thanked him and then Vorondur went to find him some clothes and a towel. Soon Finrod was enjoying a hot shower and when he emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, he found that everyone else was in the kitchen where Vorondur was preparing pancakes for breakfast.

While that was going on Finrod called Edhellond where he ended up speaking with Daeron who assured him that all was calm and Eärnur was improving. He then called the hospital to get an update on Glorfindel’s condition and was told that the ellon had had a restful night.

“As soon as this storm passes, I will have one of our healers come to check on his condition,” Finrod said to the nurse, “so we can determine when to bring him out of healing sleep.”

With that he hung up, letting the others know how Glorfindel was. They all expressed relief that all was well there, though Ercassë said she wished Serindë would call and let them know where she and the Twins were.

“I’m sure they’ll call soon enough,” Vorondur said, giving her a kiss and hug. “Sarah will not wish to worry us for long. We’ll give them another day and if we haven’t heard from them, I’ll start calling every hotel in Fairbanks until I find them.”

Ercassë had to be content with that. “Well, let’s not let the pancakes get cold,” she said briskly and in a matter of minutes they were all sitting down to breakfast while the storm continued.

****

Essecilmë: (Quenya) Name-choosing, an Eldarin ceremony where a child names him- or herself according to personal lámatyávë or ‘sound-taste’.

Notes:

1. Elfrida: Old English ‘Elf-counsel’ (a feminine form of Alfred); Aubrey: French ‘Elf-king’ (derived from the Germanic ‘Alberich’); Alexander; Greek ‘Defender of Men’.

2. The quotation from Robert Burns is the correct translation of the original poem, To a Mouse, 1785, where the word ‘schemes’ is used instead of ‘plans’.

34: The Situation at Edhellond

After breakfast, Vorondur excused himself to go make some phone calls. “I need to reschedule my appointments,” he told them and headed for his office while Finrod helped Ercassë with the dishes. Nimrodel and Amroth wandered into the living room to watch the morning news program, taking cups of coffee with them.

“Ron is very upset, you know, about what happened yesterday,” Ercassë said to Finrod as they cleared the table together. “He tries to hide it, but I know how terribly ashamed he feels.”

“I know,” Finrod said. “I suspect he does not often… um… lose his cool, as I believe the expression is?”

“No, not for ages, and I meant that literally. When Cani died in his arms, something broke inside him and he quite literally went insane with grief and he did terrible things, I’m afraid. It took a long time for him to find himself again and longer still to forgive himself for what he had allowed himself to become.”

Finrod thought for a moment before commenting, handing the dirty dishes to Ercassë to stack in the dishwasher. “Grief can do strange things to people. I thought it was telling that after all that was said and done it was the thought that Eärnur’s and Vardamir’s arrogance had driven Serindë away that fueled his anger more than the fact that their arrogance might have caused Glorfindel to die.”

“He’s very protective of her,” Ercassë said somewhat apologetically. “She… she helped him to regain his sanity.”

“And you?” Finrod gave her a shrewd look.

“Oh, I’m just his wife,” she replied with a sad smile. “I was there to pick up the pieces, but Sarah was his hope, a single star to illuminate his darkness.”

“I do not believe that,” Finrod said. “I think you belittle yourself, child. One only has to see how he looks at you to know that he worships the ground you walk on. Your daughter may well have been a star illuminating his darkness, but you were his anchor, his lifeline. Without you, he would have been truly lost.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not entirely convinced by his words.

Finrod smiled. “There is no perhaps about it, Ercassë, and as your prince, I am commanding you to believe my words.”

Ercassë raised an eyebrow at that but then, seeing the humor in his eyes, she smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Highness. Whatever you say, Your Highness. Now, why don’t we join the others in the living room while we wait out this storm, Your Highness? Would you like more coffee, Your Highness?”

“Yes, please, and if you call me ‘Your Highness’ one more time, I will make you regret it.”

“Hmph…That’s what they all say,” she retorted with a sniff, clearly not impressed with his threat. Finrod merely smiled more as he followed her out of the kitchen.

The storm finally wound its way down around one in the afternoon after dumping about four feet of snow over Wiseman, though some of the drifts were closer to six feet.

“Plows won’t reach us for a while,” Vorondur told Finrod as the two were in the mudroom with Amroth, the three ellyn preparing to go outside, “but we’ll get the driveway cleared.”

“Just in time for the plow to come through and block us in again,” Amroth said sourly as he donned a coat and gloves.

Vorondur chuckled. “Such is life, but the snowblower will make quick work of it.” He went into the garage, pressing the button to open the outer door, before checking the snowblower over. Finrod and Amroth followed with Amroth grabbing a couple of shovels and handing one to Finrod. Without a word the two went out, walking lightly on top of the snow.

Amroth pointed to his right. “The sidewalk’s about here. Why don’t you clear the front door? Just dump the snow onto the lawn.”

Finrod nodded and made his way to the door. As the sound of the snowblower revved up, he began shoveling, recalling another storm a long time ago and clearing the doors to the mansions of the Valar. He started singing a hymn in praise of snow, feeling oddly content with the world at that moment.

It took them nearly an hour to clear the drive and the sidewalk. Neighbors were also out with snowblowers and shovels. Children were bundled up and making snowmen in the front yards and at one point an impromptu snowball fight ensued. The three Elves happily joined in with Finrod proving to be a master tactician.

“All those years fighting orcs,” he said with a shrug when Vorondur commented on it after the game and they went back inside to hot chocolate, courtesy of Ercassë and Nimrodel who had watched the shenanigans from the front window.

Around three, a plow came through dumping snow at the foot of the drive. Amroth volunteered to go back out and clear the snow. “Then I suggest Ron drive you back to Edhellond,” he said to Finrod. “That way, he can speak with Mir and Ernest. They won’t refuse him if you’re there.”

So, while Amroth finished clearing the drive, Finrod bundled up his clothes in a bag provided by Ercassë and joined Vorondur in his car and they were soon on their way, giving Amroth a wave as they went. Vorondur drove slowly, for the roads were not completely cleared and some of the side streets had yet to be plowed. Thus, he was forced to take the long way to Edhellond. “Let’s hope Sycamore’s been plowed,” he said as he turned onto Aurora.

Finrod shrugged. “If you need to stop before we get there, we can always walk.”

As it turned out, however, Kodiak and Sycamore were both plowed and the entrance to Edhellond was clear. They got out of the car and made their way to the door, which opened before they reached it. Daeron was standing there, smiling at them.

“Good. I’m glad you’re back. Why does Brethorn insist on playing hide-and-find whenever there’s a storm on?”

Finrod laughed as he and Vorondur entered the house. “Long story. Everything well here? Eärnur?”

“Resting comfortably,” Daeron answered as he took Finrod’s cloak and hung it up for him. “He’s able to speak above a hoarse whisper but it still hurts, so I suggested he write down anything he needed to say. Gave him a pad and pen. He’s not too happy about that, but Mir insists that he not speak for another couple of days. Hello, Ron. I would say that it’s too bad you’re no longer here to be the voice of calm and reason, except that you blew that image out of the water with Ernie.” He gave Vorondur a cheeky grin to take the sting out of his words.

Vorondur blushed. “I’ve come to apologize, assuming he’ll see me.”

“Oh, he’ll see you alright, if we have to do it over Mir’s dead body,” Daeron said darkly. “This nonsense has gone on long enough.”

“And what nonsense is that?” Finrod asked with a frown.

“Well, Mir’s acting like a mother hen with a single chick,” Daeron replied, “and Ernie is letting him. Helena won’t come out of her room even though Anna and Misty have done everything short of standing on their heads to get her to, half of them won’t speak to the other half and most of them are out haunting the woods. In fact, several refused to come back inside even with the blizzard on. I hope they’re all miserable sitting on their individual tree branches covered with snow.”

He gave them a scowl of disgust at the obstinacy of Elves and both Vorondur and Finrod grinned. Daeron continued his list of woes. “And the Three Amigos and Nell have been up in the sunroom playing Monopoly nonstop for about the last eighteen hours. The only time they stop is when they’re raiding the kitchen for food but they refuse to leave the game for more than fifteen minutes at a time.”

“Well, I can fix that,” Finrod said decisively, dropping his bag of clothes on the floor by the stairs. “Come with me, the both of you.” He climbed the stairs with Vorondur and Daeron following and they made their way to the sunroom. All four of the youngsters looked up at their entrance. Finrod took in the room at a glance.

“Put the game away,” he said quietly, but with grave authority, and without protest, they did just that while the three older Elves stood and watched. When the game was neatly boxed, Finrod nodded. “Now go outside and get some fresh air. I do not want to see you inside for one hour. When you return, you may help with dinner. Go.”

The four younger Elves went without a word. Daeron and Vorondur stepped aside to let them pass. Vorondur grinned at Daeron. “You’d think they were on their way to their own funerals.”

Daeron snorted in amusement but did not otherwise comment. Finrod just shook his head. “Daeron, go out to the woods and tell everyone to come inside on my orders, and if any of them give you grief, tell them that if they do not come in now, I will bar their entrance for the next three days.”

Both Vorondur and Daeron raised eyebrows at that proclamation. Finrod gave them a sour grin. “Let’s see how soft they all got while living in Aman. Beleg, Edrahil and Brethorn, being Reborn, may stay out just for fun, but I doubt too many of the others will.”

Daeron gave him a bow. “Be iest lîn, hîr nîn,” he said and left them.

“Come, Ron,” Finrod said, taking Vorondur by the arm. “Let us go see Eärnur and Vardamir and then I need to speak with Helyanwë and get to the bottom of what drove Glorfindel from here.”

They went back down the hall to the stairs that led to the third floor and then they were standing before Eärnur’s bedroom door. Finrod knocked and the door opened to reveal Vardamir, who scowled at the sight of Vorondur. Finrod gave him no time to say anything.

“I’ve come to see how Eärnur is doing, Vardamir, and Ron is here to apologize,” he said.

“I don’t think—”

“It does not matter what you think, Vardamir,” Finrod said, his voice going cold and his expression becoming imperious. “Now, step aside, please.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Vardamir complied with the orders, opening the door and stepping back to let them in. Vorondur had half expected to find Eärnur in bed, but the ellon was dressed and sitting in the window seat, looking out onto the back garden. He turned his head when they came in but said nothing, his expression neutral.

Finrod spoke. “Daeron said you still have trouble speaking, Eärnur, but he gave you writing implements with which to communicate.”

Eärnur nodded, lifting a spiral pad and a pen that had been sitting beside him on the seat.

“Good,” Finrod said. “How do you feel, meldonya?”

The Teler scribbled something on the pad and handed it to Finrod. Vorondur read over his shoulders: I want to go home.

Finrod simply nodded and handed the pad back, indicating by gesture that he wished to sit next to Eärnur, who sat up, swinging his feet around. Finrod sat and threw an arm around him and Eärnur laid his head on the prince’s shoulder, his expression one of pain and loss. Vorondur stood silently looking on.

“I know you do,” Finrod said softly. “So do I, at times. I find I am missing my Amarië more each day.” With his other hand he brushed Eärnur’s hair, kissing him on the brow. Eärnur was scribbling something on the pad and then handing it to Finrod who read it at a glance before showing it to Vorondur and Vardamir: My time in Númenor did not prepare me for this world. I thought it would be much the same but it’s not. It’s too different. I want to go home.

“You know there is no way to go back, not yet, at any rate,” Finrod said. Eärnur just nodded, looking lost and defeated. Finrod looked up at Vorondur and Vardamir, his own expression one of deep compassion as he continued to hold Eärnur who was now weeping quietly, hiding his face in Finrod’s shoulder.

Vorondur crouched before them. “Eärnur, I am so sorry, more than you will ever know. I’m not sure what came over me, but I’ve already lost two of my children and the thought of losing Sarah, even metaphorically, was too much. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“You know you were in the wrong, the both of you,” Finrod said, his tone gently chiding but not accusatory. “Elladan and Elrohir understood the dangers of transfusions and, according to Kyle, they diagnosed the situation with Glorfindel correctly and acted appropriately. I am wondering if you acted as you did because it was the Twins who were there and not, say, Laurendil or Manwen, or even Kyle.”

“That’s not true, Finrod,” Vardamir protested.

“Perhaps not,” Finrod allowed, “but I have to wonder if you would have been less arrogant about it had it been someone else there. I fear whatever the case may be that your actions have driven the Twins away and Serindë has gone with them.”

Eärnur sat up a bit, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of a hand before scribbling something on his pad, thrusting it at Finrod who read the note and said. “We have no idea where they went though we suspect Fairbanks. Unfortunately, they have failed to call and they are not answering their phones.”

“And that is what worries me the most,” Vorondur said as he stood up from his crouch. “I can understand their being angry enough not to call here, but they know we will worry for them and even if they have no intention of returning to Wiseman any time soon, they should at least contact one of us to let us know that they are safe.”

Eärnur wrote a single word on the pad and held it up for them to read.

“Ask one of the Maiar?” Finrod interpreted and Eärnur nodded. Finrod shrugged. “I am not sure that will work. You know how cagey they can be with questions they do not wish to answer. They will only tell us that we must discover their whereabouts on our own.”

Eärnur wrote something else: Ask Maiar to keep them safe?

“Well, we can certainly do that,” Finrod said with a nod.

A knock came to the door and then Daeron was peeking around. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you would like to know that everyone’s back in, except for the youngsters. They’re standing outside. Just that, mind you. Standing. Over by the gate staring out. Every once in a while one of them looks at his or her watch.”

Finrod rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of the Valar! What is wrong with them? Ron and I spent a good half hour with Amroth in a snowball fight with some Mortal children. Why do they not at least take a walk down the street?”

Even Eärnur grinned at that.

“I think they may be feeling… scared,” Daeron suggested.

“Scared? Of what?” Vardamir demanded.

“Of us. Of all the tensions,” Vorondur replied before Daeron could answer. “They have probably never experienced the emotions that lie heavily within these walls. They do not know how to process their own feelings, most of which must be ambivalent, not knowing with whom to side because the people they love appear to be splitting up into two armed camps.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes, I fear that may be the case, which is why I want to speak with everyone while they are outside.”

“I assumed as much from your orders,” Daeron said, “so I told them that you wished to see them in the library. I also took the liberty to inform Helyanwë that you have ordered her to come to the library as well. She knows enough not to ignore your orders even if she ignores ours.”

“Thank you. You did well,” Finrod said, standing. He looked down at Eärnur. “Will you join us, tyenya? And will you at least think about what Ron said? You, too, Vardamir. We do not expect you to forgive him right away, but I hope eventually you three can be friends again.”

Eärnur did not answer immediately, looking between the others. Vardamir also did not speak, perhaps waiting to see what Eärnur’s response would be since he was the injured party. Vorondur kept his own expression neutral, prepared to accept rejection of his overtures of reconciliation. The Elves were notorious for keeping grudges long after the fact, as well he knew. Finally, Eärnur began writing something on his pad. When he was finished, he handed it to Vorondur who read: I am sorry, too. I was being stupid. I do not think Lord Irmo is very happy with me right now.

Vorondur handed the pad to Finrod to read, while he addressed Eärnur. “I doubt any of the Valar are happy with us at the moment, Ernie.”

Eärnur scowled. “Ernest,” he insisted in a hoarse whisper, then swallowed in pain.

Vorondur smiled. “Ernest,” he repeated with a nod, acknowledging the ellon’s right to name himself as he wished.

“Vardamir?” Finrod asked. “What about you?”

“I apologize for anything that may have caused anyone pain,” the ellon said in a neutral tone. “And when Elladan, Elrohir and Serindë return, I will apologize to them as well.”

“Thank you,” Vorondur said.

“And now that that is settled, let us go speak with the others,” Finrod said. “Daeron, I know you do not need lecturing to, so would you just keep an eye on the children for me?”

“Of course, Finrod,” Daeron said. “In fact, I’ll go out and see if I can’t entice them to at least make snowmen instead of standing about looking lost.”

With that they all trooped downstairs with Daeron grabbing a coat and heading outside while the others followed Finrod to the library, where they found everyone else who still resided in Edhellond milling about. Vorondur noticed that Beleg, Edrahil and Brethorn were there, though they were standing to one side in their own little clique, as if distancing themselves from the rest of the Elves. Their expressions were more ones of curiosity than of wariness.

“You guessed wrong on that one, Finrod,” Vorondur said softly, nodding toward the three Reborn.

Finrod grinned at him. “I have been known to be wrong once or twice,” he retorted. Then he addressed the others, not in English, but in Quenya, and that alerted everyone that this was not ‘Quinn’ who stood before them but Prince Findaráto and spines straightened as everyone gave him their attention.

“First of all, Glorfindel is resting comfortably and breathing on his own. The crisis, or at least, this crisis, is over with according to Dr. Stoner.”

There were sighs of relief at the news and Vorondur understood that some of the tensions between the Elves centered around feelings of uncertainty concerning Glorfindel’s condition. With that uncertainty removed, the atmosphere in the library became lighter and less fraught with unresolved feelings of anger and helplessness. He noticed Helyanwë quietly weeping what must have been tears of relief as Melyanna held her. Finrod continued speaking.

“I know all of you are upset over what happened with Eärnur. Vorondur has apologized to him and Vardamir and we will leave it to them to work things out between them. Eärnur and Vardamir made a mistake of judgment which nearly cost the life of one whom we all love and respect. They recognize this and hopefully will have learned from it. That goes for all of you. I know that some of you look down at Eldatan and Eleroquen for not being pure-bloods, for being pereldar, but do not forget that by virtue of their bloodline, they are also descendants of a Maia. None of us can claim that and the fact that they do not lord it over the rest of us because of it speaks highly of them.”

“Though I imagine it is more because they feel inferior to everyone else,” Vorondur interjected, also speaking in Quenya. “They have told me so, singly and together, and it is not a feeling that they are used to having, because Glorfindel and Sairon and the rest of us Wiseman Elves have always treated them with respect as the Elf-lords that they are.”

“Yes,” Finrod said with a nod. “You may look at them and think ‘pereldar’ but do not ever forget that they are scions of all three royal Houses of Eldamar: The Houses of Ingwë and Finwë through my cousin, Turucáno, and my sister, Artanis, and the House of Olwë through his brother, Elwë Sindicollo, and my amillë, not to mention the fact that their amillë’s atar is Telporno.” He paused for a moment, giving them all a significant look as they considered his words. Vorondur noticed some of the Valinórean Elves blanching at the mention of Celeborn’s name and hid a smile, remembering that particular Elf-lord well and with great fondness. “For that reason alone,” Finrod continued, “they should have your respect.”

“And there is one more thing,” Vorondur said, “and this is directed more at all the healers: Eldatan and Eleroquen are both certified as doctors in the Mortal world. They studied at one of the top medical schools in the country and interned at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world. They could have simply applied for their licenses to practice in this state at any time but they agreed to join you in your training program out of respect for you, hoping that you might teach them elven healing techniques that they do not know and, at the same time, impart their knowledge of how to treat Mortals and they have been doing that since the Third Age of this world.”

Finrod nodded again. “That is very true and we should all remember that. Now, let us endeavor to heal the breaches between us. We cannot afford to become divided, not now.”

Vorondur added, now speaking English, “To quote Benjamin Franklin, a wise man among the Mortals: ‘We must all hang together or we will assuredly hang separately’.”

It took a moment for some of the Valinórean Elves to understand the import of those words, but there was much nodding of heads in agreement with the sentiment.

“Good,” Finrod said. “You are free to leave. You may even return to your roosts, if you so desire.” He gave them a sly look and several people chuckled, looking a bit embarrassed. It did not surprise Vorondur when Beleg, Brethorn and Edrahil rushed out the door and ran down the hall to the kitchen and then they heard the distant sound of a door closing. Finrod grinned at Vorondur. “I was partly correct.” Vorondur laughed.

As others began to leave the library, Finrod stopped Helyanwë. “Stay a moment,” he said quietly, speaking in English now. “You, too, Melyanna.” Neither elleth looked happy but they complied with his orders, taking a seat together on the sofa. Vorondur was about to join the exodus, but Finrod asked him to stay as well and then ordered Aldarion to go find Daeron and ask him to join them in the library. A few minutes later the former loremaster of Doriath came in.

“You wished to see me?” he asked.

“The youngsters?” Finrod replied.

“Left the four of them making a couple of snowmen. They were trying to figure out how to give them pointed ears so they could be snowelves.” Daeron gave them a grin and they all chuckled at that.

Finrod gestured toward where the ellith were sitting by the fireplace. “Come, let us sit. There are things that need to be said between us.”

Vorondur opted to take a seat on the hearth, placing an oversize pillow under him for comfort while Finrod and Daeron took the chairs. Once they were settled, Finrod waited a moment before speaking. “Melyanna, you are here for propriety’s sake, so please remain silent. My business is with Helyanwë. Vorondur and Daeron are here because they are more aware of what has been happening than the others, I believe.”

The elleth nodded and Finrod looked at Helyanwë. “Would you like to tell me what you said to Glorfindel to drive him away?” he asked gently, reverting to Quenya once again.

For a moment, Helyanwë kept her eyes down, her hands twisting the hem of her blouse. Finally, she looked up and sniffed back tears. “He should have apologized.”

“Apologize to whom?” Finrod asked.

“To you, Uncle! Who else? He should have accepted your authority from the very beginning. Whoever heard of joint rule? It’s absurd.”

“And you told him so,” Finrod stated. She nodded, casting her eyes down. “But that is not what drove him away, is it? What did you say, Daughter, to drive him away?”

Helyanwë was not the only one to flinch at the absolute coldness in Finrod’s voice. Vorondur narrowed his eyes, watching Finrod closely. The prince was beyond furious, though few would recognize it, for he sat there looking completely calm, his expression neutral, but his eyes gave him away.

Helyanwë did not answer immediately.

“Daughter?” Finrod repeated, his voice like silk over steel and he obviously was brooking no resistance from anyone.

Without looking up, the elleth answered, speaking barely above a whisper, her hands clasped in her lap. “I reminded him that you are a prince but that he was but a lord and a lord of a House that no longer exists.”

Vorondur watched as Finrod sat back, looking as if he’d been slapped. Daeron’s breath hitched in surprise. Melyanna merely grimaced, taking hold of Helyanwë’s clasped hands and giving them a squeeze.

“I see,” was Finrod’s only comment after an uncomfortable silence followed her statement.

Before he could say anything more, Daeron spoke up, his expression one of pain. “You have no idea what you said, do you, Helena?” She looked at him, clearly puzzled, and he went on. “I suppose it’s your upbringing, living in what Mortals these days would refer to as a feudal society, though I would call it hierarchical, instead.” He shook his head. “You Valinórean Elves are too hung up on titles and precedence and fail to see that respect for another should not hinge on their titles or lack thereof but on merit. Loren has not been a lord of anything in a very long time, even though he has garnered many titles down the ages, including, I might add, prince.”

“Oh?” Finrod said, giving Daeron a surprised look. “He never said.”

“He wouldn’t, because to him it isn’t relevant,” Daeron explained, “but he did rule as a prince back in the eighth and ninth centuries. The name of the principality has been swallowed up by history and no one remembers it except as a single footnote in the dusty annals of historians, but Loren ruled wisely and well and passed the rule on to a Mortal whom he had adopted when he felt the time was right to do so.”

He paused to let his words sink in before he continued. “As I said, Loren has not been a lord of anything in a long time, but he is probably one of the greatest of the Elf-lords Arda has ever known. He could well have ruled a kingdom, and indeed, the crown of more than one was offered to him at one time or another, but he refused them all.”

“My brother is a great Elf-lord,” Finrod said, “though he would deny it. I think, child, you need to remember that. I do not know if he will forgive you for your words, but when he comes out of healing sleep, I think you owe him an apology, don’t you?”

Helyanwë nodded. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“I know you are,” Finrod said gently. “Words are difficult to take back, but if you truly love him, I am sure you will find a way. Just remember this: Glorfindel is more than my otornor, he is my brother, and, as far as I’m concerned, that is a far more important title than prince. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Helyanwë nodded. Finrod stood and the others followed suit. “Good. Now, Ron, you are welcome to stay for dinner, but I imagine you would prefer to return home and have dinner with your wife.”

“Yes, and actually, it’s my turn to cook, so I had better get on my way. If I hear from the Twins or Sarah, I’ll let you know immediately.”

“And we will do the same,” Daeron assured him as they exited the library with Finrod and Daeron escorting Vorondur to the front door, while the two ellith excused themselves.

“How long will we keep Loren in healing sleep?” Vorondur asked as he reached into the closet for his coat.

“I think they wish to keep him under for another couple of days,” Finrod answered. “I’ll send either Laurendil or Manwen over tomorrow to check on him and we’ll make a decision then. I will call you once we know for sure.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Vorondur said, then he gave Finrod a shrewd look. “You are still very upset.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Finrod nodded anyway.

“I am,” he stated simply. “I find myself wishing for a good orc attack on which to take out my frustrations.”

Both Vorondur and Daeron gave him disbelieving looks and Finrod shrugged, as if to say ‘so sue me’.

“Why don’t you take a very long run?” Vorondur suggested. “Loren likes to do that when he’s feeling particularly frustrated.”

“Especially when beating the daylights out of us in a sword fight isn’t practical,” Daeron added drolly.

“I may do that, thank you,” Finrod said.

Vorondur opened the door and stepped outside, wishing them a good evening. He saw that the Three Amigos and Nell had been busy building an entire family of snowmen. He gave Finrod and Daeron a grin which they returned. Finrod called out for the youngsters to come inside and help with dinner. As Vorondur drove away, Calandil was the last to enter the house and then Daeron was closing the door.

****

Be iest lîn, hîr nîn: (Sindarin) ‘According to your wish, my lord’.

Tyenya: (Quenya) Literally, my thou = ‘dear kinsman’, a term of endearment used to address family members and very close friends.

Pereldar: The Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin peredhil ‘Half-elves’.

Note on Quenya names:

Artanis: The original Quenya name of Galadriel.

Eldatan: Elladan.

Eleroquen: Elrohir.

Elwë Sindicollo: Elu Thingol. The published Silmarillion gives the alternate form Sindacollo.

Sairon: Daeron.

Telporno: Noldorin Quenya: Celeborn. The Telerin form would be Teleporno.

Glorfindel’s Quenya name would be Laurefindil but everyone knows better than to refer to him by that name even when he is not present.

35: An Interlude with Glorfindel

Glorfindel was floating again. Darkness surrounded him like a warm blanket and he felt content, willing to float, not really caring about anything at the moment. Distantly, he seemed to sense others, for he could hear the murmur of voices, but as he could not make out what was being said, he soon ignored them. They were there in the background, like white noise, and in their own way, soothing.

How long he remained in this quiescent state, he neither knew nor cared, but a time came (though ‘time’ as a concept had no meaning for him in this floating darkness) when he began to feel troubled. At first, it was just a niggling doubt, barely noticeable as he lay there floating, but then faces arose in his memory, faces he remembered seeing before, though he could put no names to them. Two were like peas in a pod and the elleth was a dark beauty. He did not know who they were, but he sensed that they were somehow important. There was something he had to do that involved them, but just what that was, he did not know.

And now his earlier contentment fled and he struggled to remember who these three were and where he had seen them. A flash of memory crossed before him, gone before it actually registered: a lighted hallway and the two ellyn and the elleth were standing about talking and then walking to the elevators. It took Glorfindel precious seconds to recognize that they were in a hospital, and then the memory faded.

Sighing in frustration, wishing he was somewhere other than in this floating darkness, which now felt more like a prison than a haven, he tried to recapture the memory, to trace it back in the hope that he would know what these three were about and why he felt it was so important that he do something. What that something was he did not know and that fueled his frustration even more.

He made an attempt to find a way out of wherever he was, but the darkness held him, rocking him like a babe in its mother’s arms, and Glorfindel felt himself slipping away. He tried to fight it, but to no avail and his last thought as unconsciousness took him was that, if it was the last thing he did, he would find a way out of this dark, floating prison.

****

“Stubborn, isn’t he?” Olórin said, giving Lord Námo a wry look. The two were in fana with Námo in his Nate disguise while Olórin appeared as an old Man wearing a doctor’s lab coat. They were in Glorfindel’s room in ICU, keeping watch over the ellon.

The door opened and one of the nurses came inside, ignoring them, for they willed her not to notice their presence. She approached the bed and checked the IVs, glancing at the monitors and straightening the bedcovers. She stood there for a long moment staring down at the sleeping figure and then closed her eyes, her lips moving silently. Olórin looked at Námo, his eyes widening, but the Lord of Mandos made no move, his attention fully on the nurse, who opened her eyes after a moment, took one last glance at the monitors, and left.

When the door closed behind her, Olórin ventured to speak. “She was praying for him,” and it was as much a statement as it was a question.

Námo gave the Maia a thin smile. “I get it all the time, people praying when they feel Death is near, hoping to avoid it for themselves or others or, in rare cases, welcoming it. Sometimes I even listen.”

Olórin kept silent, not sure how to interpret the Vala’s statement. Námo strode to the bed, brushing a hand through Glorfindel’s hair. The ellon sighed and moved slightly but did not waken.

“He is fighting the healing sleep,” Námo said, “much like he did in Mandos.”

“He really should remain asleep for at least another day or, even better, two,” Olórin commented.

Námo nodded, still caressing Glorfindel’s hair. “Yes, but I doubt he will be that accommodating to his healers.” He gave the Maia a sidelong glance and Olórin responded with a snort of humor.

“As I said, my lord, stubborn.”

“That he is,” Námo said in agreement as he turned to face the Maia. “If he is able to break through the healing sleep, let him. I am curious to see what he does and how much he remembers of his out-of-body experience.”

“What about the Twins and young Serindë? They really should be here, not in Fairbanks.”

“At the moment, they are where they need to be,” Námo replied. “Manveru and Erunáro are keeping an eye on them.”

“So Fionwë told me,” Olórin said with a nod. “Twin troublemakers to look after twin troublemakers. Now there’s a recipe for mayhem if there ever was one.”

“Manwë gave those two strict orders and threatened them with dire punishment if they disobeyed, and then Eönwë gave them his orders,” Námo said with a knowing grin.

Olórin chuckled. “And they fear Eönwë more than Lord Manwë.”

“Don’t we all?” Námo quipped. Before Olórin could respond to that, the Vala walked away, fading into the fabric of the universe, leaving the Maia alone with the still sleeping Glorfindel.

****

Glorfindel was dreaming.

He was in a lighted hallway, standing before the twins and the elleth. They were speaking to one another, ignoring him. Glorfindel so hated to be ignored. He tried to get their attention, jumping up and down and waving his hands, but to no avail. The three continued conversing without taking any notice of him. It was so frustrating.

I’m invisible, he thought. I need to find a way for them to see and hear me.

He looked around, but found nothing helpful, except…

It was almost transparent and he did not notice it at first against the glare of the hall lights but there was a thin strand of light emanating from him, from just below his navel. Curious, he followed the strand, for it extended away from him into one of the rooms lining the hallway. He passed through the closed door, unaware that he had done so rather than opening it in the normal way, too intent on the strand of light to notice. He found himself in a dark room with a single bed surrounded by medical equipment softly glowing and quietly beeping. The strand of light led directly to the bed and to the figure lying in it.

Glorfindel hesitated at the door, now unsure that he really wanted to know who was on the other end of the strand, but curiosity or something else drew him further into the room and then he was staring down at the person in the bed who was either sleeping or unconscious.

He did not recognize him.

He looked for the strand of light. It was there, shining more brilliantly in the darkness. It was shorter now and it was definitely connected to the stranger in the bed. Only…

The longer Glorfindel stared at the supine and sleeping figure the more he felt convinced that this person should be known to him, that there was a connection between them and if he could only figure out what that connection was…

“That’s me,” he said suddenly, feeling a sense of horror and panic rising within him at the revelation. “That’s me. Why is that me?”

“You were hurt.”

Glorfindel swiveled around, going into a defensive crouch without thinking about it, coming face-to-face with a Being of Light.

“Fear not!” the Being said, and Glorfindel felt waves of peace falling about him and he straightened.

“Is this a dream?” he asked, not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer, and fearing that it would be in the negative.

“In a sense,” the Being answered, “but it is also reality, or rather, it is a different reality, one that is outside of reality as you know it, lying beside it or above it or within it. It’s rather hard to explain as you do not have the necessary vocabulary with which to speak about transdimensional directions.” This last was spoken in a wry tone tinged with amusement.

“That’s me,” Glorfindel said, ignoring the Being’s words and pointing to the supine figure. He refused to look at it, keeping his eyes on the Being, whose shape appeared amorphous with the light shifting with incandescence from yellow-white to yellow-orange, reminding him of the warm, life-giving light of the sun, and that is what Glorfindel felt, that he was speaking to a miniature sun.

“Yes, that is you,” the Being said gently.

“How can I be standing here talking with you and at the same time be lying in this bed hooked up to all these monitors, looking like something the orc dragged in?”

The Being laughed and Glorfindel felt a tremor of joy or perhaps fear sweep through him at the sound and he refused to analyze either emotion or their import.

“Do you forget that as a mirroanwë, you are both hröa and fëa and not fëa alone?” the Being asked. “You cannot fully exist unless the two are joined. That is what that strand of light means. It is the connection between the two. If that strand is severed then you will die as you did before and you will be summoned to Mandos. Is that your wish, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, to return to the realm of Lord Námo, there to abide, perhaps for all the remaining ages of Arda, unknowing and uncaring about the outside world and remembering not your friends and loved ones who will struggle on without you? Is that what you wish?”

Glorfindel shook his head, feeling appalled at the fate that awaited him should the strand be broken.

“I did not think so,” the Being said in satisfaction and if Light could nod it somehow did, or that was Glorfindel’s impression.

“So what now?” Glorfindel asked, feeling confused and uncertain of his next move. “And what about those three people, the twins and the girl? Do I know them? Why do they seem so important to me?”

“You will only know the answers to your questions when you return to your hröa, Glorfindel. You need to rejoin your hröa and awaken before you can remember.”

“But I don’t know how!” he nearly shouted in frustration.

“Yes, you do,” the Being insisted. “Slow your thoughts. Release your fears. There is nothing to fear here. You must want to be joined to your hröa. Look at it. Do not reject it. It is you.”

“But I don’t look like that… do I?”

The Being chuckled. “Yes, I’m afraid you do.”

“I’m not very handsome, am I? I thought I was more handsome than that.”

The Being somehow moved to encompass him, and Glorfindel felt as if he was being wrapped in a blanket, if blankets were made of pure, unadulterated light, and there was such a feeling of peace and love that surrounded him that he felt he could remain there forever and be absolutely content.

“You are beautiful beyond words, my child,” the Being said, “for you come from the very Mind of Eru and nothing but Beauty resides there.”

Glorfindel blinked and actually yawned, swaying a little. “What’s happening? Why do I feel so strange?”

“You’ve been outside your hröa longer than you should be,” the Being answered. “Do you wish to return to it, to take up Life again, as is both your right and your duty to do until Eru Himself calls you to Himself?”

Glorfindel nodded, now feeling too sleepy to give a verbal reply, yawning and blinking, struggling to stay awake. The Being seemed to wrap itself around Glorfindel even more and now the light made it difficult for him to see his body.

“Ta á laves na carë ve merilyë,” the Being intoned.

Glorfindel was not sure what happened next. There was a sense of vertigo and a rushing toward something, or perhaps it was away; Glorfindel was never sure which. Accompanying the sensation was a momentary feeling of absolute terror that was cut off almost before his mind registered it and then there was nothing.

****

Dr. Geoffrey Harris decided to stop at ICU and check on Loren before calling it a day. Kyle Stoner, he knew, was in the middle of surgery, attempting to save the life of a teenage boy who had been involved in a vehicular accident. His parents, unfortunately, had not survived and Harris felt a momentary pang of regret about that, silently praying for their souls and for the young man fighting for his life as he entered the elevator and pressed the button. It reached the ICU floor and Harris stepped out, making his way to the nurses’ station. The nurses greeted him politely and answered his questions. There were two other patients besides Loren in ICU and Harris, conscientious to a fault, enquired as to their status, even though he was not their doctor.

The nurses were in the middle of providing him with stats on the patients, pulling up files from the computer, when monitor alarms went off. Harris ran down the hall, following one of the nurses while the other came behind him and he was not too surprised when they came to the door guarded by a police officer who looked uncertain at their approach. Harris had the impression the young man (they were all young to him) probably had thought that a night shift would be quieter than a day shift and was momentarily nonplused by all the commotion. Luckily, he had enough brains to stand aside as the medical personnel thundered into the room.

Harris bit back an oath as he saw a thoroughly wide awake Loren in the process of ripping out the IV in his right arm with blood spurting.

“No!” Harris shouted as he ran to the bed with the nurse coming around the other side. She was not very tall, perhaps five feet two in her shoes, and she didn’t look like she would be much use in holding the Elf down, but to Harris’ amazement she grabbed Loren by the throat and squeezed. Loren made a desperate gurgling sound.

“Be still,” she ordered, “or I’ll squeeze even harder.”

The Elf-lord froze, his eyes widening and there was actual fear in them. Harris and the other nurse were working on stopping the bleeding. They would need to reestablish the IV but first things first. Harris glared at the nurse who still had her hand around Loren’s throat. “Do you always threaten your patients like this, Ms. Callahan?”

The nurse released her hold on Loren and shook her head. “Sorry, Doctor. I was an army nurse before I went civilian. Sometimes the soldiers came in fighting. I learned a few tricks to keep them still long enough for someone to trank them.”

“I see,” Harris said, then he turned to Loren. “You shouldn’t be awake.”

“I need to leave. I need to get to Fairbanks before it’s too late,” Loren gasped, swallowing painfully. Nurse Callahan went to the sink, returning a moment later with a plastic cup full of water.

“Here, drink this,” she said and Loren gulped the liquid down.

“Loren, you’re in no position to go anywhere,” Harris said in a reasonable voice. “You’re still recovering from major surgery.”

“I don’t care. I have to get to Fairbanks. Now where are my clothes?” he nearly shouted as he attempted to climb out of the bed.

Harris pushed him back down, and it was a testament to the Elf’s physical condition that he did not fight it, but lay there breathing heavily, holding his abdomen which was still bandaged from the surgery, obviously in pain. Harris gave him a sympathetic look as he pulled out his cell and speed-dialed a number.

“Ah, Daeron, good. This is Geoff Harris. I need to speak with Finrod… Yes, Finrod. Loren’s awake and insisting he needs to go to Fairbanks… I have no idea. I was assured he wouldn’t awaken until someone brought him out… Here, hang on a moment.” He handed the phone to Loren. “Finrod wants to talk with you.”

Loren took the phone and started gabbling into it in rapid-fire Sindarin. Harris thought he recognized one or two words, but his command of Sindarin was still at the ‘Hello. My name is’ and ‘Where’s the toilet?’ stage of language acquisition and he doubted he would ever have the opportunity to visit Valinor on a tourist visa so he could practice what little of the language he knew. He hid a smile at that thought while Loren continued to speak to Finrod, pausing for breath to listen to what the prince had to say. Finally, he handed the phone back to Harris. “He wants to speak to you,” he said in English.

“Yes, Finrod… No, I don’t think so either… Kyle’s in surgery and I should have been home an hour ago myself, but I can wait until you get here… Yes… See you shortly.” He shut down the phone, shoving it into a pocket as he addressed Loren. “Finrod’s on his way and he’s bringing clothes. In the meantime, if you stay quiet, we won’t re-establish the IV, though we will keep you hooked up to the monitors. We’ll need to change the sheets, so let’s get you out of bed and into this chair. Get him a clean gown as well.” He grabbed the bed controls and soon Loren was in a sitting position.

The nurses unhooked him from the monitors and then spent a few minutes getting him out of the bed, advising him on the proper way to get out without pushing on his arms which would put pressure on his stitches. With clinical acuity they had the blood-stained gown off and a fresh one on him before he even had time to protest and then they were guiding him to a chair, one of them tucking a warmed blanket around him and the other placing a pillow behind his back. Then they hooked him back up to the monitors before competently stripping the bed and remaking it while Harris looked on.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We can get you something from the kitchen.”

“I would like that, thank you,” Loren said politely. “But if you serve me broth I will throw it at you.”

Harris grinned and the two nurses rolled their eyes as they tucked in the sheets and the blankets.

“I think we can dispense with broth, but you shouldn’t eat too heavily. You were at death’s door not two days ago and in fact you went into cardiac arrest more than once.”

“Yes, I remember floating above everyone and watching Kyle working on me, though I don’t think I realized it was me.” Loren gave them a puzzled look as if he wasn’t sure about his own words.

“Ah… well, that sometimes happens, so I’ve been told. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

Loren gave him a considering look and then grinned in that way that Harris had learned the hard way usually meant trouble. “Been there, done that. Now where’s that food you promised?”

“I’ll see what we can rustle up for you,” Harris said and walked out of the room, leaving the two nurses to fuss over the Elf-lord.

****

Glorfindel was finishing up a tray of poached eggs on wheat toast and a bowl of jello, sipping on some tea, when Finrod arrived along with Laurendil, Daeron and Vorondur. They all came into the room and stopped, staring at Loren finishing off his breakfast while Harris looked on, having agreed to keep the Elf company while he ate.

“About time you got here,” Glorfindel said as he set the cup of tea down. “Are those my clothes? Good. As soon as I’m dressed we’ll leave for Fairbanks.”

“And why are we going to Fairbanks?” Finrod asked.

“Because that’s where Dan, Roy and Sarah are,” Glorfindel replied. “I tried to stop them, but they wouldn’t listen. Of course, they also couldn’t see me, but that’s a minor point.”

“When did you speak with them?” Vorondur asked. “How do you know they went to Fairbanks?”

“I can’t tell you that, because I really don’t know,” Glorfindel admitted. “I just know that I was standing in the hallway listening to them talk about leaving and knowing that it was a mistake for them to do so, but they couldn’t see or hear me and then I was back here waking up.”

The four Elves exchanged looks and there was some sort of silent communication going on. Glorfindel ignored them as he cleaned his plate of egg with the last of the toast. Finally, Vorondur stepped forward and crouched down in front of Glorfindel who gave him a quizzical look.

“Do you remember what happened to you?” Vorondur asked quietly.

“I remember leaving Edhellond. I remember going into the Rusty Nail, not caring if I lived or died. I remember leaving, then nothing, just listening in on the Twins discussing their plans to go to Fairbanks and then waking up. Goeffrey says I was in a fight and lost.”

“You nearly died, Loren,” Vorondur said gently. “You were attacked and when they finished with you, they threw you into a dumpster and left you for dead. It is only by Eru’s own grace that you were found in time.”

“You shouldn’t even be awake yet, Glorfindel,” Laurendil said in some exasperation. “We had planned to bring you out of it in a couple of days. How could you even fight it?”

“He’s a Reborn,” Finrod said with a snort, “and he has a history of fighting healing sleep. Just ask Lord Námo.” He turned to Harris. “Can he leave?”

“Not on my advice and actually Kyle will need to sign off on him, being the surgeon-in-charge.”

“Well, we cannot possibly leave for Fairbanks this very minute,” Finrod said. “Plans need to be made.”

“Do you know where Dan and Roy are in Fairbanks, Loren?” Daeron asked.

“No. They didn’t mention a place, but I think I can find them.”

“We could just call every hotel in Fairbanks and ask,” Vorondur suggested. “In fact I had planned to do just that if I did not hear from Sarah by noon. They’ve had plenty of time to find a hotel and get settled. They should have contacted someone before this anyway.”

“Well, all this is beside the point,” Finrod said, looking gravely at Glorfindel. “Until and unless Kyle releases you, Glorfindel, you are not to attempt to leave this hospital.”

“But I need to get to Fairbanks!” Glorfindel protested.

“Why you specifically?” Vorondur asked as he stood up. “Any of us could go to Fairbanks to look for them.”

“I don’t know. I just know I have to go there. They need to return. They shouldn’t have left, but I don’t think they will listen to anyone else, not even you, Ron. I need to go and bring them back.”

There was a moment of silence as they thought over Glorfindel’s words. Harris decided to speak. “Kyle may be out of surgery by now. I can find out. In the meantime, I think you need to rest, Loren. Fairbanks will keep. Right now, you need sleep. I can tell you’re struggling to stay awake.” And indeed, the ellon had been yawning throughout the conversation.

“Not healing sleep,” Glorfindel insisted firmly.

“Agreed,” Harris said before Laurendil or anyone else could object. “We’ll let you sleep on your own. If you behave yourself, I will see to it that Kyle signs the release form. You will be out of here by noon. I personally do not like the idea of you making such an arduous trip, not so soon. I know Elves heal fast, but still….”

“We can make him comfortable,” Daeron assured the Mortal doctor, “and one of the healers will be with him at all times, just in case.”

“Very well,” Harris said. “I’ll send the nurses in to help you into bed.”

“Can’t you get rid of this catheter first?” Glorfindel demanded. “It’s too embarrassing.”

Harris shook his head. “We’ll leave it in for now.” And with that, he left.

Glorfindel sighed and muttered something in Sindarin that was too low even for Elven ears to hear. Finrod gave him a wicked grin. “I will ask them to give you a bath as well.”

Vorondur, Daeron and Laurendil chuckled at the look of horror that crossed Glorfindel’s face.

“Don’t worry, Loren. Perhaps I can convince Manwen to administer the bath,” Laurendil suggested, giving him a leer.

Glorfindel glared at him. “Over my dead body,” he said.

The others just chuckled as Nurse Callahan came in. “We will leave you to your rest, hanno,” Finrod said in Quenya. “I will return later.”

He exited the room with the others while Nurse Callahan began unhooking Glorfindel from the monitors. “Remember what I told you about not pushing up with your arms?” she said and Glorfindel nodded, letting her do most of the work getting him back into bed and settled. Five minutes after she left him, he was fast asleep.

And unseen and unfelt by any of them, Olórin stood in the corner keeping watch.

****

Words are Quenya:

Mirroanwë: Incarnate.

Hröa: Body.

Fëa: Spirit, soul.

Ta á laves na carë ve merilyë: ‘Then let it be done as thou desirest.’

36: What the Twins and Serindë Get Up To

Elladan plopped his bag on the bed that would be his and sighed. The drive down from Wiseman was typical, meaning that it was slow and dull, especially in winter. By the time they were leaving Wiseman it was almost eight o’clock. They got as far as Coldfoot, about fourteen miles from Wiseman, when Elrohir suggested they stop for breakfast and fill up on snacks and extra gas, knowing that for the next two hundred and sixty miles there would be no gas stations or restaurants. However, it took them longer than anticipated to have breakfast and gather their supplies and then they discovered that the road south was blocked by the blizzard that came swooping down from the Brooks Mountains. Elladan was willing to try their luck but Elrohir convinced him that it would be wiser to stay put until the storm had passed, so they ended up spending the night there, all three chafing at the delay.

The next morning they lingered over breakfast again so it was nearly ten before they were back on the road and now, here it was going on five. He hated the drive to Fairbanks and eventually they would have to do it all over again in the opposite direction.

Taking a look around the room, he noted two queen-size beds, a TV, a small refrigerator, microwave and he knew there was also Wi-Fi. The bathroom was to the right as one entered with an open closet across from it. He went to the window to look out. The Alpine Lodge was situated southwest of the city’s downtown, not far from the airport and just south of the University in a country setting. From the window he could see onto the road that led to the airport. He turned as his brother and Serindë came inside and looked around. Elrohir was carrying two large bags, while Serindë held a small carry-on as well as her purse.

“Home sweet home it isn’t,” Elrohir said, “but I guess it’ll do in a pinch. I see you’ve already claimed the bed nearest to the bathroom, Brother, so I guess, Sarah, you get the window.” He placed one of the bags he was carrying on the second bed and put the other bag down on the floor by it. Serindë dropped her bag next to a chair and her purse on the table that was opposite the beds and sat.

“Do you think this is a good idea, the three of us sharing a single room?” she asked. “I can just imagine what the Mortals must think about that.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Elladan said in a distracted voice as he turned back to look outside. “It’s none of their business what our sleeping arrangements are.” He turned away from the window and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Elrohir asked, looking frustrated. Dan had been close-mouthed all the way down to Fairbanks, speaking only when asked a direct question and then mostly in short, rather uninformative sentences. It had been an awkward trip filled with too many silences.

“I’m going to check the place out,” Elladan said. “I’ll be back in a while.” With that, he left, giving them no time to object.

Serindë stared at her fiancé, a worried look on her face. “He’s still so angry, angrier than you.”

Elrohir gave her a rueful smile as he settled on the edge of one of the beds patting it and she got up from the chair and joined him. He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a kiss on the temple before he spoke. “He was always the angrier one, at least on the surface. Mir and Ernie’s dismissal hurt him.”

“And you? Are you not equally hurt?”

Elrohir shrugged. “I guess, but it’s done and cannot be undone so what’s the point? Staying angry just gives Mir and Ernie more power over us. I learned that lesson with the orcs, though it took close to five hundred years for me to realize what my anger was doing to me, and to others. Loren helped me to see it. As long as I gave into my anger, the orcs won, even if they were all dead.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked. “We’re supposed to be getting married. We can’t stay here forever.”

“I suppose not,” he said with a frown. “Right now, I am just not in the mood to go back to Wiseman. We need to cool off, Dan especially. Give us a week, maybe two. I promise we will return soon.”

“I should call my parents or email them and let them know we’re okay. I know they must be worried for us.”

“Email them,” Elrohir suggested. “If you talk with them on the phone you’ll start crying.”

She gave him a scowl. “How do you know that?”

He smiled. “Because I know you.” He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips and for some time afterwards all thoughts of contacting parents or worrying about the future fled as the two enjoyed each other’s presence, though they went no further than kissing. After a while they broke apart, both trying to catch their breaths, looking and feeling a bit flustered.

“So, if I have this bed and Dan has the other, where will you sleep?” she asked coyly once they were calmed down.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. “I plan to share the bed with Dan. We’ll take turns sleeping.”

She looked startled at that. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Someone has to be on watch.”

“I… I don’t understand. Why do you have to be on watch?”

“Because, whether you realize it or not, Sarah, we’re at war and we do not let down our guard. Dan and I will take turns standing watch while you sleep.”

She stood up, looking down at him in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. We’re not at war. No one’s shooting at us or hunting us. We’re in a hotel in Fairbanks, not in the middle of the wilderness.”

Elrohir looked at her calmly, taking one of her hands and caressing it. “I told you once that you should never forget the fact that I am a warrior and always will be. Whether you realized it or not, the moment we met Lord Manwë in Santa’s Grotto when we went to find Zach and Nicole and her children and he told us what our purpose was in coming to Wiseman and Elf Academy, we were at war, though no challenges had been issued and no volley had been shot. That has become more evident over the last two years, especially now that Finrod and the others have come.”

“But no one even knows when the Dagor Dagorath will begin,” she protested.

“In many ways, it already has,” he replied. “Granted, the actual deciding battle or battles have yet to be fought and these are early days, but we are at war, my love, and so Dan and I will keep watch. We have no idea when or where the Enemy will strike, and frankly, we three are in a vulnerable position away from our power base and the protection of the Maiar.”

“What do you mean? What protection?”

“The protection that they afford us by watching over Wiseman. There is at least one Maia always on guard that I’m aware of, possibly two.”

“You are aware of them?” Serindë gave him a disbelieving look.

He smiled wryly. “Blood speaks to blood. Both Dan and I have felt their presence. It must be our Maiarin heritage that allows us to. Loren detects them as well, but with him it’s training and having been closely associated with them in times past when he lived in Valinor. I doubt anyone else is aware of their presence, except maybe Finrod.”

Serindë leaned down and kissed him on the lips and then said, “Maybe there’s a Maia watching over us here, like one of the Mortals’ guardian angels.”

“I have not sensed them,” Elrohir replied with a smile, “but you may be right.” He stood up. “Why don’t we do some exploring ourselves?”

She nodded. “Just let me freshen up a bit.” She reached for her carry-on bag and went into the bathroom, closing the door, while Elrohir went to stand by the window, pulling back a curtain to look out.

“I know you’re here,” he whispered, feeling a brush of something against his mind and he thought he detected the scent of balsam, but it was faint and elusive and he could have imagined it. He would have to consult with Dan and see if he had sensed anything, but he would wait until his brother was calmer and Sarah was not around. He had not liked lying to her but felt that it was for the best. If she knew at least one Maia was with them she might feel less safe, not more.

“All set.”

He turned with a smile as Serindë came into the bedroom. She picked up her purse and checked its contents before slinging it over her shoulder. Elrohir took her hand and said, “Let’s go then and maybe we’ll bump into Dan along the way.”

They exited the room and made for the elevators, which took them to the ground floor. The hotel was three stories with two wings in an L shape with one wing going west and the other north. Their room was in the west wing on the second floor. The reception area lay between the two wings. Leaving the elevator they wandered hand-in-hand through the lobby, admiring the airy openness of the architecture and made their way down the opposite wing following the signs that led to the hotel’s restaurant, The Finish Line. It was closed.

“Hmm… it’s only open from Wednesday to Saturday,” Elrohir said, reading the sign. “We’ll have to go somewhere else for dinner tonight.”

“Rather odd, only being opened four days out of the week.”

“It’s the off-season,” he reminded her with a smile, as they turned around to head back to the lobby. “Now somewhere around here is a sauna and an exercise room. I wouldn’t mind indulging myself in either one right now.”

“Yes, I’d like to work out a bit, too. Good thing I thought to pack my running clothes.”

Elrohir smiled. “That’s what I like about you, always prepared.”

“There’s Dan,” Serindë said as they came back into the lobby and they saw the older twin heading toward the elevators. “Dan!” She waved when he turned around and he stopped and waited for them.

“Restaurant’s not open tonight, but there are eateries nearby according to the concierge,” he said by way of greeting.

“And?” Elrohir said, giving his twin an amused look. Trust Dan to mention food before all else.

“The Chena River runs past here just to the north, depth unknown, but it’s frozen over so it hardly matters. There are woods all around, though we would have to cross several hundred meters of open space to reach them, and I have no idea how thick they are. Airport is just to the south of us, less than half a mile as the crow flies. I moved the car so it’s closer to our room. If we have to, we can jump out of the window.”

“Jump out of the window?” Serindë echoed, looking confused. “Why would we do that?”

Both brothers sighed almost as one. “Civilians,” Elladan muttered, shaking his head.

Elrohir grinned and took Serindë’s hand, leading her to one of the comfortable sofas that graced the lobby, sitting her down beside him while Elladan followed, though he remained standing behind them.

“What’s going on, Roy?” Serindë demanded. “The two of you sound like you’re… you’re casing the joint.”

Elrohir grinned even wider and Elladan chuckled. “No, we’re not casing the joint, my love, but we are checking out all the possible exits in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

“But why?” she nearly wailed in frustration, though she had the sense to keep her voice down.

“Because, it is as I told you,” Elrohir replied. “We’re at war and we’re vulnerable here.” He looked up at his brother. “Do you sense them?” He asked the question in Urdu, a language he knew Serindë did not speak.

“One has been following me,” Elladan answered in the same language.

“And I felt one after you left, so there are at least two.”

“What are you two saying?” Serindë demanded, looking cross. “Please do not treat me as if I were an elfling. I resent that.”

Elrohir gave her a kiss. “Sorry, love. Dan and I were just discussing tactics. The only thing you need to remember is that if either of us gives you an order, obey it without hesitation or argument. It may save your life or ours.”

Serindë sighed. “Maybe coming here was not such a good idea after all.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sister,” Elladan said. “We’re here so we might as well enjoy ourselves. What say we hop in the car and go exploring?”

“Sounds good to me,” Elrohir said, standing and holding out his hand to Serindë, who hesitated for a moment before accepting it. “Why don't I go up and grab our coats? I won't be long.”

The other two agreed and Elrohir headed for the elevators. Ten minutes later he was back carrying their coats and they made their way to the car. Elladan insisted on acting as chauffeur, telling the other two to get in the back. Serindë started to ask why, but Elladan had a strange look to him and she hesitated. Elrohir simply nodded and so he and Serindë settled into the back together while Elladan took the driver’s seat and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back up Airport Way toward downtown Fairbanks. When he came to the traffic circle that connected Airport Way with the George Park Highway, he went around the circle and continued on toward Fairbanks, then took a left onto University Avenue, crossing the Chena River that meandered through the city. Ahead of them was the University of Fairbanks.

“Any particular reason why we’re heading this way instead of going into town?” Elrohir asked his brother, sounding almost bored but the moment they had turned onto University Avenue his senses had gone into hyperalert mode. He did not wish to alarm Serindë but he knew his brother was not acting normal. As angry as he might be, he would have at least asked them what their food preferences were. Elrohir was hankering after Italian himself and remembered a nice Italian eatery called Geraldo’s on College Road that served the best pizza. At first he thought perhaps Dan was heading there, but when he continued on University instead of turning right onto the Johansen Expressway, which would’ve been the quickest way to reach Geraldo’s, he knew something was not right.

“University section usually has some good places to eat,” Elladan said, not taking his eyes off the road.

“How about Geraldo’s?” Elrohir asked. “You’ve always liked it and we can be driving about forever looking for a restaurant in this area. I’m not familiar with it, are you?”

Elladan lifted his eyes to look into the rearview mirror. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Brother?”

They continued up University and when they came to the junction with College Road, Elrohir thought Dan would turn right. It was not the way he would have gone to Geraldo’s but it was one way. Instead, Dan turned left, driving into the university. Elrohir caught the street sign: Alumni Way.

“It’s very pretty,” Serindë said, gazing out the window and not paying particular attention to the conversation between the two brothers.

Elrohir looked out and nodded. “Yes, it’s pretty enough,” he said in agreement but all the while he was furiously wondering what Dan was up to. He seemed to know just where he was going, driving with a purpose. The only question was, whose purpose? He opened his mind, seeking the presence of the Maiar, but there was nothing, not even a scent, yet he knew they had to be there with them, perhaps somehow influencing Dan, and that level of manipulation both angered and frightened him.

He was wondering if there was some way through the twin bond that he could break whatever spell Dan was under, when his brother pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. “We’re here.”

“We’re where?” Elrohir glanced out the window. They had stopped just shy of a small traffic circle and on their right was a park of some sort, but otherwise there was nothing, no buildings of any kind, just an empty road. He noticed a number of other cars lined up along the same side of the street as they were and in the darkness he could see several figures apparently attacking one another in an open area of the park where streetlights shone upon the scene. At first he thought it was a gang war or something but then he noticed other people just standing around watching, and he could hear faint cheering.

“What’s going on?” Serindë asked. “Are those people fighting? I don’t see any restaurants here do you?” She gave Elrohir a confused look and Elrohir sympathized because he had no more idea than she.

“Well, Brother?” he said to Elladan, who simply sat there staring straight ahead, apparently unaware or uncaring of the action in the park. “Why are we here?”

Elladan, however, did not answer, just sat there like a zombie and Elrohir became seriously alarmed and very angry. “That’s enough!” he shouted. “Let him go, now!”

“Roy, what are you—?” Serindë started to say but Elladan suddenly gasped as if in pain and then he was looking around.

“What the… where are we?”

“Somewhere in the university section,” Elrohir answered. “Come on. Let’s find out why.”

With that, he opened the door on his side and slid out. Serindë got out as well and after a moment’s hesitation, Elladan opened his door and joined them, his expression one of confusion.

“I was heading for Geraldo’s,” he said. “I like their pizzas, but… where are we?”

“I don’t know, Dan,” Elrohir said, taking his brother into his embrace and hugging him. “You were in the driver’s seat but I don’t think you were the one driving. Do you remember anything after we left the hotel?”

Elladan pulled out of his brother’s embrace and gave them a frown. “I remember walking out of the hotel and then… I don’t know… it was like someone was speaking to me, but within my mind. I was thinking of taking us to Geraldo’s and was about to ask you if you wanted to go there for dinner and then someone asked me if I wanted to see something interesting.”

“Someone asked you?” Elrohir repeated, looking concerned. “Who?”

“Don’t know,” his twin replied with a shrug. “I just remember sort of agreeing.” He gave them a shy look. “I think I assumed I was just talking to myself, wondering if we would see anything interesting while in Fairbanks. And then… I woke up here.” He stared around, his attention on the people in the park where the fighting was still going on. “Wherever here is.”

Elrohir glanced at Serindë, giving her a significant look. She appeared to be calm, but he could see she was close to the edge of hysteria. He didn’t blame her. The whole thing was freaky. “Come on. As long as we’re here let’s go see what all the fuss is about.” He took Serindë’s arm and looped it around his while Elladan walked on her other side and the three strolled across the snow-covered park to where the people were congregated. As they got closer they could see that there were several people inside a ring of spectators fighting. They each wore padding over which was a surcoat with some sort of device embroidered on it and their heads were covered with helms, so that they looked something like medieval knights. They were attacking one another in a melee with what appeared to be foam weapons.

“Boffer fighting,” Elladan whispered, identifying the sport.

Elrohir nodded. Those standing around were either dressed similarly as the fighters or wrapped in cloaks, though underneath most appeared to be wearing ski pants and heavy sweaters. They all looked a bit cold, but no one seemed to care. All their attention was on the fighters, yelling out encouragement, clapping gloved hands when someone landed a good blow. Between the fighters and the spectators there were probably about twenty or so people, most of them young looking and the Elves assumed they were students at the university.

“What’s the deal?” Elrohir asked one of the spectators as they joined the group. She was a young Woman wearing a dark green cloak and a multi-colored knit hat with ear flaps and matching mittens. She turned to him, her eyes widening, probably at the sight of seeing identical twins.

“Oh, it’s fight practice,” she said, as if that explained everything.

“Rather cold to be fighting outside and in the dark,” Elladan commented, never taking his eyes off the fighters. “Why are you doing this?”

“War doesn’t happen only in high summer at noon on a cloudless day,” a young Man standing next to the Woman replied laconically.

“But no one fought in winter or at night in medieval times,” Serindë offered.

“Yeah, but these ain’t medieval times,” the young Man countered. “And Gwyn says fighting in winter and outside instead of in the gym like we normally do will toughen us up so when we enter the tournament in the spring, we’ll be that much better.”

“Who’s Gwyn?” Elrohir asked.

“He’s our Captain,” the Man said. “There he is.” He pointed to someone who was standing to one side of the list. He appeared to be young, perhaps not more than twenty. Like the other fighters he was wearing padding under a surcoat, a foam sword on his hip, but he was helmless and his fair hair was long, held back by a strip of fabric.

There was a collective gasp from the spectators as one of the fighters went down after another had landed a solid blow. Elrohir turned at the sound but missed the action. Someone acting as a Marshal stepped forward and yelled, “Hold!” and all the fighters froze. “Gareth, you may get up.” The fighter who had been lying supine struggled up, one of the other fighters standing near him offering him a helping hand. When the ‘dead’ fighter had removed himself from the list, taking off his helmet and accepting a hot beverage poured from a thermos by one of the spectators, the Marshal turned to the other fighters, stepping back. “Lay on!” he called and the fighters obliged by striking each other with wild abandon to the cheers of the watchers.

“So is this a group or what?” Elrohir asked the two Mortals with whom they’d been conversing.

“We’re the College of St. Boniface,” the Woman explained. “We’re part of the Barony of Winter’s Gate.”

“SCA,” her male companion offered. “Society for Creative Anachronism. Officially, we’re known as Students for Creative Anachronism Campus Club. That allows us to meet on campus with Administration’s approval. In other words, we don’t get hassled by Campus Security when we’re out here beating the daylight out of each other.” He chuckled as if he’d made a joke and the Woman next to him smiled.

“And this SCA?” Serindë asked.

The young Man answered. “It’s a medieval and Renaissance re-enactment group. We dress up in medieval clothes, hold medieval-style feasts and tournaments and take on personae of the times. I, for instance, am Lord Dietrich of Prague, and this is Lady Melisande de Vincennes.” He gave them a short bow and the young woman actually dropped them a brief curtsey.

The three Elves exchanged amused looks. “So everyone’s a lord or lady, are they?” Elladan asked with a knowing grin, but the two Mortals shook their heads.

“Award of arms and the right to style oneself as ‘lord’ or ‘lady’ are earned and granted by the king,” Dietrich said in all seriousness. “If you do not know if someone has an AoA, you can address them as ‘milord’ or ‘milady’ out of courtesy.”

“Ah,” was Elladan’s only comment, raising an eyebrow at his twin, who simply grinned back, and then they both turned their attention back to the fighters once again. “Looks like fun,” Elladan commented. “I could use a good fight right about now.”

“If you’re interested in joining, we have regular fight practice on Sunday afternoons in the gym at the University Park Building over on University Avenue. Visitors are always welcome and we usually have spare armor and weapons for newbies to try on.”

Elladan shook his head, not taking his eyes off the fighters. “No. I mean right now.”

There was an awkward silence and after a moment Elrohir turned to Dietrich. “You do not fight?”

“Nah. I’m a rapier guy myself. It’s more civilized.”

“Lord Dietrich is our Rapier Marshal,” Melisande gushed and even in the dark the Elves could see the young Man blush.

“So, you’re just the cheering squad for these fighters then?” Elladan asked.

“Something like that,” Dietrich muttered.

There was a shout and groans and clapping and the Elves turned to see three fighters down at once, leaving only two still standing. The Marshal called “Hold!” and everyone, even the spectators, froze while the three downed fighters got up and walked to the edge of the ring.

“Sir Llewellyn ap Daffyd and Roger of Norfolk,” Dietrich said, pointing out the two fighters who were left.

“So all knights are fighters but not all fighters are knights?” Serindë asked.

“That’s true, though I think Roger may be knighted at the Midsummer Coronet.”

“What’s that?” Serindë asked.

“It’s the tournament that determines who is the new Prince and Princess of Oertha,” Melisande answered. “We’re in the Principality of Oertha in the West Kingdom. The prince is determined by trial by combat and he and his chosen lady rule for six months. Then there’s the Midwinter Coronet.”

“Interesting,” Elladan said. “What say you, Brother? Two against two?”

“But you have no armor,” Melisande protested, “and I don’t think anyone brought any spare armor or weapons.”

“Perhaps someone can lend us their weapons,” Elrohir suggested. “We’ll dispense with armor for now. I agree, Brother. I have a feeling this is one reason we were brought here. I prefer live steel but I’ll take what I can get.”

“You two are serious, aren’t you?” Serindë demanded.

“Yes,” Elrohir replied and his voice went cold and his eyes went dark and there was almost a feral look to him that caused not only the two Mortals but Serindë to take a step back. Elrohir ignored them. “Let’s go speak to Gwyn.”

As one, he and Elladan circled the spectators with Serindë and the two Mortals following. “Excuse me, Captain,” Elrohir said and Gwyn turned to them, his eyes widening, no doubt at seeing twins.

“Yes?”

“We were wondering if, when those two fighters are done, you would grant my brother and me permission to…um… play.”

Gwyn’s fair face creased in a frown. “You wish to be given lessons in sword-fighting? We have regular practice—”

“You misunderstand me, Captain,” Elrohir interrupted. “My brother and I do not need lessons. We just need two swords.”

Gwyn stared at them for a long moment and whatever he saw in their eyes caused him to raise his eyebrows and there was almost a shocked look on his face. He turned to the Marshal. “Killian,” he called, gesturing to the young Man who sauntered over. “Stop the match.”

Killian gave him a shocked look. “But, it’s almost over, Gwyn. Lew’s bound to—”

“I know, but I have something else in mind. Stop the match.” And such was the authority in his tone that Killian actually gave him a proper bow.

“As you wish, Captain,” he said formally, then turned, taking two steps into the ring. “Hold! Hold!” It took a few seconds for the two fighters to heed the command and they stood there panting. One of them removed his helmet, glaring at the Marshal, but before he could utter a protest, Gwyn stood forth.

“We will have to wait to see who is the better fighter some other time,” he said. “Lew, Roger, lend your swords and shields to these two gentlemen. They wish to spar.”

The second fighter removed his helmet, giving Gwyn a look of disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Lew, I am not,” and there was a sense of velvet on steel in Gwyn’s voice that reminded Elrohir of Glorfindel.

“We were thinking of sparring with these two,” Elladan said to Gwyn, nodding to the two Mortal fighters.

“I prefer to see you spar each other,” Gwyn said. Both Twins started to protest, but Gwyn gave them a brittle smile. “My group, my rules. Take it or leave it.” After a moment’s hesitation, the Twins nodded.

The spectators, in the meantime, were murmuring, most of them with looks of confusion on their faces. The fighters were all staring hard at the Twins, apparently trying to size them up. “Hey, Gwyn, what’s up?” one of them demanded. “This isn’t kosher, man.”

Gwyn shook his head. “I have my reasons, Marcello, and I wish to see how these two fight with sword and shield.”

“Just the swords,” Elladan said. “We don’t need shields.”

Gwyn nodded. “Fine. Lew, Roger, your swords.”

Both fighters sighed almost as one but they obeyed. Lew handed his sword to Elrohir while Roger gave his to Elladan. Both Elves checked the balance of the swords. Elladan frowned. “Balance is all wrong for me. Here, Roy, let’s switch.” Elrohir shrugged and they switched swords. “Better, but still not all that good.”

“No.” Gwyn said.

“No what?” Elladan asked.

“No, you’re not going to ask to find another sword that is more suitable. You want to fight, you fight with these swords and no other.”

“Come on, Dan. You’re wasting time,” Elrohir said as he undid his coat and handed it to Serindë with a kiss before walking into the list. “Let’s show these children how it’s really done.”

“It should be done with live steel, but fine,” Elladan said, removing his own coat and handing it to Serindë to hold as he joined his brother in the list. The two began circling each other, not bothering to bow first.

“Er… lay on?” Killian said, giving them all an apologetic shrug.

Elrohir just grinned, keeping his eyes on his brother as they circled one another with the Mortals looking on. At one point he found himself opposite to where Serindë was standing beside Gwyn. Her expression was one of dismay for some reason and he thought perhaps she did not approve of what they were doing but Gwyn’s expression was one of deep interest and there was a calculating look in his eyes that Elrohir could not interpret and he wondered if perhaps he and his brother were in deeper trouble than they knew.

And then, without warning, Elladan attacked.

****

Note: There actually is a Barony of Winter’s Gate that is part of the West Kingdom in the Society for Creative Anachronism, located in Fairbanks. The College of St. Boniface is part of the Barony, situated at the University. All the information about the barony is accurate, however the people described as belonging to the barony and their Society names are completely fictitious and bear no resemblance to anyone who is a member of the barony or the SCA, past or present. You may find out more about the SCA and the Barony of Winter’s Gate online at their respective websites, just google them.

37: Gwaith-en-Angbor

Everyone gasped as Elrohir was just able to parry in time and then there was a flurry of strokes between them before they broke apart, both of them grinning, their eyes bright with the light of battle. They continued circling, ignoring the spectators. Elladan suddenly attacked again, nearly screaming as he did so.

“They should have listened to us!” he yelled as he launched himself at his brother.

“I know,” Elrohir said calmly as he parried. He realized that his brother needed this release of his anger more than he did and was willing to oblige.

“Loren almost died because of them!” Elladan nearly screamed, the anger and frustration of the last couple of days suffusing him, yet he was in complete control and every stroke landed true. Elrohir knew that his brother was not fighting him but Mir and Ernie. He was simply a convenient object on which to spew forth his anger. This was not the first time, and the Valar knew it was probably not the last. Elrohir accepted this and his role in it. This was Elladan’s release. His own he would find with Serindë.

“But he didn’t,” Elrohir said calmly as he went on the offensive, forcing Elladan back. “Kyle came and I don’t think the Powers That Be would’ve let him die just yet. He’s too valuable.”

“They should’ve listened to us!” Elladan snarled, breathing hard.

“But they didn’t,” Elrohir countered. “Are you going to let them win, Brother? Will their arrogance rule you?”

Elladan growled in reply and then there was no more talk as the fighting became fast and furious. The Mortals were forgotten and they held nothing back, each letting their rage and hurt and general sense of frustration take over. There was the lust of battle and the sweet, sickly taste of the kill rising in them, though neither one of them would actually allow that emotion to rule them completely, not here, not yet. Someday they would let it take over when they faced the Enemy, but for now, they simply used it to fuel their aggression.

How long the fighting lasted they were never sure. It may have lasted only a few minutes or hours. It didn’t matter, but neither would give quarter. They had a vague sense that the spectators had moved back further to give them more room, but otherwise they ignored them, concentrating solely on each other. Elrohir had a sudden memory of the two of them doing something similar in a deserted courtyard in Imladris and then Glorfindel came upon them and somehow managed to step between them, stopping them. The memory startled him and distracted him just enough that Elladan took advantage and he launched himself at him in a deadly move that had they been fighting with live steel might have brought serious injury to him.

There were screams and shouting among the spectators and suddenly the night lit up as if a miniature supernova had landed in their midst and then two Maiar were there, their swords of light out.

Everyone froze, even the Twins lying on the ground feeling stunned, and several people fell to their knees as they gazed in awe and trepidation upon the shining Beings. The silence was absolute until Elrohir heard Gwyn whisper in a shocked tone, “Holy lightsabers, Batman. It’s Luke Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi.”

Elrohir saw the two Maiar grin at that as they sheathed their swords and the light dimmed to slightly more acceptable levels.

“Fear not!” one of them said. He was dark of hair while his companion was a redhead, but otherwise their features were nearly identical. Oddly enough Elrohir felt no fear, only wonder even when the Maiar looked directly at him and his brother, their expressions grave though their eyes were full of compassion. “Save your anger, sons of Elrond, for the Enemy, not for those who are your allies, including us,” said the dark-haired Maia.

“You took me over,” Elladan protested, panting slightly as he struggled to get his breath back, wiping the cooling sweat from his brow.

“With your permission,” the Maia countered, “and no harm came to you, did it?”

“Did you not think to try a different way to lure us here?” Elrohir asked. “Set up roadblocks or something, forcing us to come this way?”

The Maia shrugged. “We were on a schedule,” he replied. “You needed to be here now and I assure you that I was granted permission to do as I did.”

Elrohir stared at the Maia for a second, taking in the import of his words, and then glanced at Elladan to gauge his mood. His brother appeared calmer and to his relief the anger was gone. He himself felt lighter of spirit now that he’d had a good workout. He started to ask Elladan how he was feeling when someone in the crowd said, “Uh, if you’re angels, where are your wings?”

Elrohir watched as the two Maiar grinned at one another, the red-haired one rolling his eyes, and then without another word, they were gone, leaving behind the clean scent of balsam. The night seemed suddenly darker and duller somehow with their departure. Elrohir blinked a couple of times as his eyes readjusted to the dimmer light before rising, holding out a helping hand to Elladan who accepted it. No one spoke, everyone gazing at them, those who had fallen to their knees now rising, brushing the snow from their clothes.

Serindë came to them as did Gwyn while everyone else held back.

“Luke Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi?” Elrohir couldn’t help asking, giving the Captain a grin as he and Elladan took back their coats and put them on. Elrohir then put an arm around Serindë’s waist and kissed her.

Gwyn shrugged. “So I’m a Star Wars junkie. Sue me.” He gave them a shrewd look. “That Maia called you sons of Elrond, is that true?”

Serindë gasped in shock and Elrohir went still, as did Elladan. Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Elrohir reached out and pulled back Gwyn’s hair and saw the leaf shape of his right ear. Gwyn just stood there, not moving, gazing at them with absolute serenity.

“Glory be, you’re an Elf,” Elladan whispered. “How did we miss that?”

“Whereas, I knew you were Elves as soon as I saw you,” Gwyn said with a smirk. “Methinks, my lords, you were too wrapped up in yourselves to notice much of anything.”

“Possibly,” Elrohir said stiffly, not caring for the other’s tone.

“Never mind that,” Elladan said impatiently. “How many others are there?”

Without taking his eyes off the Twins and Serindë, Gwyn called out, “Gareth.”

The fighter who had fallen in the melee when the three from Wiseman had first arrived came forward to stand next to Gwyn and Elrohir could see that there was a family resemblance, though Gareth’s hair was a darker shade of blond.

“My brother, Gareth,” Gwyn said by way of introduction casting a warm smile at the ellon and Elrohir had the feeling that Gareth was the younger of the two.

Gareth bowed to them. “Mae govannen.”

“And the others?” Elladan jerked his head to indicate the watching crowd.

“Mortals and, yes, they know who and what we are,” Gwyn answered. Then he held up a hand to forestall any further questions. “It is too cold for us to be standing about. We usually end up at a bar after practice. Will you join us?”

“Where?” Elladan asked.

“Molly Malone’s Pub and Grill on College,” Gwyn answered. “It’s nowhere near as good as the Big I but it’s closer.”

“We were actually on our way to Geraldo’s. We haven’t had dinner yet,” Elrohir said.

“Neither have we, really,” Gwyn responded with a grin. “Molly’s does a decent Irish stew and their soda bread is to die for.”

The Twins glanced at each other and Elladan nodded. Elrohir turned to Serindë. “Is this all right with you, meldanya?” he asked, whispering in Quenya.

She nodded and Elrohir looked at Gwyn. “I guess we’re joining you for dinner.”

“Good. It’ll take us a few minutes to get our gear together. You want to go on ahead of us? The pub’s on the left, next to the Pad Thai Restaurant, right after you pass Hayes Avenue. You can’t miss it. Wait for us in the parking lot.”

“We’ll meet you there, then,” Elladan suggested and when Gwyn nodded, he grabbed Elrohir’s other arm and pulled him away with Serindë on Elrohir’s other side.

Silently they made their way to their car, as Gwyn began issuing orders and there was a flurry of activity behind them as people began collecting gear and heading for their own vehicles. Without a word, Elladan got into the driver’s seat while Elrohir and Serindë climbed into the back.

“I’m driving this time, okay?” Elladan called out, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he turned the ignition.

Elrohir wasn’t sure but he thought he heard faint laughter coming from nowhere and everywhere. Serindë shivered and Elladan muttered something too low for them to hear as he pulled out and went to the circle to turn around and then they were passing the others as they were loading up their cars.

“Did you know they were Elves?” Elrohir asked Serindë.

She shook her head. “I suspected but I wasn’t sure. Until we came to Wiseman I had known no other Elves other than my parents and my brother.”

“I wonder what their story is,” Elladan said as he stopped at the intersection to check the traffic before crossing over onto College Road.

“We’ll find out soon enough, but my question is, why are they here instead of in Wiseman? What are they doing playing dress up with a bunch of college students?”

“Maybe they’re not,” Serindë suggested. “Maybe they’re training those children the way we are or will.”

They fell into silence as each was lost in their own thoughts. “There it is,” Elladan said after a few minutes, pointing to his left. Elrohir looked to see a modest looking building next to the Thai restaurant. As they pulled into the parking lot, only half full on a week night, he could see a sign painted with the image of Molly Malone pushing her wheelbarrow of cockles and mussels through the streets of Dublin with ‘Molly Malone’s Pub & Grill’ underneath. Elladan parked the car and they all climbed out, looking about. Music, something Irish sounding, came pouring out of the pub when the door opened and a couple of people exited and headed for their car. Elrohir was about to suggest that he and Serindë go inside and check the place out but just then several vehicles turned into the parking lot and in moments Gwyn, Gareth and the others joined them.

“Let’s go,” Gwyn said and headed for the door. Gareth actually ran ahead and opened it for his brother, letting everyone else in before joining them. Inside Elrohir saw a large open area. His general impression was of dark wood and mirrors. The bar was to his right and there were seating areas to the left. The place appeared nearly empty though he suspected that on the weekend it would be hopping. Gwyn waved at the bartenders as he led everyone toward a back room. The bartenders gave him nods in greeting. The back room consisted of several wood tables and a few of the people in their group took a moment to push a couple of them together and rearrange the chairs before everyone took a seat. Gwyn, with Gareth next to him, sat in the middle facing the front and directed the Twins and Serindë to sit across from him. Elrohir was loath to do so, for that would mean his back was to everything, but he had the feeling that in some way Gwyn was holding court and this was his realm to rule as he pleased.

As everyone settled in their seats, a waitress came over, carrying several menus. “You’re here early tonight,” she said as she handed a menu to Gwyn.

“Business meeting,” Gwyn replied and the waitress nodded and began taking drink orders. Most of the people seemed to know what they wanted to eat as well and after several minutes she went away with all the orders. Elrohir decided to take Gwyn’s word about the stew and ordered that along with a Guinness. Elladan and Serindë did the same, though Serindë opted for cider instead. Once the waitress was gone, silence reigned as all eyes fell upon the Wiseman Elves and everyone apparently was waiting for Gwyn to speak.

“Your story?” he finally asked.

Elrohir glanced at his brother, who shrugged, clearly uninterested in enlightening their host, so Elrohir spoke. “I’m Elrohir and the ugly one is Elladan, though we tend to go by Roy and Dan these days.” There were slight sniggers among the Mortals. Gwyn raised an eyebrow. “And yes, we’re the sons of Elrond Peredhel,” Elrohir added, answering Gwyn’s unspoken question.

“And the lady?” he asked, giving Serindë a gracious bow of his head.

“I’m Serindë Voronduriel, but my Mortal name is Sarah, Sarah Brightman.”

Gwyn nodded again, regal and serene. Elrohir had a sudden urge to slap him for his pretentiousness and there must have been something in his eyes that gave him away for Gwyn glanced at him and smiled at him knowingly.

“So you were just passing through and found us,” he said, sounding dubious, and who could blame him?

Elladan shook his head. “We live in Wiseman. We’re here for a little R and R.” His expression was neutral and he gave nothing away as to his inner thoughts and feelings.

“R and R,” Gwyn echoed. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Wiseman?” Gareth interjected eagerly. “You live in Wiseman? Are there others?”

“Gareth,” Gwyn warned and the younger Elf subsided.

Elladan answered anyway. “Yes, there are others, almost forty in fact. But what’s your story? What are you doing here?” He spread his hands to encompass the Mortals gathered around them.

Before Gwyn could respond though, the waitress came back with drinks and then the food arrived and everyone was busy with that for several minutes before Gwyn bothered to give an explanation, speaking between bites of his sandwich piled high with roast beef, provolone cheese and Vidalia onions with horseradish mayonnaise.

“Gareth and I came here about ten years ago,” he said. “We found work at the university, pretended to be students at first and even took some classes that we found interesting and all the while we wondered what we were doing here.”

“Where did you come from originally?” Serindë asked.

“Wales,” came the surprising reply. “That’s where we were born back in the twelfth century, or at least, Gareth was. I was born in the mid-eleventh century.”

“Oh! Finally someone who’s younger than I am,” Serindë exclaimed and both the Twins laughed. At Gwyn’s and Gareth’s quizzical looks she explained, “I was born about a thousand years or so before the time of Christ.”

Eyebrows among the Mortals rose precipitously but Gwyn and Gareth merely nodded and the older brother continued his narrative. “We came to America in the mid seventeen hundreds and we were living in Philadelphia around the time of the Revolutionary War. Over time, though, we traveled westward until we ended up here.”’

“We were drawn, you see,” Gareth put in. “We’d stay for a few years or decades in one place and then we would start feeling itchy and restless and then wanderlust would hit us and we’d just pack up and leave. Back in the Depression Era, we even became hobos of a sort, train hopping from one place to another, always heading west. We eventually landed in Santa Barbara and we were there through the forties and fifties and then we got restless again, but this time we felt the need to head north. Stayed in Seattle for a while and then spent the seventies and eighties in and around Vancouver before going on to Juneau and then Anchorage. We came to Fairbanks in twenty-oh-two.”

“And you haven’t felt the need to continue to Wiseman in the last couple of years?” Elrohir asked. “Great stew by the way and you’re right about the soda bread. Haven’t had any this good since the last time I was in Dublin.”

“Which was when?” Gwyn asked with a smile.

“Hmm… let’s see… that would’ve been, what, around seventeen-fifty?” He turned to Elladan who nodded.

“Seventeen-fifty-two,” his brother corrected with a nod, picking up his pint of Guinness to drink.

Gwyn and Gareth just nodded but Elrohir could see that the Mortals listening to the conversation were goggling at the casual mention of centuries past as if they were only last year.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Elrohir reminded Gwyn.

“No, neither of us has felt a need to leave Fairbanks, certainly not recently. We’ve been pretty busy here, especially after we joined the SCA.”

“Yes, tell us about that,” Elladan demanded. “We were speaking to a couple earlier, er, Melisande and Dietrich, if I recall correctly, and they said this was a special group of fighters, hand-picked by you.”

Gwyn looked down the table to where the aforementioned Mortals were sitting. They both blushed under his regard and he gave them a fond smile before returning his attention to the Wiseman Elves. “We call ourselves Gwaith-en-Angbor,” Gwyn replied.

“Iron Fist Company?” Elladan translated, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey! You guys speak Welsh, too?” someone asked. “Must be an elvish thing.”

“Everyone thinks it’s Welsh,” Gwyn said with a grin, speaking Sindarin and the Twins couldn’t help but laugh.

“Been there, done that,” Elrohir replied in the same language.

“So anyway,” Gwyn said, reverting to English, “we got the idea of forming an elite fighting group within the Barony about a year or so ago with our present Baroness’ permission. Anastasia thought it was a good idea and endorsed it. We even have a baronial charter and we’re hoping to get royal recognition at this summer’s coronet. It depends on who wins and becomes prince.”

“If Ilya wins the coronet, we’ll get the charter for sure,” Gareth said, “otherwise, it’s debatable, but Baroness Anastasia is a force to be reckoned with so we’ll have to see.”

“And obtaining this royal charter is important?” Elrohir asked, casting them a dubious look. “It’s just a game, isn’t it? Why are you taking it so seriously?”

People went still, some of them glaring at Elrohir, who had a feeling he had said something stupid and undiplomatic, especially when Serindë frowned at him and even Elladan shook his head, muttering, “And people insist you’re the diplomatic one.”

Gwyn snorted, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of his Sam Adams Boston Lager before speaking. “I know. I felt the same way. It was rather amusing watching the children play dress up. Gareth and I had a laugh or two over all the inaccuracies.” He cast a smile at his brother, who grinned back, ignoring the hurt looks on the faces of the others. When he turned back to the Twins and Serindë, his expression became more serious. “But that was before.”

“Before what?” Elladan asked.

“Before a Vala showed up and gave us our orders,” Gareth answered.

“A Vala!” all three Wiseman Elves exclaimed in shock.

“Okay, why don’t you start at the beginning,” Elladan demanded, “and I think I need another Guinness.”

Gwyn raised a hand and snapped his fingers. “Taryn!” he called and the waitress who had served them earlier came over. “We need refills.”

She nodded, took orders from those who wanted refills or, in some cases, dessert, and left. Elladan nodded to Gwyn. “So, you were born in Wales almost a thousand years ago. Your parents, are they still living here? Have you found other Elves along the way?”

“Our parents still live in Caerphilly. Mam teaches comparative religion and mythology at the University of Wales in Cardiff. Da’s been seriously into physics and quantum mechanics ever since he met Max Planck and ol’ Albert. Gareth and I have no clue what he’s talking about half the time.”

“Da’s nutso,” Gareth said categorically. “You’d think he was a bloomin’ Noldo the way he goes on about things. No offense.” The younger Elf looked slightly embarrassed, as if just realizing that he had three Noldor sitting across from him.

“None taken,” Elrohir said with a grin and Elladan just snorted in good humor. Serindë gave them a supercilious sniff. “Speak for yourself.” Then she winked at Gareth and he gave her a shy smile.

“So, who are your parents exactly? Perhaps we know them,” Elrohir said.

“Doubt it,” Gwyn said. “We’re what we call Next Generation Elves. That means, anyone born after the last ice age. We’re a mix of Vanya, Noldo and Sinda. Da’s great-grandfather was a Vanya who fought in the War of Wrath, met a Sinda, fell in love and decided to stay. Da was born sometime after the last ice age. He refuses to say when. Mam’s the same way. She’s actually part Noldo but she looks more Sindarin. Anyway, at some point, the two families up and Sailed, except our parents, who refused. We still don’t know why because they won’t talk about it. Eventually they settled in what is present-day Wales, adopting the names Tristan and Iseult ap Hywel. Yeah, I know. Really kitschy but they’re diehard romantics. As I said, Gareth and I were born in and around the time of the First Crusade and those are our actual names. Our parents never gave us Elvish names, though they taught us Sindarin. And if they know of any other Elves floating about, they’ve never said and we’ve never met any that we know of.”

“So tell us about here and now,” Elladan said, but Gwyn’s explanation had to wait while the waitress came back with refills. Once she left, Gwyn resumed his tale.

“Gareth and I found jobs here at the university working in the food service department for a while, taking the odd course whenever it suited our fancy, but pretty much just hanging out, wondering what we were doing in the Great White North. During that time, we became aware of the SCA, the barony and particularly its offshoot at the university.”

“The College of St. Boniface,” Elladan put in.

Gwyn nodded. “We hold a collegium every November where we offer classes on a variety of topics related to medieval life and culture. Anyway, as I said, Gareth and I were rather amused by it all and even a bit bemused, if you know what I mean. We couldn’t really see the attraction. Hell, we lived through that period of history and I’ll take twenty-first century America any day of the week over that.”

“Snob,” Gareth said with a grin and some of the Mortals chuckled.

“But you joined anyway,” Elladan pointed out.

“Under orders,” Gareth said, “by one very scary dude.”

The Twins exchanged looks. “Let me guess,” Elrohir said. “Likes to wear black, lots of it.”

Both Gwyn and Gareth nodded. “Know him?” Gwyn asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” Elladan replied and Serindë shuddered slightly. “As Loren would say, we won’t mention any names.”

“Loren?” Gwyn asked.

“His real name is Glorfindel,” Elladan supplied, giving them an amused smile. “You might have heard of him.”

Both Gwyn and Gareth nodded, looking a bit stunned at that revelation.

“So what did… um… you know, say?” Serindë asked.

Gwyn blinked. “What? Oh, yeah, him.”

“We usually refer to him as ‘Nate’. That’s the name he goes by when he’s… um…visiting.” Elrohir gave them a helpless shrug.

“Nate. Sure. That works. It was when Winter’s Gate was hosting the Midsummer Coronet. It’s a real big deal and Scadians, as we call ourselves, come from all over Alaska and even further beyond to attend since this event decides who will rule the principality for the next six months. Gareth and I watched the preparations with interest since the event was being held at the university rather than in the city somewhere. That made sense because people were able to rent out dorm rooms for a lot cheaper than a hotel and one of the dining halls was given over for the feast that followed. Of course, my brother and I were not involved in any of it and we were pretty much on the sidelines just watching. The actual tournament was open to the public so since we had the day off from work we wandered over to see what was happening. That’s when we met Nate.” He took a swallow of his beer and then continued.

“We didn’t know who he was at first, you have to understand. He didn’t appear to us in a flash of light or anything. He was actually dressed pretty much like all the other Scadians in a flowing robe and all and at first I thought he was a part of that, but when I got a closer look at what he was wearing I somehow had the feeling that it was authentic garb, not something put together on a Singer sewing machine in one afternoon the week before.”

“Not when his lady wife was the one to make it,” Elladan said with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess,” Gwyn said, looking a little pale at the implication of Elladan’s words, and Elrohir realized just how young the ellon was in comparison to himself and sympathized.

“So what happened?” Elrohir asked.

“We were standing there watching the tourney, commenting about it between us in Sindarin,” Gwyn continued, “and Nate comes up to us, gives us a piercing look and, also speaking in Sindarin — and I can tell you I was never so shocked in my life — he said, ‘Next year that will be you, the both of you,’ and he nodded toward the fighters in the ring. Then, before either of us could respond to that, he said, ‘You will join the barony and work yourselves up the ranks. Do not reveal yourselves until you know the time is right.”

“‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘What do you mean?’ but he did not explain, only looked at us, his expression compassionate but still there was something in his eyes that made me feel weak and then he actually spoke his name and I thought I was going to pass out. Gareth actually did.”

“I did not!” the younger ellon protested. “I merely felt an overwhelming need to sit on the ground and keep myself from throwing up.”

Gwyn placed a hand on his brother’s arm and rubbed it in a soothing manner. “I know. I was only kidding. If it weren’t for the fact that we were in public I would’ve fainted myself and happily so. To meet with any of Them is terrifying enough, but to meet him….” He shuddered and closed his eyes.

“And so, you joined the SCA,” Elrohir said.

“That very afternoon, in fact, or rather, we obtained the necessary forms from the Seneschal at the time and found out about fight practice and all and a week later we were having our first lessons in fighting sword and shield.”

“We had to pretend we didn’t know one end of the sword from the other,” Gareth said with a grin. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you.”

Gwyn nodded. “But we played the game because that was what it was to us at first. We didn’t know why we were in the SCA, though we knew that it wasn’t to have fun on the odd weekend, though we actually did and we’ve made good friends over the last few years. I eventually was able to win the Captaincy and last year, Nate came to me again.”

“Just him, mind you,” Gareth interjected, looking put out. “I don’t rate.”

Gwyn sighed and rolled his eyes and Elrohir realized that this was an old argument between them and nodded his understanding. Gwyn, ignoring his brother, continued. “In fact, it was when I was sleeping, but it felt like I was awake. Anyway, in the dream or whatever, Nate came to me and congratulated me on winning the Captaincy. ‘This is why you are here,’ he said. ‘To play medieval war games?’ I asked him, feeling a bit skeptical about it all. ‘No. To help prepare the Mortals for the Dagor Dagorath,’ was his reply and that stopped me cold. Then he explained what he wished for me to do and when I woke up, Gwaith-en-Angbor was born. I spoke to Gareth about it and he agreed that having an elite fighting group would be the way to go, and it was he who came up with the idea that the members should be hand-picked and no one could petition to join. Members could recommend fighters but I made the final decision. Now, for a fighter to be chosen is considered a great honor, not only with the Barony, but outside it as well. We’re hoping to get the royal charter so we can expand our membership to include fighters from other parts of the Principality.”

“And that’s what this is all about, preparing for the Dagor Dagorath,” Elladan nodded, looking around the table at the Mortals.

Gwyn nodded. “Pretty much.”

Elladan glanced at Elrohir, giving him a significant look which Elrohir recognized. He nodded, understanding what his twin was feeling, for he was feeling the same way. Elladan let out a breath and looked at Gwyn, his expression turning wry. “Well, now we know why Roy and I are here. I think you’re about to gain two new members to your little group.”

“Three,” Serindë said. “Three new members.” She wrapped an arm around Elrohir’s and leaned her head on his shoulder.

The two ap Hywel brothers and their Mortal allies just stared at them in disbelief. Elrohir grinned back somewhat sourly. “Do you think Elrohir of Imladris is a good SCA name?”

****

Gwaith-en-Angbor: (Sindarin) Iron Fist Troop/Company.

Notes:

1. Molly Malone’s Pub and Grill on College Road does not exist except in my imagination. The Big I Pub and Lounge does. It is Fairbanks’ oldest pub and is situated on Turner Street. The Pad Thai Restaurant is also for real.

2. For the sake of verisimilitude, at the time in which this story takes place (2012), there is only a ruling Baroness who will step down in July of 2013, though I have changed her name for obvious reasons. The Gwaith-en-Angbor is a product of my muse’s imagination.

3. ap Hywel: ‘son of Howell’. Howell is a common Welsh surname today. Gwyn and Gareth are using the older form. Hywel is pronounced, more or less, as: HOW-ul. The name means ‘eminent’ or ‘remarkable’.

38: Meeting the Locals

“The SCA frowns on what they would consider made-up names,” Gwyn said as everyone began commenting to one another about Elrohir’s statement. “You have to prove that the name could plausibly exist.”

“That’s not a problem,” Elladan responded. “Roy and I have adopted plenty of personae over the centuries. Let’s see, you were Damiano and I was Daniele Orlandi da Rimini back around the fourteenth century when we were all spies for the pope. I suppose we can use those names.”

Elrohir nodded.

“Spies?” Gwyn asked and he and everyone else goggled at them in disbelief.

“Hmm… yes, we were members of the White Guelphs,” Elladan explained. “Loren and Darren were the real spies. Roy and I were window-dressing.”

“Darren?” Gareth asked.

“Ah, you might know him better as Daeron of Doriath,” Elladan replied.

Gwyn and Gareth both paled at that and Elladan gave them a brittle smile that never reached his eyes. Elrohir sighed, wondering what the brothers’ reaction would be when they found out that Beleg was here, never mind Finrod.

“Ah, so, what about you, Sarah? Were you a spy, too?” Melisande asked hesitantly.

Serindë laughed. “Oh, heaven’s no! Let’s see, fourteenth century? Ada, Nana and I were living in Amsterdam at the time. I went by the name Serena d’Angelico, originally from Venice. Ada was an herbalist and ran an apothecary along with Nana. We gave out the story that we were fleeing the Black Death that was decimating Italy. That was actually true, but of course, we could not contract it, and Ada felt that Amsterdam might be safer for us anyway. He did not care for the machinations going on in Italy at the time with the Guelphs and the Ghibellines.”

There was a moment of silence as the Mortals took in this information, staring at the three Wiseman Elves in wonder. Killian turned to Gwyn and Gareth. “You’ve never told us about your lives. What were you doing in the fourteenth century?”

“Surviving,” Gwyn replied, his expression grim and his voice cold and Gareth’s expression was bleak. Several of the Mortals sitting nearby reared back as if to avoid a blow.

“Careful, Gwyn,” Elrohir said in Sindarin, keeping his own expression neutral. “You’re frightening the children.”

Gwyn blinked as if waking from a dream and gave Elrohir a nod of understanding. “Sorry,” he said to the others. “Some things are too difficult to speak of, and it hardly matters now. Today is what counts. Let’s say we settle the bill and get out of here? Where are you three staying, anyway?”

“Alpine Lodge,” Elladan answered. “Room two-oh-eight.”

Gwyn nodded in understanding. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can arrange a time and a place to meet in the evening, if that meets with your approval.”

“I’ll have to check our social calendar but I think we can squeeze you in,” Elrohir said with a grin and everyone laughed as Gareth signaled to Taryn for the checks. Elladan and Gwyn exchanged cell phone numbers and five minutes later they were all leaving the pub. The Twins and Serindë wished everyone a good night and drove off with Elladan acting as chauffeur once again.

For a few minutes they drove in silence but finally, as they turned onto University and then crossed the Chena River, Elrohir said, “So you think that’s why we’re here, to join the SCA? I thought we were running away from home.”

From where he was sitting, he could see Elladan grinning. “I think we were meant to find Gwyn and Gareth. Nate…” He shook his head. “As Derek might say, that dude gets around.”

Elrohir and Serindë laughed and Elladan joined them. When they had calmed down a bit, Elrohir said, “So, the ap Hywel brothers were meant to come to Fairbanks, join the SCA and then create Gwaith-en-Angbor, ostensibly as an elite fighting corps within the barony, but really to train people for the Dagor Dagorath, pretty much as we’re doing in Wiseman.”

“But how practical is that really?” Serindë asked. “It’s a rather small group and if most of them are college students then the turnover has to be rather high every four years.”

“Except, I suspect that most of the people we met tonight are natives,” Elladan said as he turned onto Airport Way. “This is a select group and it stands to reason that Gwyn would choose people who are permanent residents of Fairbanks and its environs rather than college students who will leave for other parts of the state or the country after graduation.”

“Still, what good are they, I mean, for fighting in the war?” Serindë asked. “Right now they fight with foam weapons.”

“Foam weapons that have been crafted to imitate the real thing,” Elrohir pointed out. “And it’s just one step from foam weapons to live steel and while training with live steel is different, they’re already learning the things they need to know to fight with it.”

“Do you really think that when the war comes we’ll be fighting with swords, given the type of arsenal the Mortals employ in their present wars?” Serindë asked skeptically.

“Valandur seems to think so, and so does Finrod,” Elladan stated. “I’m not so sure myself, but I’m not a captain and I’m not in charge. I just do what I’m told. If we’re to fight with swords, then so be it. If we are to use other weapons, then that’s fine too. Roy and I have kept up with weapons technology and are certified for several types of firearms, even those used by the military and not accessible to civilians.”

“You know we can’t stay in Fairbanks forever,” Serindë said, speaking more to Elrohir. “We have a wedding to go to, after all, and I really doubt Glorfindel, never mind Ada, will permit it.”

“We’re not children, Sarah,” Elrohir said with a huff. “If Dan and I choose to live somewhere other than Wiseman, that’s our right.”

Serindë gave him a skeptical look but did not contradict him. Elladan pulled into the hotel parking lot and in a few minutes they were back in their room. Serindë announced that the day’s events had caught up with her and was soon readying herself for bed, while Elladan called the hospital in Wiseman to get news of Glorfindel.

“Loren’s awake,” he told the other two as he shut down his phone. “Seems he managed to come out of healing sleep on his own.”

“That’s Loren for you,” Elrohir stated with a grin. “So now we don’t have to worry about him and we can just concentrate on what we need to do here.”

“I should email my parents,” Serindë said. “I won’t tell them where we are, only that we’re fine.”

Both Twins nodded and she opened up her iPad and in a few minutes the email was sent and she settled into the bed by the window, slipping onto the Path of Dreams while Elrohir and Elladan sat up side-by-side on the other bed, talking quietly. After about an hour, Elladan decided he would sleep for a while, so Elrohir moved off the bed and sat in one of the chairs, opening up his e-reader and switching it to night-mode to read. Four hours later, he woke his brother, and they switched places. Serindë remained asleep the whole time.

****

They were having breakfast at Denny’s, which they had found on Airport Way, when Elladan’s phone rang.

“Good morning, Gwyn,” he said as he pressed the ‘send’ button. He listened for a moment before speaking again. “We’re having breakfast at the moment…. No, we don’t have any specific plans except we thought to visit the botanical gardens and maybe the Museum of the North, do a bit of shopping, you know, the usual touristy stuff…. Six o’clock for dinner?” He looked at his twin and Serindë and they nodded. “Sure, that sounds fine. Where? Your place? Okay. Hang on.” He made writing motions with his free hand and Serindë obliged by opening her purse and pulling out a small spiral pad and a pen, and handing them to Elladan, who nodded his thanks. “Go ahead,” he said as he wrote down an address and directions, rattling them back to Gwyn for confirmation. “Okay… we’ll see you then… No, we don’t have any food allergies.” He rolled his eyes and Elrohir and Serindë grinned. “And Roy will eat anything that’s not nailed down,” he continued, giving Elrohir a wink. His brother obliged him by sticking out his tongue. “Yes, thank you.” He ended the call and handed the pad and pen back to Serindë who stuck them back in her purse for safe keeping. “Gwyn’s invited a few people from the barony to have dinner with us.”

“Well, in the meantime, let’s finish up breakfast and go explore,” Elrohir suggested and that is what they did.

****

“It’s around here somewhere,” Elladan said as he drove along a street lined with houses, checking the house numbers.

“There it is, on your right,” Serindë said, pointing.

Elladan pulled up in front of a modest ranch house, parking on the street behind another car. The three got out and even before they reached the door, it opened to reveal Gareth, who greeted them warmly.

“Just in time,” he said, as he showed them where to hang their coats. “Gwyn’s just putting out the appetizers. Come and meet everyone. What do you want to drink? We have wine, beer, soda, coffee, tea, almond milk or water.”

“No hot chocolate?” Elrohir asked with a grin.

“I think we have some packets of it somewhere,” Gareth said, sounding a bit dubious, as they entered the living room where a number of people were gathered. They recognized Dietrich and Melisande, but the other three were strangers.

“Hah! While we’re here I’ll treat you to my favorite hot chocolate recipe,” Elrohir said, “but in the meantime, I’ll settle for coffee, milk, no sugar.”

“Me, too, and the same,” Serindë said.

“Make that three, but I like mine black,” Elladan chimed in.

Gareth nodded. “You know Pam and Henry,” he said, indicating Melisande and Dietrich. They all shook hands. “This is Stacey, Jason and Matt,” Gareth introduced the three strangers. “I’ll let you introduce yourselves while I get your drinks.” He sauntered off to the kitchen.

Elladan put out his hand. “I’m Dan, and this is Roy and Sarah.”

“But those aren’t your real names, are they?” Stacey asked, staring at them in wonder. She was a vivacious redhead with sparkling green eyes and looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Jason and Matt appeared to be slightly younger. Jason was the taller of the two. His black hair was shoulder length and he sported a beard. His eyes were gray. Matt’s chestnut brown hair was also long but he had a mustache and baby blue eyes.

“Those are the names we use today,” Elladan replied.

“So you all know that Gwyn and Gareth are Elves,” Elrohir interjected before anyone else could comment.

“The whole barony knows,” Jason said with a snort. “Or rather, certain of us know for sure and the others, especially newbies, only guess.”

“Is that not dangerous though?” Elladan asked. “For them, I mean.”

All the Mortals shrugged. “We’ve managed to keep it in-house, so to speak,” Henry said. “Anyone who is brought into Gwaith-en-Angbor is told and sworn to secrecy. Baronial officers are told and sworn to secrecy.”

“Secrets have a way of getting out,” Serindë commented.

“Perhaps, but even though you may think we’re play-acting being knights and ladies and chivalrous and all, we take it seriously,” Pam explained. “Many of us joined the SCA because we wanted to reclaim some of that sense of nobility that that era evokes, even though we know that it wasn’t really like that. Still, I prefer the fantasy.”

Just then Gareth came back carrying a tray with mugs of coffee and creamer, setting it on a table. “I’ll let you help yourselves. Gwyn will be out in a moment.”

Even as he spoke the elder ap Hywel brother came in bearing a tray with a plate of cut vegetables and a couple bowls of dips. “Hi. Glad you could make it. You’ve met everyone?”

“Yes,” Elladan said, ever the spokesman for the Twins.

“Good. I hope you like blackened salmon,” Gwyn said. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“It smells delicious,” Serindë said.

“We’ll eat buffet style, if no one minds,” Gwyn said apologetically. “The dining room table only seats four.”

No one had any objections and for a few minutes they busied themselves with the appetizers and the Mortals told them something about their lives.

“I teach middle school science and math,” Stacey told them.

Jason turned out to work as a copywriter for a local ad agency, while Matt was also a teacher. “Presently teaching fourth grade, but I might be teaching sixth next year,” he said.

Henry was a grad student at the university working toward his doctorate in geophysics. Pam was a mother of two and worked as a paralegal in her husband’s law firm. “That’s how John and I met,” she told them.

“Is he in the SCA, too?” Serindë asked.

“Oh yes. In fact, you met him last night. He was one of the fighters, Sir Jehan Fitzgerald of Shrewsbury. We could have gotten a babysitter so he could come for dinner, and he really wanted to meet you again, but he’s working on a brief, so he said he would watch the kids.”

By then the salmon was ready and it wasn’t long before everyone had a plate piled high with food. “My own recipe,” Gwyn told them as they settled in the living room to eat. “I like experimenting with different spices.”

“So you’re the cook in the family?” Elrohir asked.

“Oh, Gareth can’t boil water to save his life,” Gwyn replied dismissively. “I learned to cook out of self-preservation.”

Gareth grinned. “I can hunt or fish for them, but I can’t cook them. I was never so happy the day we bought our first microwave.”

Everyone laughed.

After a while, Elrohir broached the reason for their being there. “So, tell us.”

Gwyn cast an amused look his way. “Business before dessert? You have to be kidding.”

Elrohir gave him an unblinking stare and there was a gravity to him that seemed to affect the two younger Elves as well as the Mortals, for they all blanched. Gwyn stared down at his plate, clearly trying to get himself under control, finally nodding, looking back up. “Fine. As you may have guessed, Stacey is our baroness.”

“Baroness Anastasia of Winter’s Gate,” Stacey said, dipping her head in a bow.

Gwyn continued with the introductions. “Jason is Michael of Norwich, our Seneschal, while Matt is Godfroi d’Edessa, our Estoille Pursuivant Herald and Chronicler of our baronial newsletter. Melisandë is our Chatelaine, she is the barony’s contact and welcome person, and Dietrich is Rapier Marshal. Some of the other officers would’ve been here but it was a bit short notice and they couldn’t make it so you’ll meet them later, assuming you’re serious about joining us.”

“That is still debatable,” Elladan said. “We have obligations in Wiseman and we may not be able to stay in Fairbanks for very long. Loren won’t allow it and Quinn will pull rank.”

“Er… Loren?” Stacey asked.

“And who’s Quinn?” Henry enquired almost at the same time.

“You would not know them,” Elladan said, “though Gwyn and Gareth have no doubt heard of them. Loren is Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin and Quinn is Finrod Felagund, once king of Nargothrond that now lies under the sea.”

“Finrod!” Gareth exclaimed in shock, jumping up and almost spilling his plate in the process. “F-f-finrod is here? But he died!” Gwyn put his own plate down and went to stand by his brother, wrapping his arms around him.

“Take a deep breath,” he said quietly, for the younger Elf was practically hyperventilating. “Stay calm… that’s it. Shh… it’s all right.” He turned to the Twins and Serindë, giving them a rueful look. “Boyhood hero. When he was an elfling he demanded I tell him tales of the great Finrod all the time. Never mind that I’d never met him and I knew of him only through the tales our parents told us, but I got real good at spinning adventures for Finrod out of whole cloth just to keep Gareth amused.”

Elrohir stood and, gesturing to Gwyn to step back, took Gareth by the shoulders, giving the younger Elf a sympathetic look. “Finrod was our hero, too. We used to badger Glorfindel for tales about him, and he would oblige us, usually telling us stories where he and Finrod saved the day. It was a long time before we realized that most of the tales were made up or were expurgated versions of things that really happened, though not necessarily to either Finrod or Glorfindel.”

“But he’s here?” Gareth whispered. “How can he be here?”

“Yes, he’s here. He is a Reborn, as is Glorfindel.”

“Reborn?” more than one person, including Gareth, asked.

Elrohir nodded. “Elves can die and when they do their spirits or souls, whatever you want to call it, go to Mandos, the realm of the Vala Lord Námo… otherwise known as Nate.” He grinned wryly as several people gasped. “Anyway, unlike Mortals, who leave the Circles of Arda and go to the Timeless Halls, the lives of Elves are bound to the life of Arda, so eventually Elves who die are re-embodied after some indeterminate time, and pick up their lives again. Such Elves are known as Reborn.”

“So this Finrod died and now he’s alive again?” Matt asked.

“And he’s returned from Valinor along with several others,” Elrohir said, nodding. “They’ve been here a couple of months now.”

“Do you think we might meet him?” Gareth asked, giving them a hopeful look.

“Oh, probably, if you come to Wiseman for a visit,” Elrohir said with a smile. “I should warn you that he’s not as impressive as you may think. Dude works in a bookstore.”

Both Gwyn and Gareth goggled at him. “Dude?!” Gwyn exclaimed. “You call the King of Nargothrond dude?”

Both Twins laughed and Serindë smirked.

“Does he really work in a bookstore?” Gareth demanded, looking skeptical and appalled at the same time.

Elrohir shrugged. “Sure. Why not? He has to earn a living just like the rest of us.”’

“So what do you do?” Jason asked.

Elrohir returned to his seat. “Dan and I are both general practitioners.”

“You’re doctors?!” Henry exclaimed.

“Among other things,” Elladan answered with a smile.

“And this Loren or Glorfiddle or whatever he’s called?” Matt asked.

The Elves all laughed. “His name is Glorfindel,” Elladan corrected when he had calmed down, “though he does know how to play the fiddle. At the moment he’s the administrator of Elf Academy.”

“Elf Academy?” Pam asked, looking puzzled.

“Oh, yes!” Stacey said, nodding with enthusiasm. “I ran across an article in the paper once about it. It’s a school where they train people to be tour guides, isn’t it?”

The Wiseman Elves nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” Serindë answered. “It was originally set up by Mortals for the tourist industry because there was a shortage of competent guides, especially during the Christmas season. The students study tourism and how to be tour guides and pretend to be Santa’s elves.”

“That was the original plan, you understand,” Elladan said.

“So how did you guys get involved?” Jason asked.

“Well, Loren, Darren, Roy and I, along with two elleth… er… elf-women, who go by the names Della and Misty, were living in California, sharing an apartment. Over the course of about a month or two, all of us lost our jobs for one reason or another. Darren suggested that we look for something we could all do together and after some searching on the internet he found Elf Academy, part of the Northern Lights Community College in Wiseman. It was in its first year of operation. We applied as students and—”

“Whoa! Students? You became students?” Gwyn exclaimed and the others looked at the Wiseman Elves in shock.

Both Elladan and Elrohir nodded and Elrohir took up the explanation. “The idea was to get our certification from the school and then go to Finland or Norway or somewhere where Santa might conceivably have his workshop and set up our own Elf Academy for the tourism industry there.”

“And do you even speak Finnish or any of the other Scandinavian languages?” Stacey asked.

“Oh, sure,” Elrohir replied somewhat breezily. “Well, Danish, actually, but after all these ages, what’s another Mortal language?”

“How many languages do you speak or have spoken?” Jason asked.

“Hmm… well, I can name about twenty just off the top of my head. I’d have to think about the rest,” Elrohir said and the Mortals just goggled at him, though neither Gwyn nor Gareth looked surprised. “So anyway, we applied and were accepted and came north to become Elf Guides. Circumstances forced us to reveal ourselves to the people of Wiseman and we ended up taking over Elf Academy. This is our second year of running it.”

“Yes, but why?” Gareth asked. “And you said you were doctors.”

Elladan nodded. “That’s true, but at the time we weren’t working as doctors. It’s only recently that we’ve started doing so again. As to why we took over Elf Academy, well, it’s for the same reason your brother created the Gwaith-en-Angbor, to prepare Mortals for the Dagor Dagorath.”

“That’s that Armageddon thing, isn’t it?” Henry asked and all five Elves nodded.

Gwyn’s expression was thoughtful. “You say you’ve been in operation for the last two years.”

The Wiseman Elves nodded and Elrohir said, “The Valar send certain people to us who come initially as tourists. We reveal ourselves to them and recruit them to the cause.”

“Yes, but what I meant is, you’ve been in operation for two years and Gareth and I have been here for the last ten. We’ve both been members of the SCA for about six or seven years and I finally advanced high enough through the baronial hierarchy to be able to form the Gwaith-en-Angbor just last year with Stacey’s permission. It seems to me we’re working at cross-purposes rather than together, and I’m wondering if my efforts have been worth it.”

“What do you mean?” Gareth protested. “Of course they have. We’ve got a great fighting group, better than any other.”

“Yes, but why?” Gwyn demanded angrily. “What’s the point? Just as I’m in a position to create an elite fighting force and begin training them seriously for battle the Valar send these Elves to Wiseman to take over Elf Academy, apparently for the same purpose. If they were planning to do that, why bother with us?”

“You think that the Valar decided your efforts weren’t working, so they changed tactics and got us to take over the Academy?” Elladan enquired.

Gwyn nodded. “And left us to play dress-up with the Mortals,” he responded somewhat bitterly. The said Mortals looked a bit hurt by his statement.

“No. I don’t believe that, or we wouldn’t be here,” Elrohir said. “I think you are an important part of their plans, plans that we know have been in the making for decades, perhaps for centuries.”

“How do you figure that?” Stacey asked.

Elrohir grinned, pointing at the two ap Hywel brothers. “Because, according to them, they took a couple of centuries to make their way here from the east coast once they reached these shores. They were drawn here and I think only when they came to Fairbanks did they feel as if they had arrived.” He gave the brothers a searching look. Gareth’s expression was thoughtful; Gwyn nodded reluctantly.

“So what does that mean for us?” Jason asked, gesturing to his fellow Mortals. “How do we fit in in all this?”

Instead of answering the Mortal, Elrohir asked Gwyn, “Membership in the Gwaith-en-Angbor is by invitation only, right?” Gwyn nodded. “So, who decides? You? Lord Námo or some other Vala? Do the other members get to vote? What’s the criteria?”

Now Gwyn looked embarrassed for some reason. Gareth gave them a wicked grin, the sort that can be found on the faces of most younger siblings when older siblings are in the hot seat. "He dreams about them,” the younger Elf said.

“Gareth,” Gwyn growled at his brother, not looking up.

“Well you do,” Gareth retorted defensively.

“True dreams sent by Lord Irmo?” Elladan suggested, turning to his twin, who shrugged, not knowing the answer.

“So I think,” Gwyn admitted, finally looking up. “They’re rather odd dreams, though. In every case, I find myself sitting behind a desk and the person whom I am thinking to have join us is on the other side and I’m conducting an interview.”

“So that’s how you know you should invite the person to join you?” Serindë enquired.

“Sort of. Actually, there are a set of questions that I ask. Always the same questions. They’re written on a sheet of paper before me. What’s really weird is that below each question are two possible answers labeled ‘A’ and ‘B’ and depending on what the person says, I mark one or the other and then I add them up. If the person gives a certain number of ‘A’ answers, he’s in, if not, he’s not suitable and I know not to ask him to join us.”

“How do you know?” Elrohir asked.

Gwyn shrugged. “I just do, and once, because I really thought that a certain person would be an asset to the group even though, according to the dream interview, he wasn’t, I did ask him to join and it was something of a disaster.” He turned to his brother. “You remember Lorenzo, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah,” Gareth said. “A halfway decent fighter but something of a loser on the social scale, and he couldn’t seem to handle the idea of there being Elves in the world. Kept saying we were devils or demons or something. Gwyn finally had to… um… alter his memories of us and a short time later he moved away.”

“No loss there,” Stacey said with a steely voice, her expression one of disgust. “That was one slimy so-and-so I was glad to see go.” The other Mortals all nodded.

“Anyway, after that, I knew enough not to tempt fate like that again,” Gwyn explained.

Silence fell among them as people contemplated what Gwyn had told them. Finally, Elladan stirred. “It seems clear that the Valar have more than one finger in the pie, but notice that everything seems to be centered around Alaska. I’m guessing it’s because it’s remote and out of the limelight, and I’ll even go out on a limb and say that Gwyn and Gareth’s operation here in Fairbanks and ours in Wiseman may not be the only ones. Every time we’ve asked, the Valar insist that there are other Elves out there, living in this world just as we are, but except for Sarah and her parents and a few others, none have come forward and I’m thinking that the Valar may be setting up more than one… um… boot camp, so to speak, in other parts of the world.”

Several eyebrows rose.

“That actually makes sense,” Elrohir said. “I’ve wondered just how what we’re doing in Wiseman could possibly prepare all the Mortals for what is to come. I wonder if there’s any way to find them?”

“I think we should just concentrate on our own missions for now,” Gwyn suggested. “Let the others fend for themselves. If we’re meant to meet with them, we will but in the Valar’s own time, not ours.”

The other Elves nodded, looking thoughtful. Then Gareth brightened. “Well, in the meantime, who wants dessert? It’s a cherry crisp with vanilla ice cream.”

Everyone raised their hands.

39: Joining the SCA

“So are you really serious about joining us?” Gwyn asked the Twins as they ate their dessert.

“Yes, of course,” Elladan answered. “Why do you think the Maiar shanghaied our car and brought us to the university to meet with you? You don’t think they did it just for the fun of it, do you?”

Some of the others chuckled and Gwyn raised an eyebrow. “No, I guess not,” he allowed, “but… I don’t know… it just seems like I’m being pushed aside. I mean, who am I compared to you two? Even we’ve heard of you and your exploits, though I suspect half of them are exaggerated as such tales become over time.”

“Only half?” Elrohir quipped. “Try, just about all of them. Believe me, we’re not the superheroes you think we are. We’re just Elves. Hell, we’re not even that, we’re Peredhil, and in the eyes of some that makes us less, not more.”

“And who says you’re being pushed aside?” Elladan countered. “Do you think we’ve been brought here to take over? Sorry, but this is not our gig. Roy and I are planning to return to school and study to become surgeons in the next year or so. We’re in the process of being board certified to practice medicine in Alaska and then we’re gone, at least for the time it will take us to take the necessary courses. Since we’ve already done all the preliminary courses every med student takes, whatever track they choose, it’s really just the surgical side of medicine that we will need to concentrate on, so we should probably be able to finish up our studies and be back in Wiseman in about a year, maybe two. We’ve already been promised residencies at St. Luke’s in Wiseman once we’ve finished our courses.”

“So if that’s true, why are you here?” Jason asked. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to know that there are other Elves about, but if you’re out of the picture for the next couple years, what’s the point?”

“The point is, we know you exist, and that means Loren and Quinn will know as well as soon as we tell them about you,” Elrohir replied. “It’s possible we might be able to set up an SCA group in Wiseman.”

Stacey grinned. “Well, that might be a bit difficult to do.”

“Why?” Serindë asked.

“Well, the barony has a canton situated in Kotzebue,” Stacey explained. “It’s called Ynys Taltraeth. When they were formed they claimed the coastal territories of Winter’s Gate, which basically means all of the coastal lands from just below Nome to the Yukon, including the Islands of Diomede.”

“That’s a hellava lot of territory for one group to claim,” Elrohir commented with amusement.

“Oh, it gets a lot better than that,” Gwyn said with a grin. “They also claimed all of the Russias east of the Ural Mountains and the Caspian Sea.”

“Do the Russians know that?” Elladan asked with a chuckle.

Gwyn, Gareth and the Mortals all shrugged, smiling back.

“I don’t see where there’s a problem, though,” Jason said. “They’ve been under the minimum for membership this past year or so and there hasn’t been much activity lately. Why shouldn’t there be a group in Wiseman? It’s a lot closer, and if these Elves are involved, then we can pool our resources. Gwyn keeps saying that there’s no guarantee that this Dagor Dagorath will occur in our lifetime, but he’s convinced that it’s coming and he’s convinced us as well or we wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

“All you need is at least five paying members,” Stacey said, “and then you can be an official group. There must be at least that many people in Wiseman who are history buffs and would like to join.”

“Oh, if nothing else, we have a whole household of Elves who will most likely want to join, once we’ve explained what it’s all about,” Elladan said with a chuckle.

“Including Finrod?” Gareth asked.

“Especially Finrod,” Elladan replied. “Dude is really determined to experience life in these Mortal lands as much as possible, which is why he works at a local bookstore.”

“I can’t get over you calling the great Finrod Felagund ‘dude’. It sounds… irreverent or something,” Gwyn said, shaking his head.

The Twins just grinned, though Serindë was seen to roll her eyes and shake her head.

“So, anyway,” Gwyn said, “I printed out membership forms for you. If you three join and you can get a couple of more to do so, then you can be an official canton under the barony. If you have a large enough membership base, you can even petition the Crown to become a shire in your own right, which means you won’t be a part of Winter’s Gate. Get at least twenty-five paying members and you might even be able to petition to become a barony. The SCA is growing all the time. It was founded in 1966 and by 1969 there were three kingdoms and now there are nineteen.”

“That sounds doable,” Elladan said. “We will make sure that there are more than five of us who are members so that when Dan, Sarah and I leave, the group is still above the minimum.”

“Sarah’s leaving, too?” Pam asked, giving the elleth an enquiring look. “Are you a doctor, too? You never said.”

“No, I’m not a doctor, though I do know how to administer herbal remedies,” Sarah answered. “I’m actually a painter when I’m not teaching classes at Elf Academy. I’ll be going with Roy because we’re to be married in April.” She smiled at Roy and he smiled back and the two kissed.

The Mortals all expressed their delight at the news and offered congratulations, but Gareth looked stricken and Gwyn was giving him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, honeg,” he whispered in Sindarin.

Elladan, noticing the exchange between the two brothers, gave them a shrewd look. “You were hoping she was available, weren’t you?”

Gareth sighed. “Something like that.”

“I know it’s difficult, but I think things will be changing soon,” Elladan said. “Finrod’s coming has opened the floodgates, you might say, and I suspect that in due time others will follow.” He offered the younger Elf a sympathetic smile. “Maybe one of them will be an elleth who’s waiting for the one true one to come along and it might be you. Don’t give up hope just yet.”

“But who bothers to marry or have children in a time of war?” Gareth asked. “At least, that’s what our parents have told us.”

“Yet, that is merely a custom and not necessarily a law,” Elladan pointed out. “You should know that two of those who live in Wiseman are expecting twins later in the year. They told us that they decided to let Mortals dictate their decision, for Mortals marry and have children in all circumstances, whether in times of peace or war, and always with hope that their children will know a better life than they. They have no choice in the matter, for if they do not bear children, they will eventually become extinct as a species. Finrod told us that no child has been born in Valinor since before the last ice age. Elves may afford not to bear children, for they are immortal, but their civilization is then in danger of becoming stagnant and that is a different kind of death than extinction.”

“I can’t believe that there have been no children born in Valinor for the last, what, hundred thousand years!” Gwyn exclaimed in shock, and Gareth looked almost ill at the thought.

Elladan shrugged. “According to Finrod, the prevailing belief is that when Arda comes to an end, we Elves will, too, since our lives are bound to the life of Arda, and there is no guarantee that there is anything for us beyond that, so why bring children into the world knowing that they will not survive the Dagor Dagorath?”

“But do they know this for sure?” Henry asked.

Elrohir answered, shaking his head. “We have no more sure knowledge of our ultimate fate than you Mortals. I think the uncertainty and the fact that even we Elves may grow weary of our long existence has left them with little or no hope in Eru’s love for us. I think the people of Valinor have fallen into despair and I believe that in the end, it will be Mortals who will lead the way, for they still retain hope and do not easily fall into despair. You may be the saving of us all.”

The Mortals all had thoughtful looks on their faces. After another moment or two, Gwyn stirred. “Getting back to the SCA, you’ll need a slate of officers. At a minimum you will need a Seneschal and an Exchequer and either a Herald, a Marshal or an Arts and Science Officer. There are other offices but they may not be necessary at this time. You’ll need to come up with a name for your group, a device, and it’s a good idea for anyone who is an officer to register their persona names and create their own device. Those have to be approved by the College of Heralds and whoever your herald is should be knowledgeable about heraldry. For now, consult with Matt about it as he has all the necessary information and can tell you what’s legal and what isn’t.”

“Well, that sounds clear enough,” Elrohir said. “Of course, now we have to go back to Wiseman and convince them that all this is necessary. Loren and Quinn may think it isn’t, but I know that the Maiar didn’t bring us together just so we could have a nice home-cooked meal and a pleasant evening with friends.”

“And we were actually running away,” Elladan put in, sighing. “I don’t fancy having to go back to Wiseman any time soon.”

“Why were you running away?” Henry asked and the others gave the Wiseman Elves curious looks.

“Long story,” Elladan replied dismissively.

“You knew we would have to go back sooner or later,” Elrohir said, “if for no other reason than our wedding.”

“Yes, I know, but I was hoping we could hang out here for a while longer, but we’ve been here one whole day and already we’ve been given marching orders from above.”

“Funny, I don’t remember receiving any,” Elrohir countered.

“Oh, come on, Brother,” Elladan retorted in exasperation. “Were you expecting an engraved declaration?”

“No, but until and unless I hear directly from someone that that is indeed our mandate, then I will enjoy myself in Fairbanks for a few more days at least. Nothing need be done this instant. There will be plenty of time for all that later. In the meantime, I’m more interested in having Gwyn and Gareth tell us more about Gwaith-en-Angbor, how it’s set up, how the fighters are trained, what criteria is used to select the fighters and so on. As soon as we are back in Wiseman, I want to set up something similar and we can certainly do that easily enough under the guise of being part of the SCA.”

“And I’m thinking we should recruit some of our Mortal friends to form the group,” Serindë said.

They all gave her puzzled looks. “Why do you suggest that?” Stacey asked.

“Not everyone in Wiseman is behind us,” the elleth replied. “If it is known that we Elves are forming the group there may be a lot of suspicion as to our motives, but if Mortals are seen as the ones forming the group, then it may be accepted as something… um… normal.”

“It would be even better if the people who form the group are not known to be our special friends,” Elrohir said, catching on to what his beloved was saying. “Then, if some of the Elves decide to join, it’s not seen as an elvish plot.”

“But won’t that take away your own power of control over the group?” Jason asked.

“To some extent, but the Elves can’t and shouldn’t be handling everything to do with the training,” Elladan answered. “Mortals need to take up their own share of the responsibility. We’ll get the ball rolling and then let others take over. Remember, the people of Wiseman know who we are and why we’re there. Once they realize that this is just another form of recruitment and training other than Elf Academy, they will be behind it, because this will give the populace the opportunity to be trained. Right now, we hold classes at the adult education center but it is very limiting and our primary focus is on the students at Elf Academy.”

“Of course, you realize that some of the naysayers may end up joining,” Elrohir pointed out.

His brother shrugged. “That can’t be helped, but perhaps it will enable those naysayers to see us in a different, less threatening light. We’ll just have to see.”

“Well, I’ll be glad to tell you all I can about the Iron Fist of the North, as we call ourselves,” Gwyn interjected, “and Gareth can give you some pointers about training since our training regimen is his creation.”

“Oh?” Elladan gave the younger ellon a considering look and Gareth blushed under his regard.

Gwyn smiled fondly at his brother. “Oh, Gareth has a flair for turning my dreams into reality.”

“Well, that’s settled then,” Elladan said. “I know all of you have jobs to go to in the morning, so we should be on our way. You have my number, so call me when you want to get together again. Our time is our own so we’re very flexible.”

“The next fight practice is on Sunday,” Gwyn said. “You can join us there and talk with people and get an idea of what’s what. You missed the Midwinter Coronet event, that was last weekend, but coming up in February is our Heart’s Revel which is held the weekend closest to Valentine’s Day. You should plan to bring your group to that, or even if you don’t have a group set up, bring anyone who’s interested to see what we’re all about. Pam can get you all the information about it. You’ll need to get in your reservations by the weekend before.”

“Maybe you can bring Finrod and Glorfindel with you,” Gareth suggested somewhat shyly.

“We’ll see what we can do about that,” Elladan said with a smile. “Can you email the information we’ll need?” he asked Pam.

“Sure. In fact that would make it easier for me. Give me an email address and I’ll send it to you tomorrow.”

With that, everyone offered to help with the cleaning up and fifteen minutes later they were wishing each other a good night. It had snowed while they were having dinner so they all had to spend a few minutes warming up their cars and brushing off the snow before they could drive off. Once in the car and on their way back to the hotel, the three discussed what they should do next.

“We should plan to attend this fight practice on Sunday and then I guess we should head back to Wiseman,” Elladan suggested. He didn’t sound too happy about it.

“You know we can’t stay here forever,” his brother pointed out, “and I bet certain people are even now planning a mission to bring us home.”

“They have to find us first, though,” Elladan countered.

“With today’s technology, that shouldn’t be hard,” Elrohir retorted. “Darren can trace us by our credit cards and ATM withdrawals. I think our smartphones are even GPS-enabled. Amroth or even Alex could triangulate our position from that alone.” He sighed somewhat dramatically. “Not like the old days when we could just disappear into the wilderness with no one the wiser.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before they come after us?” Serindë asked.

“That depends on how Loren is doing, I think,” Elrohir answered. “No one’s going to come after us until and unless they know Loren is fully recovered or nearly so. You didn’t see him when he was in surgery, but he was really in a bad way. He could easily have died.”

“Well, we’ve only been gone for a couple of days and we know Loren’s out of healing sleep unless they managed to put him back under, which I doubt,” Elladan said as he drove through a residential area, making his way to University Avenue, “so I give them maybe another couple of days before they organize a posse and come after us. You’re right, Roy, that it’s inevitable that they do so, so we might as well sit back and enjoy ourselves until they find us. Hopefully we can convince them to let us stay at least through the weekend. I should be sufficiently cooled down by then.”

Elrohir grinned. “We can only hope,” he said, giving Serindë a wink.

“Who do you think will come after us?” she asked.

“Your adar for sure,” Elrohir answered, “and possibly Loren if he can bully them all into releasing him from durance vile.”

They all chuckled at that as Elladan turned into the hotel parking lot and found a space to park. Soon they were back in their room. Serindë opened her iPad to check her email while Elladan decided to take a shower and Elrohir turned on the TV to catch the news.

“Hey! Ada’s sent an email,” Serindë exclaimed.

“What does he have to say?” Elrohir asked as he removed his shoes and stretched out on the bed, using the remote to switch on the TV and turn it to CNN.

She took a moment to read through the email, snorting with derision as she did so. “He says to stay where we are and not try to hide. He’s coming down tomorrow or the next day.”

“Does he specifically say that he knows where we’re staying or is it just a general order not to leave Fairbanks?”

“No, he doesn’t say anything specific, just, and I quote, ‘If you know what’s good for you, you will remain where you are and not attempt to flee to Anchorage or elsewhere in the world.’”

“Ron sounds totally pissed,” Elladan said in a matter-of-fact voice as he grabbed a pair of lounging pants and a T-shirt before heading for the bathroom.

Elrohir snorted. “That’s an understatement if there ever was one. Well, I guess we’ll just stay here and wait. Anyone want to bet on who comes with him?”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Elladan announced unnecessarily, as he went to the bathroom and closed the door firmly behind him.

“I’ll go get more ice,” Serindë said, picking up the ice bucket and one of the key cards and left, throwing Elrohir a kiss as she did.

“Cowards,” Elrohir muttered good-naturedly as he turned his attention to the news.

****

Honeg: (Sindarin) Little brother.

40: Meanwhile, Back in Wiseman…

Finrod skirted around a couple of teenagers carrying skates as they headed for the skating rink and he was heading back to Edhellond after working his shift at the bookstore. They gave him shy smiles as they passed and Finrod smiled back. The sight of the children reminded him that he had yet to purchase Finda’s skates as he had promised, but so much had happened of late to drive such thoughts away and even his son had not brought the matter to his attention. He resolved to speak to Daeron about it. Perhaps the loremaster or one of the other Wiseman Elves could accompany him and Finda to the store, since he actually had no idea where one bought such things. At the moment, though, everyone’s attention was focused on Glorfindel and the missing three. Of course, Vorondur was sure that they weren’t so much missing as they were misplaced.

“They’re in Fairbanks,” he told Finrod when he had stopped at the bookstore to ‘chat’, as he had put it. “That much I know, if I know nothing else.”

“Yes, but how can you be sure?” Finrod asked. “Even I cannot sense another, not even one of my own children, from that distance.”

“Because Fairbanks is far enough away to feel as if they’ve escaped, but close enough to feel as if they’re only vacationing instead of running away,” Vorondur answered. “It’s a psychological thing. The Twins are angry, and who can blame them? They needed to get away to cool off.” He sighed. “I just wish they had come to me first. I might have been able to help them.”

“You cannot do everything, Ron,” Finrod said sympathetically, “and, unfortunately, neither can I.”

Finrod stopped walking as he considered that bit of wisdom. It was true: he could not do everything and that realization depressed him more than it should. It had never troubled him before, but lately, when it seemed as if everything in his life was spinning out of control, the fact that he could not seem to hold the center together disturbed him and made him question himself, wondering whatever possessed the Valar to send him to Middle-earth so woefully unprepared. He felt lost at sea and the sharks were circling.

He chuckled humorlessly at that. Until he had come here he had never heard of sharks, but he had caught a show on the ‘tee-vee’ where someone had used that expression and Cennanion, who was watching with him, explained its meaning, even going so far as to find a program depicting the creatures. The sight of them had made him shudder and he wondered how Lord Ulmo could tolerate the creatures in his realm.

He shook himself and trudged on. If he did not hurry, he would be late, for he was on his way home to have some dinner and then he would go to the hospital to help guard Glorfindel. Kyle Stoner had permitted the Elves to return to watch over their friend, however, only non-healers were allowed.

“I don’t want a repeat of the near-disaster we had the other day,” Kyle had told Finrod and Daeron when he had lifted the ban on the Elves. “Anyone who stands watch over Loren is to have no medical knowledge. If something happens, they call for the nurses to handle it and if they can’t, they know enough to call for me or another doctor.”

That had not set well with the healers, especially Vardamir and Eärnur, but Finrod had given his consent to Kyle’s prohibition. “You have a little knowledge about Mortal medicine,” he had told them, “and as we all know, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Continue your training and be obedient to your teachers.”

“Honestly, Finrod, you sound as if you’re speaking to elflings,” Vardamir had protested.

“And perhaps if you keep that in mind, you will not make the same mistake you made with Glorfindel,” Finrod had responded, perhaps more coldly than he had meant, for he saw the healers flinch at his tone, but he refused to apologize.

He stopped in his tracks again, wondering what he was hearing. Looking about, he realized he had reached St. Mary’s. It was all lit up and music was pouring from it, faint perhaps to Mortal ears, but clear enough to his, and someone was singing a haunting melody. The sound drew him and he stepped inside the church. The music stopped almost as he did so but he heard the murmur of voices coming from somewhere and the rustling of bodies. The foyer area was not lit but the sanctuary was, so he went further in and saw Charles Waverly sitting in a pew close to the front, apparently reading, but he was alone and the voices were coming from above. Finrod stepped further in and looked up behind him to see several people gathered on a balcony and there was a strange instrument that looked something like Vorondur’s piano but it had pipes. Someone was sitting before it speaking to those gathered about. One Woman was nodding and then the music was starting again and after a few notes, the Woman began singing in a language Finrod could not understand:

“Panis angelicus, fit panis hominen, dat panis coelicus, figuris terminum….”

Finrod stood there, spellbound by the sheer beauty of the music, and it was beautiful. The Woman’s voice soared with the music and filled the sanctuary. Then she was joined by the others and it was almost overwhelming. A hand on his shoulder startled him and he turned to see Charles standing there, smiling at him. The old priest leaned forward to speak directly in his ear.

“If you want to talk, we will have to go to the rectory.”

And suddenly, Finrod realized that he did indeed wish to speak with the old priest and nodded. Charles gestured and Finrod followed the priest out of the sanctuary and out of the church, making their way to the rectory. They settled in the kitchen as they had before and without asking Charles began putting together some tea for them while Finrod sat before the wood stove. Nimrod was there, curled up before the stove, and the cat graciously acknowledged the Elf’s right to invade his domain by lifting his head and giving the ellon a large yawn followed by a few licks of his paw before settling back into sleep.

“Here you go,” Charles said as he handed Finrod a mug of peppermint tea before settling into the chair next to him.

“Thank you,” Finrod said, taking an appreciative sip of the tea, reveling in its minty taste. “What were they singing?” he asked. “I did not understand the words.”

“Hmm? Oh, it’s a hymn called ‘Panis angelicus’, that’s Latin for ‘bread of angels’. The resurrection choir was practicing for a funeral that is scheduled for Friday.”

“Funeral?”

“Yes, and unfortunately, it’s a double funeral. Two of my parishioners died in a car accident. Their teenage son survived. Poor boy’s still in the hospital, though, and he will not be able to attend his parents’ funeral.”

“I am sorry,” Finrod said, feeling even more depressed. In spite of having died himself, death was still a mystery to him, at least the death of Mortals. He recalled when he had watched Bëor slip away and it had thoroughly frightened him.

“You want to talk about it?” Charles asked sympathetically.

For a long moment, Finrod did not respond, sitting there drinking his tea and watching Nimrod sleeping, the cat’s ears twitching. Finally, he sighed. “So much seems to be going wrong lately. Glorfindel came out of healing sleep days before he should have and now he is making life miserable for us all, insisting he needs to go to Fairbanks where the sons of Elrond and Vorondur’s daughter have gone.”

“I heard about that,” Charles said with a nod. “I understand Kyle Stoner threatened to have Loren put into restraints if he didn’t behave himself.”

“And that was a mistake,” Finrod said with a grimace. “Of course, I do not blame Kyle, he was not to know that Glorfindel has an unfortunate history of being restrained by healers. He became so upset by the mere mention of it that they had to call me in to calm him down because they dared not use any drugs, not knowing how they might affect one of us. He still refuses to speak to Kyle and Geoffrey Harris has had to assign another doctor to his case. I told Glorfindel that he was acting like an elfling of two and to grow up.”

Charles chuckled. “Most people tend to regress emotionally when they’ve been traumatized. Once he’s more healed, I think we’ll get the old Loren back. So he wants to go after the Twins, does he? Why does he think he is the one to do so? Frankly, I don’t see why any of you should feel the need to go and drag them back here. They are well beyond the legal age. There is no law on this planet that says they cannot choose to live elsewhere if they so desire.”

“Perhaps, but you are speaking of Mortal customs, not elvish ones and their leaving as they did was not done well, especially taking Serindë with them.”

The old priest harrumphed with disgust. “I am sure the lady’s virtue is intact, my lord. I don’t know either of the Twins well, but I know that they would slit their own throats first before they ever did anything dishonorable, especially toward the lovely Serindë.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at the Man’s tone, but rather than responding, he changed the subject entirely. “Josiah Makepeace tells me that you are in exile.”

Waverly’s eyes widened. “Did he now? Man needs to know when to keep his fool mouth shut.”

“But are you?”

“And why does this concern you?”

“It does not, but having known exile myself….”

“An exile you freely chose, if I am not mistaken.”

Finrod blushed for some reason, nodding, taking a sip of his tea. “I am sorry. You are right. I have no—”

“I ran afoul of certain people in the church hierarchy,” the priest said suddenly, not looking at Finrod. “I will not attempt to explain it to you, since you simply wouldn’t understand. Let us just say that it was politically motivated, or, no, it wasn’t even that. It was motivated by fear, fear for their own security. They were unable or unwilling to look beyond themselves to other possibilities.” He looked up and gave the Elf a shrug. “I was a convenient scapegoat, so I was sent here as punishment, denied the right to teach.”

“You were a teacher?”

“Yes, at a Catholic college back East. I taught what is called Christology and I’m not about to try to explain that to you, but I held certain views about the nature of Christ’s teachings and mission here on earth that, while popular with the laity, did not find favor with the hierarchy. I made enemies among my colleagues.” He looked sad, obviously remembering those days. “They pretended to be my friends, but they betrayed me to the church hierarchy. The upshot was I was sent here and here I will remain until called home by God. I’m sure most of them have forgotten about me after all this time, which is just as well.” He gave Finrod a thin smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Could you have left the priesthood?”

“Oh sure, and others in my position did just that, but ultimately, I am not answerable to the church hierarchy, but to our Creator, for it was He who called me to my vocation and He has not released me from it.”

“And so you minister to the people of Wiseman, living out your days in solitude, waiting to die.” Finrod made it less a question and more a statement and even he was surprised at the bitterness he heard in his tone.

Charles gave him a searching look and then the smile he gave him became more genuine. “It is not a bad life. I will admit that when I first came here, I thought God had abandoned me, but over the years, and very recently, I’ve seen just how devious He is.”

Finrod gave him a surprised look. “How do you mean?”

“Well, just think, Your Highness. Until I came to Wiseman, and that was some thirty years ago, there wasn’t even a permanent priest in residence. The priest from Chandalar would visit the various communities in this region over the course of a month and offer the sacraments. If I had not been sent here, you would’ve had to deal with Gerald O’Hara, and, quite frankly, he makes Tom Peterson look like a bloody liberal. You would have gotten no joy from him. But you have me instead and I am grateful to the good Lord for letting me live long enough to meet with Elves. If I had left the priesthood, and many of my friends counseled just that, I would not have come here to Wiseman and we would never have met.”

“I see,” Finrod said.

“Probably less than you think,” the priest shot back, though there was no rancor in his voice. “Now, you didn’t come here to listen to an old man speak of the follies of his youth. What is really troubling you, my friend? I get the sense that you are still feeling depressed, or rather, you are experiencing a new depression.”

Finrod sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I feel as if I am being pulled in five directions at once and I have no idea how to bring everything under control again. Glorfindel is insisting on leaving the hospital and going to Fairbanks. He says it is important and sending an email ordering the Twins home will not work. The only way to bring them back is to go after them and he is the only one, apparently, to whom they will listen.”

“Is Loren well enough to leave the hospital?”

“Not according to the doctors, but Glorfindel is insisting that he has healed well enough that he can leave and reluctantly I must agree. He is healing more quickly than a Mortal under the circumstances.” He gave the priest a brittle smile. “I guess I am enjoying the peace and quiet without him.”

Charles chuckled. “I know what you mean. Well, I’m not about to advise you either way, but I think you should at least allow him to leave the hospital and come home. In my experience, people recover more quickly surrounded by the familiar. If he’s home being coddled by one and all, he’s unlikely to cause too much trouble.”

“I almost have to agree with you,” Finrod said. “He’s a terrible patient.”

Waverly laughed. “Aren’t we all? Now, as to your own problem, my advice, for what it’s worth, is this: don’t think you are the only one who needs to hold everything together. You have thirty-odd people living in Edhellond who are all quite capable of helping you if you just allow them to, and that’s especially true of those who’ve lived among us Mortals. You should be relying more on Darren and Ron and even Amroth to handle things while Loren is laid up.”

“You are right, of course,” Finrod acknowledged. “I guess I am too used to having everyone defer to me instead of taking up the reins of responsibility for themselves.” He drained his mug and rose. “I should be going. I am supposed to stand watch over Glorfindel tonight and I am late for dinner.”

“Have they found out who was responsible?” Charles asked as he stood and saw Finrod to the door.

“Not that I have heard, but I am sure we will eventually. Thank you for the tea and the advice.” He held out his hand and the priest shook it.

“Anytime, my friend. You know where to find me. God go with you.”

Finrod nodded and stepped outside to continue on his way to Edhellond.

****

Darren offered to drive him to the hospital after dinner. “I have to teach tonight,” he told him, “and I’ll be going right by St. Luke’s.”

Finrod reached the hospital in time to meet Alex, Derek and Zach, who were just leaving. They met in the lobby where Finrod was picking up a visitor’s pass. They had been visiting with Glorfindel who had been moved out of intensive care and into a private room only that morning.

“Dude’s ready to scream,” Derek said with a grin as he and the other two greeted Finrod and apprised him of their visit. “Not that I blame him. Being stuck in a hospital is not my idea of a good time.”

“It’s no one’s idea,” Alex retorted with a grin. “I told Loren that the next time I come I’ll bring him a jigsaw puzzle or something for him to play with. That should keep him occupied and feeling less bored.”

“Have you heard from Dan and Roy?” Zach asked. “We heard they skipped town and took the fair Sarah with them… the lucky dogs.” Alex and Derek chuckled.

Finrod raised an eyebrow at the young Man’s teasing tone. “I have not heard anything from them directly, but we have heard from them. They are in Fairbanks according to Vorondur.”

“Yeah, Loren kept going on about that, insisting he needed to go after them,” Alex said. “Derek here even volunteered to sneak him out and help him on his way.”

“While you spent fifteen minutes explaining every obstacle there is to sneaking out of a hospital,” Derek countered, “which is rich, considering you did it without anyone knowing.”

“That’s because I’m a trained agent and I was alone,” Alex retorted with a sniff. “You and Zach were ready to sneak him out by pretending to take him for a walk around the ward. You wouldn’t have made it to the elevators.”

“Whereas I could help Glorfindel walk out of here without any Mortal being the wiser,” Finrod interjected with a grin, his depression lifting at the banter.

The three Men looked at him with varying degrees of disbelief. “Yeah? How so?” Derek asked.

“I’d love to see you try,” Alex said almost at the same time, a huge smile on his face.

“Me, too,” Zach chimed in, not to be left out. “Can we come watch?”

Finrod laughed. “And what makes you think I would do anything of the sort? I only said I could do it, if I wished, and I do not wish. If Glorfindel truly felt the need to leave here, he could do it under his own power. He would not need me to help him.”

“It would still be fun to watch, though,” Alex said. “But listen, I have to go down to Fairbanks before the weekend to meet with my adviser. Maybe I can track down Dan and Roy for you and at least make sure they and Sarah are doing well. I might even be able to convince them to come home.”

“Your offer is generous, Alex, and I thank you for it,” Finrod said, giving him a slight bow, which surprised the Mortals. “Now, I had better go up and see Glorfindel before he causes any trouble. He really should not be left alone for any length of time."

“He’s bored,” Derek said, “and I don’t blame him. I know I would be.”

“And a bored Reborn is a dangerous Reborn,” Finrod said with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Now the three young Men all raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Derek said.

Zach took a quick glance at his wristwatch. “Hey, movie starts in twenty minutes. We’d better get going.”

The three Mortals bid Finrod a good night and headed outside while Finrod made his way to the elevators thinking about the conversation he’d had with Charles. Once on the ward, he went in search of Glorfindel’s room, finding it with the help of one of the nurses. He nodded at the police officer who was guarding the door as he entered and found his gwador lying in bed, looking almost as depressed as he felt. When he saw Finrod, though, Glorfindel’s expression lightened and he sat up.

“Come to baby sit?” he asked, and there was just a hint of anger in his tone.

“Only if you insist that I sit on a helpless baby,” Finrod said, deliberately misunderstanding Glorfindel’s words. “Would that be you by any chance?”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “It might. Depends.”

“On what?”

The ellon shrugged, looking indifferent. “On how much longer you all are going to keep me here.”

“Pui-en-orch!” Finrod spat in Sindarin, sounding exasperated and disgusted at the same time. Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. “I know full well that you could walk out of here at any time without one of those Mortals out there seeing you do it. So desist with your act. No one has restrained you.”

Glorfindel’s mien darkened dangerously. “And they had better not try,” he said coldly.

“That’s better,” Finrod said with a satisfied nod as he sat in a chair and handed Glorfindel a paperback book that he had brought with him. “I found this while straightening the shelves and thought of you.”

Glorfindel took the book and glanced at the cover. “Murder on Ward Three: A Katie Sharpley Mystery. Hmph.” He gave Finrod a skeptical look as he turned the book over and began reading the summary out loud. “‘Dr. Mason Thackery was the hospital’s finest surgeon. He was also very much dead with a scalpel stuck in his heart. Retired detective Katie Sharpley, recovering from heart surgery, decides to find out who had it in for the good doctor and learns what an unsavory person the man really was and the list of suspects begins to grow. Then, there is another death on the ward. Someone is stalking the hospital and if she’s not careful, Katie Sharpley might be the killer’s next victim.’” He looked up at Finrod. “Thanks, I think. There are a couple of sadistic nurses I’d like to do in while I’m here. This might give me some ideas.”

Finrod grinned, knowing his gwador did not mean it. “I met Alex, Derek and Zach,” he said. “They tell me they offered to help you sneak out of here.”

“They’re good boys,” Glorfindel said facetiously, adopting a doting look and sounding like someone’s aunty. “So eager to please.”

Finrod laughed. “Seriously, though, when do you intend to stop playacting and just leave?”

Glorfindel gave him a suspicious look. “What do you mean? You exacted a promise from me not to attempt to leave until the doctors allowed it. Now you’re practically giving me permission to break my oath to you. What are you up to, Finrod?”

“I am not up to anything,” Finrod replied with equanimity. “I am, however, reconsidering things.” He sighed, shaking his head. “With you here and the Twins gone, Edhellond is just not the same, and to tell you the truth, I am having difficulty keeping everything together.”

“Oh? Why is that? Who’s giving you trouble?”

“Who isn’t?” Finrod threw up his hands with exasperation. “Helyanwë refuses to leave her room, my son and niece and the two other youngsters have not stopped playing something called Monopoly since the night you were attacked and when I mentioned that they must begin readying themselves to move to the college they just shrugged and said they were seriously thinking of… of dropping out, I believe is the expression.”

Glorfindel scowled. “They can’t do that, not after all the strings I pulled to get them accepted without them having to go through the process of getting a GED first or taking the SATs. What about everyone else?”

“Oh, those from Valinor are fine, though the healers are all miffed because they’ve been barred from the hospital for the time being. Kyle and Geoffrey have given them reading assignments having to do with hospital procedures and medical ethics and they will be tested on those before they are permitted to resume their training. The Wiseman people are studiously polite and will not blatantly disobey me but they all double-check with Daeron first before complying with any orders I might give.”

“And that is your problem right there,” Glorfindel said.

“What do you mean?”

“In the last two years since we came here, I have never given an order to anyone.”

“Impossible!” Finrod exclaimed. “You are their leader. Of course you gave them orders.”

“No. I gave them options.”

Now Finrod was thoroughly confused and it must have shown on his face because Glorfindel smiled sympathetically. “Do you order your wife around, Finrod?” he asked him.

“Valar! The very idea! She would skin me alive and hang me out to dry if I even tried.”

“Exactly. Why? Because you see your relationship with Amarië as a partnership in which you both contribute. Well, it’s the same with us Wiseman Elves. We’re all partners in the enterprise called Elf Academy, and yes, as the Administrator, I make the final decisions, but I don’t order anyone around. I offer them viable options. Oh yes, I make plain which option I prefer, but I give them all the chance to choose differently and sometimes their choosing the opposite of what I would want for them works out for the better. Why? Because I am not Eru and I don’t know everything. Also, we discuss everything and come to a consensus to which all can agree. I doubt you’ve asked for anyone’s opinion about anything. You’ve simply told them what you wanted from them.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.”

“And with those who came with you from Valinor, that would work, because they are used to that kind of vertical top-down social structuring, but here in Wiseman, we have a horizontal structure where all make the decisions together. If nothing else, you need to be seen consulting with Daeron before giving any orders.”

“I would think that decision-making by committee would take too long in a crisis, though,” Finrod pointed out.

“And, of course, you’re correct, but you are not in a crisis, not any longer. That situation has resolved itself.” He fell silent at that point, idly flipping pages of the paperback while Finrod sat there thinking things over. He closed his eyes, feeling tired all of a sudden.

“I fear I’ve made a mess of things.”

“No, Finrod, you haven’t,” Glorfindel assured him. “Now, let’s change the subject. As soon as I’m released from here I want to make plans to leave for Fairbanks. I need to get those two hellions back here and I’m sure Ron and Holly would like Sarah back as well.”

“You keep insisting that you and you alone can convince the sons of Elrond to return and it is no good for any of the rest of us to go in your stead. Fair enough, but, whatever you say to the contrary, you are in no position physically to drive to Fairbanks. I am willing to arrange for others to do the driving for you. You just have to let me know when you wish to leave.”

“Who would come with me?” Glorfindel asked.

“Vorondur for obvious reasons,” Finrod replied and Glorfindel nodded in agreement. “I think I might join you and perhaps Daeron.”

“Why Daeron? Not that I object, mind you. We go way back and he and I have had our share of adventures tracking down the Twins whenever they’ve disappeared off the radar.”

“Which is why I would like him to come. He is very wise and next to you he has had the most experience in dealing with Elrond’s sons. I would like Laurendil to come as well in his capacity as a healer.”

“Not Vardamir?” Glorfindel enquired. “He outranks them all.”

“No. Vardamir will remain here. If there is trouble, Laurendil can be an extra sword.”

“And do you expect trouble?”

Finrod snorted. “With you, Brother, that is almost a given.”

To that, Glorfindel had no retort knowing there was some truth to the statement. Silence fell between them, a silence that was not uncomfortable, a silence as between friends or brothers. Finally, he looked up. “Give me another day to rest and I will be ready to go.”

Finrod nodded. “I will tell the others. Now, why don’t you read the book I brought out loud? I am curious to know who killed the good doctor myself.”

Glorfindel grinned and opened the book to the first page. “‘Chapter One. Retired detective Katie Sharpley was bored lying in bed as she recovered from open-heart surgery….’”. He snorted. “Well, I can certainly sympathize.” Finrod grinned and Glorfindel continued reading. “‘God, she exclaimed aloud, addressing the ceiling, give me a good murder or at least a good book to keep me from going ga-ga….’”

****

Notes:

1. Panis Angelicus by Cesar Frank: If you are unfamiliar with this beautiful hymn you can listen to renditions of it on YouTube. The one sung by Renee Fleming is especially lovely.

2. The book, Murder on Ward Three: A Katie Sharpley Mystery is fictional and does not exist outside the author’s imagination.

41: The Road to Fairbanks

They took turns reading chapters. Glorfindel fell asleep as Finrod was in the middle of chapter twelve. He turned off all but one light and spent the rest of his watch reading the book to himself. Around two, a nurse came in to check vitals. Glorfindel never woke. Barahir showed up around four to take over the watch just as Finrod was finishing reading the final chapter.

“Quiet night?” the ellon asked him in a whisper.

“Yes, thank the Valar!” Finrod exclaimed, as he stood up and placed the book on the tray for Glorfindel to find.

“Conan is downstairs with the car. Alfa will have breakfast waiting for you when you get home,” Barahir said. “Oatmeal is on the menu today.” He grinned knowingly at the Elf prince and Finrod grinned back. Everyone in Edhellond knew of his love for oatmeal.

“Thank you. When Glorfindel awakes, tell him that I will see to everything. He will know what I mean.”

“Sure, no problem. Enjoy your breakfast.” Barahir settled in the chair Finrod had vacated, opening the thick magazine he had brought with him. Finrod caught a glimpse of the glossy cover and the word ‘Architect’ as he was leaving, casting one last look at the still sleeping Glorfindel. He made his way down to the lobby and out the door and saw Cennanion sitting in the jeep, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music coming from the radio.

As Finrod opened the passenger side door and climbed in, Cennanion smiled, turning down the music. “How’s Loren?”

“He was sleeping soundly,” Finrod answered as he pulled the seat belt around him.

“Good. So when will he be released?”

“Tomorrow. He agreed to one more day of rest before we go to Fairbanks.”

“So he’s still insisting on that, is he?” the ellon said as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to Edhellond through deserted streets, streetlights and traffic lights glowing eerily in the darkness.

“Yes. I need to make arrangements for others to drive him, though. He is in no shape to do that. Which vehicle would be the most comfortable for him?”

“His own,” Cennanion replied. “You can put some of the seats down to make a bed when sitting up is too tiring for him. This time of year, getting to Fairbanks is an adventure in itself and you’ll be lucky to get there under six hours. He’ll be dead tired long before you arrive.”

“Thank you. Could you see that we are sufficiently supplied with fuel for the trip?”

“Sure. Not a problem. I’ll take the van to the garage later this morning and have them check it over as well, make sure everything is copasetic. You do not want car trouble on that road. There’s just miles and miles of miles and miles between here and Fairbanks.”

Finrod nodded and fell silent as Cennanion continued to drive. In spite of his own misgivings about Glorfindel’s ability to withstand such an arduous trip in his condition, he was feeling excited by the thought of seeing a large mortal city. As large as Wiseman was, he had been assured that Fairbanks was even larger and he had seen evidence of this from watching television.

Once back home, he told those who happened to be awake his plans. Almost everyone clamored to be able to go with him and Glorfindel, including, much to his satisfaction, the Three Amigos and Nell. It was the most animation any of them had exhibited in the last week.

“Your classes begin next week,” he reminded them. “You should be concentrating on getting moved into your rooms and making friends with the Mortals who will be your classmates.”

They reluctantly agreed to this. Finrod gave them a sympathetic smile. “If you are diligent in your studies I will arrange for you to go to Fairbanks for a weekend later in the spring.”

That cheered them up some.

“So who do you wish to accompany you and Loren?” Daeron asked as he and some of the others joined Finrod in the dining room where they were enjoying breakfast together. Alphwen served them, placing a large bowl of oatmeal before Finrod and then bringing out a plate of scrambled eggs for the others.

“If you are able, I would like you to come,” Finrod replied as he began eating.

“Any particular reason why?”

“From what Glorfindel has told me, you and he have had previous experience in tracking down the Twins. I do not think Glorfindel will be able to do so by himself. He is too weak yet and the journey will probably kill him anyway.”

“Probably,” Daeron said with a nod, “but Loren is just stubborn enough to defy all odds just to spite us. Well, I’ll be glad to join you. Someone will have to take over Loren’s Quenya class while we’re gone. I was planning on teaching it until Loren was back on his feet.”

“Could one of us from Valinor teach it?” Valandur asked.

Daeron shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Are you volunteering?” At Valandur’s nod, he continued. “You will be teaching adults from the community. This is a beginning language class and at this stage they are learning simple phrases and becoming familiar with tengwar. I will have all the materials for you along with a lesson plan. You merely have to follow it.”

Valandur smiled. “I do know how to conduct a language class, Daeron. I was teaching first-year students at the Academy in Vanyamar when you were still trying to figure out how to write your runes.”

Daeron raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, excuse me for breathing, as the Mortals like to say.”

Valandur laughed, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Peace, my friend. I did not mean to impugn you in any way. It’s been ages since I’ve stood before a class. It should be fun.”

Before Daeron could respond to this, Finrod interceded. “I also want Laurendil to join us to keep an eye on Glorfindel. Vorondur, of course, will insist on coming as well. Cennanion is seeing to Glorfindel’s van to make sure it is in good shape for the trip and that it has sufficient fuel.”

“That’s five of us, with Ron and me as drivers,” Daeron said, “but why Laurendil and not Vardamir?”

“If there is trouble, I prefer Laurendil by my side,” was the only explanation Finrod was willing to offer. A brief, uneasy silence followed and several people exchanged concerned looks which Finrod ignored.

 “Anyone else?” Daeron asked after a moment.

Finrod hesitated, not sure how the others would take his idea. “I know Alex is planning to go to Fairbanks as well. Perhaps he would like to join us.”

Daeron shrugged. “Only way to find out is to ask. If he agrees, I’m sure Derek will insist on coming with him.”

“I suspect as much and I have no objections.”

“Yes, but why? They could simply drive down themselves and they would not be tied to us. There is no guarantee that we will find the Twins immediately or be able to convince them to return home with us when we do. We may be there for a while and I know Alex and Derek have to be back here by Monday. Alex begins teaching next week and Derek has his own responsibilities. They cannot linger even if we must.”

“Call it a feeling,” Finrod said, not wishing to say more.

Daeron shrugged again. “Well, as I said, we can but ask.”

“You will have to contact them sometime this morning, for they may already be making plans to leave,” Valandur pointed out.

“I can call them later,” Daeron said. “It’s too early yet. They’re probably both asleep still.”

“What else do we need for the trip?” Finrod asked.

“I’ll put together a cooler for you with food and drink,” Alphwen said. “Once you pass the turn-off to Evansville and Bettles, there’s no place to stop and eat until you get to Livengood and by then you’re about an hour or so outside Fairbanks.”

“We should also bring blankets and a pillow for Glorfindel in case he wishes to lie down,” Daeron said.

Finrod nodded to both Alphwen and Daeron. “Thank you. Now, while we are gone, I will ask Amroth to be in charge, unless anyone has objections.”

“Why would we?” Valandur asked, looking puzzled. “With you and Glorfindel gone, he is the highest-ranking among us. I would prefer that he be here rather than across town, but that is a minor matter.”

“He and Della could move back temporarily if that would ease your minds,” Daeron suggested.

“As you would say, we can but ask,” Finrod said. “I had better go and change. I need to be at the bookstore in an hour and I have to convince Nicholas to let me take the rest of the week off. I hate to leave him without help.”

“I’m sure he’ll agree when he understands the reason why and he’ll manage just fine without you for a few days,” Daeron assured him.

“We can only hope. Thank you for breakfast, Alphwen,” Finrod said as he stood. “Daeron, you had better contact Kyle or Geoffrey and alert them to the fact that Glorfindel will be leaving tomorrow. I’m sure they will want to lodge a protest. If they resist, direct them to me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Finrod. I will gladly direct all and sundry to you to deal with,” Daeron said with a wry look. “I’m going to be far too busy packing to bother with such trivialities.”

Finrod forwent making a retort and simply raised an eyebrow as he left the room while everyone else chuckled.

****

When Finrod got to the bookstore he found Nicholas to be surprisingly sanguine about letting him have a few days off to go to Fairbanks.

“I thought you would object since I have only just started working here,” Finrod said as the two stood around sipping on tea and waiting for the store to warm up.

Nick shrugged. “You took over for me at a moment’s notice when I had to go home and did quite well, so consider this your reward. Besides, I have the feeling that if I did object you would still go and then I would have to fire you and go through the bother of finding a replacement. Giving you my permission is a safer bet.”

“I hope not to be gone long,” Finrod said.

“Do what you need to and bring those two rapscallions and Sarah home. I know Ron and Holly are probably out of their minds with worry and I bet Loren’s not much better. He thinks of those two troublemakers as the sons he never had.”

“Oh? How do you know this?” Finrod eyed the Mortal with deep curiosity.

Nick looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh, you know. He comes in looking for a new mystery and we get talking about things. He’s mentioned Dan and Roy a few times, usually to complain about their latest escapade. But as exasperated as he might be, I could tell he was very proud of them and he had the same look in his eyes that I’ve seen in some of my friends who are parents when they’re talking about their kids.”

Finrod thought about that, remembering the way Glorfindel’s eyes always lit up whenever he spoke of the Twins, how proud and even doting he sounded when they did something that met with his approval and the love he had for them even when he was chastising them for some misdeed. He realized he had seen his own atar act that way toward him and his siblings and he knew he did the same with his own children, Finda, especially.

“I think you may be right about that,” he finally said. “Well, in the meantime I had better get to work. Do you wish for me to reorganize the non-fiction sections? I noticed that they appear to be in some disarray.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to do that. We don’t get much call for non-fiction so I’ve sort of let that section get a bit messy. Why don’t you start with these shelves here and I’ll start at the other end?”

They set to work, occasionally stopping to attend to the odd customer. Twice Finrod was called to the phone to speak with Daeron and once Alex called. Finrod took a few moments to convince him and Derek to join them on their trip to Fairbanks.

“We plan to leave for the hospital to pick up Glorfindel around eight,” Finrod said to Alex. “Come to Edhellond around seven and have breakfast with us.”

So that was all arranged. Around the time Finrod was finishing his shift, Dave Michaelson stepped into the store, looking less than pleased. “I understand Loren’s being released from the hospital tomorrow and then leaving for Fairbanks. We’re still investigating the mugging. I still need his own statement.”

“You can either get it from him today or you must wait until we return, David,” Finrod said, sounding imperious. He had every respect for the Man and understood his position but he was not in the mood to placate him. Glorfindel’s needs took precedence.

“Where do you think I’ve been for the last hour?” Dave said in exasperation. “He says he remembers nothing.”

“Glorfindel would not lie,” Finrod said.

“Loren would lie to God if he thought he could get away with it,” Dave shot back. “That guy has a knack of not saying anything by saying something totally inane but you think he’s actually saying something until you stop long enough to really listen to what he’s not saying.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow and Nick, who was listening unashamedly to the conversation, snorted in amusement. “I’m sure there’s a logic to that statement, but it escapes me.”

Finrod turned to Nick with a smile. “It escapes me too.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that I don’t trust Loren to tell me the truth if he thinks I don’t deserve to hear it. I notice you Elves are pretty good at that and it really makes me want to scream at times.”

Finrod gave the Man a sympathetic smile. “David, I know how frustrated you are, but I can assure you that Glorfindel truly does not remember the attack. I know when he is being untruthful, that is one of my gifts as a ruler. Glorfindel knows this and knows better than to dissemble before me.”

“I still don’t like the idea of him hightailing off to Fairbanks.”

“Neither do I, but I know he needs to do this thing. He is very concerned about the Twins and Serindë, naturally, and Vorondur is coming with us. I also will have one of our healers on hand just in case.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I cannot say. I hope not very long but it all depends on how soon we are able to find the Twins and convince them and Serindë to return with us.”

Dave sighed. “Okay. I’m going to pull the guard off. I don’t think it’s necessary now. Just, well, just let me know when you get back, okay? Maybe by then we’ll have found something. I’d like to find the bastards who did this and put them away for a very long time.”

“You echo my own sentiments,” Finrod said. “Thank you for stopping by, David,” and he sounded stiff and formal even to himself.

“Such a polite non-dismissal from the great Finrod Felagund,” Dave said sourly as he opened the door and stepped outside. “Catch you later, Nick.”

“See ya, Dave,” Nick said cheerfully, giving the man a wave as the door closed.

Finrod turned to Nick, looking rueful. “Too pompous?”

Nick wiggled the fingers of one hand. “Just a bit. You need to work on being humble and contrite when Authority walks through the door.”

Finrod snorted. “I will take that under advisement,” he said and Nick laughed.

****

Eventually, all the arrangements were made. Finrod went to the hospital, bringing with him a change of clothes, assuring Glorfindel that everything was set.

“I will have someone pack a bag for you,” he told him and Glorfindel thanked him.

Finrod also made sure that the administrative matters of releasing Glorfindel from the hospital would be expedited and there would be no delays. Alex and Derek showed up as planned around seven the next morning and joined Finrod, Daeron, Vorondur and Laurendil — “Call me Randall as I need to get used to responding to my Mortal name”— for breakfast.

“And don’t worry about getting back,” Vorondur told them. “If we have to stay longer than Sunday, we’ll put you on the plane to Bettles and we can have Conan or Barry come get you.”

Then it was time to pick up Glorfindel and they all piled into the van, stowing their gear. Alex and Derek brought out the cooler and Daeron carried some blankets and a pillow. About that time, Amroth showed up with Della and Holly to wish them godspeed. The other Elves living at Edhellond were on hand as well and there was much waving as the party set off with Vorondur at the wheel. Finrod was pleased to find that Glorfindel was already waiting in the lobby with an orderly when they arrived at the hospital and in a matter of minutes he was safely ensconced in the van and they were off.

“Valar! It’s good to be out!” Glorfindel exclaimed with much feeling as he carefully buckled the safety belt.

Everyone nodded in agreement. “Well, sit back and relax,” Vorondur said as he drove toward the road leading to the highway. “We have a long ride ahead of us. If you need to lie down, tell us. We brought blankets and we can set up a bed for you. Randall, check his meds and find out when he’s due.”

Laurendil reached over from where he was sitting and took the plastic medicine bag from Glorfindel. “I assume you were given your meds this morning,” he said as he checked the vials.

“Yes, though really, I don’t think I need them,” Glorfindel stated.

“You let us be the judge of that, my friend,” Vorondur said. “What’s he taking?”

Laurendil rattled off the various medications and their dosage. They meant nothing to Finrod but Vorondur nodded and he was reminded again that here was another who was already a doctor. They probably didn’t need to bring Laurendil at all, but he somehow felt safer with his liegeman beside him.

“He’s set for all of these except the antibiotics,” Laurendil was saying. “What time did you take your meds?” he asked Glorfindel.

“Around seven.”

“Then you won’t need another dose until eleven.”

Vorondur nodded. “I’ll leave it to you to keep track of his meds and make sure he’s taking them, Randall, and Loren?”

“Yes?”

“Any arguments about it, and I will turn this van around no matter where we are. You got that?”

Even Finrod was shocked by Vorondur’s tone, never mind Glorfindel, but he noticed the grins on Alex’s and Derek’s faces and realized that Vorondur knew Glorfindel very well, perhaps better than he did. Glorfindel glowered for a moment. “Yeah, I got it. Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, just for a stubborn, impossible ellon who has a nasty habit of ignoring all orders from those he considers his inferiors just because he’s the great and powerful balrog-slayer. And you should be grateful.”

“Why?”

“Because in an earlier age you would’ve been forced to down vile herbal potions instead of pills.”

Finrod was not the only Elf to shudder at that, remembering some of those same vile potions he had been forced to drink to stave off infection from sword wounds.

After that, Glorfindel seemed to settle down and Finrod could tell he was feeling tired already. “Do you wish to lie down?” he asked solicitously. “We can stop long enough to pull the seats down for you.”

“No. I’m all right,” Glorfindel said. “Is there any water?”

“Here,” Derek said, opening the cooler that was sitting on the floor between him and Alex. He reached in for some bottled water and handed it to the Elf. “Anyone else?” Everyone else shook their heads.

“If anyone needs to relieve themselves, just call out and I’ll pull over when it’s convenient to do so,” Vorondur said.

And then they settled into silence. Finrod looked out the window to watch the scenery go by, while Glorfindel sipped on his water. Laurendil pulled out a book to read, clipping a booklight to it so as not to disturb anyone else. Alex and Derek were sharing the daily newspaper between them with Alex working on the New York Times crossword puzzle while Derek struggled with the Suduko puzzle. Daeron turned on the CD player and Sibelius’ second symphony filled the air. Then he opened his own book and started reading.

They remained this way for some time, passing the turn-off to Bettles after about an hour or so. Vorondur was not going all that fast, perhaps forty or forty-five tops. The road was fairly cleared of snow but it was still dark and only the van headlights lit the way. The sky was overcast and no stars shown. By the time they came to the sign marking the Arctic Circle, the two Mortals had fallen asleep and Glorfindel was weaving dreams. Finrod still stared out onto the scenery, now faintly lit with sunlight diffused behind the clouds. Vorondur pulled over to the parking lot.

“Let’s stop and stretch and change drivers,” Vorondur said and everyone agreed, the Mortals waking up somewhat befuddled. “Are we there yet?” Derek whined and Alex punched him in the arm as he laughed and even Glorfindel chuckled as he allowed Laurendil and Finrod to help him out of the van. There were groans of relief and sighs of pleasure as they stretched and breathed the cold air.

Finrod wandered over to the sign. It was taller than he by a good foot and a half and stood between six wooden pillars, three on each side. A large globe took up about half of the sign and the words Arctic Circle took up the other half. Below this were the words Dalton Highway Alaska Latitude 66° 33’. The globe was rather odd to Finrod’s eyes. It showed what was obviously landmasses and water with a dotted line circling the center.

“That’s the North Pole.”

Finrod turned to see Daeron next to him pointing at the sign. “The dotted line represents the Arctic Circle where we are now. During the summer you get lots of tourist making the trip here. You can even get a certificate proving that you’ve crossed the Arctic Circle.”

“Why?” Finrod asked, rather puzzled by the notion.

Daeron shrugged. “Mortals have a rather romantic view of the world, I find. We’re having some coffee. Do you want any?”

Finrod nodded and followed Daeron back to the van where the others were standing about drinking their coffee. Finrod accepted a cup from Vorondur with thanks and for the next several minutes they were silent. Once the coffee was drunk and the thermos put away, they climbed back into the van with Daeron taking the wheel.

“Well, about another two hundred miles to go,” Daeron said as he pulled back onto the road. “With luck we should be in Fairbanks by two, three at the latest.”

But that prediction proved false.

About an hour south of the Arctic Circle Daeron was forced to stop rather suddenly. Everyone gasped at the sight before them: herds of caribou were crossing the road, moving northeast.

“There must be hundreds of them,” Alex exclaimed.

“More like thousands,” Vorondur said. “They’re migrating early this year.”

“Do you remember hunting similar creatures as we trekked across the Helcaraxë, Aranya?” Laurendil asked.

“And those tusked monsters,” Finrod replied with a nod.

Laurendil shivered convincingly. “Please do not remind me. I still have nightmares about them.”

It took nearly two hours for the herds to clear the road, for they were not moving quickly and many were stopping to graze, pushing the snow around to find food.

“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Finrod asked. They had decided to get out and watch the migration, sharing out some of the sandwiches Alphwen had made for them. Daeron had turned off the engine so as not to waste gas. The Elves stood around watching, ignoring the cold, though both Alex and Derek were bundled up and each had a blanket wrapped around them as well, for Glorfindel said he didn’t need them.

“Not that often, but it does happen,” Glorfindel said. “Bears are another thing to watch for though usually only in the summer months.”

Eventually, the stragglers crossed over and were gone over a fold of the earth and the road was clear. They climbed back into the van with Daeron still driving. Both Alex and Derek were shivering and Daeron turned the heat up high until they began unzipping their coats and pulling off hats and gloves. Only then did he resume traveling.

“Let’s hope that’s our only delay,” he said and the others grunted in agreement.

“From your lips to God’s ears,” Finrod heard Alex mutter and Finrod had a sinking feeling that the Mortal’s words would prove true.

They reached the Yukon River to find that the bridge was blocked by a truck. It was sideways to the bridge and they could see that one of its tires had blown. Two Men were struggling to change it.

“Great,” Glorfindel muttered in disgust. “Just great.”

“We had better go help,” Vorondur said even as he was opening the door. “Loren, stay here with Alex and Derek.”

“We’re not babies, Ron,” Alex groused. “Stop treating us as if we were.”

“No, you’re not,” Vorondur said, “but I need someone to keep Loren amused or he’ll be out there trying to help and that’s the last thing we need. We shouldn’t be long.”

He climbed out of the van and Daeron, Finrod and Laurendil joined him. Glorfindel and the two Mortals watched them approach the truckers, who appeared more than happy to have the help. It took a while though, for the weather, which had been calm all day turned suddenly as it was bound to do, and now they were attempting to change the tire in what amounted to a whiteout.

“Sure glad I’m not out there freezing my butt off,” Derek said, “but I gotta pee.”

Alex and Glorfindel exchanged amused looks. “Do you think you can hold it until we get to Fairbanks?” Glorfindel asked. “We’re only about a hundred and thirty miles from the city, but with this snow and all, we won’t be going fast. I’ll be surprised if we get up to forty and we’ll more likely be driving around thirty, so it’s going to take another three hours or so.”

Derek groaned in agony. “Let me out,” he said and Alex moved over to open the door for him. He scrambled out, mildly swearing at the snow and the wind. Alex quickly shut the door, suppressing a shiver.

“How are you holding up?” he asked Glorfindel.

“Well enough, though I can’t wait to get to our hotel. Speaking of which, where are you and Derek staying?”

“The Best Western Plus Chena River Lodge,” Alex answered. “It’s just off Airport Way, less than two miles from the airport and the University, though it’s a good eight miles into the city. It’s relatively cheap and clean and has all the amenities. What about you guys? I never thought to ask where you intend to stay. Did you make reservations?”

“We’ll be staying in the city,” Glorfindel said, “at the Downtown Log Cabin Hideaway B and B, where Della stayed when Farrell was threatening Amroth.”

“Oh yeah, it’s very lovely,” Alex said with a nod. “The owners seemed very friendly.”

“They’re good people and go above and beyond to see to their guests’ comfort.”

“Where do you think Dan and Roy are hiding out?”

“I have no idea, though I should be able to sense them once we’re in the city.” He sighed and leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes.

“You sure you don’t want to lie down?” Alex asked worriedly. “You look pretty wrung out.”

“I am fine, truly. Is there anything left to eat?”

Alex opened the cooler. “Some ham and cheese sandwiches, bags of pretzels and Oreo cookies. What’s your pleasure, sir?”

“A sandwich will do.”

Alex handed him a sandwich just as the door opened and Derek hopped in. “Man oh man, why did I ever agree to move to Alaska?”

“Because you’re a glutton for punishment,” Alex said. “Here, have a sandwich and some pretzels and the coffee is still hot. That should warm you back up.”

The three ate in companionable silence and after another fifteen minutes they saw their friends returning, all of them covered with snow and looking like well-dressed yetis, as Derek commented, causing both Glorfindel and Alex to nearly choke on their food and drink in laughter.

“All set?” Glorfindel asked as they all climbed back in, shaking the snow from them. Alex began pouring more coffee with Derek handing it out. Everyone gave them grateful looks.

“Yes,” Daeron answered after taking an appreciative sip of the hot drink. “As soon as they can move the truck we’ll be on our way. Blast this snow! At this rate it’ll be almost time for dinner before we get to Fairbanks.”

“Time for your meds, Loren,” Laurendil said, checking his watch. Glorfindel nodded and reached for the plastic bag.

“Okay, here we go,” Daeron said, placing his cup in the holder and shifting out of park. The truck lumbered past them and they headed across the bridge.

As Glorfindel had predicted, the snow slowed them up and they were a good three hours later than they had anticipated in arriving in the city so that it was going on six by the time they were coming into the northern suburbs. Vorondur, who was now driving again after they had stopped at a gas station in Livengood so everyone could use the bathroom, took them down Route 2 toward Airport Way and Alex was giving him directions to the hotel where he and Derek intended to stay.

Finrod sat feeling stunned at the sight of the mass of buildings, the wide highways and all the people. He could hear Laurendil muttering, “And this is a small city? They would never believe it back in Aman.” He had to agree. What made it worse was the nonchalance of Vorondur maneuvering through the heavy traffic in what Daeron explained was rush hour, though it didn’t seem as if anyone was rushing anywhere. Glancing at Glorfindel, he was dismayed to see him dozing and ignoring all the sights and realized that to him, indeed to all the Wiseman Elves, this was a case of ‘been there, done that’, as the Mortals of his acquaintance liked to say. He suddenly felt like a rustic from the Southern Fiefdoms coming to Tirion for the first time.

Just as Vorondur was pulling into the hotel parking lot, Glorfindel suddenly sat up, his eyes wide. “They’re here.”

“Where?” Finrod said, reluctantly pulling his gaze from the window. “Here at the hotel?”

“No, but they’re not far. I can sense them, or at least Dan. I think I can sense Dan. What about you, Ron? Can you feel Sarah?”

“She’s somewhere here in the city, I can tell you that much but beyond that…” Vorondur shrugged apologetically. “I’m afraid I never bothered to hone my bond to the point where I could pinpoint her location. It was enough for me to know she was alive and well.”

“Look, let Derek and me go in and get registered and all and then we’ll come with you,” Alex pleaded to Finrod. “We don’t want to miss the action.” Derek nodded, looking eager.

Finrod gave them a nod. “We will wait.” Glorfindel sighed and Vorondur turned off the engine.

“Great. We won’t be long, promise.” Alex said as he and Derek scrambled out of the van and grabbed their bags. Fifteen minutes later they were back outside. “Sorry, we had to wait in line at the registration desk,” Alex said as he and Derek got back in the van.

“That is not a problem,” Finrod assured them. “It gave Glorfindel time to ascertain which direction we must travel.”

Vorondur turned on the engine and shifted into drive and they were off. “We need to go west on Airport,” Glorfindel said. “I don’t think it’s far. There! Turn there,” he directed and Vorondur complied.

“Alpine Lodge,” Vorondur said out loud, reading the sign that was before them. “Is this where they are?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it.”

Vorondur pulled into the parking lot and found a place to park. “It’s a good thing Alex and Derek are with us,” he said. “We would’ve wasted time looking for them in the city before thinking to search for them out in the suburbs.”

“I felt it important for them to accompany us, though I could not tell you why, for I did not know for sure,” Finrod said as everyone got out.

“Well, I’m glad you agreed, Alex, Derek,” Vorondur said. “Now, let’s go find which room they’re in. I have a few words to say to Dan and Roy.”

“Take a number, Ron,” Glorfindel said. “I have first go.”

The others chuckled as they entered the lobby. Finrod watched in amusement as every Mortal there turned to goggle at them. Glorfindel reached the registration desk and with a bright smile that totally captured the attention of the receptionists behind the desk enquired as to which rooms the Twins and Serindë were in.

In moments they were heading for the elevator, leaving behind a handful of very flustered Mortals as they went in search of the runaways.

42: In Fairbanks

“Two-oh-eight,” Glorfindel said, stopping at a door. “This is it,” and knocked.

A few seconds later it opened to reveal Elladan standing there. “Well, it’s about bloody time you showed up,” he said before anyone could offer a greeting. “You’re late. You should’ve been here two hours ago.”

“And a good evening to you, too, Dan,” Glorfindel said, pushing the younger ellon back so he could enter the room, but Elladan stopped him, his gaze travelling over the balrog-slayer as if by sight alone he could ascertain the ellon’s health. Glorfindel just stood there waiting. Finally, Elladan wrapped his arms around him carefully, as if he feared Glorfindel might break. “I thought we’d lost you,” he whispered tightly.

Glorfindel patted the younger ellon on the back. “But you didn’t,” he said. “Now, are you going to let us in or do we camp out here for the night?”

Elladan let him go and stepped back, allowing Glorfindel to enter with the others following. Alex and Derek brought up the rear, giving the Peredhel cheeky grins.

“Where are Roy and Sarah?” Vorondur demanded when he stepped inside and saw that they were not there.

“Getting pizza,” Elladan answered as he closed the door. “They should be back soon. Don’t worry, we’ve ordered enough for everyone. Here, Loren, you look like something the cat dragged in. Come sit down before you fall down. Should you even be out of bed?”

Glorfindel ignored the question, but sat in the chair that Elladan offered him, giving him a grateful smile. Without asking, Derek hunted for a glass and went to the bathroom and filled it with tap water, bringing it to Glorfindel who thanked him.

“So, how did you know we were coming?” Finrod asked, giving Glorfindel a clinical once-over while Laurendil insisted on taking the ellon’s pulse. “You do not seem surprised to see us.”

Elladan grinned. “A little birdie told us. Two little birdies, in fact.”

It took a second or two for them to figure out the import of his words. “Maiar?” Glorfindel exclaimed in disbelief, putting the glass down. “Two of them?”

Elladan nodded as he plopped onto the edge of one of the beds. “Yeah. Roy and I sensed them and they even made an appearance once though they failed to introduce themselves properly.”

“Describe them,” Finrod snapped out, his eyes darkening with an emotion none of them could interpret.

Elladan raised an eyebrow at his great uncle. “Well, one was dark of hair and the other had golden-red hair but otherwise their features were the same, as if they were twins. Can Maiar be twins? And they both wore surcoats with eagles embroidered on them.”

“Ah, Manveru and Erunáro,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “Twins to watch the twins. Eönwë must be getting desperate to let those two loose on the world.”

Both Finrod and Laurendil chuckled at that, but before anyone could reply, they heard a voice on the other side of the door. “Open up, Dan. Dinner’s here.”

Derek, who happened to be the closest to the door, complied to the demand. “Ah, room service,” he said brightly at Elrohir, who was carrying four boxes of Pizza Hut pizza. Serindë was behind him loaded down with bags of soda, paper plates and cups. “But you took thirty minutes, so you don’t get a tip.”

Elrohir gave him a grimace as he thrust the boxes at Derek. “Stop blabbering like an idiot and help me with these. Honestly, Mortals! Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

“Hey, the same back at you, buddy,” Alex said cheerfully as he helped Serindë with the bags.

Elrohir saw Glorfindel and went directly to him. “What on earth possessed you to go to the Rusty Nail, you orc-brained idiot?” he fairly screamed at him. “You could’ve been killed. You almost were. And what the hell are you doing out of bed? Are you insane or are they for letting you leave the hospital?” He pointed to the others.

Glorfindel gave the younger ellon an amused look. “Did you get it all out?”

Elrohir took a deep, centering breath. “I’ve been saving up.”

“And now?”

“Now…” He reached down and pulled Glorfindel up to hug him, taking care not to squeeze him. “Valar! I thought we’d lost you,” he whispered and there was a hitch in his voice as if he were forcing himself not to cry. Glorfindel gave him a pat on the back.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh but when Elrohir released him he gave the Twins his best ‘Captain-Glorfindel-is-not-pleased’ look. “I admit that I was wrong to do what I did and I certainly paid for my own brand of stupidity, but just what the blue blazes were you two thinking running away like that? And dragging Sarah along with you. I thought I cured you of that particular habit after New Orleans.”

“We needed to get away,” Elladan replied in a tight voice.

“Without bothering to tell anyone where you were going?” Glorfindel demanded. “You know better than that. I taught you better than that. And poor Ron and Holly are left wondering what’s happened to their daughter. If you were Mortals I could almost understand your thoughtlessness.”

“Hey! Stop dissing us,” Alex shouted, giving him a disgusted look. Derek just rolled his eyes, already busy munching on some pizza and not paying much attention to the drama around him.

Glorfindel just waved the Man’s protest away, his attention on the Twins. Before he continued with his argument, Vorondur turned to Serindë. “Are you all right, Daughter?” he asked anxiously, giving her a hug and a kiss.

She gave him a surprised look. “Of course, Ada. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Vorondur nodded toward the beds. “You did not see fit to take a room for yourself?”

“Come off it, Ron,” Elladan exclaimed in disgust. “This is the twenty-first century of the seventh age not the third. Roy was a perfect gentleman and I was all the chaperone these two lovebirds needed. While Sarah slept in one bed, Roy and I took turns keeping watch. Even with two Maiar looking after us we never let our guard down. One of us was always awake while the other slept. Now enough. I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

Vorondur looked as if he wanted to say something more, but Glorfindel forestalled him. “Dan’s right. Eat first, discuss matters afterwards. What kind did you get?” He sat back down, moving carefully. Finrod gave him an anxious look, but Glorfindel smiled back at him, though it didn’t look very convincing.

“Sausage, mushroom and pepperoni,” Elrohir answered. “We got root beer and coke and we stopped at the store and bought some plates and cups. Oops. We need ice. I’ll go get some.” He picked up the ice bucket and headed out while everyone else gathered around the pizza boxes which had been placed on the beds for easy access to make their selections. Finrod insisted that Glorfindel stay seated and got him a plate before making his own selection. Elrohir came back with the ice and grabbed a plate for himself.

“How are you really doing, Loren?” Elrohir asked as he pulled a slice from the box to put on his plate. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Glofrindel replied between bites. “Not that anyone believes me.”

“I could strangle Mir and Ernie still,” Elladan muttered darkly.

“What do they have to do with anything?” Glorfindel asked, looking puzzled.

Everyone stopped and stared at him.

“Pui-en-orch! He doesn’t know,” Elrohir exclaimed, turning to his brother.

“Know what?” Glorfindel demanded. “And don’t swear.” He glanced around and, noticing everyone’s expressions, which ranged from angry (the Twins) to resigned (Finrod), he asked again. “Know what? What do Vardamir and Eärnur have to do with you two running off?”

“You almost died because of them!” Elladan exclaimed. “We nearly lost you because of their arrogance.”

“We would have told you eventually, gwador,” Finrod said quietly. He was sitting in the only other chair the room boasted. “But we felt you needed to be stronger before we did.”

“So tell me,” Glorfindel demanded.

Finrod shook his head. “They made an error in judgment and they both have been duly chastised by me and by Kyle Stoner. There is no point in thrashing it out now. You are alive and that is all that matters.” He then turned to the Twins. “They are both very contrite and they’ve learned their lesson,” he said. “When you return to Wiseman, they will tender their apologies and you will accept them.” He gave the Twins a look that brooked no argument.

“Yes, Uncle,” Elrohir said meekly enough and Elladan nodded.

Glorfindel, however, was not satisfied by Finrod’s non-answer, but he let it go, vowing silently to himself to get the story out of his gwador when they were alone. He had assumed that everyone had meant the mugging when they spoke of having almost lost him, but apparently something else had happened to him that had brought him to the brink of life. He recalled the dream he had had of watching the Twins and Sarah walk away and now wondered if it had truly been a dream.

While he was ruminating on this, Elladan asked how the trip was, apparently wishing to change the subject, but when none of the Elves bothered to answer, Alex and Derek took turns describing their adventures.

“Man, I never saw so many caribou in one place before,” Derek exclaimed and Alex nodded in agreement.

“It’s rather odd they’re migrating this early, though,” Elrohir commented. “I wonder if that’s a good sign or a bad one.”

Several people shrugged, not having a ready answer. “I can keep my eye on the news,” Daeron said. “If the caribou are moving this early other migratory animals may be as well and there will be commentary about it from those who study them and their habits.”

“It may not mean anything, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Glorfindel said, pulling his attention away from his own thoughts.

“Almost time for your meds, Loren,” Laurendil said glancing at the clock on the table between the beds.

Glorfindel sighed. “Yes, Nana. Whatever you say, Nana,” he muttered.

Vorondur gave him a glare. “Remember what I said when we started out, Loren.”

Glorfindel was not the only one to give him a disbelieving look. “But we’re here, so don’t give me that bull.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Vorondur said with a shake of his head. “You’re only here on the condition that you don’t complain, you don’t whine and you don’t give us any trouble. I am perfectly willing to head back to Wiseman this very minute even if it means driving through the night.”

“Who died and left you in charge of the universe, Ron?” Glorfindel nearly yelled, standing up to glare at the Noldo sitting on the edge of the bed by the window next to his daughter. “And I never whine!” With that, he stormed into the bathroom and nearly slammed the door, leaving a dead silence behind. Derek looked as if he wanted to comment but Finrod noticed Alex stepping on his gwador’s foot and the Mortal shut his mouth.

“I know you’ve been very worried about Serindë,” Finrod said softly to Vorondur, “but that does not mean you have to take it out on the rest of us, especially Glorfindel. And, in case it slipped your mind, Ron, I’m the one in charge, not you, and I will decide who goes and who stays.”

Now the tension was palpable and both Alex and Derek looked slightly ill, no doubt feeling the force of Finrod’s power more than the Elves. Vorondur had the grace to look chagrined, muttering an apology. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I lost two of my children to this world. The thought that I might lose my daughter…”

“But you haven’t lost me, Ada, so don’t be so ridiculous,” Serindë exclaimed. “Honestly, I would think you would trust me better than that. We would’ve come back eventually, but Dan and Roy needed time to cool down.” Then she gave them a mischievous grin. “Besides, we’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Vorondur said. “What sort of surprise?”

“For that, you-all will have to stay through Sunday,” Elrohir answered.

“Well, Derek and I can’t,” Alex said. “I meet with my advisor tomorrow and then we need to get back to Wiseman.”

“When do you teach your first class?” Finrod asked.

“Not until Tuesday, actually,” the Mortal replied, “but this time of year, I like to have a margin of safety while traveling. You just never know what delays there might be. We were planning on staying only through Saturday and then leave Sunday.”

“We can always put you on the plane to Bettles,” Vorondur said. “I told you we would and we’ll pay for it.”

“And miss out on the surprise?” Derek protested. “I’d die an agonizing death wondering what it is.”

“Don’t you have to be back at work as well?” Daeron asked as Glorfindel came out of the bathroom, appearing calmer.

“Marty told me if I needed to stay longer than planned he’d get one of the other assistant managers to cover for me and I’ll trade off,” Derek replied.

“Why do we have to wait until Sunday, though?” Laurendil asked. “What is the surprise?”

“Well, if we told you now, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Elladan said. “And we have to wait until Sunday because… well, because. Look, can you trust us that much? I promise it’ll be worth it and afterwards we’ll return to Wiseman.”

“Well, I guess we can stay,” Glorfindel said as he took the antibiotic Laurendil handed him and drank it down with water, “as long as no one else has any objections.”

“I would like to stay long enough to see something of this city,” Finrod said. “I… I cannot believe how large it is, and you say this is a small city?”

The Wiseman Elves and the two Mortals grinned at his nonplused look. “You want to see a big city, you have to go to New York or L.A. for that,” Vorondur said. “Well, we still need to get ourselves registered, so we had best be going. Alex, Derek, we’ll drop you off at your hotel. Will you need a ride tomorrow to the University?”

“I can always grab a cab,” Alex answered.

“Nonsense,” Glorfindel answered. “What time’s your appointment?”

“Ten. It should only take about a half hour or so.”

“Then we’ll pick you up at nine-thirty and wait for you. We can wander around the campus and then afterwards we’ll give these two the three-penny tour.” He nodded at Finrod and Laurendil.

So it was decided. Vorondur tried to convince Serindë to come with him to the B and B while Daeron and Laurendil stayed with the Twins, but she refused and Finrod backed her decision. Vorondur protested that it was unseemly for an unmarried elleth to be staying in the same room with two ellyn, but Finrod pointed out that she and Elrohir could have married at any time in the Sindarin fashion, so his protest was moot.

“Give it up, Ron,” Glorfindel said somewhat unsympathetically. “They’re over the age of consent. You really have no say in the matter.”

“It’s more for Holly’s sake than mine,” Vorondur said, but from the looks everyone gave him he knew that argument wouldn’t hold water with any of them and he gave up.

The Twins and Serindë agreed to meet them all for lunch at a downtown restaurant known to them and then they were all leaving. They dropped Alex and Derek off and headed into the city. When they arrived at the B and B, they were warmly greeted by the owners who were known to Glorfindel and Daeron. They showed them to their ensuite rooms and Finrod, who was sharing one with Glorfindel, looked around in approval.

“Better than some inns I’ve stayed in even in Aman,” he commented as he put his bag on the bed.

Glorfindel just smiled as he rummaged through his own luggage, retrieving his toiletry bag. “As early as it is, I feel wrung out. I think I’m going to bed. If you make your way downstairs to the common room, they’ll serve you a sherry if you desire it.”

“What do you think the Twins are up to?” Finrod asked, not willing to leave just yet.

Glorfindel shrugged. “The Valar only know, but they both looked like the cat who not only ate the canary but had a dish of crème de salmon on the side.”

Finrod chuckled in agreement and was about to say more when there was a knock on the door. Opening it they saw Vorondur standing there. “Al says they have sherry for us. Darren and Randall are already down. You want some?”

“Well, I can’t have any anyway with my medications,” Glorfindel said, “and I’m going to bed. Finrod, why don’t you go down with Ron and the others? I’m sure you would like to unwind after the trip.”

“You will be fine?” Finrod asked, casting him a dubious look.

“Of course,” Glorfindel said. “I’m going straight to bed. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open. Now go with Ron please. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Finrod nodded. “I will not stay long,” he said. “I feel the need for sleep as well.”

“The sherry will help, though,” Glorfindel said and wished the two good night.

After they left, he went into the bathroom and got himself ready for bed. Shucking his clothes, he crawled under the covers with a sigh of contentment and in minutes he was on the Path of Dreams. Finrod returned about an hour later, quietly readying himself for bed. Glorfindel never stirred. As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, Finrod played the day’s events over again in his mind. His last thought was to wonder just what surprise the Twins had in store for them and if they would like it, knowing full-well how much Glorfindel hated surprises of any sort.

Down in the common room, Vorondur, Daeron and Laurendil were still enjoying their sherry with Vorondur and Daeron describing to Laurendil some of what they would do while they were in Fairbanks. Naturally they all wondered what surprise the Twins had in store for them.

“Knowing those two, nothing good,” Vorondur said sourly.

“Oh, come off it, Ron,” Daeron said amiably. “I’ve known them longer than you and I could tell that they were sincere. They were practically giddy with their secrets, even Sarah.”

“Well, we have two whole days of keeping Loren quiet before we learn what the surprise is,” Laurendil said. “Any suggestions?”

They spent a half an hour or so coming up with ideas before Vorondur decided to retire, leaving Daeron and Laurendil to carry on without him.

None of the Elves, awake or sleeping, were aware of Eönwë standing watch over them all.

****

They lingered over breakfast the next morning and then headed out, picking up Alex and Derek who were waiting outside for them, making their way to the University. Alex directed them to a parking lot reserved for visitors and pointed out the building where his appointment was. They made arrangements to meet later, then he and Derek went off, leaving the Elves to fend for themselves. They wandered about admiring the buildings. Classes were in session so there were students scurrying about, most of them too intent on making it to their next class to pay much attention to them. Eventually, they headed back to the van and found Alex and Derek coming toward them.

“All set?” Glorfindel asked Alex, who nodded.

“So, what are your plans for the day?” Derek asked as he and Alex climbed into the van.

“We figured we would spend some time at the Museum of the North,” Glorfindel answered, “but we won’t have time before we’re to meet Dan, Roy and Sarah for lunch, so we’ll do that tomorrow. Why don’t we just drive around and show these two the big city, unless you have your own plans?”

“Nah, we’re pretty much at loose ends,” Derek replied for them both.

So they drove around, pointing out some of the sights along the way while Finrod and Laurendil sat there craning their necks and gaping. Daeron, who was driving, eventually brought them to the restaurant where the Twins and Serindë were waiting for them.

“We made some phone calls this morning and everything is set for Sunday,” Elladan said to them as they settled into their seats and accepted the menus from the waitress.

“And you still won’t even give us a hint as to what this surprise is, will you?” Vorondur asked.

“Nope,” the Twins chorused and then laughed. Serindë merely smiled knowingly.

“You know how much I hate surprises,” Glorfindel said, narrowing his eyes.

“But you’ll love this one, I promise,” Elrohir said. “Why don’t we forget about it for now and just enjoy our lunch? What’s the news from Wiseman? Anything interesting? And have they found out who mugged you?”

“When I spoke with David Michaelson, there were no new leads,” Finrod answered.

“Do you know who attacked you?” Elladan asked Glorfindel.

“No. I remember walking into the Rusty Nail and then nothing until I woke up in the hospital. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Elladan said.

The waitress came over just then and they took a few minutes to give their orders and after she left the subject of the mugging was dropped and they spoke of generalities. After lunch, the Twins and Serindë agreed to accompany the others who had decided to show Finrod and Laurendil a mall, so they followed in their car to Bentley Mall on College Road.

“This is fairly small in comparison to other malls elsewhere,” Glorfindel told Finrod and Laurendil  as they wandered along the single corridor that connected the Safeway at one end with Michael’s at the other, but the two Elves were still amazed at the variety of stores that were available and they spent a good amount of time there. Dinner that night was at the Pad Thai Restaurant because Glorfindel thought Finrod and Laurendil should try some ethnic foods not available in Wiseman.

Saturday, they visited the Museum of the North and other historical sites throughout the city, though the Twins and Serindë did not join them, saying they had some arrangements to make for Sunday. They agreed to meet everyone for dinner at the Chowder House, an inexpensive restaurant known for its seafood and popular with the locals. Finrod felt immediately at home there, likening it to the Laughing Vala, and then, of course, he had to tell them how the name had come about. There was much laughter and the mood among them was relaxed.

“Well, tomorrow we will finally learn what all the excitement is about,” Glorfindel said as they enjoyed coffee and dessert.

“Meet us around one,” Elladan said. “You’ll have to follow us to where we need to go, but it’s not far, just up University Ave.”

“And you refuse to give us a hint,” Finrod said.

“That would spoil it,” Elrohir said. “Trust us. This surprise you will love.”

“Then we’ll meet you at one,” Glorfindel said. “Until then, I guess we’ll just have to practice patience.”

“Which means Loren will be up before dawn insisting we all get ready immediately,” Vorondur said with a grin.

“No. I’m not that childish,” Glorfindel said with a disdainful sniff. “I’ll at least wait until one minute after dawn before I start bouncing on the beds to wake you.”

They all laughed at that and when they left the restaurant they were all in a good mood. Elrohir offered to drop Alex and Derek off at their hotel and everyone wished everyone else a good night before they went their separate ways.

43: The King and the Baroness

Sunday morning, Finrod, Glorfindel and the others staying at the B and B got up late and were the last to show up for breakfast, so the dining room was not as crowded as the day before. Glorfindel called Alex to let him know that they would pick him and Derek up around a quarter to one. After breakfast, Finrod suggested that they spend the remainder of the morning walking around the area of the B and B. It was a bright, crisp day and the sun was shining. Traffic was light and there were few pedestrians. During the walk, Glorfindel insisted that Finrod tell him what had happened with Vardamir and Eärnur.

“I think I have a right to know,” he pointed out when Finrod hesitated.

“Tell him,” Vorondur said. “He has to know eventually. Hell, half of Wiseman knows and the other half suspects, so it’s not as if it’s a big secret or anything.”

Finrod nodded and, as they wandered around the neighborhood, window shopping along the way, he told them what had happened. Glorfindel shook his head. “Damn fools,” he muttered at one point. “Now I understand what my dream was about.”

“What sort of dream was it?” Vorondur asked. “You never told us just how you knew that the Twins and Sarah were gone. None of us told you.”

“It must have been when I was dying,” Glorfindel said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, casting his mind back to that time. “I was in the corridor and the Twins and Sarah were there talking. I could hear what they were saying but they couldn’t hear or see me. They were obviously angry, though I never learned why, and they were talking about leaving Wiseman. I tried to convince them that that was a mistake, that they were just running away and solving nothing, but they went off without ever acknowledging me and you know how I hate to be ignored.“ He gave them a bright grin and they all chuckled. Then he shrugged. “I don’t remember too much after that. I think I went back to my room and there was someone there. We talked. Not really sure. I just know that at some point I woke up. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, gwador,” Finrod said. “I think you slipped your leash, as Lord Námo likes to call it.”

“I prefer ‘out-of-body-experience’ myself,” Glorfindel said with a scowl. “It sounds much more dignified than ‘slipped your leash’. You make it sound as if I’m one of Ingwë’s hounds being naughty.”

The others grinned. “Well, at any rate, that solves that little mystery,” Daeron said, then glanced at his phone to check the time. “Let’s head back. I want to freshen up before we head off.”

So they went back to the B and B. A few minutes later they were back out and climbing into the van and then they were off, stopping at the Chena Lodge to pick up the Mortals before continuing on to the Alpine Lodge where the Twins and Serindë were waiting for them by their car.

“Just follow us,” Elladan said as he got behind the wheel.

The trip took little time with the lighter Sunday traffic and soon they were pulling into a building off University Avenue. They found a place to park beside a number of other vehicles. As they all got out, Derek commented that it looked like a school and Elladan said it had been an elementary school at one point but was not one now.

“Let’s see, it’s down here somewhere,” Elrohir muttered as they entered the building and walked down a corridor past empty classrooms.

“Here. This way,” Serindë said, when they reached an intersection, pointing to the left.

“Dan, go see if everything is ready,” Elrohir suggested. “We’ll stay here.”

Elladan nodded and headed down the corridor while everyone stood about. “Are you sure you don’t want to give us a hint?” Glorfindel asked Elrohir, but the younger ellon just smiled and shook his head.

“Hints are useless at this point. Just be patient. It won’t be long. Ah, all set?” he asked his brother as Elladan rejoined them.

“All set. Ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Glorfindel said. “Lead on, McDuff.”

The Twins grinned and they led the way with Serindë between them. They turned a corner and came to wide doors leading into the school’s gymnasium. A young Man, who was perhaps in his twenties, was standing there, dressed in medieval-looking garb with a green surcoat over it. The surcoat had two gold horns crossing one another. He carried a wood staff that was nearly as tall as he was. He stood there gaping at them, his eyes wide in wonder. Elrohir gave him a friendly smile.

“Will you announce us, just as we rehearsed, Matt?” he asked, and the young Man nodded. He visibly pulled himself together and opened the gym door, slipping in. Elladan held the door open a crack so they could hear what was being said. There was the sound of the staff being pounded on the floor.

“Hear ye, hear ye. His Majesty, Finrod Felagund and his court.”

Elladan opened the door wide with one hand and gestured with the other. “That’s your cue, Uncle,” he said with a grin. Finrod raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he swept past the younger Elf with Glorfindel directly behind him, but he stopped in surprise when he saw what was waiting for them.

The gym had been transformed into a quasi-medieval hall with banners strategically placed and hanging on poles. A large number of people dressed in a variety of styles, ranging from early Saxon to Cavalier, were standing about, forming an aisle that led to what was obviously a throne where a Woman stood waiting to greet them. She was dressed in Tudor style and looked regal with her coronet glittering from the overhead lights. On either side of the throne were a couple of Men carrying swords, obviously guards, and a couple of Women who were probably ladies-in-waiting.

Finrod glanced behind him at Glorfindel, who simply shook his head in amazement, before turning back to the crowd, trying to understand what it all meant.

“Did we just fall into Alice’s rabbit hole or something when no one was looking?” he heard Derek whisper behind him.

“Bloody hell, they’re all armed!” Alex muttered.

“Huh? You mean those swords some of them are carrying? So what?” Derek asked.

“Live steel, you idiot,” Alex retorted. “Very dangerous.”

“Trust you to see the dark side of everything,” Derek shot back. “I think it’s pretty cool, myself.”

All the while, those in the gym stood staring at the newcomers and Finrod could feel the awkwardness of the situation on both sides. Well, he might not know what these children were about, but he’d been in stranger situations before.  “Enough,” he said softly but with much power, abruptly cutting off the banter between Alex and Derek. “Come, we must not keep the lady waiting.”

Squaring his shoulders, he ceased to be Quinn O’Brien and became Prince Findaráto. As he strode down the aisle he was only slightly nonplused to have all the Mortals give him gracious bows and curtsies as he passed them. He ignored them. Upon reaching the throne, the Woman held out her hand and he took it, bowing over it.

“Welcome to our barony, Your Majesty,” she said. “Welcome to you all.”

“I am delighted to be here, my lady,” Finrod said. “It is quite a surprise, though I am somewhat at a loss to understand the meaning behind all this. Perhaps you would explain, Nephew.” He glanced back to where Elladan stood.

“But first, why don’t you introduce us,” Glorfindel suggested. “Names would be a big help.”

Elladan stepped around them and gave them all a bow. “Let me make you known to Baroness Anastasia of Winter’s Gate.”

“My lords,” Anastasia said, dipping them a brief curtsey.

“Baroness,” Finrod said slowly as if trying the word out, giving Elladan a quizzical look. “I thought Americans did not go for titles.”

“They don’t, Uncle,” Elladan replied, “but for the moment, we’re not in America. We’re in the Barony of Winter’s Gate in the West Kingdom.”

“Ah, a medieval re-creation group, then,” Daeron said. “I’ve heard of them.”

“Then this is all pretend,” Finrod said, seeking clarification.

“Serious pretending,” Elrohir responded. “Adult games, you might say.”

Vorondur nodded. “Playing is an integral part of any human society and it’s not reserved only for children. It’s one of the things that separates us from the lower animals.”

“And this is your surprise?” Glorfindel asked.

“Only in part,” Elladan answered. “Here is the real surprise.” He turned toward the group of people standing to the right of the throne and nodded. At once, they parted to reveal two people standing there, both of them looking a bit awkward and self-conscious. They were dressed in knee-length tunics covered in Celtic-style embroidery. Their long hair was braided so that the tips of their ears showed. Both wore swords on their hips.

There was a moment of shocked silence as the Wiseman group recognized the two for what they were. “By all that’s holy, you’re Elves!” Vorondur exclaimed, speaking in Sindarin.

Before anyone could respond to his proclamation, one of the Mortals standing nearby turned to her neighbor and whispered. “You see, I was right. Elves come originally from Wales. They all speak the language.”

Finrod glanced at the Twins and Serindë, all three grinning hugely with delight. He looked at Glorfindel who was simply goggling, while Vorondur had an enigmatic smile on his face and Finrod wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Daeron’s eyes were dancing with delight and Alex and Derek just stood there with their mouths hanging open.

“You see? Our running away wasn’t a mistake,” Elladan said in Sindarin.

Finrod turned to the baroness, giving her a short bow. “Perhaps thou wouldst introduce us to our kinsmen, my lady, for I doubt me not that they are indeed kin to my people.”

Baroness Anastasia raised a delicate eyebrow at the formal language but nodded, gesturing with a beringed hand for Gwyn and Gareth to approach, which they did. “Let me make known to you, Your Majesty, our beloved subjects, Lord Gwyn ap Hywel and his brother, Lord Gareth. Lord Gwyn is our Captain of the baronial militia and Lord Gareth is our Archery Marshal.”

Both brothers bowed as they were being introduced. Gareth’s expression was one of adoration, something Finrod had encountered in others. Gwyn’s expression appeared wary, as if he was not sure how this meeting would go.

“Do you speak Sindarin, my children?” Finrod asked in that language and when the two nodded, he asked, “Who are your parents? What House claims your allegiance?”

“Our adar is Tristan ap Hywel and our naneth is Iseult,” Gwyn replied.

“But those are not Elvish names,” Glorfindel said. “What are their true names and yours?”

Gwyn scowled. “Those are the only names we know them by,” he said, “and they never gave us Elvish names and we felt no need to have one. Other than to teach us Sindarin and something of our history, our parents refused to speak of the past. I was born nine hundred and fifty-four years ago and my brother was born forty-two years later. Until this past week we thought we were the only Elves still living on these shores.”

“Did you get any of that?” Derek asked Alex.

Alex shook his head. “Not really. I think they lost their history or maybe they were lost at sea, not sure which.”

“How do you lose your history?” Derek asked, apparently in all seriousness. “Can you go to the ‘Lost and Found’ department at Wal-Mart and look for it?”

Everyone stared at them and they suddenly realized they’d been speaking out of turn. Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Mortals,” he muttered in Sindarin.

Gwyn and Gareth actually grinned at that. “They can be amusing, can’t they?” Gareth commented in the same language.

Both Alex and Derek blushed, having understood that much of the exchange. “Sorry. We’re still learning the language,” Alex said, not looking at anyone.

“Let us move on to other matters,” Finrod said firmly, now speaking English. “Allow me to introduce my companions. This is Lord Glorfindel.”

“Just call me Loren. Everyone does,” Glorfindel said, giving the two brothers a proper bow.

“And this is Daeron, Vorondur and my liegeman, Laurendil,” Finrod continued, ignoring the interruption.

“Th-the Daeron?” Gareth stuttered, his eyes wide.

“Last time I looked,” Daeron said with a gentle smile. “By your coloring, I would say that you at least have Sindarin blood in you.”

“And Vanyarin,” Gwyn said. “We know that much about ourselves but little else. Da was adamant that we learn to exist in this world among the Secondborn and not concern ourselves with a heritage we could never claim, though he never really said what that might be.” He shrugged apologetically.

“And all this?” Finrod asked, gesturing to the transformed hall.

“That’s the next part of the surprise,” Elladan said and at a nod to Gwyn, that ellon called out, “Gwaith-en-Angbor!”

Immediately, about twenty people, including Gareth, scrambled away to a corner of the gym where armor and weapons were stacked. Everyone else moved to retrieve director chairs and folding chairs of various types and setting them up on either side of the throne. Finrod and Glorfindel were directed to sit on either side of Anastasia and the others from Wiseman sat where they would surrounded by the citizens of Winter’s Gate. Only Gwyn remained standing behind the throne, keeping an eye on those donning armor.

Once they were all settled, Glorfindel looked over to where the Twins were sitting with Vorondur and Serindë. “Okay, so explain what this is all about.”

“This is the Valar’s new secret weapon,” Elrohir said with a grin, gesturing to the fighters.

“Children pretending to be knights and ladies?” Glorfindel asked, looking skeptical, ignoring the hurt looks of the Mortals around him. Even Gwyn scowled, but before anyone could comment, Killian, a Marshal’s tabard — black with two gold swords crossing one another — over his finery, called out, “Hey, Gwyn! Which way is west again? I can never remember.”

Almost as one, every Elf, including Gareth who was in the middle of tying on a vambrace and never looked up, unerringly pointed in the same direction. Killian looked a bit nonplused and several Mortals chuckled. Anastasia gave them an amused look.

“Ah, thanks,” Killian said, turning away to speak to one of the other marshals, his face red with embarrassment.

“It’s like synchronized swimming, the way you all did that,” Derek commented, his expression deadpan. Alex had to pretend he was suffering a coughing fit to cover up his laughter.

Gwyn gave them a wry look. “Killian is one of those people who are directionally challenged. I’m sure his mother must have marked his shoes ‘left’ and ‘right’ when he was a kid.”

Anastasia laughed, flicking a fan she had at Gwyn. “Don’t be mean, Gwyn. Not everyone can be as perfect as you.”

Gwyn gave her a bow. “I stand corrected, my lady.”

“Well, to get back to Loren’s objections,” Vorondur said, “I suspect this is serious pretending on the same scale as Elf Academy.”

“What good does this do us, though?” Finrod asked as he watched the fighters arming themselves, going through some warm-ups. His expression was one of professional interest.

“Wait, Uncle,” Elladan commanded. “All will be revealed in time.”

Even as he spoke, the fighters were lining up, facing the audience. Gwyn called out, “Gareth, count off.” Immediately the fighters counted off by twos and when they had finished those who were ones stepped forward to receive red ribbons that were tied around their left arms. Then they retired to one end of the gym while those without ribbons went to the other end. Three others also wearing marshal tabards arranged themselves in strategic spots, while Killian stood in the middle between the two groups of fighters.

“My lords, honor the Crown,” he commanded in a ringing tone and all the fighters bowed toward Anastasia, who, as baroness, was the Crown’s representative.

“Honor your lady,” Killian called out and there were more bows, though now the various fighters were facing different directions to where their particular lady was. Finrod noted that Gareth bowed to Anastasia again.

“Honor the Lords of the West,” Killian then said, and as one, they all turned in the same direction and bowed, including Killian and the other Marshals.

“I added that bit,” Gwyn whispered loud enough for even Alex and Derek to hear.

Finrod nodded in approval and even Glorfindel looked mollified.

“Honor your opponents,” Killian ended and the fighters all saluted one another. He moved out of the center to take his position on the side, calling out, “Lay on!” as he did so.

Immediately, the two groups advanced upon one another, moving slowly at first and then, as they were within striking range of one another, they raised their weapons and began fighting. The Elves watched with interest and even Glorfindel’s expression was one of grudging respect as he watched the fighters wield their weapons.

“They use foam weapons though,” he commented at one point as one of the fighters on Gareth’s side fell to the floor, covering himself with his shield. Killian and the other three marshals yelled “Hold!” and everyone froze while the ‘dead’ fighter removed himself from the arena. “How do they know when they’ve … um… died?”

“Honor system,” Gwyn answered. “Blows to the extremities are allowed, but blows to the head are not. When a hit strikes true, the fighter is honor-bound to acknowledge it, by going to one knee, for instance, or losing his shield, simulating wounds that would have incapacitated him otherwise.”

“And sometimes, when in single combat, the other fighter might, out of fairness, go to his knees or lose his own shield,” Anastasia added.

“All well and good in a tourney, I suppose,” Glorfindel said with a shake of his head, “but hardly what would happen on a real field of battle. The enemy is never that accommodating.”

“No. He is not,” Finrod said, “but it is as I told the Tol Eressëans at our first All-Aman tournament. Do you remember?” he turned to Glorfindel with a grin.

Glorfindel nodded. “As I recall, Ingwion promised not to hurt us too badly.”

Finrod laughed. “Nor did he, but we were all friends there and we were not fighting orcs. So it is here, I imagine.”

“And will we fight orcs again, do you think?” Elrohir asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the fighters.

“That I do not know, Nephew,” Finrod said just as quietly.

There was a lull in the conversation as they all concentrated on the fighting. By now a couple of others had ‘died’ and were removed from the field. Gareth was still in the fighting.

“Your brother fights like a Mortal,” Laurendil said, looking at Gwyn.

“He fights on their level,” Gwyn acknowledged.

“That can’t be good, though,” Vorondur said. “He’s crippling himself needlessly.”

“For him to fight at our level would not be to anyone’s advantage,” Gwyn protested. “As it is, my brother and I practice together using live steel, but we do not allow witnesses. We don’t wish to give anyone an inferiority complex.” He cast them a grin. “Besides, Gwaith-en-Angbor trains at a higher level than the other fighters. They are handpicked and come highly recommended.”

“How high?” Finrod asked.

“Vala high,” Gwyn replied in all seriousness. “No one becomes part of the Iron Fist unless they are first approved by the Valar.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that implication, exchanging a knowing look with Glorfindel. There was a flurry of action and shouts from the audience as the last combatants continued fighting at a furious pace. The Elves returned their attention to the fighting. Finrod cast a side glance to where he could see Alex and Derek sitting. Derek was speaking to one of the Mortals from the barony, apparently asking questions about what was happening. Alex, on the other hand, was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped under his chin, an intense look on his face as he watched the fighting. Finrod had the impression that the former intelligence officer was itching to lay his hands on a weapon and join in.

Finally, only three fighters were left standing: Gareth and two others who were fighters from the other side.

“Two against one,” Glorfindel said in satisfaction, stretching out his long legs and folding his arms before him. “That’s more like it. I always seem to be outnumbered myself when I’m fighting. Let’s see how your brother does, Gwyn.”

The two fighters began circling Gareth, who stood calmly, his weapon at the ready. He had lost his shield at one point in the melee and, out of deference to him, the other two fighters also put aside their shields, much to the approval of the audience.

“Sir Llewellyn ap Daffyd,” Anastasia said, pointing to one of the fighters. “He is most chivalrous and the other is….” She looked up at Gwyn.

“Marcello da Vinci, my lady,” Gwyn answered. “He is our latest recruit and holds great promise. I think in another year or two he will be ready for knighthood.”

“Do you wish you were in there, gwador?” Glorfindel asked Finrod in Sindarin.

Finrod gave him a knowing smile. “Do you?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “We never did have our rematch.”

Finrod laughed, the sound echoing through the gym, seemingly brightening the air with its gaiety. The Mortals all straightened and there were smiles and a lightening of spirits among them. Even the three fighters paused for a split second, as moved by the laughter as the rest.

“I doubt that the Valar still would allow it,” Finrod pointed out.

Glorfindel scowled. “You know, they’re really such babies sometimes. I’m sure we are both sufficiently mature enough to control ourselves.”

“Well, the question is moot. You are in no condition to do any fighting right now.”

“Oh, I know that. I’m not the idiot you all think I am. It’ll be weeks before I’m healed enough to even begin strengthening exercises. Maybe by the summer.”

A sudden gasp from Anastasia alerted them and they drew their attention back to the fighters in time to see Gareth duck under Sir Llewellyn’s sword even as Marcello attempted to strike from the left. Somehow the Elf was able to deflect the first blow while simultaneously deflecting the second and Glorfindel nodded in approval as Gareth brought Marcello down, leaving only Sir Llewellyn.

“Your brother fights well,” he said to Gwyn.

“He should. Adar was most insistent that we both learn how to wield just about every weapon ever made, at least with regards to swords, pikes, staffs, bows and the like. When guns were invented, he swore that they were indecent and immoral and refused to have anything to do with them. Sounded like the Wesleyan minister up the street from us, going on about it.”

“Did you learn to use firearms, though?” Glorfindel asked.

“You bet,” Gwyn said with some feeling, “especially after we came here. No one in his right mind would travel through the Wild West without suitable weapons, though Gareth still prefers the bow. He says it’s quieter, if nothing else.” He gave them a mirthless grin.

Finrod absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder as he listened to the exchange, his attention more on the two fighters. “Oh, well done!” he called out even as Gareth managed to avoid a killing blow, though he failed to land a blow himself. Still, the match did not last much longer and executing a complicated series of sweeps, the young Elf managed to score a direct hit on the other fighter’s midsection and the bout was done. Everyone rose to their feet in applause as Gareth and Llewellyn clasped arms in brotherhood. Both men came to stand before Anastasia, doffing their helmets and giving her proper bows.

“My lords, you have fought well and we are pleased to present you both with tokens of our esteem.” She reached for a white glove hanging from her belt. It was embroidered with a blue flower. “To you, Sir Llewellyn, we present you with this and we would be pleased to have you carry it into battle.” She held out the glove and Llewellyn went to a knee, taking the glove and kissing the baroness’s hand.

“I thank you, my lady, and will endeavor never to besmirch my honor or this token of your esteem,” the Mortal said before rising and stepping back.

Anastasia nodded and then gestured to one of her ladies-in-waiting who approached carrying a coffer. The Woman opened it to reveal several pieces of jewelry. Anastasia hesitated for a moment before making a selection: an armband of beaten gold with uncut rubies and emeralds and engraved with a design of Celtic knotwork, though it was obvious to the Elves that the jewels were fake. She turned to Gareth and smiled.

“To you, Sir Gareth, I give you this token from our personal treasury. I hope that you will see fit to wear it when next you go into battle.”

Gareth knelt, extending his left arm so that Anastasia could put it on him, then he rose and gave her a bow. “This token is a wondrous gift, Your Excellency, but thine esteem for me is beyond price and I thank thee.”

There was quiet applause among the audience and it appeared that that was the end of it. Gareth and Llewellyn started to move away to remove their armor. Gwyn moved to join Finrod and Glorfindel standing with Anastasia.

“So, what do you think?” he asked somewhat anxiously.

“It was very interesting, but I still fail to see what it has to do with us,” Finrod said.

“Don’t you see, Uncle?” Elladan asked. “These people belong to the Society for Creative Anachronism and they have resurrected older and long forgotten skills in the making and wielding of weapons which are considered archaic in this day and age. Gwyn’s been working with this select group of fighters for the last year or so, honing their skills. He’s hoping to be granted a royal charter by the King so he can begin recruiting from other baronies within the kingdom. Roy, Sarah and I have already decided we will form a branch of the organization in Wiseman. It’s a perfect way of recruiting Mortals without raising suspicion in certain quarters.”

“We have been wondering how to institute the teaching of fighting with swords and such for some time, now, Finrod,” Vorondur said before Finrod could comment. “We just haven’t found a way to do it, until now.”

Both Elladan and Elrohir nodded. “And the best part is that this is an international organization with nineteen kingdoms so far,” Elrohir said, “all with people who make their own armor and weapons and fight. They even have war games where entire kingdoms come together in a massive tournament. If we can encourage some of the Mortals whom we’ve been recruiting to join this organization, we have the perfect means of training them to fight.”

“And you believe you were brought here for this purpose, to meet with this group,” Finrod said.

“Oh, of that we have no doubt,” Elladan said fervently. “And the fact that Gwyn gets his orders from Lord Námo himself is a deciding factor.”

Finrod gave Gwyn a considering look. “Hmm…. What do you think, gwador?” he turned to Glorfindel.

“I think it has possibilities, but we will need more information about this Society and what joining it will entail.”

“We would be happy to answer any questions you might have,” Anastasia said. “And I have a few questions about this Elf Academy we’ve been told about. We don’t normally bother to dress in garb during fight practice nor do we hold a feast but we’ve managed to come up with something in the time given us if you would care to join us for a light repast.”

“We would be honored,” Finrod said graciously. “I regret that none of us are properly attired.”

Anastasia waved a hand in dismissal. “That is not a problem. Come, let us walk the halls while people set up for the feast.”

Finrod automatically presented her his arm and she took it as they left the gym. Glorfindel and Gwyn walked beside them, while trailing behind were all the others from Wiseman, along with two ladies-in-waiting, one of whom was Melisande.

44: A Baronial Feast

As they walked the corridors, Finrod couldn’t help thinking of the palace in Tirion with its upper gallery where his amillë would often walk with her own retinue, especially on days when the weather was inclement. Anastasia strode along with regal calm, her skirts swishing softly as she walked.

“I hope you enjoyed our little demonstration,” she said. “And you must forgive us for the lack of pomp. We had little time to prepare. Usually no one bothers to come in garb for fight practice.”

“You need not apologize, madam,” Finrod said graciously. “It is we who should apologize for importuning you in this manner. Indeed, I would have been just as happy to have met you in your other guise.”

“But it would not have made as great an impact, Uncle,” Elrohir pointed out, “and this way you get a sense of what can be done. Forming our own SCA group will make training easier and if we have the Mortals run it, then our enemies in Wiseman can’t accuse us of ungodly behavior.”

“It would be ironic if some of our naysayers actually joined,” Elladan chimed in.

“Very ironic, but beside the point,” Vorondur said. “If we are to do this we must do it with the understanding that anyone who joins is under no obligation to do so for our sake. They must be allowed to join for their own sakes. We may think of the SCA as a vehicle for training our troops for the Dagor Dagorath, but we must not make it the sole purpose of the group or it will fail as a group. If we do this we are obligated to play the game, which means attending events here in Fairbanks or elsewhere, holding our own events and encouraging all to participate in recreating medieval times.”

“That, I imagine, will take up a fair amount of people’s time,” Finrod said, looking at Anastasia for confirmation.

She nodded. “But not any more time than most other hobbies, although some people take it to the extreme and we try to discourage that. Why, someone I know from the Barony of Eskalya — that’s Anchorage by the way — actually got fired from his mundane job because he was, and I quote, Prince of Oertha and didn’t have to do what his boss wanted him to do, unquote.” She cast them a wry look. “Some people just cannot separate fantasy from reality, and Morgan is a real jerk anyway.”

The others chuckled and Finrod gave her a merry look. “Well, I do not think I will suffer from that brand of arrogance. I was once King of Nargothrond in my own right and am heir to my father’s throne, but as you Mortals would say, that and a quarter will not get me a cup of coffee on Main Street.”

Now everyone was laughing. “We’re all working stiffs to one degree or another,” Glorfindel said to Anastasia. “Ron, here, is a psychiatric physician and Darren and I run Elf Academy.”

“I read about that,” Anastasia said as they rounded a corner to walk down another corridor. “You must tell me more about it and its purpose. I understand it was originally created to train people for the tourist trade.”

“And we still do so,” Glorfindel said. “Most of our students, once they have done their studies with us and have been an Elf Guide for a season, go on to either work for one of the tour companies or resorts in the area or pursue other employment in the tourism industry elsewhere. A select few are brought into the secret of our existence and join us. Alex and Derek, for instance, are two such from our most recent class.” He nodded to the two Mortals and Anastasia glanced back to smile at them.

“I remember when Gwyn and Gareth told me who and what they really were,” she said, slowing her walk so that everyone crowded about her to hear her. “God, I wasn’t sure if I should faint or scream. In the end, I think I just ended up crying, which was very silly of me.”

“As I recall, Stacy, you kept muttering something about not being in Kansas any longer and pinching yourself to see if you were awake,” Gwyn said, grinning as the Woman blushed.

“I know the feeling,” Derek said sympathetically.

Anastasia nodded and resumed walking, the others keeping pace. They rounded the next corner going slowly, no doubt to give her ‘subjects’ time to set the gym up for dining. “Melisande, you have all the information these people will need?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady,” the Woman answered. “I have a copy of our newcomer’s packet which contains all the information needed for someone to get started in participating in the SCA. I’ve also included information on how to go about forming a group and getting it registered with the BoD.”

“The what?” Laurendil asked in confusion.

“Sorry, Board of Directors,” Melisande replied. “You’ll want to come up with a name for your group. As you are technically within the purview of this barony you would be a canton rather than a shire. Eventually, if you are large enough, you may petition to become an independent shire not holding any allegiance to the barony, but that’s for the future and you may not want to bother.”

“The trick is going to be to convince our Mortal friends to join and take over the running of the group,” Elladan said. “It will defeat our purpose if only the Elves join.”

“Well, I’ll be willing to join,” Derek said. “What about you, Alex?”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know. I think I’m tired of pretending to be someone else. I just want to concentrate on being Alex Grant for now.”

“What do you fear will happen if you were to join this group?” Vorondur asked gently.

“That I will lose myself again,” Alex replied softly, not looking at anyone in particular.

“Not going to happen, mate,” Derek said firmly. “I won’t let it happen and neither will Ron, but it’s cool if you don’t want to play. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to play, I said I wasn’t sure if I should, given my past,” Alex retorted.

“Something we can discuss at our next session, if you wish,” Vorondur said.

Alex nodded and Finrod, seeing the wondering looks on the faces of Gwyn and the three Women, decided that the subject needed to be changed and said, “I find it interesting that Mortals wish to escape into the past as much as we Elves tend to. It was my experience that Mortals were more forward-looking, which accounted for their restlessness.”

“And that is essentially true even today,” Vorondur said, “but it has also been my experience that when times become fraught with much uncertainty that Mortals often hark to an earlier age, claiming it to be a Golden Age. I suspect that this is what draws people into such organizations as this. It is why there is also a rise in fundamentalism. People want certainty where there is none and never has been.”

“That is true to some extent,” Anastasia remarked as they came around a third corner and were now passing the front entrance and heading back toward the gym, “but many of us are simply interested in resurrecting some of the arts and sciences of the past that have been lost or displaced in this mechanized age. If our civilization were to come to a screeching halt tomorrow, many of us would be able to survive the crash because we have learned skills our ancestors took for granted, or so one would hope. In the meantime, we enjoy doing research about the past and putting that research into practice. The feast we’re about to have, for instance, was designed using authentic medieval recipes.”

“And if you take a closer look at the armor, you will see that some of it is quite fine,” Gwyn added. “We have a couple of blacksmiths in our group and they help the others to make their armor.”

“What about the swords, the real ones, I mean?” Alex asked.

“Well, mine and Gareth’s are our own, forged some centuries ago. Most of the swords that are worn have been purchased, but a few have been made. I’ve been tutoring one of the blacksmiths in the process, however, it’s not something that can be done easily these days, but it is being done, here and elsewhere. As Anastasia said, if our modern civilization crashes, there will be a great number of people who will be able to survive simply because they’ve learned the skills to do so, skills that have been lost over time.” He paused and gave them a sly look. “Of course, I, for one, would not welcome such a thing. I rather like this modern age and I know Gareth would be upset if he could no longer use the microwave because there’s no electricity.”

Several people chuckled at that. “A most convenient appliance,” Finrod said with a nod as they rounded the last corner and were approaching the gym again, which they could see had been transformed into a dining hall with tables set about, all of them covered with fine linen. There was one table set apart as the high table though it sat on the same level as all the others. People were scurrying about, setting out plates and goblets in a variety of styles and material, from wood to pottery to pewter, and placing candles in strategic places, carefully placed under glass.

“Fire laws prevent us from having open flames,” Anastasia said without prompting, looking a bit apologetic, “so all candles have to be under glass. Not as authentic as we would like, but we are still subject to the laws of the state of Alaska.”

“Which is only right,” Finrod said firmly.

Anastasia led them along one wall, calling for Matt, still wearing his heraldic tabard. The young Man came quickly, giving them a bow. “Godfroi, would you escort the gentlemen to where they might dress?” She turned to the Elves. “We have what we call loaner garb for newcomers. You might feel less conspicuous wearing something other than mundane clothes while we’re eating. All our loaner garb is made to go over your own clothes so you do not have to undress. My dear, come with me and we’ll see you suitably garbed.” She gestured to Serindë, who joined her and her ladies.

“If you would follow me, my lords,” Matt said, giving them a bow. He led them back out of the gym and toward a door marked ‘Boys’ which turned out to be a locker room. Several pieces of garb were on hangers hooked onto the lockers.  Some of the garb were short, knee-length tunics with straight sleeves, but there were a few that were obviously floor-length with wide, trailing sleeves. “Luckily, we knew how many would be in your group,” Matt said, “so we brought enough for all. You can see they’re nothing fancy but they’ll do in a pinch. The T-tunics should be belted,” he pointed to one of the short tunics, “but the houppelandes needn’t be.”

“Ah, houppelandes,” Daeron said with a fond grin as he fingered one in a brown velour with yellow-gold trim. “You remember when they came into vogue? So impractical for running in.”

“And we tended to do a lot of that, as I recall,” Elrohir said with a laugh, while his twin chuckled and Glorfindel gave them a smirk. “I’ll take one of these T-tunics. I don’t fancy having to keep sleeves out of my soup. What about you, Dan?”

“T-tunic,” his brother said as he chose one that looked like it might fit him, then turned to Alex and Derek. “You’ll want to wear a T-tunic as well. Houppelandes can be tricky to eat in if you’re not used to wearing them, especially the ones with the bell sleeves.”

“There aren’t enough T-tunics to go around, unfortunately,” Matt said. “Some of you will have to settle for houppelandes.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Vorondur assured him. “Even Finrod and Laurendil are used to wearing such garb, aren’t you?”

Both ellyn nodded. “Though I still prefer wearing something like what the Twins are wearing now,” Finrod said, picking out one of the houppelandes, this one in a dark blue velour with red and blue flowers on white trim. “Thank the Valar my atar hates formal feasts as much as I do and prefers eating in comfort. Ammë says he would eat stark naked if he could get away with it.”

Everyone laughed as they continued checking out the various garb, trying them on with one or two having to find something that fit a bit better but eventually they were all in garb, though the ones wearing the T-tunics looked a bit odd with jeans showing underneath. Alex and Derek looked a bit self-conscious, pulling at the tunics and adjusting their belts, but the Elves were transformed by the simple garb, their bearing more regal and otherworldly. Alex, Derek and Matt all gaped at them. Even the Twins were seen as the Elf-lords that they were, an aspect of themselves they rarely displayed in public anymore.

With a gesture from Finrod, they all returned to the gym where they found Serindë dressed in a houppelande, though the cut was more feminine. She was with Anastasia who smiled at them. “Much better. Godfroi, would you like to show our guests where to sit?” she asked Matt, then turned to Finrod. “I’ve had a table set aside for your court and they will be joined by some of my own court, but I would be pleased if you, Lord Glorfindel and Lord Daeron would join me at the high table. Gwyn will be sitting with us. I am sure you and he have many questions. Gareth will join your people to answer any questions they might have. We’ve also supplied appropriate plates and goblets and such, knowing you wouldn’t have brought your own.”

Finrod bowed. “You are most gracious, Baroness. We will be honored to dine with you.”

“Can’t I sit with the others, Finrod?” Glorfindel said with a pout. “You know how much I hate sitting at high table.”

Finrod rolled his eyes. “How well I remember. Atar used to say that the surest way to make you disappear was to insist you sit at high table. I have no objections myself but I would fain not wish to insult our hostess.”

“I am not at all insulted,” Anastasia said. “Frankly, I can’t wait to give over this coronet to someone else so I won’t have to sit at high table any longer. It’s like being on display at the zoo.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart,” Glorfindel said, flashing her a wicked grin. “I may have to marry you.”

“Sorry, my lord, I gave up older men along with my dolls,” Anastasia said with a lift of an eyebrow.

Glorfindel blushed and Vorondur actually burst out laughing while the others grinned.

“Well, in that case, I guess I will sit at high table, if only to keep Finrod company,” Glorfindel said after a pause.

“And I appreciate it,” Finrod said with a knowing smile.

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Daeron asked with a pout that the others sensed was only half faked.

“No, of course not,” Glorfindel replied fervently, giving the former Minstrel of Doriath a hug. “You know how much I’ve always depended on you to help me not to take myself too seriously.”

“And I value your wisdom and knowledge,” Finrod added sincerely, “and would welcome your insights into all this while we dine.” He gestured to the transformed gym. The afternoon had progressed enough that the sun was near to setting and clouds had set in to darken the sky even more. The candles were being lit and the overhead lights had been turned off, offering the illusion that they were in a feast hall instead of a gymnasium.

“Thank you,” Daeron said softly.

“Well, why don’t we find our places?” Vorondur said, gesturing to those who would not be sitting at high table and they gave the others brief bows (Alex and Derek looking self-conscious about it) and Matt — or rather, Godfroi — escorted them to where Gareth was already seated, along with a few others whom he introduced to the Wiseman group. Melisande was there with her husband, Sir Jehan, as was Dietrich. Sir Llewellyn was also at the table along with a Mistress Gabrielle, who was the barony’s Chiriugeon, and a Lord Cyneric, who turned out to be the Master of Minors.

“I see to the proper education of children within the SCA,” he explained. “We have a page’s school. There aren’t any children present today because it was decided to keep this between the adults for now and actually, we’re not at full strength. Regular fight practice was cancelled and only certain people were invited to attend today. If this were a proper feast, some of our older children would be acting as pages, serving the tables.”

“We’ll have to do something like that when we form our own group,” Serindë said. “I can think of a couple of families that might want to join.” And she and Cyneric occupied themselves in discussing what programs had been set up for the children in the barony.

“Are you medically trained, Mistress Gabrielle?” Elrohir asked.

“Mundanely, I’m a nurse practitioner,” she replied. “The laws require at least one person with some kind of medical background, even if it’s only someone certified for First Aid, to be part of the group in case a medical situation arises. There are always unintended injuries during fight practice or at tourneys, for instance, and there are the usual medical problems that beset us and might need to be attended to until proper help can be given. All our marshals are also certified for First Aid in case I’m not present, and I can’t always be because of my work schedule.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem with us,” Elladan said. “Several of our people are medically trained. Unfortunately, Roy and I won’t be around, as we’re heading back east for a time. We’re both medical doctors but we have no surgical experience and we’re going back to Columbia University for additional training. Would you be interested in being the group’s Chirugeon, Randall?” He asked Laurendil.

“That depends,” he replied. “I am not quite sure how my own studies will go. Ah, excuse me. I better give Loren his medication before I forget.” He stood up and made his way to the high table, hitching up the houppelande he was wearing to get at a pocket, pulling out the medication. “Here, Loren,” he said. “You’ll need to take this before you start eating.”

Glorfindel just nodded as he accepted the pill and dutifully took it with some water that was in his goblet, having politely refused the wine that had been offered, knowing full well that his minders would not approve. Laurendil stayed just long enough to make sure Glorfindel actually took the pill before giving everyone a proper bow and returning to his own table.

Meanwhile, Alex and Derek were grappling with the medieval style of eating. The soup had not been a problem but the rest of the meal was more problematic. “No forks,” Derek said softly to Alex, looking around as the Scadians calmly attacked the quiche-like pie filled with what appeared to be date, apples, and raisin and a salad of greens with knives and fingers. Sir Llewellyn, sitting across from Derek, grinned, having overheard.

“Forks were not invented until quite late and even then were rarely used. They were considered a novelty. And where else could you go where you’re actually encouraged to eat with your fingers like when you were a wee tot in a highchair?” He laughed and Derek and Alex grinned back. After that, they relaxed a bit more and enjoyed themselves. Derek began asking the knight questions about fighting while Alex was content to listen.

At the high table, Finrod was plying Anastasia with questions about the SCA while Glorfindel spoke quietly with Gwyn, the two of them trading stories about living among Mortals throughout the ages. Daeron half listened to the conversation while also speaking with Jason, who went by the name Michael of Norwich, and was the group’s Seneschal. Jason turned out to be fluent in Italian and very knowledgeable about medieval Italian literature, so the two were discussing Petrarch, Boccaccio and Dante in Italian, much to the bemusement of the others at the table.

The feast consisted of three courses. “We only had time to come up with three removes rather than the usual four or five,” Anastasia explained, “so this isn’t as fancy as most of our feasts.” Finrod and Glorfindel assured her that it was fine and praised the Mortals for putting together such a wonderful feast with such short notice. Between the second and third course, there was some entertainment, with two of the Mortals playing a harp and a lute while they sang chansons de geste in the original languages. Then they switched to a couple of songs from the Celtic realms, singing in Irish Gaelic.

Glorfindel nodded as the musicians sang and even joined in at one point when he recognized the song, singing softly. Daeron, watching him, smiled knowingly. Finrod, even though he did not understand the languages, was obviously enjoying himself, softly commenting about the musicians and the music to Anastasia.

At the other table, the Wiseman Elves were also enjoying the music with Elladan softly translating the words for the benefit of Laurendil, Alex, Derek and the other Mortals, while Elrohir had an arm around Serindë as the two rocked gently back and forth in time with the music. Vorondur sat watching the Mortals, gauging their states of minds. Whatever time period their particular personae were from, they all had acted in a chivalrous manner, bowing and curtseying without any sense of self-consciousness. Some of them were even speaking, or attempting to speak, in more archaic English, reminiscent of the English of Shakespeare. Gareth and the others had entertained them with the ‘medieval’ equivalents of modern devices: farseer for TVs and farspeaker for phones; dragon for vehicles of any sort. It had been amusing to listen to.

He glanced at the high table where he could see Glorfindel. He noted the contented look on the ellon’s face and the relaxed posture. Glorfindel had been tense all the way down from Wiseman and even after finding the Twins and Sarah he had not really relaxed, still feeling some pain from the injuries he had sustained and the subsequent surgery to save his life. This was the first time he had seen the ellon looking more himself.

Finrod was also looking relaxed and obviously enjoying himself. His smile was gentle though Vorondur thought he detected a hint of wistfulness in it and figured the ellon was perhaps wishing his wife were there with him, sharing in his adventures. He hoped that the elleth would join her husband soon. Finrod was adapting well enough to present circumstances, but Vorondur knew that he would fare much better if he had Amarië beside him, supporting him in his endeavors. Not for the first time he wondered at the wisdom of the Valar in sending the Elves from Aman.

The last song ended to much applause and Anastasia stood with her goblet in hand, charging all and sundry to raise their own goblets in toast to the musicians, which everyone gladly did. And then the final course was served: a selection of cookies and gingerbread topped with a hot lemon sauce.

When the feast came to an end and the lights were brought back up, Finrod insisted on helping with the cleaning up, recruiting an amenable Glorfindel while Daeron elected to sit with Anastasia and keep her company. “I do enough cleaning up after you lot back home,” he said with a sniff and sipped his wine. Glorfindel rolled his eyes and Finrod laughed, the two of them gathering up plates and silverware and joining with those who had volunteered to do the cleaning up. Large pots full of soapy hot water had been wheeled in from the kitchen so people could clean their plates and Finrod and Glorfindel got into line, happily meeting with the Mortals and assuring them that, yes, they did know which end of a dish towel was which.

The others helped the Scadians with moving the tables and chairs out and putting them away; Elladan joined in sweeping the floor. Soon the gym was cleared and now several people were gathered at one end with a variety of instruments, tuning them.

“We’ll do a little bit of dancing before we leave,” Anastasia explained. “We can show you the steps if you wish to join in or you can just watch. Not everyone cares to dance so don’t feel obligated to do so.”

The Wiseman Elves elected to watch first. Alex and Derek, however, had been accosted by a couple of young Women, one dressed in a bliaut, the other in a gates of hell, who were teaching them the steps of a pavane in anticipation of joining in the first dance, which, traditionally was always a pavane with Anastasia and Michael leading.

“Oh, and watch out for the cloved lemon,” Gwyn said to Finrod and Glorfindel as he led Mistress Gabrielle onto the dance floor.

“Cloved lemon?” Finrod asked Glorfindel, who shrugged and then gestured to the side where they saw a lady in Tudor dress holding a lemon covered with cloves and handing it to a young lord dressed as a Cavalier. She was smiling coyly as the Man took the lemon, choosing a clove to bite on before the two of them kissed with some passion. Eventually, they broke apart, the Man bowing over the Woman’s hand, the two of them flirting with one another with their smiles before going their separate ways. Then the Man went up to another of the ladies, presenting her with the lemon, his eyes bright with anticipation of a kiss from the fair damsel.

Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged amused looks and burst out laughing at the same time. “Don’t warn the others,” Finrod said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Do you think you can refuse if it’s offered to you?” Glorfindel asked.

“I doubt it. It would be insulting to the lady,” Finrod pointed out, “but it appears that one is not obligated to be too… um… expressive.” He gestured to where the Cavalier and the lady, who was dressed in what Glorfindel said was late Saxon garb, kissed one another chastely once on the lips before stepping back to give each other their courtesy and then the lady went hunting for a suitable recipient of the lemon.

However, whether out of deference or shyness, none of the Wiseman Elves were presented with the cloved lemon, much to Glorfindel’s disappointment. Alex and Derek fared better, though Derek blushed when the lady who accosted him explained the meaning of the cloved lemon and what was to be done. Still, he dutifully kissed the Woman who was a matronly sort whose husband watched laughingly, apparently not at all offended, clapping Derek on the shoulder afterwards and pointing him to a suitable candidate for the lemon. Alex was more debonair about it, and Vorondur, catching him in the act of accepting the lemon from a buxom young Woman dressed in a style that was similar to what Eleanor of Aquataine might have worn, watched with some amusement mixed with clinical appreciation as the former intelligence officer poured on the charm and literally swept the lady away with his courtly manner. Alex might be reluctant to join the SCA but he apparently was no stranger to the art of innocent flirtation.

Eventually, the dancing came to an end and people began packing things away. Most had jobs to go to in the morning and children to tend to, while others still had studying to do for the morrow’s classes. The Wiseman group doffed their borrowed finery and spent several minutes saying goodbye to various people.

“I’ll send Gareth up in a couple of weeks to see how you’re doing,” Gwyn told Glorfindel and Finrod as they prepared to leave. “In the meantime, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call. You have my cell or you can contact Pam via the website.”

Everyone wished them a good night with promises on both sides to keep in touch.

“Why don’t you meet us at the Chena Lodge at around seven,” Glorfindel suggested to Elladan as they headed for their vehicles, “we’ll plan to pick up Alex and Derek and get on the road. We’ll stop at Livengood for breakfast before we head home.”

It was agreed and then they wished one another good night as Elladan joined Elrohir and Serindë while everyone else climbed into Glorfindel’s van with Vorondur driving.

“So what do you think?” Vorondur asked Glorfindel, who was sitting up front.

“I think it might work,” Glorfindel answered. “Finrod?”

“It was quite enjoyable,” Finrod replied. “I was thinking Nicholas might like to join such an organization.”

“We’ll have to discuss who among our Mortal friends we can convince to form the group and start recruiting people. We’ll have our own people know about it so they can join and we can start having them make their armor and weapons and begin seriously training them,” Daeron said.

“What should we name the group?” Laurendil asked. “I do not think we can use Edhellond, though it would certainly be appropriate.”

“I think it would be better if we let the Mortals decide on the name and we will encourage them to take up the various offices that are required, at least the more important ones of Seneschal, Exchequer and maybe a Herald,” Vorondur suggested. “We can act as consultants and tutor people in how to do things if necessary until they’ve gotten the hang of it, especially the heraldry.”

“What about you two?” Daeron asked Alex and Derek. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Oh sure,” Derek assured them, “though that cloved lemon thing was an eye opener. I always figured medieval types were, you know, straightlaced and proper.”

Glorfindel, Daeron and Vorondur all laughed. “Trust me, son, they were anything but,” Vorondur said. “What about you, Alex? You looked as if you were enjoying yourself once you allowed yourself to relax.”

“It was fun,” Alex allowed. “Sort of reminded me of a few soirées and masquerade balls I attended when I was stationed in Europe for a time.”

“Think you’d like to join?” Derek asked.

“Not sure. I have to think about it,” Alex replied.

“Plenty of time for that and you’re under no obligation to do so if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” Vorondur said as he pulled into the Chena Lodge parking lot. “As Derek pointed out, this sort of thing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. We’ll see you around seven, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Derek said, speaking for them both as they climbed out of the van. “Good night.”

The two Mortals watched as the van drove off and then went inside, quietly sharing their impressions of the day with one another. The feast had been filling enough that they did not desire any dinner, so they settled for sitting in the lounge nursing a couple of beers and munching on popcorn before they decided to retire knowing they had to be up early.

The Elves, ensconced in the drawing room of the B and B drinking sherry — or, in Glorfindel’s case, some chamomile tea — spent the evening sharing their thoughts about the day’s events, though Glorfindel excused himself around two in the morning to get a few hours’ sleep. The others stayed up until it was time to go and pack.

And at the Alpine Lodge, the Twins took turns keeping watch while the other and Serindë slept.

45: Return to Wiseman

Alex and Derek were the only ones yawning as they all met at the Chena Lodge the next morning. The two Mortals were throwing their bags into the back of the van as Elladan drove up. A minute later they were on the road, heading toward Route 2. They pulled into a diner in Livengood for breakfast, and an hour later were back on the road. When Elladan started to get into the car to drive, Vorondur came over.

“I’ll drive,” he said, holding out his hands for the keys.

“Why?” Elladan demanded, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think we plan to veer off into the wilderness, never to be seen again? For one thing, this car isn’t built for it, and for another, we know better.”

“I’m driving, child,” Vorondur reiterated, putting the younger ellon firmly in his place. “No arguments.”

“Don’t be like this, Ada,” Serindë said with a huff of displeasure where she and Elrohir were already buckled up in the back seat. “Honestly, you’d think we were all ten or something.”

“You’ve been acting as if you were ten, Daughter, all three of you.”

“But we were obviously meant to come here,” Elrohir pointed out reasonably. “Something would’ve driven us to leave, if not what happened to Loren, then something else, so you can’t blame us.”

“But I do,” Vorondur said. “All actions have consequences, good or bad, and you left in a way that was unbecoming of any of you, no matter how angry you were.”

“Ron! Are you going to stand there all day and argue?” Glorfindel called out from the van. “We’re ready to roll. Dan, get in the car. Ron’s driving and that’s the end of it.”

Elladan sighed with great exaggeration then practically threw the keys at Vorondur with a snarl. “I so cannot wait to leave these mother hens,” he muttered as he went around to the passenger side and got in. “I may not bother to come back to Wiseman if I have to put up with this kind of nonsense.”

“That’s your choice, of course,” Vorondur said reasonably as he turned over the engine and put the car into gear, following the van, now driven by Alex with Derek riding up front with him, back onto the road. “In the meantime, let’s talk about your precipitous actions that drove us to this point, forcing Loren to leave his sick bed early and thus endangering his health even more, not to mention having to drive on this wretched road in the middle of winter which no sane person would do unless forced to do so.”

All three younger Elves sighed as one. Vorondur only smiled.

Inside the van, things were not much better. Glorfindel was feeling moody and in pain. Laurendil asked him if he wanted something for it, but Glorfindel refused, saying he hated taking medication, as it made him feel woozy.

“Which is the whole point,” Laurendil said. “You are not driving and sitting here staring out the window is boring. You might as well sleep and not be in any pain.”

But Glorfindel still refused, insisting the pain was minimal. “I’ve been in worse pain and survived. If it gets really bad, I’ll tell you. In the meantime, I want to know what happened while I was in the hospital.”

“What do you mean?” Finrod asked.

“I mean, I want to know what happened. You’ve all been dancing around the issue and I’ve been willing to let it go, but I’m not going back to Wiseman without a clue. Now, tell me. I think I have the right to know how things stand.”

For a long moment, the other Elves sat there eyeing one another while Glorfindel glowered at them. Alex and Derek exchanged looks and shrugged as one, deciding it wasn’t their problem, concentrating on the road with Derek softly reminding Alex about the steep curve that was coming up so he could brake early. Finally, Daeron nodded.

“Things are quite a mess back home,” he said softly, speaking in Sindarin, thus effectively keeping the two Mortals out of the discussion. “In a way, I’m glad you got hurt because it forced people to come out and declare themselves. Now that we know where everyone stands, we can deal with it. It was all this hiding behind facades of friendship and loyalty and whatnot that was driving me crazy trying to figure out who was in which camp.”

“There shouldn’t be camps,” Glorfindel said with a snarl, replying in the same language. “That was the whole point of Finrod and me deciding on our respective leadership roles. I thought that had been resolved.”

“Apparently not,” Finrod said. “When you became injured, we pretty much split into factions: Wiseman Elves versus Valinórean Elves. Vorondur even attacked Eärnur.”

“What?!”

So Finrod had to describe the meeting between him, Vardamir, Eärnur, Vorondur and Kyle Stoner at the bookstore and what happened there. Glorfindel just stared at him in disbelief as he described Vorondur attacking Eärnur and the reason for it.

“Ron? Our Ron?” he demanded, momentarily reverting to English.

Laurendil scowled. “When I saw what he did to Eärnur, I wanted to strangle him myself. Eärnur did not deserve…”

“It is done with,” Finrod said decisively, still speaking Sindarin. “Vorondur tendered his apologies to Eärnur and Vardamir and they forgave him. Eärnur was on the road to recovery when we left and he should be well by now. As it is, Kyle banned all the healers from the hospital until further notice. Only non-healers were allowed to keep watch over you.”

Glorfindel sighed, closing his eyes. “This is all wrong. You coming here was supposed to help not hinder. I think the Valar made a mistake sending so many with you at once.”

“Perhaps,” Finrod allowed, “but we are here now and we must deal with it. As Daeron said, this incident brought out the worst as well as the best of us and now it is time to repair the damage. You were very foolish, Brother, to do what you did, endangering yourself in that manner. The ones who attacked you took your ring. That has put you in double danger. As it is, I have had to ask Lord Námo for a loan of one of his Maiar who has been charged with keeping your fae from leaving your hraw.”

“I haven’t sensed anyone, not even the two who apparently followed the Twins and Serindë,” Glorfindel said with a frown.

“Which just shows you how weak you are, that you are unable to sense them,” Finrod pointed out.

“So who did Lord Námo send?” Glorfindel asked.

“I have no idea,” Finrod admitted. “He did not say and it is beside the point. Until we can recover the ring you are in danger of slipping your leash. Do not scowl so, Brother. It is as good a description of what happens as any.”

“Still doesn’t mean I like it,” Glorfindel muttered darkly, wincing noticeably when Alex inadvertently hit a pothole that had been covered with snow.

“Sorry,” the Mortal said, not taking his eyes off the road. “Do you think we could fly down to Fairbanks next time when we have to go there for Farrell’s trial? I really don’t fancy having to drive this road again until spring.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Glorfindel said. “For now, just take it a little slower. We’re not in any hurry.”

Alex nodded and everyone lapsed into silence for a time. After about twenty minutes, though, Glorfindel sighed. “Randall, I think I’ll take that codeine now.”

Laurendil fished about for the pills in a small bag he kept by him. “One or two?” he asked.

“Make it two,” Glorfindel replied.

Laurendil nodded, handing him two tabs and passing over some bottled water.

“Why don’t you put your seat back and try to sleep,” Finrod suggested, handing him a pillow and blanket.

Glorfindel complied without argument and as he settled himself, Daeron started singing softly. Finrod and Laurendil joined in and even Derek was heard to be humming along after a bit. Soon Glorfindel was asleep and the singers subsided into silence.

****

They pulled over three times to let people stretch and go off to relieve themselves in private behind trees and bushes if needed. Glorfindel stirred when they stopped the second time to join the exodus, but went straight back to sleep as soon as he returned to the van. Vorondur continued to ride with the Twins, but allowed Elladan to take the wheel for the last part of the journey. Both the Twins and Serindë looked a bit glassy-eyed when they got out of the car at the first stop, but everyone forebore to comment on it. Vorondur’s expression was one of satisfaction and amusement as he watched the Twins sprint away. When they asked if they could ride in the van, Daeron and Finrod both said no since Glorfindel was still asleep and even the Twins knew better than to disturb him, so they were forced to climb back into the car. Serindë refused to speak or even look at her father the entire trip back. Alex and Derek wisely kept to themselves, having the sense that the Elves would not welcome their comments.

Glorfindel began to stir about the time they reached Coldfoot and was sufficiently awake as they came into Wiseman to take notice of his surroundings. It was well after three in the afternoon when they pulled into the drive at Edhellond and everyone breathed sighs of relief at the sight of the mansion.

“Good to be home again,” Glorfindel said quietly as he allowed Laurendil to help him out of the van. Alex and Derek grabbed their bags and went to their car, thanking the Elves for the ride. “We’ll catch you all later,” Alex said and then they were on their way, leaving the Elves to themselves. The front door opened as everyone was pulling out bags and Amroth was there to greet them, giving them a smile.

“Welcome back. I see you managed to find the lost and bring them home,” he said. “Here, Loren, I’ll get that. You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a mug of tea at this point. In you go. I’ve got some lentil soup on the stove if you’re interested.”

“How have things been here?” Glorfindel asked as they all trooped into the house.

“Quiet,” Amroth assured them. “All too quiet, actually. The youngsters moved out on Saturday and I told them that they were not to come back here until next weekend. They need time to get used to being around the Mortals and making new friends. I gave them permission to call you on Wednesday, Finrod, to let you know how they’re getting on.”

“I bet that didn’t go over well,” Daeron said with a smile as they made their way into the kitchen after dropping their bags by the stairs and divesting themselves of coats and boots.

“Actually, they took it better than I expected, considering that I am not their parent and not from Valinor. Valandur, though, backed me up, so there were no arguments. Frankly, I think they were all relieved to be out of here.”

“That bad?” Vorondur asked with a frown.

Amroth shrugged. “Some of the tension dissipated once Kyle allowed the healers to return to the hospital. They went in this morning. Randall, Kyle says he’ll see you tomorrow before morning rounds to discuss your duties. Dan and Roy, if you’re still interested you can join him. Oh, and Loren, you have a follow-up appointment on Wednesday at three with Geoff as Kyle won’t be in until the evening.”

“Any word on the attackers?” Finrod asked.

“Actually, yes,” Amroth replied as he dished up some of the soup into bowls and passed them around. “Dave called this morning to say that they think they have a lead. The police put out a description of Loren’s ring throughout the district and a pawnshop in Nolan may have it. Carl’s sent someone to check it out. Dave said he would call if he had any news.”

“That would be a stroke of luck,” Vorondur said. “The sooner you get your ring back, Loren, the easier we’ll all feel.”

Glorfindel nodded as he sipped the soup but did not comment.

“So, what exactly has been going on here?” Finrod asked.

“Not much, really,” Amroth answered. “Friday night the Wiseman Elves all went to the Blue Petrel and would still be there, I imagine, if Stan hadn’t thrown them out. From what Della told me later, he gave them the typical ‘You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here’ speech and they apparently took him at his word because they showed up at our house at three in the morning and they’ve been there ever since.”

“What?!” more than one voice exclaimed in surprise.

Amroth gave them a mirthless grin. “Della and Holly fed them breakfast and when I spoke with Della this morning, Barry, Alpha and Conan were busy making baby quilts and the others were helping Holly embroider Sarah’s wedding linens. Also, they’ve been apparently doing a major movie marathon. I could hear Star Wars in the background when I was speaking with my wife. Della was complaining that if she had to hear someone say ‘May the Force be with you’ one more time, she was likely to scream.”

“Oh, man, that’s rich,” Elrohir said with a laugh. “Wish I’d been here to see it.” His twin nodded in agreement and Serindë giggled.

Glorfindel and Daeron exchanged amused looks, though Finrod and Laurendil appeared to be a bit bemused, obviously not understanding the reference. Vorondur rolled his eyes and they heard him muttering, “I’m going to need a bigger couch.”

Amroth snorted in amusement. “Well, as I said, it’s been rather quiet, but even those still here in Edhellond are barely speaking to one another. I think the only person with whom I’ve actually had a conversation has been Valandur. Oh, by the way, you may have a fight on your hands when you decide you’re well enough to go back to teaching, Loren. Val has been in seventh heaven with your Quenya class.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel gave Amroth an amused look.

Amroth nodded. “He’s like a kid at Christmas. If I were you, I would either let him continue teaching or find him a class of his own.”

“I may just do that,” Glorfindel said. “The classes at the adult education center take up more time than I really have to devote to them. I’m glad Val’s enjoying teaching the class. Maybe we can get the others to offer classes as well. That should help keep them occupied and out of trouble.”

“Something that can be discussed with everyone later,” Vorondur said, as he pulled some fresh-made bread apart to dip into the soup. “Right now, I’m more concerned about the atmosphere here. We need to address it as soon as possible before it gets out of hand.”

“To that we can all agree,” Finrod said. “How is Eärnur?” he asked Amroth.

“Better, but both he and Mir are somewhat subdued. They both almost didn’t go back to the hospital. Val and I convinced them that was not the right attitude to take. I wish you’d been here, Ron. I’m not sure we did a good job of it with either Ernest or Mir. Ernest has been jumping at shadows and Mir…” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of anger there, but I’m not savvy enough to know if it’s self-directed or other-directed. I just know that he’s close to exploding.”

“We’ll need to deal with that sooner rather than later,” Vorondur said with a sigh.

“I’ll speak with them when they return from the hospital,” Glorfindel said. “What about Helena? How is she doing?”

“Not too well, I’m afraid. Both Holly and Della have tried to talk to her, but she’s shut most of us out. Anna is the only one with whom she’ll have anything to do. If I didn’t know better, I would say she was fading. I know she’s feeling guilty about what happened but so far no one’s been able to convince her that it wasn’t her fault you acting stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Glorfindel said. “And I was stupid. I was angry, more at myself than at her, and I was feeling… well, it hardly matters now.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I think I need to lie down again.”

“You should,” Vorondur said firmly. “Time enough to solve the world’s problems later. We should be going,” he gestured to Amroth who nodded. “Sarah, you’re still welcome to come home with us. I’m sure your nana will want to see you.”

Serindë sat looking indecisive, glancing at Elrohir, who shrugged. “It’s up to you, my love. I’m fine with whatever you decide.”

“I’ll come home with you, Ada,” she said softly, “at least for a bit.”

“You may stay as long as you wish,” Vorondur said gently.

“What about the SCA thing?” Elladan asked. “Shouldn’t we be doing something about it?”

“Well not this very minute,” Daeron said with a grin. “We have a council meeting scheduled for Saturday, right? So why don’t we bring it up then?”

Everyone agreed to that. When Amroth asked what they were talking about Vorondur said he would explain on the way back home, so Amroth ran upstairs to gather his things while everyone else finished their soup and then went back to the front to see the three off with many thanks to Amroth for keeping an eye on things while they were away. Vorondur promised to send the Wiseman Elves back home. “The house is too damn small for all of them to be there cluttering up the place,” he said and no one argued otherwise.

After seeing them off, Glorfindel asked not to be disturbed even for dinner. “If I wake up, fine, but otherwise, just let me sleep.”

“I’ll check in on you later when it’s time for your medication,” Laurendil said and Glorfindel just nodded as he began trudging up the stairs. Finrod followed him, declaring he wished to lie down for a while as well. Daeron said he would be working in the library, catching up on things, while the Twins decided they needed some fresh air and headed out the back and made their way into the woods behind the mansion. Laurendil ended up washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen before wandering into the library and choosing a book to read, taking it and a cup of tea up to the sunroom.

****

Glorfindel woke to find that it was nearly seven in the evening and he had slept for nearly three hours, only vaguely recalling Laurendil coming in at some point to give him his medication. He felt refreshed and after taking a shower and donning a pair of lounging pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt, shoving his feet into slippers, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen where he found Daeron and Melyanna sitting in the breakfast nook drinking coffee together and sharing a newspaper. They looked up with smiles as Glorfindel entered.

“Have a good nap?” Daeron asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“There’s meatloaf in the fridge, if you want some, and I can whip you up some potatoes to go with it.”

“I’ll just make a meatloaf sandwich, thanks,” Glorfindel said. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out the plate of meatloaf and some mustard and opened the bread box and was soon making a sandwich. “Where is everyone? It’s very quiet for being so early in the evening.”

“If by everyone you mean the Twins, they went with Sarah to the movies. Several of the others went with them, including Finrod,” Daeron explained.

“What’s playing?”

“No idea. I think they just wanted an excuse to be out of the house for a time. Even Finrod was feeling antsy for some reason. I think he’s anxious about Finda and Nell, wondering how they’re getting on, but he’s forbore to call them on their cell phones, not wanting to appear like a…um…”

“Like a concerned parent?” Glorfindel said with a knowing grin and both Daeron and Melyanna nodded. “So what about the ones camping out at Ron and Amroth’s place?” Glorfindel stowed the leftovers back into the fridge and poured some coffee for himself before sitting across from the other two with his sandwich.

Daeron grinned. “Haven’t seen them. Ron called while you were napping and said he and Amroth kicked them all out, but that was two hours ago.”

“Such babies,” Melyanna muttered with a sniff. Daeron gave her an indulgent smile.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Glorfindel exclaimed in disgust. “This is getting ridiculous.”

“I agree,” Daeron said, “but until and unless they come home, there’s precious little anyone can do about it.”

“Well, I can do something about it right now,” Glorfindel said, putting down his sandwich. “Fionwë!”

The scent of apples and mint permeated the air and then the Maia, dressed in his Finn disguise, appeared. Only Melyanna gasped in surprise at the sight. “You rang?” Fionwë asked in a deep voice.

“Yeah, Lurch, I did,” Glorfindel retorted and Daeron bit back a laugh while Fionwë practically glowed with amusement. Melyanna just looked puzzled. “I need you to hunt down some errant Elves who are probably wandering about Wiseman like lost sheep. I want you to put the fear of the Valar into them and send them back here. This nonsense has gone on long enough.”

“Do I look like a sheepdog, Glorfindel?” Fionwë countered. “I’m not in the business of herding wayward Children.”

“Well, you can now add it to your resumé,” Glorfindel said, giving the Maia his best glare. “You have your orders. Find them. I don’t care what you have to do to convince them to return to Edhellond posthaste, but remind them that if I have to go looking for them, they will regret it for a very long time.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty,” Daeron quipped and then started laughing as Glorfindel snarled a swearword at him. Melyanna blushed and Daeron put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a hug and a kiss on the temple.

Fionwë, obviously trying not to laugh himself, sighed somewhat dramatically. “Well, just this once,” he said and then he was gone, leaving behind the fresh scent of apples and mint.

Glorfindel went back to his sandwich and Daeron got up to refresh his and Melyanna’s cups of coffee before settling back down to finish reading the paper with her. No one spoke and the silence between them was companionable. Once he finished his sandwich and had tidied up, Glorfindel gave the other two a rueful look.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he wiped his hands on a towel.

Daeron waved away the apology. “No problem.”

“I didn’t know you could actually order a Maia to do anything,” Melyanna said, somewhat in awe. “It’s usually them ordering us about.”

“I have special dispensation,” Glorfindel said with a smirk. Then he raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “I think I need to speak with Helena. We need to settle some things between us before things get too out of hand.”

“Do you want us to leave then?” Daeron asked.

“No. I think she might feel less threatened if you’re both here, especially you, Anna. I wish Ron were here as well. He has a way of diffusing tensions and making everyone feel good about themselves.”

“He certainly has a gift, I can’t argue with that,” Daeron allowed. “Helena is in her room. Anna, you want to see if she’ll come out?”

“I can try,” the elleth said without much conviction.

“Tell her she can either speak with me face-to-face or I will just stand outside her door and talk to her that way and I don’t care who else is listening,” Glorfindel said.

Melyanna nodded as Daeron stood to let her out and then he resumed his seat, folding up the paper. Glorfindel remained standing by the sink. Perhaps five minutes went by before Melyanna returned with Helyanwë, looking as if she’d been crying. She also looked too pale to Glorfindel’s eyes and he scowled. Helyanwë visibly flinched.

“Fading isn’t the answer, Helyanwë,” he said somewhat sharply, speaking in Quenya. “You should ask your great-great-grandmother Lirulin about that.”

“Come sit,” Melyanna said softly in the same language, leading the other elleth to the breakfast nook. “Can I get you something? Tea, perhaps? You haven’t eaten in days, either. Let me make you some broth.”

Helyanwë just shook her head and Glorfindel said, reverting to English, “Heat up some soup, Anna, and maybe make some toast. Helena’s not leaving here until she’s had something to eat.”

“I’ll help,” Daeron said, getting up, thus allowing Glorfindel to take his place, which he did.

While Daeron and Melyanna busied themselves with preparing something for Helyanwë, Glorfindel gave the elleth a searching look. Helyanwë refused to look up. After a moment, Glorfindel sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“I forgive you,” he said.

Helyanwë looked up in surprise. “What?” she whispered.

“I forgive you. I know, or rather, I hope you did not mean to be cruel. I was stupid to do what I did, I admit, and what happened afterwards was entirely my fault. You had nothing to do with it.”

“I drove you away,” she said.

“I drove myself away,” Glorfindel countered. “What happened after that was entirely my decision. I admit I was angry, furious even, and very hurt by your words, but it was no excuse for endangering myself in that manner and thus putting everything we’ve been working for at risk.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Helyanwë said softly, not looking up. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Yes you did,” Glorfindel retorted mildly and when the elleth started to protest, he raised a hand to stop her. “You did mean it. You see me as not having the same social standing as Finrod. You’re right that he’s a prince and once, a long time ago, I was a lord of a House that no longer exists except in memory. Your problem, Helena, and it’s the problem that many of the others from Valinor have, is that you are projecting your social expectations upon a situation that is radically different from what you know. Wiseman is not Valinor. We operate under a different system of rule here. You don’t have to like it, but you need to accept it, you all do. Finrod and I consider ourselves brothers, along with your great-grandfather, Sador. Arafinwë and Eärwen all but adopted Sador and me when we were first released from Lórien and had nowhere to go. I was accorded every courtesy… um… well that’s not strictly true, but we’ll forget about that. The point I’m trying to make is that Finrod considers me his equal and he expects everyone else to do the same.”

“Glorfindel speaks truly, Cousin,” Melyanna said as she brought Helyanwë a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some toast. “You and your family have always been treated by the Noldóran and Noldotári as family and Uncle Sador still calls them Atya and Emya even though his own parents were reborn ages ago.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Glorfindel said, “but there never seemed to be a good time. So Sador’s parents died, and his sister?”

“She actually survived the attack at the Havens,” Helyanwë answered. “She eventually sailed at the end of the second age after her husband and one of her sons died before the gates of Barad-dûr.”

“When I first came back to Middle-earth, I tried to find out what had happened to Sador’s family, hoping to be able to send back news,” Glorfindel said, idly taking a piece of toast and chewing on it, much to the amusement of the others, “but I could never discover their fate. So many people were lost or displaced along with most of our records when Beleriand sank, at least according to Gil-galad. He and the survivors practically had to start all over again from scratch.”

“Well, getting back to the original discussion,” Daeron said, “it seems to me that Helena’s viewpoint is fairly typical of the others from Valinor, with a few exceptions. I think it might be wise if Finrod categorically declares you his equal in some kind of ceremony.”

“Seems rather pointless, though,” Glorfindel protested. He started to take another piece of toast, but Melyanna slapped his hand, and he gave her a surprised look while Helyanwë actually giggled, which was a heartening sound.

“If you want some toast, I’ll be happy to make some for you,” Melyanna said, “but this toast is for Helena.”

Glorfindel blushed, suddenly realizing what he’d been doing. “Sorry,” he muttered, clasping his hands together on his lap. Daeron chuckled as he pulled some bread out of the bread box and threw a couple of pieces into the toaster. Before anyone could say anything more, they heard the front door opening and the sound of several people speaking.

“Hmm… I hear Vardamir,” Daeron said softly, giving Glorfindel a significant look, “and if Mir’s here…”

“Ernie can’t be far behind,” Glorfindel ended. He sighed. “Guess I’d better deal with them now.” He glanced at Helyanwë. “Are we okay?”

She nodded, though her expression was somewhat doubtful. Glorfindel stood up and leaned toward her. “Finish your soup,” he said gently and kissed her softly on the forehead before sidling out of the nook and making his way out of the kitchen. Daeron spoke softly to Melyanna, asking her to keep Helyanwë company, and then he followed Glorfindel out, leaving the two ellith to themselves.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Fae: (Sindarin) Cognate of the Quenya fëa: spirit, soul.

Hraw: (Sindarin) Cognate of the Quenya hröa: body.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor; in this case, Arafinwë.

Noldotári: Queen of the Noldor; in this case, Eärwen.

Atya and Emya: ‘My father’ and ‘my mother’, respectively, generally used by children when addressing a parent.

46: Resolutions

Vardamir, Eärnur and Manwen were discussing something between them that had happened at the hospital while they were removing their coats and hanging them on one of the two coat trees set up by the front door when Laurendil came down the stairs. Manwen spied her husband.

“You’re back!” she said unnecessarily as she went to kiss him.

“Got back a few hours ago,” Laurendil said, returning her kiss with one of his own.

“Were you successful in finding the Twins and Serindë?” Vardamir asked.

“Yes, we were.”

They all turned to see Glorfindel and Daeron coming down the hall. It was Glorfindel who had spoken. Vardamir and Eärnur stiffened and Eärnur’s expression was one of dismay. Before anyone could speak, he burst into tears, which brought Glorfindel and Daeron up short. They exchanged bemused looks, while Vardamir tried to comfort his fellow healer. Glorfindel sighed and then reached out to take Eärnur by the shoulders.

“Ernie, stop that. You’re embarrassing Manuela.”

“It’s Ernest,” Eärnur said, still weeping. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Well, I’m going to call you Ernie as long as you’re weeping. You want me to call you Ernest, you have to dry those tears,” Glorfindel retorted. “I think we should take this elsewhere. There are things that need to be said between us. If you two will excuse us,” he looked up at Laurendil and Manwen.

“We can take a hint,” Laurendil said with a smile, his arms around Manwen, who looked quite content to remain within them. “Besides, I haven’t seen my wife in four whole days. I can think of better things to do than stand around listening to everyone apologizing to everyone else.”

“I’m sure you can,” Glorfindel shot back with a grin, then turned to the others. “Come on, let’s go to the library. Darren, you want to make some tea for Ernest? I think he could use some.”

“I’ll be back shortly then,” Daeron said and retreated down the hall to the kitchen while Glorfindel steered Eärnur and Vardamir toward the library. Laurendil and Manwen disappeared up the stairs, arm in arm, with Laurendil describing the journey to Fairbanks as they went.

Inside the library, Glorfindel went to the fireplace and busied himself with building up the fire that was never allowed to go out during the winter months, while the other two stood indecisively, watching him warily. Satisfied with the fire, Glorfindel stood up, replacing the poker, giving the other two a wry look when he took in their expressions.

“You two look as if you’re waiting for your own executions. Relax, will you? I’m not angry with either one of you.”

“We almost killed you,” Vardamir said in a strained voice.

“Well, almost doesn’t count,” Glorfindel shot back. “Look, you made a mistake. Yes, it nearly cost me my life, but if I hadn’t been so arrogant and just plain stupid, none of this would have happened in the first place. So, lesson learned, or I sincerely hope so.”

Daeron came in just then bearing a tray with a teapot and cups and a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. “Have I missed anything?” he asked as he put the tray down on the table between the two chairs facing the fireplace.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “No, Darren, you haven’t missed a thing. Should we reenact the last five minutes for you just to be sure? I think I was playing with the fire.”

Vardamir snorted in amusement and even Eärnur snickered as Glorfindel gave them a wink and the atmosphere in the room became more relaxed.

“So how was your first day back at the hospital?” Glorfindel asked.

“Rough,” Vardamir replied with a grimace. “Kyle gave us all a dressing down worthy of the Noldóran.”

“Ouch!” Glorfindel said sympathetically, well remembering the few — very few, thankfully — times he had been chewed out by Arafinwë for some infraction or other. And what had made it so terrible was that the king never raised his voice.

“It was very embarrassing, being reprimanded by a Mortal,” Eärnur said, accepting a cup of the chamomile tea from Daeron and choosing a cookie to go with it.

“Kyle Stoner has his own brand of arrogance,” Daeron commented, “but he’s not a fool and he’s considered one of the best trauma doctors in the state, if not the country.”

“At any rate, we’re all under probation for the time being, which is rather galling,” Vardamir said, declining the tea but accepting a cookie.

“What about the Twins?” Eärnur asked.

“What about them?” Glorfindel countered. “They’re back, though at the moment I understand that they and Finrod and some others have gone to the movies, so you’ll have to wait until later to speak with them. They were very hurt by your dismissal, which is what drove them away. You may disparage their heritage, which, frankly, is far more exalted than any of ours in my opinion, and you can dismiss them because they are younger than you, but don’t ever forget that they’ve lived among Mortals for a very long time and they are both doctors in their own right. If anything, they have seniority over all of you in that regard. From what I’ve been told, they made the correct diagnosis and were doing what should have been done to relieve my distress. Your taking over the way you did was not only arrogant but foolish.” He paused for a moment and shook his head, noting the way the two healers had stiffened under the lash of his tongue. “Well, end of lecture. I’m sure we’ve all learned something from this little fiasco and we need to move on.”

“I’m sorry, we’re sorry,” Eärnur said softly. Vardamir nodded.

“I know,” Glorfindel responded, “but it’s not to me you have to say that, but to Dan and Roy.”

Both ellyn nodded, looking resigned. Before anyone could say anything else, though, they all heard the front door opening and several voices talking. Vardamir grimaced. “They’re back, then. I was hoping they would just stay away.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel said as he went to the door and opened it. “Hey, you lot, in here, now,” he called out and then turned back to face the others. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nothing really,” Eärnur said, stealing a glance at Vardamir. “They all disappeared Friday night and no one knew where they had gone.”

“Amroth knew,” Daeron pointed out. “Della called him to let him know.”

“Well, he didn’t tell any of us,” Vardamir insisted.

“According to Amroth, none of you were on speaking terms with him or any of the other Wiseman Elves,” Glorfindel pointed out in a reasonable tone.

Before either Vardamir or Eärnur could comment, several people came into the library, most of them looking sheepish. Glorfindel gave them all an imperious look while Daeron smiled faintly in amusement. When they spied Glorfindel they all seemed to breathe sighs of relief and one or two even smiled. Bringing up the rear was Fionwë still in his Finn disguise, though he had added a duster to his ensemble out of deference to the weather.

“Where did you find them?” Glorfindel asked.

“At the library listening to a harp concerto,” the Maia answered. “Very nicely played. They wanted to stay and speak to the harpists but I convinced them it would be wiser and… um… healthier if they all came back home.”

“Ron threw you lot out of his house some hours ago,” Glorfindel said. “When were you planning to come home or were you going to drift from one location to the next for all of time?”

“We always planned to come home, Loren,” Barahir said, apparently acting as spokesman, “but the concert was one we had all planned to go to anyway, so when we left Ron’s place we had just enough time to grab a bite at the café before the concert. You didn’t have to send him to fetch us.” He jerked a thumb somewhat contemptuously at Fionwë who stood there looking not in the least insulted.

“Yes, well, I won’t apologize for that,” Glorfindel said. “I understand you’ve all been behaving rather badly while we were away, refusing to speak to one another, leaving Amroth alone to hold down the fort, importuning Holly and Della the way you did.”

“Well, at least the babies now have lovely quilts waiting for them when they’re born and Sarah’s bridal linens are all nicely embroidered,” Eirien said with a sniff, “so whatever else, we made good use of our time.”

“Nor did we neglect our own duties,” Cennanion pointed out. “We may have been hiding out at Ron’s but we still continued looking after Elf Academy. Oh, by the way, Marion called and said that they’re already receiving applications for next year, and almost twice the number we got this same time last year. Zach will be bringing them to the meeting on Saturday as Marion won’t be here. She has a wedding in Anchorage.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Fine, but we really need to deal with what has been going on here of late. Things should not have fallen apart the way they did when I got hurt.”

“You almost died,” Gilvegil protested, “and I don’t necessarily mean because of the attack.” He cast a glare at Vardamir and Eärnur.

“We’ve already apologized to Glorfindel for what we did,” Vardamir said softly.

“If you hadn’t been so arrogant—” Misty started to say, but Glorfindel cut her off with an impatient gesture.

“Enough!” he practically screamed, causing more than one person to jump in surprise. “Recriminations are useless and get us nowhere. What happened, happened. Get over it. And all this finger-pointing is unbecoming of any of you. Honestly, you act like a bunch of Mortals at their worst.” He gave them all a disgusted look and turned away to face the fireplace, obviously trying to get himself under control.

“Remember, my children,” Daeron said in a gently scolding manner, “when you point a finger at others you have three more pointing back at you. I agree with Loren that it was very bad of you to leave Amroth to deal with matters on his own. He did quite admirably, all things considered, and if he found it all very amusing and did not take umbrage, then that speaks highly of him, but does you no credit in return.”

They all stared at him and even Glorfindel turned around to give him an appraising look. “You been taking lessons from Ron lately?” he asked with a smile and Daeron just shrugged, not bothering to answer what was clearly a rhetorical question.

“What about you, Loren?” Barahir asked. “How are you doing? And what about Dan and Roy? Did you find them and Sarah?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you for asking,” Glorfindel said, “and yes, we found them and brought them home. We have some rather interesting news but we’ll wait until everyone’s back before we share it. Some people are at the movies and others apparently have been hanging about in the woods, as I can sense a number of them returning from that direction.”

Just then, Melyanna and Helyanwë entered. Melyanna, when she saw Daeron, went directly to him, her expression one of delight. He gathered her in his embrace. “Did you miss me?” he whispered in a teasing voice, though most of them heard him.

“Always,” she answered and the two shared a smile.

Helyanwë remained by the door, looking uncertain. Glorfindel went to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, bringing her further into the room. “Did you finish the soup?”

“Yes, and I also ate your toast,” she replied with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“That’s all right,” Glorfindel said with an indulgent smile. “I’m fine with chocolate chip cookies. Ah… I believe the movie-goers are also back. Would you be a dear and go fetch them for me? Gil, go tell the ones coming into the kitchen to come here, will you? I think we need to get all of this settled tonight.”

Gilvegil nodded and he let Helyanwë precede him out the door, the two going in opposite directions. A few minutes later, both groups met at the library door and there was a brief moment of hesitation before Finrod ended up being the first to enter. He automatically went to stand with Glorfindel and Daeron, ignoring everyone else.

“Did you have a good nap, Brother?” he asked solicitously.

“Yes, I did,” Glorfindel replied. “As you can see, I’m feeling well enough to give everyone else grief.”

“Good.” Finrod said. “So, where do we stand?”

“Well, Mir and Ernest and I have made up, Dan and Roy still need to speak to them. Helena and I have talked and I think we’re back on track, and I was just reprimanding my crew for deserting Amroth as they did. You want to speak to your lot or should I?”

“Oh, by all means, do,” Finrod said, giving an exaggerated sigh and a slight scowl of annoyance which Glorfindel knew was just for show. “I find I tire of having to do so all the time.”

Everyone listening to the exchange reacted with varying degrees of concern or exasperation. Glorfindel spied Valandur standing to one side, his expression one of amusement. “So, I understand I may have to arm-wrestle you for my Quenya class, Val. How did the lesson go?”

Valandur laughed. “It went very well, Loren. We spent the time cursing one another.”

“Excuse me?” Glorfindel asked in surprise and even the others looked nonplused by the loremaster’s statement.

Valandur just laughed harder. “I told the class that I would not teach them a single word of Quenya until they shared with me their swearwords and curses.”

“But why?” Beleg asked, clearly confused.

“Because they are an important aspect of any culture,” Valandur replied. “Anyway, the Mortals were rather taken aback and seemed very uncomfortable.”

“I would certainly think so,” Daeron said with a grin.

Valandur’s smile grew wider. “Finally one of the men spoke up, saying, and I quote, ‘But there are ladies present, sir’, at which point, one of the ladies in question said a word under her breath that had all the other ladies laughing and all the men looking as if they were wishing the ground would open up beneath them.” He paused to chuckle. “The ladies all became embarrassed, though, when I asked them to define the term.”

“What was the word?” Daeron asked.

“Oh, it had something to do with reproduction,” Valandur said somewhat airily and Glorfindel saw Elrohir mouthing the word to Elladan and the two of them grinning. The other Wiseman Elves also gave each other knowing grins. “At any rate,” Valandur continued, “after much hemming and hawing, they finally got around to explaining what the word referred to and how it was generally used and under what social contexts and then I very calmly gave them the Quenya equivalent. After that, things got rolling. Of course, some of their phrases have no Quenya equivalent and vice versa and we spent some time exploring the reasons why that might be so, beyond the fact that Mortals are more… crude in the way they curse each other. I gave them examples of the more refined manner in which we do the same. It was fun and very informative, especially the way they can insert such words into the middle of a word for emphasis, something we cannot do in Quenya. I may have to write a paper on it.”

“English expletive infixation is the technical term for that,” Daeron said with a laugh. “I can point you to the relevant research, if you’re interested.”

Valandur nodded and Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, Amroth suggested you take over the class completely and I have no objections. It will certainly free up my time more, but why on earth you spent an entire class teaching them swearwords is beyond me.”

“I was not only teaching them but they were teaching me,” Valandur pointed out. “It’s a two-way street, as I believe the saying goes. And it’s not enough to teach anyone a language without also teaching them the sociological reason for that language. The two go together. Language out of context makes little sense. So, for instance, by sharing how our two cultures use expletives and why, they get a clearer sense of how Quenya works and in what way it differs from English and what way it does not.”

“Well, getting back to the reason for this meeting,” Glorfindel said, turning his attention to the others, speaking in a low voice, “I am very disappointed in you all. Finrod told me what happened while I was in the hospital and Amroth brought me up to date on how things were here while we were in Fairbanks and frankly, I’m appalled. I just hope that our enemies did not see how you were acting with one another and are t making plans to exploit this division. I thought we had settled things, but apparently not.”

He paused for a moment and then his expression hardened and his eyes blazed with what Finrod would call the Wrath-of-Mandos look. The Twins apparently recognized it, because they both started backing up, though they didn’t get far before Glorfindel froze them with a look and when he spoke his tone was colder than the snow that was now falling outside. “Let me make this very clear to all of you. Your actions of late play into the hands of the Enemy. Most of you know better. Some of us even died because we allowed ourselves to play into the Enemy’s hands the first time. We cannot afford to make that same mistake twice. We are too few here and there are no guarantees that we will have reinforcements from Valinor or elsewhere when the time comes. We need to work together and not be so divisive. I made a mistake and I apologize for it and for what it did to all of you, but people, I am expendable. Finrod is expendable. In the end, we’re all expendable. If I or Finrod or both of us fall in the coming War you need to remain together, choosing other leaders whom you can trust and that means everyone needs to trust everyone else because we do not know who will fall, if any of us do.”

“And we must make sure that our Mortal friends see us united as well,” Finrod interjected, “for they will rely on us to lead. Betrayal from within and without was our downfall in the past. We cannot afford to let history repeat itself. Too much is at stake here. Let us, therefore, resolve to put aside our differences and for the Valar’s sake, if you have a complaint, come to me or Glorfindel, preferably to both of us. Do not allow it to fester within you. That, too, plays into the hands of the Enemy.”

“Are we clear on this, people?” Glorfindel demanded. Most nodded their heads and some made vocal affirmations. “Good. End of lecture. You’re dismissed. Roy, Dan, you stay, and you two.” He pointed to Vardamir and Eärnur.

The four ellyn remained where they were while everyone else, with the exception of Finrod, Daeron and Fionwë, who had remained unobtrusively in the background during the previous discussion, shuffled out of the library. Glorfindel spoke quietly to Helyanwë as she started to leave, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead before letting her go and she and Melyanna were the last ones out, closing the door behind them. Glorfindel turned his attention to the four ellyn standing staring at each other across a gulf that was more than the physical space separating them. “Okay, I think we need to get some stuff straightened between you four,” Glorfindel said. “Who wants to start?”

For several uncomfortable minutes, no one moved or spoke, the four ellyn staring at one another while Glorfindel, Daeron, Finrod and Fionwë looked on. Finally, Vardamir said, “I was wrong and you were right. I am sorry.”

“As am I,” Eärnur said softly.

“Apology accepted,” Elladan said, speaking for himself and Elrohir as always. “And we’re sorry we ran off the way we did. It was childish and solved nothing.”

“Although, something good came out of it anyway,” Elrohir said.

“Oh?” Vardamir said. “What do you mean?”

“What he means is that we have some interesting news to share with everyone but not just yet,” Glorfindel interjected, stepping between them. “Right now, let’s just concentrate on the moment. I don’t expect you to become bosom pals all of a sudden, but do try to be civil with one another.”

Elladan gave him an exasperated look that was mirrored on the faces of the other three ellyn. “Honestly, Loren, we’re not children. Give us some credit.”

“I’ll give credit where it’s due when I see it,” Glorfindel retorted. “Now, off you go. Shoo. The adults need some quiet time to themselves.”

“Well, that leaves you out, my brother,” Finrod said with a mischievous grin. Glorfindel awarded him with a scowl while everyone else sniggered with amusement.

“Come on,” Vardamir said, gesturing to the Twins as he took Eärnur’s arm, “let’s go up to the sunroom and we’ll tell you about the crazy thing that happened at the hospital that had Kyle screaming like an orc and had everyone else laughing their heads off.”

“Oh yes,” Eärnur said with a chuckle as the four left. “I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.” They closed the door behind them, leaving Glorfindel, Finrod, Daeron and Fionwë alone.

Glorfindel sighed, rubbing his abdomen gently with one hand as he ran his other hand through his hair. “Well, one crisis down and how many more to go?”

“Hopefully not too many more,” Finrod muttered. “Are you in pain, gwador? Should I find Laurendil or one of the other healers?”

“No need, Finrod,” Fionwë said, stepping forward. “I can help there.”

“You still here?” Glorfindel growled.

“I’ve been making a full report to my lord on all that has been said and done tonight,” the Maia replied as he gently moved Glorfindel’s hand away from his stomach and replaced it with his own. Almost instantly, what pain Glorfindel was experiencing dissipated and his expression cleared. He sighed with obvious relief.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully as Fionwë stepped away, giving him a slight bow in acknowledgement.

“Reporting us to your masters as if we were naughty children?” Daeron asked. “Do they fear we are incapable of cleaning our own house?”

“Not at all,” Fionwë replied. “If they did not have such faith in you, do you think one of Them would not have made an appearance tonight? However, my Lord Manwë is, how do you say, head of operations? Yes, that sounds right, so he is naturally concerned when things go not at all as planned.”

“Meaning me getting beaten up and nearly dying,” Glorfindel said and the Maia nodded.

“I’m surprised none of you stopped it,” Daeron said.

“The Maiar are not responsible for our own stupidities, Darren,” Glorfindel said before Fionwë could answer. “They protect us up to a point and I suspect that while you could not stop the attack you were able to… um… convince my attackers not to kill me.”

“Yes,” Fionwë replied, but he refused to elaborate and the Elves did not press. “Well, it has been an interesting evening. I hope we do not experience anything similar in the future.”

“From your lips to the Valar’s ears, my friend,” Glorfindel retorted.

“Indeed,” Fionwë responded, giving them a faint smile as he faded away.

For a moment the three Elves just stared at the space where the Maia had been and then almost as one sighed, giving each other sheepish grins. “More tea?” Daeron suggested and when Finrod and Glorfindel nodded Daeron picked up the tea tray. “I’ll be back shortly.” Finrod opened the door for him and then closed it, giving Glorfindel a discerning look.

“How are you holding up?” he asked solicitously.

“Well enough,” Glorfindel replied as he went to the fireplace and poked the logs around a bit and threw a fresh log on the fire. “I should be tired after all this, but I’m not. You feel up to a game of chess?”

“That will leave Daeron out,” Finrod said.

“No. If I know him, he’ll be content with sitting quietly with a book or maybe even playing his harp.” He nodded toward a corner of the room where one of Daeron’s harps stood.

“Then, let us play.”

Thus, when Daeron returned several minutes later with a fresh pot of tea, it was to find the two Elf-lords sitting across from each other at the reading table staring at a chessboard, barely acknowledging him with thanks when he handed them each a cup and placed a plate of chocolate chip cookies next to them. He gave them an indulgent smile and settled down before the fire with his own cup, gazing contentedly at the flames, enjoying the quiet.

47: Alex in Wonderland

Alex woke on Tuesday in a state of dread and anticipation and hoped he wouldn’t be sick. He recognized the sensation. It was similar to what he often felt just as he was about to embark on a new assignment for the Agency: excitement and the thrill of the chase mixed with dread at the thought that he might be found out by the group he was attempting to infiltrate and what would happen to him if he was. But he wasn’t about to go on assignment for the Agency, he reminded himself as he crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom for a shower. He was going to teach his first class at the Northern Lights Community College, French 101, in fact.

Yet, even though he knew this, the feelings of anticipation and dread stayed with him as he continued his ablutions and got dressed, then went to the kitchen to find Derek already there making breakfast for them both, though he was grateful to see that it was only toast and coffee. He wasn’t sure he could handle anything more and that surprised him. Even before, he’d always managed to eat a decent breakfast. So why was this any different?

“Morning!” Derek said brightly, glancing over his shoulder as he buttered some toast. “Just in time. Man, you look terrible. Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“Actually, I slept quite well, but when I woke up I was feeling suddenly sick to my stomach.”

Derek nodded as he handed Alex a plate of toast. “Yeah, that sort of thing hits people differently.”

“What sort of thing?” Alex asked as he took the toast to the kitchen table and sat. There was already a carafe of coffee there and he poured himself a cup.

“You know,” Derek offered. “New job butterflies, my dad calls them. Happens to us all.”

“And under other circumstances, I might even agree with you, but what I’m feeling is more than nerves. There’s a sense of dread as well.”

“What do you think that means?” Derek asked with a frown as he settled himself in the other chair and grabbed a piece of toast and poured some milk into a bowl of bran flakes topped with raisins that sat in front of him. Just the sight of it made Alex want to be sick so he concentrated on his toast and coffee.

“Well, in my previous life, it was just the feeling I had when I was about to infiltrate another terrorist group, knowing what my fate would be if they ever found out who I really was.”

“So, do you think that when your students discover that you are a human being and not the Mighty Thor or the son of Harry Potter, they’ll turn on you?” Derek asked in all seriousness.

Alex choked on the piece of toast he was chewing as he started to laugh. Derek gave him a smirk. When he had gotten himself under control and the piece of toast down his throat with the help of some coffee, he gave his gwador a shrewd look. “You did that on purpose.”

“Moi?” Derek retorted with feigned indignation.

Alex grinned, suddenly feeling better, though the feeling of dread did not go away entirely and he half-wondered if it meant something more than just nerves, but decided to ignore it for now. “Thanks,” he said, knowing he need not say anything more.

“No problem,” Derek replied in an offhand manner. “So do you think Edhellond is still standing?”

“Hmm…the question of the hour, isn’t it? I’m tempted to make a detour on the way into college just to see.”

“Yeah, me too,” Derek said. “Unfortunately, I have to get to work and that’s in the opposite direction.”

“Will you be staying at the resort or coming home?”

“Depends on the weather, I suppose. I’ve got an overnight bag in my car just in case. If I’m not coming back tonight, I’ll call you and you can tell me all about your first day, otherwise, God willing, I’ll be back by seven at the latest.”

“Good enough,” Alex said, downing the rest of the coffee and deciding against a second cup. He glanced at the microwave clock. He still had two hours before his first class. “I think I’ll head over to the college now, make sure I’ve got everything I need.”

“Good luck,” Derek said as he finished his cereal and got up to throw the dishes into the dishwasher, “or break a leg or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Alex said sincerely. “I’m sure I’ll need it.”

“You’ll do fine,” Derek said more warmly. “Just remember, you’re the grown up and they’re wet-behind-the-ears freshmen without a clue. Remember how that was?”

“All too well,” Alex said as he left the kitchen to finish getting himself ready. He put on his coat and grabbed his book bag. Derek saw him to the door. “You’re going to be great, I just know it,” he said. “Just remember to breathe every once in a while.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Alex couldn’t help saying, giving Derek a grin.

“Did you wash behind your ears? Are you wearing clean underwear?” Derek quipped and Alex laughed as he headed down the hall to the stairs and out to the parking lot where he found his car. It had snowed overnight, so he took a few minutes while the car was warming up to brush it clean before getting in and setting off. Traffic was light even for what passed as rush hour in Wiseman and the roads were dry and clear, for which he was grateful. On a whim, he detoured to Edhellond and slowed but did not stop as he reached the mansion, finding it still standing. There was a light on in one of the bedrooms upstairs, but otherwise the place appeared dark and quiet. He could almost believe that everyone was snug in their beds still, but even as he thought that, he saw the front door open and Finrod was stepping out, drawing his cloak closer around him as he looked about, breathing in the fresh air, before heading for the gate.

Alex came to a complete stop and rolled down his window. “Morning!” he called.

Finrod stopped and gave him a brilliant smile, looking both ways before crossing the distance. “And good morning to you, Alex Grant. You are on your way to teach?”

“Yeah, but my class isn’t until ten. I thought I would go in early, get myself settled. You on your way to work?”

“Yes.”

“Well, hop in and I’ll take you there.”

“But that is out of your way,” Finrod said.

“Not by much. I’ll still have a good hour before my class. Come on. It’s too cold to be standing here arguing. Hop in.”

He rolled up the window and Finrod went around to the passenger side and climbed in, expertly wrapping the seat belt around him while Alex did a three-point turn and headed back the way he’d come.

“Everything okay at home?” he asked in as nonchalant a tone as he could manage. “No one died or anything?”

Finrod laughed. “No. No one died and no one is missing limbs or teeth.” He flashed him a merry look. “Did you think it would be that bad?”

Alex shrugged as he turned onto Kodiak and then came to stop behind a school bus picking up a couple of children. “Derek and I could feel the tension all the way home. Loren was totally pissed.”

“And with good reason, but I assure you that no blood was spilt last night. Whatever problems we are having are being resolved. You need not be concerned for us.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Alex said as he started moving again. “What was everyone’s reaction when you told them about Gwyn and Gareth?”

“We haven’t told them yet,” Finrod replied. “Glorfindel wants to wait until the council meeting on Saturday so he can tell the Mortals as well. I believe it will be then that he will discuss forming our own SCA group.”

“And you all are going to keep this news under wraps for the next four days?” Alex asked in disbelief. “Man, I would be bursting at the seams if I had to wait that long to tell someone something like that.”

Finrod smiled. “When you normally count time in decades instead of minutes, what is four days?”

Alex could only shake his head as he pulled over to let Finrod out. “Here you go. You have a good day.”

“And the Valar shine upon your path today as well, Alex Grant,” Finrod responded as he got out. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” Alex said and gave a wave as he drove off, picking up Aurora and heading west toward the college. He arrived and found his assigned parking space and made his way to Rosamond Hall where his office was. In the distance, the chimes at St. Andrew’s were ringing the hour as he entered the hall and made his way to his office, which he shared with another language teacher. Felicity Cohen taught German and was also fluent in Hebrew, having resided in Israel as a teenager before returning to the States. She was a few years younger than Alex. At the moment, she was not in the office, though there was evidence that she had been there earlier. Alex remembered that she had an eight o’clock class that would be finishing up in a half hour.

He doffed his coat, hanging it on the coat tree in the corner, and settled before his desk, idly looking through the French textbook, mentally reviewing his lesson. He had a sudden urge to call his mother, but squashed it. She would be at school herself. He took a few minutes to review their last conversation. He had called her Sunday night while he was still in Fairbanks and they had spent most of the time discussing his new teaching job with Anne giving him lots of advice, most of which he already knew but he was gratified to hear it from his mother. He smiled slightly as he recalled some of that advice now.

“Guten Morgen.”

Alex looked up to see Felicity Cohen enter the office and smiled. “Bonjour,” he replied. “How was your class?” the last was spoken in English.

“Well enough,” the woman said, flopping into her chair and spinning it around. She was dressed conservatively in a gray pant suit with a white blouse and a cameo at her throat, her dark hair falling to her shoulders and swept back behind her ears. “You all set for yours?”

“Guess so,” Alex replied with a shrug.

“Hey, you’ll do fine,” Felicity assured him. “I have every faith in you. You want to do lunch afterwards?”

“Sure, thanks.” He glanced at the wall clock and sighed. “Guess I’ll be on my way.” He picked up his books and notes and headed for the door.

“I’ll meet you back here,” Felicity said. “Have fun.”

Alex waved at her and went down the hall to his classroom. Even though it was a good fifteen minutes before his class would start, there were already a few students in the room, eyeing him curiously as he entered. He ignored them as he went to his desk and fiddled about with his books, making sure he had everything he needed. The last few minutes before the bell seemed to crawl and he wondered if he was only going to have the three students who were already there even though, according to the class list, he should expect twenty-five. However, his fears were unfounded and with several minutes to go before the bell, more students arrived, quietly finding seats, the last of them entering in a rush as the bell sounded.

When they were all settled, he introduced himself. “Good morning. My name is Mr. Grant and this is French 101. Let’s make sure we’re all where we’re supposed to be. Raise your hand when I call your name.” He glanced at the class list and called out the first name. A young woman raised her hand. When he was done, two people had not responded to their name being called and one person was a new name which he dutifully recorded. He knew from his own college days that during the first week of the term the class size would fluctuate before everything settled down.

“Right then,” he said once the roll had been called. “Before we begin, I’d like to know why you are taking this class. Er… Mr. Anderson, why don’t we start with you?”

The young man squirmed with embarrassment at being singled out. “Ah… um... because I needed a language class and this was the only one that fit my schedule.”

“Thank you,” Alex said. “And what about you, Ms… ah… Barclay?”

He went through the class. Most were there because they needed a language course as part of their core requirements, a few admitted that they already had studied a foreign language in high school and wished to add another. One student said she had French ancestors and wanted to travel to France to find her father’s family. Finally he came to the last two students, but when he called on one of them, a Ms Yuong, who was of Chinese descent, instead of answering his question, she asked one of her own.

 “Is it true you’re a spy?”

There were murmurs from the other students and Alex went still. Something in his manner alerted the class and a few gaped at him with something like fear in their eyes. Alex forced himself to breathe slowly as he answered the question.

“No, Ms Yuong. I am not a spy. I am a language teacher and I’m presently working on my Masters in Linguistics. Now, why are you taking this class?”

The woman shrugged. “Because I felt like it.”

There was something hostile in that response that the other students picked up on for one or two scowled at her, though she ignored them, keeping her attention on Alex. Alex nodded and turned to the last person on his list. “Mr. Zimmerman?”

“Huh? Oh, ah my grandmother speaks French and said I should learn it. If I do well, she will take me to France this summer.”

Alex nodded and was about to have the class open their textbooks, when Ms Yuong spoke up without bothering to raise her hand. “But you were a spy, weren’t you? I heard you came to Wiseman to spy on Elf Academy. Is that true?”

Alex sighed, closing his eyes. Would he never be freed of his past? He shook his head at that thought, remembering how far back that past actually went and knew it for a stupid question. Opening his eyes, he gave Ms Yuong a stern look. “What I was or was not is not the issue here. If you wish to learn French, Ms Yuong, then let us do so, otherwise, you are free to leave and find some other class in which to torment the instructor.”

The tension between the two was palpable and no one dared breathe. Alex continued to stare at the woman, determined not to be the first to blink and he felt a small thrill of satisfaction when Ms Yuong finally looked away and stood up, gathering her books. “Perhaps I will,” she said and stalked out of the room. Alex could almost hear the collective sigh of relief from the rest of the class.

“So, are there any more questions?” he asked and everyone shook their heads. “Good. Why don’t we turn to the first chapter? We will begin with the present tense of the verb ‘to be’, which in French is être. As with English, it is an irregular verb. Here are its forms.”

He went to the whiteboard and began writing out the conjugations for the verb, speaking as he wrote, and in a fit of mischief added one word to each form: 

“Je suis espion, but if you’re female it would be espionne: I am a spy.”

The class broke out in laughter as he continued to write and recite: ‘Tu es espion or espionne, Il est espion, Elle est espionne, Nous somme espions — notice that when speaking, the final ‘s’ is silent and we only know it’s plural from the verbal form — Vous êtes espions, and finally Ils sont espions.”

He turned to face the class, grinning, and the students grinned back. “So, why don’t we practice our pronunciation? Repeat after me: Je suis espion….”

****

He returned to his office to find Felicity working at her desk. She looked up with a smile when he entered. “So how did it go?”

“Well, there was a rough patch right at the beginning,” he replied and then told her about his confrontation with the student. Felicity shook her head.

“What nerve. She sounds like a plant.”

“A plant?” Alex exclaimed, unsure he’d heard her clearly. “This is a college, not a top-secret installation with someone trying to gather intelligence for the other side.”

“Are you sure?” Felicity asked, half in jest. Then she shook her head. “Let’s go get lunch and we can discuss it then.”

He had no objections and in a few minutes they were crossing the quad to Hayes Hall, in which was one of the dining halls and where the college store and bank were located. Soon they were sitting at a table by one of the tall windows and digging into their macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.

“So, you think the student was a plant,” Alex said after a couple of bites, picking up the conversation where they had left off.

Felicity shrugged. “Possibly. She wasn’t there to learn French but to cause you embarrassment. That much is obvious from what you said.”

“But why?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” Felicity countered. “Look, Alex, believe it or not, life in the ivory tower can be as cutthroat as anywhere else. There is a lot of politics that goes on with people jockeying for tenure and jealousies reign. You’re the new kid on the block, so to speak, and your past is, to put it mildly, questionable. You may not know it, but the scuttlebutt is that a lot of strings were pulled and favors called in to get you this job over others who might have better credentials if not experience.”

Alex sat back, mulling over her words, remembering the ease with which doors seemed to open for him as soon as he made the decision to leave the Agency and take up residence in Wiseman. He knew Loren had pulled some strings but he assumed it was just to allow him to get the interview when the position opened up, seeing as how he could not produce a resumé that would not be classified Top Secret. Now he had to wonder just how much he had gotten the job on his own merits.

Something in his expression must have alerted Felicity, for she gave him a sympathetic smile. “Look, I may be wrong about this, but the truth is, the committee was all ready to choose a candidate when you showed up out of the blue and then you were given the position. I know Craig was upset by it because his candidate was the one they had decided on.”

Craig Franklin was the dean of the department and, while he was unfailingly polite whenever he and Alex met, Alex could never warm to him and now he thought he knew why. “What about you? Do you resent my being here?”

“Hell, no!” Felicity protested. “I met the guy Craig was putting forth as a candidate for the job. Supercilious as they come. I was actually happy that you got the job instead.”

“Thank you,” Alex said softly.

“You’re welcome. Now look, try not to let this upset you too much. My advice, for what it’s worth, is to ignore it, laugh it off. Others are waiting for you to blow your cool, so they can say you can’t handle your classes. That’s what Little Miss Muffet was up to this morning. It wouldn’t have mattered if you had confessed to being a spy or not. She would have continued to harass you, trying to make you angry so she could report to whomever. You were smart to call her on it even if you didn’t realize she might just be a plant. Keep your sense of humor. I find that disorients your enemies.”

Alex grinned at that. “Sounds as if you’ve been there and done that.”

Felicity’s expression went cold. “Unfortunately, I have, which is why I’ve ended up here in Wiseman rather than teaching elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex replied sympathetically.

Felicity shrugged. “It’s life, and maybe it’s for the best. Who knows?” She glanced at her watch. “Hey, we’d better finish up. It’s almost time for the afternoon class.”

“And we’ll be trying to amuse the children whose tummies are full and are ready for a nap,” Alex quipped and Felicity laughed in agreement.

They finished up their lunch and returned to Rosamond, where they grabbed their books and went their separate ways, Felicity to teach German 102 and Alex to teach Italian 101. It was a different classroom from the morning and he arrived early enough to be the first there, though students began trickling in soon after. Italian appeared not to be as popular a choice as French and he was expecting only about fifteen students, all of whom showed up. He half expected to see Ms Yuong sitting there and then chided himself on his paranoia. Still, he had to wonder as he began to introduce himself and call the roll if one of the students sitting before him was a plant also.

As he finished calling the roll and was about to ask his question of why they were taking the class, one of the students raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr…. ah…”

“Lewis, sir. Chad Lewis. My roomie is taking your French class and he said some chick accused you of being a spy and then you threw her out. Is that true?”

“Is what true, Mr. Lewis? That I’m a spy or that I threw the student out?”

“Ah… both, I guess,” Chad said somewhat uncertainly.

“Well as to the student, no, I did not throw her out. She left voluntarily. As for my being a spy, well, you found me out. I am indeed a spy.” He gave them an exaggerated sigh and the students gasped, their eyes widening at the revelation. “I work for the ICFLT.”

“What?” came the response from several throats.

“Is that, like, you know, the CIA or something?” one of them asked.

“Yes, the ICFLT is like the CIA insofar as it is an intelligence-gathering organization.”

“What does it stand for, anyway?” another student enquired.

“It stands for the International Confederation of Foreign Language Teachers,” Alex replied in all seriousness and he wasn’t surprised when a few of the students snickered, “and I’ve been sent here on a very secret mission to verify whether or not previous intelligence which has been gathered is actually true.”

“And what intelligence would that be?” Chad Lewis demanded, looking skeptical, as if he wasn’t sure if his leg was being pulled or not.

Keeping his expression deadpan, Alex replied, “If you speak three languages, you’re trilingual, and if you speak two, you’re bilingual, but if you only speak one, you’re an American. So, Mr. Lewis… how should I categorize you?”

There was a second of total silence and then the entire class burst out laughing, Chad Lewis stood up and exclaimed in an exaggerated manner, giving them all a salute, “I AM AMERICAN!” The class laughed louder at that and a few even clapped as the young man sat looking very proud of himself.

Alex gave him a wry look. “Well, Mr. Lewis, if all goes well, by the end of the term you will not be able to declare yourself as such.”

There was more laughter at that. Deciding too much time had been lost over the issue of his being a spy, Alex skipped asking them why they were taking the class and went directly to the lesson. “So, if you’re all set on no longer being Americans, why don’t we take a look at the first chapter of your textbook? We will begin with learning the present tense of ‘to be’, which in Italian is essere, and like English, it is irregular.” He went to the whiteboard and began writing. “So, io sono, tu se, egli ê….”

When he returned to his office, he told Felicity about what had happened and by the time he finished, she was laughing so hard she was crying. “Oh my, that’s hysterical,” she said as she calmed down, wiping her face with a tissue. “I’ll have to remember that. So, you survived with flying colors. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “Well, I should be getting home. Derek hasn’t called so I’m assuming he’s coming home tonight, so I should get dinner started.”

“Derek?” Felicity asked.

“My friend. We share an apartment.”

“Ah, so are you two… um….”

Divining what she was trying to ask, Alex grinned, shaking his head. “No. We’re not. We’re just friends. We were at Elf Academy together and when he got a permanent job with the Northern Lights Resort and I got this job we decided to share expenses. As the Elves would say, we’re gwedyr.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Her expression cleared. “Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll see you Thursday?”

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled on his coat and grabbed his bag and headed for the door, then turned. “Ah, maybe we could… you know… go out for a drink or something… er… sometime.” He silently cursed himself for sounding like an awkward teenager asking a girl to the prom.

“I’d like that,” Felicity said with a gentle smile. “Good night, Alex.”

“Good night,” he said and left, feeling a bit foolish, his cheeks warming. He hurried outside and to his car and in a few minutes was on his way home. When he entered the apartment it was to find Derek already there, setting the table for the two of them. A chicken was roasting in the oven, filling the air with its mouth-watering scent.

“Hi, how did it go?” Derek asked.

“Pretty well,” Alex replied. “You’re back early. I was going to make dinner.”

“Marty didn’t like the way the weather was looking so he sent people home early. I decided to treat you to a celebratory dinner in honor of your first day of teaching.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Here.” Derek came to the table and picked up the bottle of white zindfandel that was sitting there and poured some into a couple of wine glasses, handing one to Alex. “Cheers,” he said in salute, “and congratulations on making it through your first day intact.” Alex chuckled as they clinked glasses. Derek put his glass down after taking a sip and went back to preparing dinner. “So tell me all about it.”

Alex took an appreciative sip of the wine and then proceeded to tell Derek about his day. When he spoke of Felicity’s theory about the plant, Derek shook his head, coming over to the table to sit as they waited for the chicken to cook. “Man, what a bummer, but, you know, I wouldn’t worry about it. You have more qualifications than most even if you’ve never taught. Loren may have pulled strings, but I know you’ll prove to them that you were the right choice all along. At least this Felicity chick believes in you. Can’t go wrong if the girl likes you.” He gave Alex a cheeky grin.

Alex chuckled, lifting his glass to make a toast. “Here’s to the girl who believes in you.”

“Hear, hear,” Derek said and the two of them drank the toast. Just then, the timer went off. “Ah, looks as if dinner is ready,” Derek said and stood up, waving Alex back down when he would have stood as well. “Dinner’s my treat. Pour me some wine while I carve.”

Alex complied with the request and as they settled down to eat the dinner, Derek regaled him with a tale about something that had happened at work that had Alex laughing throughout the telling. Later, after the dishes were done, which Alex insisted on doing, they sat in the living room watching a movie but Alex’s mind was not entirely on the film. At odd moments he found himself recalling Felicity’s smile and the sparkle in her eyes and that image of her followed him into his dreams.

****

Author’s Note: My thanks to Ellie for providing me with suggestions as to how Alex might respond to the student’s accusation of being a spy.

48: Bad News

Wednesday, Alex woke to find that the feeling of dread was still with him.

“I don’t understand it,” he groused at Derek as the two set about getting ready for their day. “I thought that feeling of dread I had yesterday was nerves, you know, first day on the job butterflies, like you said, so why do I still have it?”

“I don’t know, mate,” Derek said with a shrug. “Maybe you should give Ron a call and talk to him about it.”

“Do you think it’s, you know, some sort of premonition?” Alex asked worriedly.

Derek thought about it for a moment before answering. “Let me ask you this: when you were with the Agency, didn’t you tell me you sometimes had these feelings and even though you didn’t understand them you acted on them and that saved your life?”

“Yeah, sure, but that’s not unique to me. Just about every agent I know who does field work has experienced something like it. It’s a sixth sense that helps keep you alive. Those who ignored it usually ended up dead.”

“Well, just because you’re no longer an agent, why would that sixth sense suddenly cease to function?”

Now it was Alex’s turn to mull over Derek’s words. “You think I should pay attention to what I’m feeling and look for its cause instead of assuming it’s butterflies or something?”

“That’s up to you,” Derek responded quietly. “As Finrod might say, what does your heart tell you?” He glanced at the microwave clock and scowled. “I’d better be going or I’ll be late. I really should’ve found a place in Bettles or Evansville like everyone else who works for the resort. This commute is wretched in the winter.”

“You might consider finding a room to rent,” Alex suggested, putting aside his own worries, “and just come back to Wiseman on your days off, or if you really want to move to Bettles, that’s fine with me.”

“And leave you in the lurch? Why would I do that?”

“I can certainly afford to pay the full rent. This place is dirt cheap compared to my apartment in DC. Or I can advertise for a flatmate, as they call them in England. It’s up to you. Your safety and well-being are more important to me than having you here to talk to.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it. Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure. Get going. I have to get ready to connect with my linguistics class in a bit.”

Derek nodded. “Well, have fun with that. I’ll call if I end up staying overnight at the resort. We’ve had a couple of people out with the flu or something and now that Bobbie’s not there any longer, Marty’s a bit shorthanded. “

“I’ll plan something simple for dinner, so if you’re not back in time, it’s no big deal and I’ll just freeze your portion.”

With that Derek headed out the door while Alex busied himself with the breakfast dishes before pouring himself a second cup of coffee and going to the living room where his laptop was set up in a corner along with a printer and a file cabinet, creating a mini-office space. Derek’s laptop generally went with him and if he needed something printed he could send the file wirelessly to their printer. Alex settled in his chair and turned on the computer, mulling over his conversation with Derek as it booted up. He was tempted to follow up on Derek’s suggestion that he call Ron, but, glancing at the time, he realized he would have to do it later. It took a minute or so for him to connect to the virtual classroom and then the next two hours were spent in his ‘Introduction to Linguistics’ class, which was actually an undergraduate class that was a prerequisite for a number of his other classes. This was one of two classes he was taking this term, the other being ‘Narratology’. That class was scheduled for the afternoon.

Around ten, he was startled by the sound of his phone ringing and silently cursed whoever was on the other end as he fished for it. “Yes, hello,” he said irritably while at the same time keeping an eye on the computer screen as he watched the professor write something on the board, illustrating some point she was making about morphology.

“Alex, this is Dave Michaelson.”

Alex found himself sitting upright, the feeling of dread that had been in the background of his consciousness now washing over him like a wave. “What is it?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

“It’s Farrell. He’s escaped.”

All thought of his class left him as he sat there feeling stunned. Alex forced himself to stay seated, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying to assimilate what he had just heard.

“Alex?”

“Yeah, I’m here. When? How?”

“Last night. They were transporting him between prisons in preparation for the trial. Apparently he had help from the outside and he was prepared for it.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“The guards were knocked out with tear gas but otherwise they’re fine.”

“Same MO that Farrell used to break out those two guys who tried to kidnap me and Derek.”

“Yeah, I realized that. Look, the FBI’s been called in on this and—”

“They’ll never find him,” Alex interrupted. “The Agency is very good at hiding its people when they want to. By now Farrell’s out of the country on an agency plane with a new ID. What about the other three?”

“Still under lock and key as far as I know. I’ve received no word otherwise. Their trials are set for later.”

“Have you called Ambrose… er… I mean Ryan?”

“No. That was my next name on the list.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll call him and I’ll alert the others at Edhellond.”

“You really think he’s gone?”

“Someone in the Agency arranged for him to escape. I’ll give Madison Washburn a call as well, find out what she knows. My guess is that the order came from higher up and Maddy’s not in the loop.” At least I sincerely hope not, he thought to himself.

“Well, I’m not convinced that Farrell is no longer in the country and until I know otherwise I’m going to assume that he’s coming here to take you and Ryan out and anyone else who happens to get in his way.”

“He’d be a fool to do that,” Alex stated.

“He’s obsessed with revenge against you and Ryan, Alex,” Michaelson retorted. “He won’t be satisfied with meekly leaving the country and taking up a new life in some banana republic that has no extradition treaty with the US. He won’t be satisfied with anything until he sees you and Ryan dead.”

“Well, thanks for the heads-up anyway,” Alex said.

“Damn! You are a supercilious son of a gun, aren’t you?” Michaelson said angrily.

“I can take care of myself, Dave,” Alex replied.

“Famous last words. Fine. I was going to offer police protection but I can tell you’re not going to accept it.”

“Trust me, Dave, if Farrell is gunning for me, all the police in the world won’t protect me and they’ll just get hurt in the process.”

“You don’t think he’ll just take you out with a sniper gun?”

“Even if he did, what could you or anyone else do about it? But actually, if Farrell’s going to come after me, he’s going to make it up close and personal. He will want to see me face-to-face before he pulls the trigger.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’ve dealt with his type before. Trust me on this, Dave, and look, I really do appreciate you giving me a heads-up. My main concern is collateral damage. Farrell won’t be particular and he’ll try to get to me through others, like Derek, so if you’re offering protection, I’ll be easier in my mind if you give it to Derek and Zach. They’re vulnerable and they both have suffered enough because of him.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. Oh, any news on who attacked Loren?”

“We found his ring in a hock shop in Nolan. The owner’s given us a description of the person who brought it to him and we’ve identified the perp, but we haven’t made any arrests as yet. We’re gathering more evidence but we hope to make a bust soon.”

“Good. The sooner Loren gets that ring back, the better, from what I understand.”

“It’s just a ring,” Michaelson said dismissively.

Alex grinned even though the police captain could not see him. “You should know by now, Dave, that with Elves nothing is what it seems. That ring is more than just a ring, though I don’t know any details. All I do know is that everyone in Edhellond is worried and they won’t breathe easy until they get it back.”

“Great,” Michaelson muttered. “Well, the ring is evidence. He’s not going to get it back anytime soon, I’m afraid.”

“You may not have any choice in the matter, Dave. Finrod was really worried about Loren being without the ring. They all were. I don’t know why myself, but I got the feeling that without it, Loren is in trouble.”

“Boy, Loren is always in trouble,” Michaelson retorted. “Okay, I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll be in touch.”

With that, he hung up and Alex put his phone down. On the computer screen the instructor was finishing her lecture, giving the class an essay assignment, reminding them that papers needed to be submitted by five o’clock on Monday. Alex jotted down the information, then ended the session. Before shutting down, he accessed his email account and was not surprised to see one from Maddy. It was encrypted and he opened up the encryption program that would allow him to read it. As he suspected, she had already heard about Farrell’s escape.

I have my suspicions as to who arranged it, but I have no proof, he read. Keep an eye out. My source says he’s on his way to Wiseman.

Alex snorted, having a good idea just who Maddy’s source of information was. “And if your source knows that, Maddy, why doesn’t he just pick the guy up and throw him back into prison where he belongs?” he asked out loud as he sent off a reply to the Deputy Director.

“Well, that would be cheating, wouldn’t it?”

Only training kept Alex from jumping at the sound of the voice behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a Maia grinning at him. It was Olórin, still dressed in the faded jeans and gray cardigan he'd last seen him in, looking like someone's grandfather. Alex noted with wry amusement that he stood well away from him. Apparently, Fionwë had warned the other Maiar about sneaking up on him.

“You’ve allowed Farrell to escape,” Alex said accusingly.

“We’ve allowed nothing, Alex Grant,” Olórin corrected, turning grave. “We have no orders to interfere.”

“So why are you here?” Alex asked.

“To let you know that while we cannot interfere with events, we can offer our assistance.”

“You can assist by grabbing Farrell and putting him back in prison,” Alex demanded, shutting down his computer and standing to stretch.

“What would you do if you had no knowledge of our existence?” Olórin asked. “How would you handle the news of Farrell’s escape?”

“By making sure that Farrell comes after me and leaves everyone else alone.” He picked up his empty mug and headed for the kitchen with Olórin following him.

“You know his primary obsession is with Amroth.”

“Yeah, I figured that, but I’m going to arrange for Amroth and Della to disappear for a time so the only person Farrell will be gunning for is me. I can handle him.”

“Then you don’t really need me or my fellow Maiar to help you,” Olórin pointed out.

Alex frowned as he rinsed his mug and set it on the drainboard. “I’m obviously missing something here. You just said you could offer assistance.”

“Yes, but not the way you think,” Olórin said. “Your primary concern is for the safety of others, rather than for yourself, and that is commendable. I can make sure that your friends remain safe while you hold yourself out as a target. What happens then is up to you and the outcome is not assured.”

“So you’re saying that Farrell could well succeed in getting to me and you won’t jump in and save me.”

“Not unless given explicit instructions to do so.”

“But the others will remain safe regardless.”

“Yes.”

“Why them and not me?”

“A fair question. Let me ask you this: do you want protection?”

Alex blinked, not sure what the Maia was getting at. His confusion must have shown for the Maia smiled. “Alex, do you want protection? You only have to ask and it will be granted.”

“I haven’t asked, not for myself,” Alex said slowly.

Olórin nodded. “And until you do, I cannot offer it.”

“But you offer it for the others?”

“Because you’ve asked for it in their names.”

“What if someone does the same for me?”

“Then it will be granted, though you won’t be aware of it, even as the others will not be aware of it.”

“Amroth’s going to want to set himself up as a target.”

“Yes, but he has Nimrodel and the twins to consider, so you will be able to argue him out of it.”

Alex thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “Fine. It doesn’t matter if you offer me protection or not. Farrell is and always has been my problem. You make sure everyone else stays safe. I’ll deal with this.”

“Just remember that you are not alone,” Olórin reminded him. “You have resources to call on, not just your mortal law enforcement, but the Elves and me.”

“I’ll remember that,” Alex said, but he spoke to empty air, the scent of rosemary and something else that he could not identify filling the space where the Maia had been. “Neat trick,” he called out and thought he heard laughter as if coming from a great distance and couldn’t help grinning. Then his expression sobered and he went back into the living room and picked up the phone, speed dialing a number.

“Quinn O’Brien,” he heard Finrod answer after the fourth ring.

“Finrod, it’s Alex Grant. Dave Michaelson just called. Farrell escaped last night.”

There was a brief second of silence and then he heard Finrod speaking to another. “Nick, I must go. There’s an emergency.”

“Ah, sure….” Alex heard Nick Greene say, sounding a bit uncertain about it all.

“I am sorry,” Finrod said, “but lives are at stake, literally.”

“Then go and stay safe,” Nick responded more forcefully.

“Alex?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Can you pick me up? I will wait for you before St. Mary’s.”

“I can be there in about fifteen minutes. I was going to call Amroth next.”

“No, do not bother. I will contact Glorfindel and have him and Valandur meet us at Amroth’s.”

“Good enough. I’ll see you shortly.” He ended the call and went to grab his coat and car keys. At the last minute, he detoured to his bedroom, opened his closet and reached up to the top shelf where he pulled down a small case, placing it on the bed. It had a computer lock and he punched in the proper code which only he knew, opening the case to a GLOCK 26 9mm handgun, his personal choice for concealed carry. He pulled it out and checked to see that the clip was empty before grabbing two preloaded magazines and shoving them into a pocket of his coat. He clipped on a belt holster for the gun, covering it with the sweatshirt he was wearing so it could not be seen, before shrugging on his coat. The last item he took out of the case was a slim wallet that contained his concealed carry permit and shoved that into one of his coat pockets as well. Then he closed the case and returned it to the closet and headed out.

Finrod was waiting for him as promised before St. Mary’s, his cloak billowing about him in the slight breeze, mild for this time of year. His head was uncovered. As he got in the car and pulled the seatbelt over him, he said, “Glorfindel and Valandur are on their way. Glorfindel was at the college when I talked with him, so he’s stopping at Edhellond to pick up Valandur and I think Daeron will be with him.”

“Daeron is very wise and he seems to be able to keep Loren from exploding,” Alex said as he pulled into traffic and headed for Amroth’s house.

Finrod grinned, “For which we can be thankful.”

“Olórin paid me a visit,” Alex said baldly.

“Indeed? How interesting.”

Alex stole a glance at the ellon, quirking his lips into a wry smile. “Is that all you have to say?”

“You will have to tell us what prompted him to come to you,” was Finrod’s response and Alex nodded in agreement.

Within minutes, they were pulling into the driveway to find Glorfindel’s van already there. Before they even reached the front door, it opened and Vorondur was there to greet him, looking grave.

“Loren’s told us the news,” he said as he ushered them inside, automatically taking Finrod’s cloak as the Elf-prince handed it to him. Alex was left to hang up his coat himself. “We’re in the kitchen. Holly’s made pumpkin bread and we have tea all set out.”

“This isn’t a tea party, Ron, but a war council,” Alex retorted.

“And can it not be both, child?” the Elf replied with a smile as he led them down the hall to the kitchen where they found Loren, Valandur, Daeron, Amroth, Nimrodel and Ercassë sitting or standing about. They all looked up as the three entered.

“So why did Dave Michaelson call you and not us?” Glorfindel demanded by way of greeting.

“And a good morning to you, too, Loren,” Alex said with a grin. Glorfindel muttered something that might have been ‘good morning’ but Alex suspected that it was something else entirely. Daeron rolling his eyes as the other three ellyn grinned and the two ellith blushed confirmed his suspicions. “He was going to call everyone concerned,” he said, ignoring the byplay. “I just happened to be first on the list. I told him I would contact you instead.”

“Fair enough,” Vorondur said. “Let’s all take a deep breath and a step back. High emotions are no good to us here. We need to remain calm and focused.”

The tea kettle suddenly began whistling and Ercassë took it off the burner and poured the boiling water into a tea pot. For a few minutes, they busied themselves with filling cups and grabbing some still warm pumpkin bread before Finrod turned to Alex. “Tell us what you know.”

“What I know is little enough,” Alex admitted. “According to Michaelson, Farrell escaped last night while being transported between prisons with a little help from the Agency, or so I suspect and so does Maddy.”

“Do we know who?” Glorfindel asked.

“Does it matter?” Amroth retorted. “He’s escaped. Who helped is not relevant at the moment.” He turned to Alex. “You’re assuming he’s heading here to finish what he started.”

“That’s Dave’s idea. Personally, I would hope he’s out of the country by now, but Maddy says her source says otherwise.” He gave them a significant look and they all took his meaning.

“Is that confirmed, though?” Amroth insisted.

“Tell him about your visitor,” Finrod said to Alex before he could reply to Amroth’s question.

“Yeah, well, Olórin showed up.”

“Did he now?” Valandur said raising one eyebrow. “How interesting.”

“Finrod thinks so, too. Anything you guys want to share with me?” Alex suddenly realized that he was the lone Mortal among all the Elves and for some reason that revelation made him uneasy.

Valandur gave him a shrug. “When that one makes an appearance, things become… interesting for many.”

“Him, but not any of the other Maiar?” Alex asked, looking unconvinced.

“Oh the others offer their own brand of excitement, have no doubt about that,” Valandur said with a chuckle, “but Olórin, well, let’s just say that if that one is openly involved, and we know this because he appeared to you personally, then things are about to get very interesting indeed for us all.”

Finrod nodded as did Glorfindel, though the others looked somewhat bemused and Alex realized that they were the ones who had never been to Aman.

“Okay, I can see that,” Alex said after a bit, “but it doesn’t alter the fact that we need to make plans. Amroth, I think you and Della need to hide.”

“Now listen here—” Amroth started to say somewhat angrily, but Finrod cut him off.

“No, mellon nîn, Alex is correct. You must think of your children. If you are killed, what will become of them and Nimrodel? They are already drawing upon your fëa. You are in no condition to fight.”

“What do you have in mind, Alex?” Glorfindel asked, giving him a shrewd look. “I can tell that you’ve already thought things through.”

Alex gave them a mischievous smile. “We send them to the Barony of Winter’s Gate and have Gwyn hide them,” Alex replied and both Daeron and Finrod gave him wide-eyed looks at the implication of his words while Glorfindel merely nodded. The others were naturally puzzled, not understanding the reference.

“Barony of Winter’s Gate?” Nimrodel asked. “Where’s that?”

“Who the hell is Gwyn and how can he protect us any better than all of you?” Amroth demanded almost at the same time.

“We were going to wait until Saturday when we were in council to tell you,” Glorfindel said after giving Finrod a questioning look to which the Elf-prince nodded, “but while we were in Fairbanks we met two Elves.”

 “What?!” several voices exclaimed as one.

“You’ve met other Elves and you don’t tell us?” Amroth demanded, looking both hurt and angry at the same time. He glared at Vorondur. “All you said was that you met some people in this SCA and you decided to use it as a vehicle for training our people. You made no mention of meeting other Elves.”

“There are reasons why we didn’t,” Finrod intervened before Vorondur could speak, “and this is not the time to go into explanations. Alex’s suggestion has merit. Gwyn and Gareth can certainly offer their protection.”

“And the protection of Gwaith-en-Angbor,” Daeron added. “Do not dismiss them, Finrod,” he said when the other ellon looked to disagree. “Mortals they may be, but they’ve been Elf-trained. You saw this at the demo.”

“Okay, just what the hell are you talking about? Barony of Winter’s Gate? Gwaith-en-Angbor? Talk sense, will you!” Amroth nearly shouted in anger and frustration.

Vorondur reached over and placed a warning hand on Amroth’s arm. “Stay calm,” he said with grave authority, “you’re upsetting the twins. Can you not feel their agitation?”

Alex found himself staring at Nimrodel along with everyone else, but the elleth sat there calmly, a hand held protectively across her stomach which was clearly round in pregnancy. Amroth blushed, muttering an apology as he leaned over to kiss his wife, who accepted it with a gracious smile.

“That’s better,” Vorondur said approvingly and then gave Finrod and Glorfindel a stern look. “I think we need to hold a council meeting sooner than Saturday, like tonight, if at all possible.”

“I agree,” Finrod said. “This news changes everything. Would you make the arrangements, Daeron? Should we involve the Mortals?”

“Not by my council,” Valandur answered before anyone else could speak. “At least, not all of them. Alex should be there and perhaps we can ask Dave Michaelson to come. He may have further information that we will need to make informed choices.”

“I should tell you that Olórin told me that Amroth, Della, Derek and Zach will be protected,” Alex said.

“Oh? And why them in particular?” Glorfindel asked, narrowing his eyes.

Alex found he could not look at anyone directly for some reason and felt himself blushing. “Ah… because I asked for it?”

There was a brief moment of silence and then Finrod nodded. “You did not ask for yourself,” he stated and Alex shook his head.

“He told me that I could ask and it would be granted or others could ask for me, though I would not know of it.”

“And why have you not asked for yourself?” Vorondur enquired.

Alex shrugged. “After Amroth, Farrell wants me. If Amroth is out of his reach, then he’s only going to come after me and no one else.”

“So you’re setting yourself up as a target?” Valandur asked. “Is that wise?” He looked to Amroth.

“It’s not exactly prudent, but it makes sense,” Amroth answered. “Alex has played this game before. He knows what he’s about.”

“Fine,” Glorfindel said brusquely. “Do we know if Farrell is in Wiseman already?”

“Who can say?” Amroth replied with a shrug. “My guess is that those who helped him escape had plans to get him out of the country, but if he was able to nix that idea and convince them to take him to Wiseman, they may already be here or they are on the way. It depends on how much convincing he had to do, since the others would have had their own orders and there may have been a period of indecision on everyone’s part. That can only help us as it gives us more time to prepare.”

“What about the other three agents?” Daeron asked.

“Michaelson says they’re still in lockup,” Alex replied. “If he hears anything different, he’ll let us know.”

“Then let us make our arrangements,” Finrod said. “We will call for a council meeting this evening. Amroth, you and Nimrodel should be prepared to leave as soon as we finish.”

“I want Misty to come with us,” Nimrodel said softly, looking to Amroth who nodded.

“Yes, that would be wise,” Valandur said. “Perhaps one of the ellyn should go as well?”

“We can discuss it at the meeting,” Finrod said, “Also, we will need to contact Gwyn to warn him.”

“I have his email address,” Daeron said. “I’ll send him a message as soon as we finish here.”

“Good enough,” Finrod said. “Then if we are agreed, we shall leave you. I need to get back to the bookstore and I imagine some of you need to return to your own duties.”

“I’ve got my next linguistics class in about an hour,” Alex said. “Feels weird to think of sitting in my living room listening to a lecture while somewhere out there is someone who wants me dead.”

“You may want to reconsider asking for protection,” Vorondur suggested but Alex just shrugged, not willing to agree. The others began to stand, the meeting obviously over. Alex offered to drop Finrod off and the ellon thanked him as they headed for the front door to claim coats and cloaks.

“Oh, by the way, Ron,” Alex said as he was buttoning up his coat, “I was planning to call you after my morning class and tell you about this feeling of dread I’ve had since yesterday. I thought at first it was just butterflies, you know, because yesterday was my first day teaching, but the feeling was still with me this morning. Derek thought perhaps it was a premonition. I wasn’t so sure, but now….”

“Hmm… that is interesting,” Vorondur said and the others looked at Alex with varying degrees of attention. “We may wish to explore this further. You are scheduled for a session on Friday, are you not?”

Alex nodded. “Though with Farrell on the loose maybe—”

“No. Keep to your normal routine,” Amroth insisted. “You know that the best way to draw someone out is to make them think you’re not aware of them.”

“But he has to know that the authorities will alert us,” Alex protested.

“Yes, but I noticed there was nothing in the news this morning about the escape, which leads me to suspect the authorities are keeping it under wraps for now,” Amroth pointed out. “So, for now, keep to your schedule and you may not ask for protection for yourself, but I certainly will and so will we all.”

The other Elves nodded and Alex reddened slightly under their regard. “Thanks,” he muttered and then they were saying their farewells and a minute later he and Finrod were driving away. He dropped the Elf off at the Safeway and then headed back home, reaching it in plenty of time to connect with his class. And though the subject matter was interesting enough and the instructor engaging, Alex found his mind wandering as he considered how best to draw Farrell out of hiding in such a way as not to endanger anyone else.

49: Council of War

Daeron called Alex around four while he was in the middle of putting together some beef stew for dinner to let him know that the meeting was scheduled for seven.

“Will Derek be there?” the loremaster asked.

“Depends on when he gets home,” Alex answered. “He may have to stay the night.”

“Well, if he’s back in time, then by all means bring him. Zach will be there as well.”

“Okay, see you then.” He hung up the phone and went back to his preparations.

Around five thirty, Derek showed up. “Hey! You’re back earlier than I thought you would be,” Alex said as he greeted him at the door.

“Marty decided to send me home early even though I knew he was shorthanded,” Derek said as he doffed his coat. “I told him I was willing to stay the night, but he insisted that I leave. I’m not sure what that was all about.” He shrugged as he hung up his coat and began removing his boots. Alex remained silent, wondering to himself if someone had ‘inspired’ Marty to send Derek home in time to make the meeting. Derek took an appreciative sniff of the air redolent of stew and fresh-baked bread as he slipped his feet into a pair of slippers sitting by the door. “Smells good.”

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes. I’ve got some bread in the oven. As soon as it’s ready we can eat. Go freshen up.”

Derek nodded and ten minutes later he was back in the kitchen just as Alex was pulling out the bread, placing it on a bread board and bringing it to the table. They took turns at the stove ladling the stew into bowls before sitting.

“Ah, this is good,” Derek said as he sipped the broth.

“Thanks.”

“So how did your classes go?” Derek asked as he cut off a hunk of the bread, dipping it into the stew.

“Well enough,” Alex answered. “I got a call from Dave Michaelson.”

“Oh? What did he have to say? Any news about Loren’s attackers?”

“They found Loren’s ring in Nolan and are working on tracing it back to the person who sold it to the hock shop.”

“That’s good news,” Derek said, then gave Alex a shrewd look. “What are you not telling me?”

“Ah, well, Dave didn’t call me about Loren but about something else.”

“And? Honestly, Alex, stop dithering about like a school girl at her first dance and spill it.”

Alex sighed. “Farrell escaped last night and all our sources say he’s heading here.”

Derek just stared at him in disbelief. “There’s been nothing in the news about a prison break.”

“I suspect the authorities are keeping it quiet,” Alex replied. “Just as well. Farrell is dangerous and people could get hurt.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“We’re meeting at Edhellond in about an hour. Darren said to bring you if you got back in time. Zach will be there and I think Michaelson. We’re planning to send Amroth and Della to Gwyn in Fairbanks."

Derek blinked. “Does Gwyn know?”

“He should by now.”

“Damn!”

“Finish your dinner. We’ll talk about it at the meeting.”

“Yes, Mom,” Derek said, giving him an exaggerated sigh as he resumed eating. Alex just grinned, not saying anything more.

They reached Edhellond in good time. Zach was already there, arguing with Loren, the two of them standing in the middle of the hallway before the doors of what had once been the billiards room and was now referred to as the council chamber.

“…not going back to Anchorage and that’s final!” Zach was shouting.

“Zach, calm down,” Glorfindel said, taking the Mortal by the shoulders.

“I am calm!” Zach retorted, pulling away.

“Any calmer and you’ll blow a fuse, mate,” Derek said with a grin as he and Alex approached. “As Ron would say, take a deep breath and a step back. You, too, Loren. You both are standing way too close to one another. If I were a suspicious sort, I’d think you two were lovers about to do something naughty right here and now for all to see.”

Alex actually laughed, while Zach just goggled at Derek in disbelief. Glorfindel looked as if he were ready to do some serious damage to the Mortal when Finrod showed up, bringing along Amroth, Nimrodel, Dave Michaelson and Sheriff Graff who had apparently just arrived. “Inside, now,” he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. “We are ready to begin.”

They filed in. Zach still looked mutinous. Alex gave him a sympathetic look that seemed to mollify the younger man. Inside the council chamber were all the other Elves, including the Three Amigos and Nell. Alex and Derek gravitated toward them.

“How’s it going?” Alex asked quietly. “Settling in?”

The four nodded but did not speak for Finrod was calling everyone to order, directing the Mortals to sit at the table while others found their own places. The majority of the Elves sat in the chairs that surrounded the table on two sides. Finrod and Glorfindel sat side-by-side.

“Everyone knows why we’re here,” Glorfindel began. “Our primary purpose is to make appropriate plans to ensure the safety of those who may be targeted by Farrell. Dave, do you have any further news?”

“No, unfortunately. When I talked with Fairbanks an hour ago, they were still looking for clues as to who may have been involved in the escape.”

“A waste of time,” Alex said dismissively. “These are trained agents. They can run rings around the police without breaking a sweat. They would have left no clues for anyone to find.”

“Yes, well, we know that, but the police in Fairbanks don’t, nor would they necessarily believe me if I told them what we suspect,” Michaelson retorted, “The FBI has been called in but what they may or may not know is anyone’s guess. At any rate, it hardly matters. Farrell is not hiding out in Fairbanks nor is he enjoying a strawberry daiquiri on some foreign beach somewhere. He’s here in Wiseman or will be soon enough. I can offer police protection, as can Carl, but…”

“It won’t do any good,” Alex insisted. “Look, Farrell may not be in the same league as I am or was, but he’s trained in the same school as I and he’ll know how to get to anyone he wants to regardless. The only way to ensure that everyone stays safe is for me to put myself out there as a target.”

“Why you?” Vorondur asked.

“You know damn well why!” Alex practically shouted, speaking more angrily than he had planned.

“Alex, stay calm,” Finrod ordered and Alex subsided, though he still glowered at Vorondur who returned his look with one of clinical detachment, as if he were examining a specimen under the microscope. Finrod scowled. “Enough, both of you. Ron, we do not have the time for this. Save it for later.”

Vorondur nodded, relenting. “Be iest lîn,” he said with a nod of his head to Finrod.

Finrod then turned to Alex. “You have a plan?”

Alex shrugged. “Just to keep myself visible. Farrell is going to be frustrated enough when he can’t find Amroth and he knows he can get to me through Derek and Zach as well as most of you or anyone else in Wiseman. If he can’t get to me any other way, he’ll take hostages, forcing my hand. I’m going to make it easy for him.”

“But not too easy,” Glorfindel said, “else he’s going to be suspicious.”

“That goes without saying,” Vorondur said. “He’s going to be keeping an eye on the news, expecting some mention of his escape. When he doesn’t see it, he’s going to be wondering why.”

“I can alert the local station and have them announce it,” Michaelson suggested. “People will remember the…um… trial. They’ll want to be alerted to the possibility of danger.”

“That is only prudent,” Finrod said with a nod. “Please make the appropriate arrangements. In the meantime, we are proposing to send Amroth, Nimrodel and Mithrellas to Fairbanks. Zach, I would like you to go with them. No, hear me out.” He raised a hand to halt the Mortal’s protest.

“There is something you need to know, all of you,” Finrod said after a moment. “We would have told you at the regular council meeting on Saturday, but circumstances have forced our hand.” He turned to where Elladan and Elrohir sat together with Serindë. “Perhaps you would explain, since it was your discovery.”

The Twins glanced at one another and then Elrohir shrugged and stood up. “We got to Fairbanks and after checking into our hotel we went searching for dinner and….”

No one interrupted while Elrohir told them about meeting Gwyn and Gareth and the people of Winter’s Gate, though several eyebrows lifted in surprise during the recitation. When he was finished, he sat down and silence hung about them for some time before people stirred.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Valandur said slowly.

Several people snorted in amusement at the drollness of his tone. “To say the least,” Barahir retorted, then turned to Finrod and Glorfindel. “You met other Elves and you decided to withhold that information until now?”

“We wanted to wait until the usual Saturday council meeting to tell everyone at once,” Glorfindel explained. “Circumstances, however, have forced our hand.”

“So, your idea is to have us form our own SCA group as a cover for training our people in warfare?” Aldarion asked before anyone could comment on Glorfindel’s statement. 

“Yes, though we must not just pretend, we must commit ourselves to engage in the activities of this organization with all sincerity,” Finrod answered.

“You have to mean it in order for it to work,” Alex put in. “It’s like an FBI scam or something similar to what I’ve done for the Agency. It only works if you mean it to work. This SCA thing is a legitimate organization and if you do this, you need to play by their rules and allow for the fact that it’s not an exclusive club. Even the people who are against you, if they want to join, can.”

“Which is why we are proposing to have Mortals organize the group and we will only be involved peripherally,” Glorfindel added. “If it is thought that we are doing the organizing and recruiting for members, then our enemies will have an excuse to naysay us even more than they do.”

“Who do we ask to do this then?” Beleg asked. “Some of the Mortals are our particular friends and their relationship with us is known to all, or so I have been led to believe.”

“And you are correct,” Glorfindel said. “So we need to find someone who is on our side but not necessarily known to be in our back pocket, so to speak, someone who is above suspicion.”

“That’s a rather tall order,” Vorondur commented, “seeing as how the people of Wiseman are already polarized over the issue of us Elves. Everyone pretty much knows where everyone else stands on the issue.”

“True, but there are still people out there who haven’t declared themselves openly one way or another,” Barahir interjected. “I’ve heard of this SCA and similar groups. My impression is that a lot of times a group gets started by college students. Perhaps we should consider looking there.”

“We will have to consider it,” Finrod said, “but in the meantime, we still need to deal with Farrell. To that end, I want Amroth and Nimrodel out of here tonight and on their way to Fairbanks. Gwyn has been alerted to your arrival and will be on the lookout for you. Mithrellas has agreed to go with you and Zach, I know you would rather stay here, but Glorfindel and I would feel easier if you go with them.”

“Well, what about Derek? Why aren’t you sending him away like you’re sending me?”

“What makes you think we’re not?” Alex asked.

“Hey, now, just wait a minute,” Derek protested. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re going to stay at the resort and help Marty out,” Alex said in a no-nonsense tone. “He’s shorthanded, you said so yourself, and you were complaining just this morning that the commute is wretched. You might as well take advantage of the situation. You can look around Bettles or Evansville for a room to rent, like we discussed.”

“And leave you in the lurch?”

“Yes,” Alex said without inflection. “Look, I know you want to stick around, but Derek, this is too dangerous. I do not want to be holding you while you bleed out from a bullet meant for me, and that goes for Zach and everyone else. Farrell is my problem and I’ll deal with him.”

“How, though?” Cennanion asked.

“Well, that’s what I have to figure out next,” Alex admitted and when several people looked to offer comments he raised his hands. “Whoa! I appreciate your concerns but really, I’ve played this game before. Let me do what I do best. Dave, Farrell’s going to need a place to hole up. I doubt he’s so brazen as to register at the Goldmine Inn, but he may check into that motel up in Nolan or even over in Chandalar. You might also check in with the Steiners. Farrell used their farm before and they’re remote enough that no one would know if they’re in trouble.”

“I’m way ahead of you,” Michaelson said. “I sent a couple of my people to the farm earlier and Carl’s got three deputies there as well patrolling the grounds.”

“Good. That’s one less worry,” Alex said.

“I’ll have people make discrete enquiries in Nolan and Chandalar and I’ll alert all the resorts in the area,” Carl Graff said. “He could show up pretending to be doing cross-country skiing or something.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that,” Alex admitted. “Thanks.”

“So what do we all do in the meantime?” Laurendil asked.

“Keep to your schedules,” Amroth answered, “and be vigilant. Don’t travel alone and don’t wander about, not even in the woods. Finda, you, Calandil, Elennen and Nell are vulnerable where you are. You may consider returning here and commuting to the college until Farrell is dealt with.”

The four in question looked uncertain at the suggestion. “We will discuss it later,” Finrod said, speaking to his son and the youngsters nodded. Finrod looked at Amroth. “If you are going you should go soon.”

“Can’t we wait until daylight?” Mithrellas asked. “That road is bad enough without traveling it at night.”

“It will be better this way,” Amroth assured her. “We’re going to take Barry’s land rover. It’s more reliable than our car. Zach, we’ll follow you back to your place so you can pack a bag.”

“For how long?” Zach demanded with a scowl. “I just got back. I’m tired of running away.”

“Don’t think of it as running away, Zach,” Alex said. “Think of it as a strategic withdrawal before overwhelming odds.”

Several of the Elves snorted in amusement, including Finrod and Glorfindel. “Been there, done that,” the latter said under his breath. Even Michaelson and Graff smiled.

Alex turned to Derek. “I want you to go with them,” he said. “Amroth can detour to the resort and drop you off.”

“What do I tell Marty?” Derek asked.

“The truth,” Alex replied. Derek nodded, though he didn’t look any more pleased by the idea than Zach.

“Is there a possibility that the Agency will get involved?” Daeron asked, looking at Alex and Amroth. “I mean, sending in a team to eliminate Farrell when they realize he’s not following the orders of whoever arranged for his escape.”

“If so, it will be totally clandestine so that perhaps even Maddy won’t know about it,” Alex said, “though I suspect her source will, but whether he tells her is debatable. “

“At this point there’s no telling,” Amroth added. “It would be best to proceed as we have planned and not rely on hypothetical help from others.”

Everyone nodded at that. “Then we will see you on your way,” Finrod said and stood. Everyone else followed suit.

Alex spoke to Amroth. “You want to swing by and pick Derek up after you’ve gotten Zach?”

“Expect us in the next hour,” Amroth said and then Barahir was handing him the keys to the land rover and everyone was saying goodbye. Alex made arrangements to get together with Valandur the next day after his Italian class and then he and Derek headed back to their place. They rode in silence and even when they reached the apartment and Derek went to his room to pack a bag, they did not speak. Alex kept an eye out for the land rover and when he saw the lights, he let Derek know. They went downstairs to be greeted by Amroth, who had the window down.

“All set? Hop in then.”

“Call me when you get to the resort,” Alex said to Derek, who only nodded as he crawled into the back with Zach and Mithrellas. Alex gave Amroth a grimace and the former king of Laurinand returned it with a sympathetic look.

“Good luck,” Alex said.

“And you,” Amroth answered, then rolled the window back up and pulled out of the parking lot. Alex stood there, ignoring the cold, as he watched the taillights dwindle into the distance, disappearing altogether when Amroth turned a corner. He went back inside and wondered if he would ever see them again. He fished out his phone and speed-dialed a number.

“DelaFiore.”

“They just left.”

There was a brief pause. “You okay?”

“Sure.”

“We have someone on watch.”

“Oh?”

“Just a precaution.”

“It’s bloody cold outside. I hope the poor smuck at least is dressed warmly.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “Cold to you, but not to us. This is a game we’ve played before ourselves, Alex. Sleep well.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alex ended the call and sighed. “Like that’s going to happen.”

He went to the window that looked out onto the parking lot to see if he could spot the watcher, but all he saw were cars. Grimacing to himself he settled down to review his lessons for the next day’s classes. Around ten thirty, just as he was thinking of getting ready for bed, Derek called.

“Marty says hi and good luck,” Derek said. “I still wish….”

“Yes, I know, so do I, but I think you’ll be safer there. Hopefully, Farrell will try to get to me sooner rather than later and you can come back.”

They talked for a few more minutes and then hung up. Alex headed for bed, half-convinced that he would not be able to sleep, but as it was, he did indeed fall asleep while more than one person watched over him, one of them unclad.

****

Sometime in the wee hours just before dawn, a vehicle pulled into a driveway in Fairbanks. Four people got out and went to the front door. After ringing the bell, they waited for a few seconds before the door opened.

“Finrod sent us,” Amroth said, speaking in Sindarin.

“Mae govannen. Please come in,” Gwyn said in the same language, stepping aside to let them enter. Gareth was standing in the hallway to greet them as well. Gwyn closed the door and locked it before addressing the arrivals, now speaking English in deference to the Mortal. “I’m Gwyn and this is my brother, Gareth.”

“I am Amroth and this is my wife, Nimrodel, and our companions, Mithrellas and Zachary Austin.”

The brothers stared at them in surprise, their eyes wide with shock. “Er… Amroth and Nimrodel?” Gareth finally asked in a strained voice. “As in, ‘An Elven-maid there was of old, a shining star by day’?” he sang, reciting the beginning of the Lay of Nimrodel. “That Amroth and Nimrodel?”

“Guilty as charged,” Amroth said with a grin, while Nimrodel and Mithrellas both giggled, and even Zach chuckled at the nonplused looks on the brothers’ faces.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Gwyn asked Nimrodel, making it sound like an accusation. “Daeron didn’t say you were pregnant.”

“Twins, actually,” Nimrodel replied with a smile.

Gareth turned to Gwyn, his tone one of distress, sounding incredibly young even to Zach’s ears. “What are we going to do now, Gwyn? Daeron didn’t tell us we would be entertaining royalty! And she’s pregnant! With twins! What are we going to do with twins?”

The others laughed and Zach grabbed Gareth by the shoulders. “Whoa! Take it easy, man. The twins aren’t due for another, what, eight months?” He turned to Nimrodel for confirmation and she nodded. “Eight months,” he repeated to Gareth. “We’ll be out of your hair long before that, I promise.”

“But… but… no one told us we were hiding royalty!” Gareth insisted. “Daeron said nothing about that.”

“I am so going to kill Daeron when next I see him,” Gwyn growled.

Amroth chuckled and the ellith looked amused while Zach just rolled his eyes. “That I would like to see,” Amroth said, “but in the meantime, just treat us like anyone else. My mortal name is Ryan and Nimrodel goes by Della and Mithrellas is Misty. I think if you just call us by those names we’ll all be a lot happier. I haven’t been king of anything in too long a time. It really doesn’t matter anymore.”

Gwyn looked about to make a comment when Zach’s stomach made an embarrassing noise. Everyone looked at him as he blushed. “Sorry. Dinner was a long time ago and that apple I had as a snack two hours ago wasn’t much.”

Gwyn gave him a smile. “Well, we can certainly remedy that. You want to bring your bags in? Gareth will show you where to put them. We only have three bedrooms, but Gareth and I will double up and we’ll put you two in his room.” He nodded to Amroth and Nimrodel. “Ah, Misty, you can have the spare bedroom and Zachary, I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the foldaway couch in the living room.”

“No, it’s cool,” Zach said, though he didn’t look too happy about it. “And it’s Zach.”

“Good enough. I’ll put breakfast on,” Gwyn said. “Pumpkin spice pancakes alright with everyone?”

They all nodded and half an hour later, their bags put away, they were all gathered around the dining table enjoying a breakfast of pancakes and sausage. At Amroth’s insistence, Gwyn and Gareth told them about the Barony of Winter’s Gate and Gwaith-en-Angbor and the subject of Farrell never came up.

****

Be iest lîn: (Sindarin) ‘According to your wish’.

50: Unexpected Meetings

Alex got in his car and headed for the college, wondering where Farrell was at the moment and when he might strike. As he pulled out of the parking lot he checked the rearview mirror to see if he had a tail. He still hadn’t spotted anyone who might be on watch, which, he reflected, just showed how good Elves were at hiding in plain sight and half-wished he had that ability. Shrugging the thought away, he turned on the car radio to a local station as he settled in for the short commute to the college.

“…. Farrell is considered armed and dangerous. Residents are advised to keep on the lookout and not to answer the door to anyone unless you know the person.”

“Yeah, sure, like Farrell’s going to walk up to some random house and knock on the door asking for a place to shelter from the police,” Alex muttered to himself, switching off the radio.

He got to his office at about the same time as Felicity, who was returning from her eight o’clock class. “Morning,” he said with a smile, letting her enter first.

“Morning,” she returned. “You all set for your classes today?”

“Yeah, I’m cool. Now that I’ve survived the first day, I think I can manage things okay.”

She chuckled as she settled into her chair. Today, she was wearing a knee-length skirt of worsted wool, dyed blue, with a gray cashmere pullover sweater, the collars of a white blouse showing. Her feet were encased in calf-high leather boots.

“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “Did you hear the news? That guy escaped from prison, the one who was trying to kill one of the Elves?”

“Yes, I heard on the way into work,” Alex said. “Hope the police catch him soon.”

“You don’t look particularly upset by the news,” Felicity said, giving him a shrewd look.

Alex shrugged, evincing nonchalance. “What do you expect me to do, Felicity? Hide behind my desk? He would be foolish to return here, anyway.”

“Don’t the two of you have a history, though?” she insisted. “I mean, I remember the trial or enquiry or whatever they were calling it. Seems to me, the guy wanted you dead as well.”

“Perhaps,” Alex allowed, giving her a smile that he didn’t feel, “but he would still be an idiot to return here to hunt me down or the Elves.” He glanced at the time. “Well, I’d better get to my class. See you later?”

“Sure, I’ll be here.”

Alex nodded and went down the hall to his class. He was surprised to find it nearly full even though there was still a good five minutes before the bell.

“Bonjour, mes amis,” he said, going to his desk.

“Bonjour, M. Grant,” the class answered in unison.

Unlike the previous class, there were no interruptions and he got through the lesson with little trouble. As the period ended and the students were making ready to leave he reminded them that they were scheduled for the language lab on Friday.

“And don’t think you can skip it,” he said. “You will have to log in with your student I.D. and I will check to see that everyone attends. Those who skip the lab will suffer for it, I assure you. By rights you should be taking this class every day, but that’s not how it works, so the lab is vitally important. Have a good weekend and I’ll see you next Tuesday. Au revoir.”

“Au voir,” the class said as they began filing out. Alex waited until they were all gone before leaving himself, spending the time erasing the whiteboard and gathering up his notes. Then he went back to his office where Felicity was speaking to a young woman, the two of them looking at a textbook. They both looked up as he came inside. Felicity smiled at him but continued speaking to the student.

“The accusative is formed by….”

Alex tuned her out as she continued to explain how the accusative was formed in German, while he turned on the computer sitting on his desk and spent a few minutes making some notes about the class and planning the next lesson. About fifteen minutes went by before the tutoring session ended and the student left. Felicity stood and stretched.

“Let’s get some lunch,” she said.

“Right behind you,” Alex replied, shutting down his computer and then they were on their way out, crossing the distance to Hayes Hall where they joined the line for lunch.

“What are you doing this weekend?” Felicity asked as they settled at a table and began eating.

“As far as I know, working on a couple of essays for my linguistics classes,” Alex answered. “Why? Do you have something more interesting to do?” He gave her a grin and she chuckled.

“Actually, yes. There’s a concert Saturday night I was planning to attend. I’ve got two tickets. Friend of mine gave them to me when she realized she would be out of town this weekend for a bar mitzvah.”

“What sort of concert?” Alex asked.

“Hmm…. the Wiseman youth orchestra. It’s composed of kids from twelve up. They do classical stuff mostly.”

“Interesting. I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”

“It’s relatively a new thing. Wiseman isn’t the big city or anything, but I know the town’s tried to provide as many cultural opportunities for the kids as possible. This orchestra is just one. They hold concerts four times a year. Proceeds from the tickets go toward purchasing instruments for children who can’t afford them. They receive lessons during school and the parents pay a nominal fee, mostly to cover buying music.”

“Well, I’d love to go. What time?”

“The concert’s at seven. Would you like to meet around five-thirty for dinner?”

“Is this a date?” Alex couldn’t help asking, giving her a teasing smile. “If so, I’ll pay for dinner.”

“Why don’t we go Dutch, then it’s not technically a date.”

Alex shrugged. “Fine by me. Should I pick you up or will I meet you somewhere and where’s the concert, anyway?”

“It’s at the Grange Hall,” Felicity answered. “They used to hold the concerts at the high school, but they’ve become so popular with the residents, they’ve started to have them at the Grange Hall because it’s larger. Do you like Italian? We could meet at Rosalia’s. Have you ever eaten there?”

“That restaurant on Morningside? Yeah, Derek and I ate there once. Isn’t that the place where they don’t have a fixed menu because it literally changes from one day to the next so you never know what you might get?”

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Good food. We both enjoyed it. So, yeah, I can meet you there at five-thirty. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for accepting. Now, you’d better finish up or you’ll be late for your next class.”

“Yes, Mom,” Alex said and Felicity laughed. Alex decided then and there to try and get her to laugh as often as possible; he found he rather enjoyed the sound of it.

He walked into his Italian class to find it had nearly doubled in size. Now there were twenty-six students instead of the original fifteen.

“Are you sure you’re in the right class?” he asked the new students. “I haven’t received an updated class list.”

But the students assured him that they were signed up for Italian 101 and after recording their names, he quickly reviewed the previous lesson for their benefit and then moved on to the next lesson. When he returned to the office, he checked his college email account, which he had failed to do earlier, and discovered the revised class list for both his classes. Printing them out, he double-checked both lists.

“Italian appears to have become more popular since Tuesday,” he said to Felicity who was seated at her own desk, working on the computer. “I had fifteen signed up for it and today eleven more showed up.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Depends on their motives for suddenly deciding they want to learn Italian.”

“Hmmm… well, let’s see how large the class remains by the end of the drop/add period,” she said, giving him a knowing grin and he nodded.

Around four, he was ready to leave, though Felicity looked as if she was planning to stay a little while longer, tapping away on her computer. “See you tomorrow?” he asked as he pulled on his coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck.

“You don’t have a class, though,” Felicity pointed out.

“No, but I have office hours in case anyone needs help. I doubt if anyone will, not this early in the semester, but I have to be here regardless.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” Felicity said. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” He left, nodding to a couple of teachers whom he knew vaguely who were in the English department as they met in the hall. Stepping outside, he paused for a moment to check the area. It was dark by now and the streetlights cast an eerie orange glow on the snow. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He shrugged further into his coat as he made his way to his right to where the faculty parking lot was located. There were still a few cars in the lot but most of the teachers had already left. He was passing the corner of the building when someone reached out in the darkness and grabbed him, smoothly putting him in a choke hold before he had time to react.

“Sloppy, Meriwether, real sloppy,” a voice said as his assailant pulled him deeper into the darkness where the streetlights could not reach. He felt himself being pulled behind some tall bushes. Then the voice spoke again. “And don’t even think about pulling the gun I know you have.” The assailant hitched up Alex’s coat and his sweater to grab the concealed weapon.

“Nice,” he said as he apparently took a quick look at the weapon before shoving it into a pocket of his own coat. “Okay, Meriwether, I’m going to release you, but if you try anything stupid, I’ll clonk you and leave you here to freeze to death. You got me?”

“Yes,” he managed to rasp out as the arm around his throat tightened slightly as if to emphasize the man’s threat. The hold loosened and Alex found himself falling to his knees trying to breathe.

“That’s it, Meriwether, deep breaths. Come on, let’s see you.” The man grabbed him under the arms and pulled him up, turning him around. There was just enough reflected light that Alex could make out features.

“Finlay,” he gasped, still trying to get his throat to work.

The man grinned. “So you remember me, heh?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex demanded. “Last I heard you and your friends were way north in some Inuit village.”

“Yeah, about that,” Finlay said, rubbing his chin, and then, in a flash, his fist crashed into Alex’s jaw, sending him sprawling into the snow.

“What the hell?” he shouted as he felt his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken.

“That’s for dumping me in that frozen hell for the last three months,” Finlay shouted back. Then, surprisingly, he held out his hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Alex reached up and grabbed it, allowing himself to be pulled up. “Well, now that we’ve settled that,” Finlay said in a calm voice, “let’s talk.”

“About?”

“About those ninjas who did a number on us.”

“Where are Crandall and Moore and the other two who were with you?”

“Back in DC as far as I know,” Finlay said with a shrug, obviously uncaring as to the fate of his fellow prisoners.

“So how did you escape? I was assured that you would be out of the picture until spring.”

Finlay flashed him a grin. “Well, now. That’s an interesting tale all in itself. About two weeks ago, the shaman of the village came to us and said we were free to leave and even provided us with transportation to Barrow.”

“No kidding?”

“Yup. Seems he had a dream telling him that we could leave.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it. So who were those bozos who took us out and then dumped us on hell’s front doorstep?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Alex answered.

“Try me. I pride myself for being open-minded.”

“Elves.”

“Excuse me?”

Now it was Alex’s turn to grin. “Elves.”

“They didn’t look like no fairies to me,” Finlay protested. “What’s your game?”

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me. Look, does it matter? You’re free, so what are you doing here? Why aren’t you back in DC being debriefed? How did you know I was still here and not somewhere else?”

“I didn’t, but this was the last place I saw you and I figured I would start here. Imagine my surprise when I actually spotted you entering this building. I did a little discrete checking and then I waited, knowing you would have to come this way to reach your car. So are you still undercover?”

“No. I left the Agency. I teach French and Italian here at the college now.”

“Get out!” Finlay exclaimed in disbelief. “You left? You, the great Artemus Gordon Meriwether, spy extraordinaire, left?”

Alex nodded, giving him a smirk. “I’ve even gone back to college myself to get my masters in Linguistics.”

Finlay stared at him. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Alex thought he detected a note of admiration in the other man’s tone. “So what now?” he asked. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, actually, except to thank you.”

“Huh?”

Finlay laughed and then gave a whistling sound. Alex started as another dark figure came through the bushes from the other side and almost went for the gun that he no longer carried, but Finlay just smiled and held out an arm for the other person and Alex saw that it was a female. In the dark with just the light reflected from the streetlights for illumination it was hard to see her features, but he gathered that she was an Inuit.

“Who?” he asked.

“This is Sakari, my wife.”

“Your what?”

“Wife,” Finlay repeated with obvious relish. “She’s the shaman’s daughter. We’ve been married since the New Year.”

“That was fast,” was all Alex could think to say as he stared at the young woman who gave him a shy smile.

“Not much else to do when the snow is up around your ears but get friendly with the natives, if you know what I mean,” Finlay responded. Then he turned to Sakari and to Alex’s surprise began speaking to her in French, though rather slowly. She responded in kind, speaking somewhat hesitantly, as if she were unsure of her words and Alex suspected she was still learning the language.

Finlay turned to Alex, now speaking English again. “Sakari doesn’t speak English. I’ve been teaching her French.”

“Why French?”

“The language of love, boy,” Finlay replied with a laugh, slapping him on the back, nearly knocking him over. “She’s still learning so speak a little slower than you normally would, like you would in your class.”

“Bonjour, madam,” Alex said, giving her a slight bow. “Je m’appelle Alex. Comment allez vous?”

“Bonjour, monsieur,” she said shyly. “Je suis bien, merci.”

“So, what say we get out of this cold and go get something to eat? Sakari’s hungry.” Finlay suggested, speaking English, giving Sakari a hug as he looked at Alex.

“How do you know that?” Alex glanced at the young woman standing serenely by Finlay, giving him an appraising look.

“Sakari’s always hungry,” Finlay replied with a short laugh, then his expression sobered and he lowered his voice. “We need to talk, Meriwether.”

“It’s Grant now, Alex Grant.”

“Whatever. Come on. You know where we can go?”

“There’s the Gold Nugget Café. You know where it is?”

“Yeah. I ate there a couple of times last time I was here.”

“Where are you parked? Do you even have a car or did you come by dog sled?”

“Very funny. Ha ha. No, I rented a jeep in Deadhorse. I’ll meet you by the entrance to the parking lot, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Finlay turned to Sakari, and speaking in French, said. “You go with him, ma petite. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You trust me with your wife?” Alex asked with a teasing grin.

“No, but I trust her and she’s my security. You won’t do a bunk with her with you.”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Good enough.”

“Can I have my gun back?”

Finlay shook his head, giving Alex a feral grin. “I’ll keep it for now. If you behave, you’ll get it back before we part company.” With that, Finlay gave Sakari a kiss before leaving. Alex watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner of the building. Then he glanced at Sakari, whose expression could only be called wistful.

“If you will come with me, madam,” he said to her and she nodded. Luckily, it hadn’t snowed during the day so when they reached his car he got right in and started it up, putting the heater on high. Sakari joined him, putting on the seat belt without being told. Alex pulled out of his space and made for the road just as a jeep came up to the curb next to a streetlight so Alex could see Finlay in the driver’s seat. The man waved at him and he pulled out and headed toward Aurora with the jeep trailing. He was tempted to question Sakari about Finlay as they drove but decided against it, concentrating on the road and wondering what Finlay’s game was. He pulled into the Safeway parking lot and found a space. Finlay pulled into another space two cars down.

As soon as she got out of the car, Sakari ran to Finlay who opened his arms and embraced her, speaking softly and kissing her. Alex stood by his car and watched. Finlay gave Sakari one more hug and then released her, nodding to Alex as the three stepped across the street and crossed the square to the café.

Inside, the place was crowded even though it wasn’t yet five. They stood at the entrance looking for an empty table. “I forgot it’s Thursday,” Alex told Finlay. “They have an early-bird special and a lot of seniors like to come and enjoy it.”

One of the waitresses approached them, giving them a greeting. “You’re in luck,” she said. “There’s one booth left.” She led them into the café and soon they were seated glancing at their menus with Finlay softly translating it for Sakari.

Another waitress came over and Alex forced himself not to react, recognizing ‘Esther’, who gave him a wink. “You here for the special?” she asked them with a smile. “Pot roast. Can’t be beat.”

“Sounds good to me,” Alex said handing her his menu.

In the end, they all ordered the pot roast. Finlay asked for coffee while Sakari settled for a coke with no ice and Alex decided on tea. Esther dutifully wrote it all down though Alex half suspected it was an unnecessary action on her part and then left to put in their orders.

For a long moment, the three sat in silence until Alex asked in English, “How old is she?” He nodded at Sakari who was staring about at all the bustle, obviously entranced.

Finlay grinned at him. “She’s twenty-three.”

“She looks fifteen.”

Finlay shrugged. “She’s legal, Meriwether. I made damn sure of that and when we got to Barrow, first thing I did was to have us get married all over again before a justice of the peace. That way, I can prove we’re married in case I need to get her a passport or something.”

“And will you need one?”

“Not at the moment. In fact, once our business is done here, we’re going back to the village.”

“Why?” Alex gave him a surprised look.

Finlay looked about to answer, but Esther came back with their drinks. She smiled warmly at Sakari as she handed her a glass of coke. “Holler if you need anything,” she said breezily as she headed for another table.

“So why are you going back?” Alex asked again, once they were alone.

“Sakari’s old man, the shaman? He’s no dummy. He knows there’s little future for the kids in that village. He wants me to teach them English and French so they can go out and make something of themselves. He’s hoping some of them will even return, but there’s not much to hold them there and their traditional ways of living have been eroded over the last few decades.” Finlay shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s really not a bad place. Beautiful scenery. People are friendly. A guy can do a lot worse.”

“So you’re leaving the game?” Alex gave him a skeptical look.

“As did you, apparently,” Finlay shot back.

“In a way,” Alex admitted, “but things are not exactly as they seem.”

“So tell me.”

“You said we had to talk,” Alex countered.

Finlay hesitated for a moment, stealing a glance at Sakari and then said softly, “A, B, or C?”

Alex raised an eyebrow, recognizing the code. “I’m feeling adventurous tonight,” he answered somewhat laconically, taking a sip of his Earl Grey tea. “How about D?”

Finlay sat back, giving him a shrewd look, then nodded. When he spoke next it was in Russian, the soft, sibilant sounds of the language contrasting with the more clipped sounds of English being spoken around them.

“Tell me what happened and why. What was Farrell’s game in all this? It was supposed to be a simple pick up. We were supposed to be bringing an agent in from the cold.”

Alex shrugged. “That was the story Farrell told you?” he asked, also speaking Russian.

“Yes, but I’ve had three months to think about it and something doesn’t add up. I want you to tell me what was really going down.”

“It’s complicated,” Alex said, hedging slightly.

“It’s always complicated. So let me make it easy for you. Tell me or I tell Farrell where to find you.”

“Are you threatening me?” Alex demanded, though his tone was one of curiosity rather than belligerence. “Besides, Farrell knows right where I am.”

“Maybe, but you don’t know where he is, do you?”

“He’s here in Wiseman, that much I know.”

“Escaped from prison, I hear. How does that work again? What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing.” Alex leaned over the table, his eyes dark. “That bastard murdered two locals whose only crime was failing to snatch me and my friend. Farrell has a personal grudge against Ambrose and my ninja friends—”

“Here you go.” Esther came over with their pot roast, setting the plates before them along with some crusty bread. “Can I get you anything else? More coffee or tea?” she asked. Alex and Finlay shook their heads. “Bon appetit,” Esther said with a smile and Sakari’s expression brightened, recognizing the French. Esther moved away to the next booth down and Alex heard her say to the customers, “How’s it going with you two? Ready for some dessert?” It was only then that he suddenly realized that when she had been speaking to him and Finlay it had been in Russian instead of English. Finlay seemed to realize it as well and his eyes widened as he turned to stare at the putative waitress.

“What the—?”

Alex shook his head, picking up a fork and digging into the pot roast, deciding he really did not want to deal with whatever game the Valië was playing. Finlay turned back to him and for a moment his expression was one of confusion and even fear as he stared at Alex who shrugged, evincing nonchalance. Sakari, who had been ignoring them, suddenly spoke. “Eat, husband. This is very good.” Finlay gave her an indulgent smile and picked up his fork to take a bite.

“So you were saying?” he said, glancing at Alex.

“My friends and I put a stop to Farrell and then handed him over to the proper authorities. The Agency has pretty much disavowed him.”

“On the surface, but if they helped him to escape….”

“Maddy’s looking into it. The order came from higher up but just how high remains to be seen. The Agency is playing in murky waters and not all the players have been identified.”

“That’s par for the course, Meriwether,” Finlay said with a snort.

“Except, in this case, most in the Agency have no idea what the game is really about or who the real players are.”

“And you do?”

“To some extent.”

Finlay paused to think about Alex’s words. Sakari chose that moment to ask a question in what apparently was her native tongue. Finlay looked around and pointed, saying something in the same language. Sakari nodded her thanks and got up, apparently heading for the restrooms. Alex gave Finlay a shrewd look. “How did you communicate with the villagers if no one there speaks English or any other language but their own?”

“Oh, I’m a quick study,” Finlay said. “I managed to pick up quite a bit of the language. The others didn’t bother, but hey, I figured as long as I was stuck in that hellhole I might as well learn the lingo. Made life a little easier for me.”

“So, why are you so interested in Farrell, anyway?”

“Yes, that is the question of the hour, isn’t it?”

Alex felt a frisson of fear course through his body at the sound of the dark, melodious voice, recognizing it. He looked up to see Námo in his Nate disguise standing before them looking grim.

****

Sakari: Alaskan Inuit: ‘Sweet’.

51: At the Gold Nugget Café

Alex gulped and felt the blood drain from his face as he continued looking up at the Vala, remembering the first time he had met ‘Nate’ in this café. He suddenly realized that it was the same booth as before and wondered if the Vala haunted it or something. Nate gave him the ghost of a smile, as if he’d read his thoughts.

Finlay, meanwhile, was scowling, giving Nate a belligerent look. “Who are you and what business do you have with us?”

Nate stared down at him, saying nothing at first, and Alex saw Finlay pale. Nate broke eye contact with the man and Finlay actually shuddered and Alex shivered a bit in sympathy. The Vala, meanwhile, snagged a chair from a nearby table and sat in it backwards, removing his wide-brimmed hat and setting it on the booth beside Alex as he leaned his arms on the back of the chair.

 “How are your classes going?” Nate asked Alex. “You enjoy teaching?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure… uh… the classes are fine,” Alex replied, wondering at the Vala’s purpose in asking him such inane questions. “And teaching sure beats dodging bullets.”

“I’m sure.” Nate said in satisfaction.

Just then, Esther came over carrying a mug of coffee, setting it before Nate. “Here you go, Brother. Just the way you like it.”

Nate gave her a gentle smile.  “Thank you,” he said simply and she nodded before going off to see to other patrons. Nate took an appreciative sip of the coffee and then looked at Finlay. “So, Edward, why don’t you tell us why you’re so interested in Farrell.”

“What’s it to you, anyway? Who are you?” Finlay hissed in anger. “And how the hell do you know my name?”  

“You can call me Nate. I’m a friend of Alex.”

Alex felt an urge to deny that relationship, but on second thought decided against it. When Finlay looked at him for confirmation, he just shrugged.

“And that’s supposed to make it all okay?” Finlay retorted, speaking to Nate.

“For now,” Nate replied. He appeared calm and his tone was conversational but Alex thought he detected something harder and darker behind the Vala’s nonchalance. “You shouldn’t let your pot roast go cold.” He gave Alex a significant look and Alex dutifully picked up his fork and resumed eating. Finlay continued to glare at Nate, ignoring his dinner.

“Who the hell are you?” he snarled.

Nate sighed, putting his mug down. “Edward, Edward. Did your little stint in Sakari’s village teach you anything?”

Finlay visibly paled at Nate’s words. “How did you—?”

“How did I know about that?” Nate asked, looking amused. Alex wasn’t sure if Nate finding anything amusing was a good thing. “You’d be surprised at what I know, Edward. For instance, I know that as soon as you reached Barrow, you ditched your fellow agents, refusing to return to DC with them, and spent several days buying weapons. AK 47s and AR15s and the like. You have quite a little arsenal now stashed in that cooler in the back of your jeep. You planning on doing a bit of hunting?”

“Your arsenal is in a cooler?” Alex couldn’t help asking.

Finlay shrugged. “Jeeps have no trunks and it’s a rental so I wasn’t able to modify it. A cooler works. No one thinks twice about a guy having a cooler in his vehicle.” He looked at Nate, glowering. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Who are you gunning for, Edward? Alex? Farrell? Or is it for protection for your lovely bride?”

Finlay paled. “You leave her out of it!” he hissed, grabbing his dinner knife and holding it out in a threatening manner. Alex wanted to warn him as to the futility of that gesture, but decided Nate didn’t need any protection from him and went back to his pot roast, evincing nonchalance, as if the conversation the other two were having had nothing to do with him. Nate stared at the knife in Finlay’s hand and grinned. Somehow that didn’t comfort Alex at all and Finlay actually dropped the knife with a gasp, reeling slightly and looking away. Whatever he saw in Nate’s eyes apparently scared the daylights out of him. Alex wondered if the guy would faint or make a mess in his pants, and sincerely hoped it would be the former.

Finlay, however, did neither, taking a few deep breaths to get himself under control. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper and he never looked up from the table. “I spent three months thinking about that night when it all went south. I’ve analyzed it backwards, forwards and inside out. Something was definitely hinky about the entire operation from the get-go. I don’t know who in the Agency to trust anymore and if they decide to send an enforcer after me to take me out, I intend to be prepared.”

“Who gave you your orders, Finlay?” Alex asked. “Maddy swears up and down that she never did even though Farrell made it sound as if she had.”

“Dolan,” Finlay replied. “At least, it came from her office.”

“You didn’t speak to her directly?”

Finlay shook his head. “No. I got the assignment the usual way.”

Alex nodded, knowing what he meant. Most assignments were sent to an agent via an encrypted email. While all assignments were sensitive, some were more sensitive than others and those were generally given out during a face-to-face with one’s supervisor, but such assignments were rare.

“You think someone in the Agency set you up,” Nate said, making it a statement more than a question.

“Yeah, I do,” Finlay replied with a nod, “and until I know for sure or differently, I’m taking every precaution to keep me and Sakari safe.” He frowned and craned his neck to look around the café. “Where is she, anyway? She should’ve been back from the ladies by now.”

“She’s fine,” Nate said soothingly. “She’ll come back when things are safe.”

Alex looked up at that, alarms ringing in his mind. “Safe? What do you—?”

Finlay started to get out of his seat, apparently to go in search of his wife. Nate reached over and pushed him back down with a negligent shove while simultaneously speaking to Alex. “You may want to duck.”

“Huh?” Alex just goggled at the Vala.

“Duck. Now.”

And such was Nate’s tone that Alex did exactly that. Even as he was falling face down onto the booth seat he heard a familiar sound of glass shattering and something whizzing by where his head had been. Someone screamed and pandemonium struck the café with people shouting and falling to the floor. Alex looked to where the bullet had gone, relieved to see that it had missed hitting the teenager who had been sitting at a table across from them.

“What the hell?” Finlay shouted as he joined Alex underneath the table.

“Finlay, my gun!” Alex exclaimed, holding out a hand to the other agent. Finlay reached up to where his coat was squashed in the corner of the booth and pulled it to him. His hand snaked into a pocket and he brought out the GLOCK, handing it to Alex, who had retrieved his own coat and the magazines, slipping one into the gun, automatically checking the safety and shoving the other into a pants pocket.

In the seconds it had taken Finlay to hand Alex his gun, no other shots had been fired. Alex cautiously started to sit up so as to gauge the situation more easily.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Nate said conversationally, calmly sipping his coffee, ignoring the Mortals cowering under tables while people who had been in the adjoining store were congregated at the doorway gawking. Even as he spoke, another shot rang out, causing people to scream again. Nate never flinched. Alex ducked again, quietly cursing in three languages as he inched his way off the booth and onto the floor. Finlay followed suit, his own gun in his hand. Alex vaguely noticed that it was a .40 S&W. It wouldn’t have been his first choice for a weapon but it was serviceable enough. He suspected though that Finlay had bought whatever he could find in Barrow, whether he preferred it as a weapon or not. The two met by Nate’s chair staring at one another.

“Farrell?” Finlay asked.

“Has to be,” Alex replied with a nod.

Finlay muttered something scatological in a language Alex did not know though it sounded vaguely oriental. Nate, still sitting calmly in his chair, looked down at the agent. “Does your wife know you use that kind of language?”

Finlay glared up at the Vala, then gave Alex a puzzled look. “What is it with this guy? Bullets are flying and he sits there like it’s nothing.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Alex replied. “Those bullets came from high up,” he said, pointing to where one of the bullets was lodged in the wall. “He’s got to be in one of the buildings to the side, on the roof maybe.

“Angle’s a bit screwy,” Finlay said. “How can he even see us? There’s no direct line-of-sight. He would’ve done better to shoot from the Safeway.”

Alex shrugged. “Maybe, but distance would be a factor. He would have had to shoot across the entire length of the square. Let’s go find him, shall we?”

They made their way past tables and booths, keeping low. Everyone else was crouched under tables, looking scared, especially the children. Some people were speaking hurriedly into phones, but whether they were calling 911 or their loved ones Alex didn’t know or care. A few, seeing the two agents sliding by carrying weapons shrank back in terror, but they were ignored. Somewhere in the distance, sirens sounded.

“Cavalry’s coming,” Alex muttered to Finlay. “Let’s make this quick.”

Finlay nodded but just as the two got as far as the other end of the counter where the cash register was, they were stopped by a pair of shapely legs with feet stuffed into a pair of orange day-glo sneakers that really did not go with the blue gingham dress the person was wearing, but looked very comfortable to Alex’s mind. The two men looked up to see Esther standing there with hands on hips, glaring at them. “Sneaking off without paying, are we?” she asked.

“Get down, you fool!” Finlay snarled as he reached up and grabbed her nearest arm and pulled her down.

“Relax, Edward,” Esther said with a smile. “The danger is over, I assure you.”

“How do these people know my name?” Finlay exclaimed to Alex, looking perplexed. “Do I have a sign on my forehead or something?”

Alex snorted and stood up, put the safety on and removed the clip, shoving the gun back into its holster and the magazine into a pocket. Finlay just goggled at him. “Are you insane? Get down, man!”

“If Esther says the danger’s over, then it is,” Alex said, walking back to where Nate still sat in his chair. Sakari was back as well and the two were quietly conversing in what Alex had to assume was the woman’s native language since he did not recognize it.

Finlay saw his wife and got up to go to her, speaking in French. “Est-ce que ça va, ma petite?”

The woman looked up with a smile. “Oui, ça va.”

“Crisis is over with, people,” Esther called out. “You can return to your dinners.”

Remarkably, people came up from under the tables and retook their seats, picking up forks and resuming eating as if nothing had happened, though not a few cast surreptitious looks at Alex and Finlay.

“Okay, what the hell is going on here?” Finlay demanded as he pulled Sakari into his embrace, addressing Nate. “Who are you?”

Sakari whispered something in her language. Finlay started, staring at his wife in surprise. “Un guide spirituel?” he demanded. “C’est absurde!”

“Little do you know,” Alex muttered. He sidled into the booth, carefully avoiding the broken glass and craned his neck to look out what was left of the window, shivering slightly at the cold. He pointed to his right. “There, either above the bookstore or the bakery next to it.”

Finlay released his hold on Sakari to bend down for a look. “You sure?”

“Check the angle,” Alex said. “If he shot from over that way,” — he now pointed to his left — “like where the flower shop is, the bullets would’ve hit you instead of me.”

Even as he was speaking, the sirens became very loud and they watched as three police cars ignored the fact that the square was a pedestrian-only area and drove up to face the café, police pouring out and leveling their guns at the building. More sirens sounded and they saw a fire truck and an ambulance also being driven up the square. People who had been walking around visiting the shops had scrambled out of the way. Apparently no one outside had noticed the shooting.

“He used a silencer,” Alex muttered as he pulled himself out of the booth, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go meet the cavalry,” he suggested to Finlay, who nodded, grabbing his own coat, speaking softly to Sakari, telling her to stay put. They didn’t get far, for two police officers came rushing in, their weapons drawn.

“Freeze!” one of the officers yelled and Alex and Finlay stopped, their hands raised.

“They’ve got guns!” a little girl screamed, pointing at the two agents. Her mother pushed her arm down and quietly scolded the child.

“Easy, fellas,” Alex said in a non-threatening tone. “I’m Alex Grant. I’m going to reach into my left coat pocket with my right hand for my wallet.”

The officers hesitated for a second, and then one of them nodded. “Don’t do anything cute.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Alex slowly moved his right hand and reached into the pocket, pulling out the thin wallet with his concealed carry permit. He held it out and one of the officers took it, flipping it open, showing it to his partner.

“Says here your name’s Meriwether,” the officer said, casting him a suspicious look.

Alex cursed silently to himself, having completely forgotten that he hadn’t updated the permit with his new name. “Ah, yeah, about that….”

But he was saved giving an explanation by the arrival of Dave Michaelson, who took in the situation at once. “Stand down,” he said softly and both officers holstered their weapons.

“Hi, Dave,” Alex said with false cheerfulness. “Come to join the party?”

“Alex, I should’ve known you would be behind this.”

“Hey, I was having a quiet dinner with a friend and his wife when the shooting started.”

Michaelson glanced at Finlay who was looking bored. “Friend?”

“Ed and I go way back,” Alex said with a nod, and then added, “Way back… to academy days.” He gave the police chief a significant look that Michaelson understood.

“I see,” he said. “So you want to explain what happened here?”

At that point, Nate got up and came toward them, bringing Sakari with him. Michaelson saw him and gulped. The two officers with him actually took a couple of steps back and one even went for his gun before realizing what he was doing and forced himself to stop.

“So who died?” Michaelson asked in a strained voice, looking around to see if there were any bodies.

“If you mean, here in the café, no one,” Nate said with an amused look. “I made sure of that.” He glanced briefly at Alex before turning his attention to Finlay. “You should return to the village, Edward, as soon as you are able. This is not your fight, at least for now. Later, perhaps, but not yet. Teach the children what you know, all that you know.”

Finlay gave him a puzzled look. “I agreed to teach them English and French.”

“Yes, but there are other skills that you have that you can teach them. Prepare them, Edward. Prepare them for what comes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Finlay practically shouted, his face suffused with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Sakari put out a comforting hand, looking concerned. She might not know what was being said, but she obviously knew her husband was upset.

“War, Edward,” Nate said calmly, though his tone darkened and became colder, causing more than one of the listeners to flinch. “When you return to the village, speak to Sakari’s father. He will know what needs to be done.” Then he looked at Alex and Alex forced himself not to flinch. “I saved you because others asked that you be protected, but it would be better if you asked it for yourself.”

“I’ll think about it,” Alex said, not willing to commit himself that far.

“Do not think about it too long, child,” Nate said gently. “David, Farrell is Alex’s concern, his and the Elves. They will deal with him.”

“I do wish everyone from God on down would stop telling me my job,” Michaelson retorted. “I will decide what is and is not my concern where it impacts on the lives and safety of the people I swore to protect.”

“Farrell is out of your league, Dave,” Alex said before Nate could reply. “Trust me on this.” He looked at Finlay. “I wish you would stay and help, but I understand why you won’t.”

“If it weren’t for Sakari….”

“I know and I don’t blame you. If I were in your shoes, I would do the same.”

“What I don’t get is how he knew you would be here,” Finlay said. “Has he been camping on the roof without anyone noticing just on the off-chance you would come strolling along so he can take you out?”

“It does seem odd, but until I catch up with him to ask, I guess it’ll just have to remain a mystery,” Alex responded.

“We’ll get forensics here to examine the evidence,” Michaelson said, then he raised his voice to address the others in the café. “I’ll need statements from everyone, so no one leaves or enters until I say so.”

There were groans from several people, probably those who’d been ready to leave before the shooting started.

“I know, I know,” Michaelson said sympathetically. “We’ll try to get everyone on their way as quickly as possible.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time, Chief,” an older gentleman wearing a business suit said from where he was seated at a table. “I guarantee you that most if not all the statements will be pretty much the same as mine, which will be something along the lines of ‘I didn’t see a thing, Officer. There was the sound of glass breaking and then people started screaming. I think there was a second bullet and then those two began crawling along the floor with guns out. Esther stopped them and then you guys showed up.’ End of statement.”

“C’mon, Dave,” a woman said, “I’ve got better things to be doing than sticking around here telling Jared here just what Scott said.” She made a gesture toward one of the police officers. Several people voiced their agreement to that.

Michaelson sighed and raised his hand. “Fine, just give the officers your names and where to reach you and then you’re free to go.” He gestured to the two officers who nodded, pulling out notebooks and pens as they began circulating among the patrons. “Alex, you and your friends stick around. I have a few questions for you.”

“I want a look at the roof over the bookstore. That’s where we think the shots came from,” Alex said. “Farrell’s long gone, but he might have left some evidence behind, though I pretty much doubt it. He won’t be that careless.”

“You leave forensics to us,” Michaelson said sharply. “I don’t need you or anyone else mucking up a crime scene.”

Before Alex could offer a retort, someone entered the café. Michaelson turned around to stop him and then groaned when he saw it was Finrod looking curiously about him. Finlay gasped and his jaw dropped, his eyes widening at the sight of the Elf. Sakari, he noticed, actually smiled and gave Finrod a short bow of respect.

“C’est un ange, Edward,” she whispered reverently.

Finlay gave his wife a disbelieving look. “Spirit guides and angels? What the hell’s going on?”

“How the hell did you get past my people?” the police chief demanded of Finrod. “I left strict orders no one was to be allowed in here.”

Finrod gave him an amused look. “Since they did not see me, they could not stop me.”

“Oh, for the love of… I give up!” Michaelson threw up his hands in disgust. “Elves with Jedi mind tricks. That’s all I bloody need!”

Finrod gave them a puzzled look. “What is a Jedi?”

Finlay turned to Alex. “Is he serious?” And Alex wasn’t sure if he meant Finrod or Michaelson and just shrugged, figuring that was the safest course to take.

“Take a deep breath, David, and relax,” Esther said soothingly. She had been standing beside Nate, but now moved behind the Mortal and began giving him a neck massage. Michaelson started to protest and then his eyes glazed over and he sighed deeply. “There,” Esther said with satisfaction. “That’s much better. You’re much too tense, child. All is well. Alex and the Elves will deal with Farrell. You just worry about the normal criminal elements that plague Wiseman, all right?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” Michaelson said somewhat dreamily.

Alex noticed the two officers, still taking down names, rolling their eyes and giving one another knowing smiles. He wondered if this was not the first time the chief of police in Wiseman had received treatment from the Valië of Rest. Esther nodded, giving Michaelson a final massage before releasing him. Michaelson blinked, as if coming awake, and gave the Valië a shy look. “Ah… thanks,” he said.

“My pleasure,” Esther replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have customers who need attention.” She wandered off to speak with an elderly couple who wanted some dessert and more decaf.

“And I have other business to attend to,” Nate said, shoving his hat on his head. Alex would have sworn that the Vala hadn’t had it in his hand previously. He gabbled something to Finrod in what Alex recognized as Quenya, though he did not understand it, having only taken a couple of classes so far. Finrod nodded, gabbling something back and then Nate gave them all a nod and walked out of the restaurant and into the adjoining store, though Alex was sure the Vala never bothered to leave by way of the door but simply faded away.

Finrod spoke then. “David, I am going to have Alex come with me to Edhellond so we can inform Glorfindel and the others. You know where to find us if you need us.”

Michaelson just nodded. “Stop by the office tomorrow when you can and give us a statement for the records,” he said to Alex, then turned to Finlay and Sakari. “We’ll need one from you two as well, so don’t plan to leave just yet. Where are you staying?”

“The Goldmine Inn,” Finlay said. “My wife doesn’t speak English, though, just French or her native lingo,” Finlay said.

“Iñupiaq or Qawiataq?” Michaelson asked.

“Ah… not sure. Her village is west of Barrow, along the coast. That’s all I can tell you.”

Sakari said something and Michaelson answered back. Alex gave him a discerning look. Michaelson just grinned. “I had an Inuit girlfriend back in college. This was before I ever met my wife, Janna. Kirima came from Barrow and taught me her language. It’s a subdialect of Northern Alaskan Iñupiaq spoken among the tribes along the arctic coast. Come along to the station tomorrow with Alex, Mr. Finlay, and I’ll make a point to be there as a translator for your wife.”

“Yeah, well, I have office hours beginning at ten, so I’ll be at the station around nine,” Alex said.

“Fine by me,” Michaelson replied. “Okay, get going. I’ll let you know if forensics finds anything.”

“Bring your friends, Alex,” Finrod said and turned to leave.

Alex rolled his eyes at Finrod’s imperious tone.

“So who’s the dude in the cloak?” Finlay asked.

Alex grinned. “You’re about to find out. C’mon, let’s pay up and get out of here.”

“Don’t worry about that, boys,” Esther said calling out from the other side of the café as if she had actually heard their conversation from twenty feet away. “It’s on the house. Off you go now. You don’t want to keep Finrod waiting.”

Alex and Finlay exchanged looks and shrugged almost as one. “C’mon. Let’s vamoose.”

“After you,” Finlay said as he took Sakari’s arm and followed Alex out.

****

Words are French:

Est-ce que ça va, ma petite?: ‘Are you well, my little one?’

Oui, ça va: ‘Yes, I’m okay.’

Un guide spirituel? C’est absurde!: ‘A spirit guide? That’s ridiculous!’

C’est un ange: ‘It’s an angel’.

52: At Edhellond

“We’re parked at the Safeway,” Alex told Finrod as the four of them stepped outside and wended their way past the police cars.

Finrod nodded. “I just need to stop at the bookstore to let Nick know what has happened.”

“We’ll come along,” Alex said. “Finlay and I want to check the roof. We think that’s where Farrell shot from.”

“Will you not be contaminating the crime scene?” Finrod asked with a frown.

Alex grinned. “Been reading Loren’s mysteries, have you?”

Finrod gave him a sly look. “Actually, I have been reading some True Crime books while working at the bookstore. It is very disturbing to see how debased some Mortals have become. Morgoth’s legacy lives on, I fear.”

“Yeah, well, there are good guys, too, don’t forget,” Alex retorted, feeling a need to defend humanity even if he sort of agreed with Finrod’s estimation of it.

Finrod nodded as he opened the bookstore door and ushered the other three in. “And I am reminded of that every day when I witness small kindnesses among the people here.”

“Hey, what’s the deal? Did you find out what happened? Here you go, Mrs. Callahan. You have a good day.”

Alex saw Nick at the counter, handing a bag of books to an elderly woman, who gave him her thanks with a smile and made her way out of the shop, nodding to Alex, Finlay and Sakari in greeting as she passed them. Finrod held the door open for her. Once the door was closed, Nick spoke again.

“So what happened? Why are the police all over the place?”

“Someone didn’t like the pot roast,” Alex answered before Finrod could speak. The Elf gave him a merry look but did not contradict him. “Do you mind if I take my friends up to the roof?” Alex asked Nick. “I want to show them the view from up there.”

Nick raised an eyebrow, glanced quickly at Finrod, who gave him a barely noticeable nod, and shrugged. “There’s an outside stair out back. You can go out this way.” He pointed to the door behind him. “Mind the third step; it’s a bit loose.”

“We won’t be long,” Alex said to Finrod as he headed for the door with Finlay behind him. Sakari stayed where she was, her eyes wide at the sight of all the books.

“I will go with you,” the Elf said. “I am curious about the view as well.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex responded with little enthusiasm.

“My wife only speaks French and her native language,” Finlay said to Nick as he passed him.

“No problem,” Nick said with a wave of his hand. “Bonjour, madam. Je m’appelle Nick. Et vous?”

“Je m’appelle Sakari,” Alex heard her say shyly as he led the way through the back room to the door that led out to the alley.

The three made their way up the stairs and Alex stopped at the top to look around. “Seems odd for the roof to be flat,” he commented. “I would think it would be sloped to help keep the snow off like the house I grew up in in New Hampshire. We don’t get as much snow as this place but we get plenty. All our houses have sloped roofs for that very reason.”

“Who knows?” Finlay said with a shrug, not really caring. “Maybe they originally intended to add a third story and then never got around to it. He shot from over there.” He pointed to his right where their roof met the roof over the bakery. The snow had been cleared for a space of about three feet and footprints were obvious.

Alex nodded but did not move. Finrod gave him a discerning look. “You do not go over for a closer look?”

“Contaminating the crime scene,” Alex responded, giving the Elf a grin. “C’mon, let’s go before Dave’s forensics team shows up and gives us hell.” He headed back down the stairs and the others followed. Inside the store they found Nick happily speaking French to Sakari, the two looking over some books in the children’s corner. They both looked up when the three entered.

“How was the view?” Nick asked.

“Cold,” Alex said. “Allons-y!”

“Wait! Sakari wants to buy some books,” Nick said.

“Books?” Finlay asked, perplexed. “I told you she doesn’t speak English, at least not yet.”

“These are French books for children,” Nick explained. “I have a small section of foreign language books. Here, you see? It’s Dr. Seuss in French, Le Chat au Chapeau.”

Finlay rolled his eyes and Alex smirked. “You should pick up the English version, too,” he suggested, “then you’ll have a complete set. They can be your textbooks for the kiddies.”

Finlay growled something untranslatable and nodded. “Pick out some books, then,” he said to Nick, “but make it quick, will you?”

“You bet,” Nick said and then spoke to Sakari in passable French, to which she responded with a nod, going back to the shelves to choose some other books.

“We’ll just wait for you outside,” Alex said and with a jerk of his head at Finrod, he headed for the door. Once outside, he sucked in some fresh air, then let it out slowly, releasing some of the tension he’d been feeling since the shooting.

“You plan to show Finlay what you really are?” he asked Finrod, not really looking at him.

“It might be wise,” Finrod said. “He has already met Lord Námo and Lady Estë, though he is unaware of their true natures.”

“Sakari seemed to know,” Alex said. “She called Nate a spirit guide and she thought you were an angel… er… Maia, I guess you would say.”

“She is very perceptive,” Finrod said, then he pulled out his phone and speed-dialed a number. After a moment, he began speaking into the phone in rapid-fire Sindarin. Alex caught only a word or two. There was a pause and then Finrod spoke again before ending the call, slipping the phone back into a pocket. “I have spoken to Glorfindel. He will call Vorondur. I think it will be wise for him to be there when we speak with your friend. Valandur and Daeron will also be there and some others.”

“He’s not exactly a friend,” Alex protested. “More like a former colleague. We never worked together when I was with the Agency, though we knew each other in passing.”

“Still, he looks to be an ally and we need as many as we can get. Ah, you have completed your purchases?” Finrod smiled as Finlay and Sakari came out of the store. Sakari was carrying a large bag and looking quite happy. Finlay didn’t look happy at all.

“It’s a good thing no one bothered to have my credit cards canceled while I was gone,” he muttered. “Okay, so where are we going?”

“Just follow me,” Alex said. “It’s not that far.” With that, he set off across the square to the Safeway and a few minutes later, he and Finrod were climbing into Alex’s car while Finlay and Sakari got in the jeep. Ten minutes later, they were pulling through the gates leading to Edhellond.

“Nice,” Finlay commented as he got out of the jeep, looking about the estate as he and Sakari joined Alex while Finrod went to the door to open it. Another car came into the drive and parked next to Alex’s car. Vorondur got out.

“Heard there was some excitement,” he said with a grin, though Alex thought he detected a note of worry in the ellon’s voice.

Alex shrugged somewhat nonchalantly. “You can say that. Ron, this is Ed Finlay, you probably met him very briefly when you were taking him and his friends down in the Safeway parking lot.” He gave Vorondur a significant look and the ellon raised an eyebrow but did not comment, merely held out his hand for Finlay to shake. “Ed, this is Dr. Ron Brightman. He’s a shrink.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Finlay,” Vorondur said.

“Ah, yeah, likewise,” Finlay muttered as he took the Elf’s hand, fairly goggling at him.

Alex wasn’t sure if the man was stunned by the Elf’s beauty or by the fact that one of the ‘ninjas’ who had attacked him and the other agents was a psychiatrist. “Oh, and this is his wife, Sakari,” Alex added.

“Wife, is it?” Vorondur said with a knowing smile. “That was fast.”

Finlay rolled his eyes and Alex smirked. “Sakari speaks French but not English,” he explained.

“Enchanté, madam,” the Elf said, taking Sakari’s hand and gracefully bowing over it. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said in accentless French and even Alex found himself catching his breath at the sheer beauty of the Elf’s voice. Sakari murmured an appropriate response, speaking barely above a whisper, looking very shy and, to Alex’s eyes, very young. He didn’t care what Finlay said, she still looked only fifteen to him.

“Shall we go in?” Vorondur said, still speaking French for Sakari’s sake. The others nodded and soon they were doffing coats and making their way to the library. Finlay, Alex noticed, had his arm protectively around Sakari as they came into the library where they found Finrod, along with Glorfindel, Valandur and the Twins. Daeron was not there, but Alex suspected the ellon was in the kitchen preparing some refreshments. The Elves looked up as they entered. Finlay and Sakari stopped at the door, though Alex continued into the room with Vorondur.

“Alex, I understand there was some trouble,” Glorfindel said as he held out his hand for Alex to shake.

“Yeah, a bit,” Alex replied. “Ah, you remember Finlay, don’t you?” He couldn’t help giving the Elf a wicked grin.

“Oh, yes, quite well,” Glorfindel said and the Twins both chuckled. Glorfindel gave them a glare and then walked over to the two Mortals still standing uncertainly by the door. Alex saw Finlay tightened his hold on Sakari a little more, as if afraid Glorfindel would snatch her from him. Glorfindel held out his hand. “Welcome to Edhellond, Mr. Finlay. My name is Loren DelaFiore.”

“You’re the one who pretended to be Elwood,” Finlay said, reluctantly releasing Sakari to shake the Elf’s hand.

“Yes, and I apologize for the ruse but I’m afraid we couldn’t let you take him. And who is this?” Glorfindel smiled warmly at Sakari, who smiled back.

“Ah, my wife, Sakari. She speaks French.”

“Wife, is it? My, you do work fast, Mr. Finlay.” Glorfindel smirked and Finlay actually reddened. Turning back to Sakari, the Elf took her hand, bowing over it as Vorondur had. “Madam, je m’appelle Loren. Enchanté de vous recontrer. Bienvenue en Edhellond.”

“Merci, Monsieur l’Ange,” she whispered.

The Twins laughed at that and Alex smirked. Vorondur grinned when Glorfindel turned to scowl at them. “She doesn’t know you too well, does she?” he said and then said something in Quenya to Finrod and Valandur, apparently translating what had been said. Finrod put his hand up to his mouth, his eyes dancing with merriment, while Valandur said something that had all the other Elves laughing, except Glorfindel, who reddened slightly at whatever had been said. He turned back to Sakari, giving her a gentle smile.

“Je ne suis pas un ange, madam. Je suis un elfe.”

“An Elf?” Finlay exclaimed in disbelief, speaking English. “Spirit guides. Angels. Now, Elves! That’s what that guy, the police chief, said about him.” He pointed to Finrod accusingly. “Give me a break here!”

“Stay calm, Mr. Finlay,” Vorondur said soothingly, taking Finlay by the arm as Glorfindel escorted Sakari. “Come and sit down.” He led Finlay to the sofa and Sakari sat next to him. “Ah, I see Darren’s brought tea.”

Alex saw the loremaster entering with a tray and went to help him. Daeron gave him a smile in welcome but did not speak.

“We’ll hold this conversation in English, since neither Finrod nor Valandur speak French,” Glorfindel said, looking at the Twins, “so perhaps one of you could act as a translator for Sakari? She should not be left out.”

The Twins looked at each other and shrugged almost as one. “I’ll translate,” Elrohir said and stepped over to introduce himself to Sakari.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened, Alex, so we’re all on the same page and then we’ll address Mr. Finlay’s concerns,” Glorfindel suggested as Alex and Daeron handed out cups of tea to everyone.

“Sure, no problem,” Alex said and proceeded to describe his meeting with Finlay and what happened at the café while Elrohir quietly translated his words into French for Sakari.

When he got to the part where Nate showed up, Glorfindel stopped him. “Nate, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised.”

“I realized when he showed up that I was sitting in the same booth as the first time I met him. Does he haunt the place or something?”

“One has to wonder,” Daeron said with a faint smile. “Please continue, Alex. What happened next?”

Alex continued his narrative, leaving out the conversation about weapons that they had been having and simply stating that Nate had told him to duck and what followed from that. “And then we… er… ran into Esther and she said the danger was over. About then, the police arrived and then Finrod. Dave wasn’t too happy about that.”

“Why not?” Vorondur asked.

Alex chuckled. “Dave had left strict orders to his men not to let anyone into the café and Finrod comes waltzing in, apparently using Jedi mind tricks or something to pass the police blockade, like Obi-wan on the Death Star.”

“What is a Jedi?” Finrod asked and for some reason that simple question set the Twins laughing.

“These are not the droids you’re looking for,” Elrohir said in a fair imitation of Alec Guinness, gesturing with one of his hands.

“No, no,” Elladan retorted. “He would’ve said, ‘This is not the Elf you’re looking for’.” And that set them both off again.

Vorondur and Daeron rolled their eyes, while Finrod and Valandur looked on in bemusement, not understanding the reference. Alex noticed Finlay goggling at them in disbelief and sympathized. Elves were… odd at times.

“Put a sock in it, you two,” Glorfindel muttered, shaking his head and closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “Let’s concentrate on Farrell. Okay, so you’re sure he shot from the roof of the bookstore?”

“All the evidence points to it,” Alex said almost gratefully, glad to be talking about something normal, like a sniper, instead of imaginary Jedi Elves.

“That still begs the question of how did he know Alex would be in the café and what was he doing in the square in the first place?” Vorondur said.

“That’s two questions, but you are correct,” Valandur responded, then turned to Alex and Finlay. “Was there any sign that he was camping out on the roof?”

“Not that we noticed, but he could’ve been,” Alex said, looking at Finlay for confirmation. Finlay nodded.

“It’s still hinky,” he said. “We didn’t go right to the spot because we didn’t want to contaminate the evidence but even from where we were standing at the other end of the roof, I could tell that the angle is all wrong. How he ever got a clear shot is beyond me.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Glorfindel said. “At least we now know that Farrell is definitely here. It’s just a matter of time before we track him down.”

“We?” Finlay demanded. “Who’s we? You mean the police, don’t you?”

“No, Ed. I may call you Ed, may I?” Glorfindel replied and Finlay nodded. “Esther told Dave that it was up to us and Alex to deal with Farrell.”

“And that’s what I don’t understand,” Finlay protested. “What is a waitress in a two-bit diner doing giving the police orders? Who are you people?”

Alex watched the Elves. With that question, even the Twins sobered and there was an otherworldly aura that seemed to settle around them all. Sakari leaned over to put a comforting hand on her husband, whispering something Alex could not hear, though he suspected the Elves could. Finlay’s expression went from rebellious to resigned and he patted Sakari on the knee, giving her a shy look. She smiled and kissed him gently on the lips. Alex watched as Finlay’s eyes widened, apparently not expecting such a move on her part. After a moment, she leaned back, her expression one of satisfaction.

The Elves remained silent, watching with interest. Alex suspected Vorondur was totally in psych-mode, analyzing the byplay between the couple with clinical detachment. Finrod whispered something in Quenya to Glorfindel and the two had a conversation with Vorondur, Valandur and Daeron adding their own thoughts to whatever was being discussed. The Twins remained silent. Apparently, this was a discussion among the elders, or so Alex thought. Finally, whatever had been discussed, some agreement was made and Glorfindel turned to Finlay.

“Do you wish to know the truth, Ed, or would you rather remain in ignorance?” he asked. “The choice is yours.”

“What happens if I say no?”

“Nothing,” Glorfindel replied with a shrug. “You and Sakari are free to leave at any time. And to answer your other question, should you say yes then you must be prepared to enter into a world that may prove far more dangerous than you have ever experienced, even in your days with the Agency.”

“What about Sakari? Would she be in danger?”

“I didn’t say you would be in danger, Ed, though that possibility does exist. I said you would enter a world that is more dangerous than the one you already know. Sakari already suspects the truth, though not the entire truth.”

“You mean with her going on about spirit guides and angels.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said shortly, apparently not willing to elaborate further.

Silence settled around them. The Elves remained still in that preternatural way that they had, waiting with the patience of granite for Finlay’s answer. Alex started to say something to break the silence, but Daeron placed a warning hand on his arm, shaking his head slightly, and Alex subsided. This had to be Finlay’s decision without any influence on his part. He was not sure in his own mind if telling Finlay the truth was a good idea, but he realized that it was the Elves’ call, for they were the ones exposing themselves. What Finlay might do with the information, he did not know, but he suspected that the Valar might have plans for the erstwhile agent from what Nate had said to them in the café.

Finlay sat beside Sakari, eyeing them all suspiciously, clearly undecided as to which course he should take. Sakari sat looking serene, a small, secret smile on her lips, her eyes dancing with barely contained delight. “Dis oui, Edward,” she said. “Je veux entendre ce qui les elfes ont à dire.”

Finlay sighed and Alex couldn’t help smiling. The Elves did not move, but the eyes of those who understood what Sakari had said brightened with merriment at the ingenuousness of her words.

“Fine. Whatever,” Finlay practically snarled and then relented somewhat when Sakari frowned at him. He looked slightly sheepish and patted her knee in a conciliatory manner as he looked up at Glorfindel. “Elves, is it?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said and then proceeded to show him by pulling back his hair to reveal his ears.

Sakari’s eyes widened and she grinned with the delight of a child being given a present. Finlay’s jaw dropped and he just stared at the ellon in obvious disbelief. Alex decided to intervene.

“Takes getting used to,” he said in a nonchalant voice. “I had the devil’s own time believing it, myself.”

“Uh…” Finlay suddenly looked distressed and he seemed to be hyperventilating.

Sakari rubbed his arm. “Edward, quel est le problème?” she asked worriedly. “Es-tu malade?”

Elrohir, being the closest, placed his hands on either side of the Man’s head. “Relax, Edward,” he said softly. “It’s alright. Just breathe normally. You’re okay.” He spat something out in Sindarin that had Elladan running and Alex suspected the ellon had gone to get some water. Glorfindel asked something and Elrohir shook his head.

Vorondur came over and knelt before the agent, taking his pulse. Elladan returned with a glass of water, as well as with a medical bag. He handed the water to Vorondur and then opened the bag to bring out a stethoscope. Vorondur tried to get Finlay to drink, but the Man was in too much distress.

Elrohir murmured something to Elladan as the latter placed the stethoscope on Finlay’s chest to listen. Vorondur gave up trying to get the Man to drink and concentrated on soothing Sakari, who was becoming hysterical at the sight of her husband’s distress. He drew her away and held her gently, speaking in softly spoken French, rocking her slightly as if she were a child. The Twins got Finlay to lie down, removing his shoes, and Valandur grabbed a blanket and covered him.

“Is he having a heart attack?” Alex asked worriedly.

“Shh….” Daeron said soothingly, putting a hand on Alex’s shoulder, pulling him away so that they were standing in a corner near the fireplace. “Let’s stay out of their way. Dan and Roy will take care of him. He’s just in shock.”

“But he’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” Alex demanded.

“Yes, Alex, he’ll be fine,” Glorfindel said, joining them. “If necessary, we’ll call an ambulance, but I think Dan and Roy can handle things well enough. Darren, I don’t think Finlay is in any shape to leave tonight.”

“I’ll go open up Amroth and Della’s old bedroom,” Daeron said, and giving Alex an encouraging smile, he left.

Alex cast a worried look at the Twins still huddled around the supine Finlay, whose eyes were now closed though he seemed to be breathing more normally. Glorfindel wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You should go home,” he said quietly.

Alex shook his head. “Farrell is out there. He probably knows where I live. At least Derek is out of the way.”

“You can stay here if you like,” Glorfindel said.

“That’s just putting you in danger,” Alex responded. “I was thinking of grabbing some stuff and then disappearing, leaving a trail for Farrell to find, get him away from everyone else so it’s just him and me.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Valandur said, as he and Finrod joined them. “If he were to kill you, we would never know.”

Alex shrugged. “C’est la vie and all that. If Nate hadn’t been at the café I could already be dead or others might have gotten hurt. I can’t accept that. Farrell is my problem.”

“No, Alex, he is ours as well,” Finrod said firmly. “Lady Estë said as much.”

“Look, stay the night and let’s see how your friend is faring in the morning, okay?” Glorfindel suggested. “I think you should be here for him. He’s going to need you.”

“Why do you say that?” Alex asked.

“Because he’s where you were only a few short months ago. You can help him come to acceptance. Right now his entire world has been turned upside down. What was it you once said, that you could handle psychopathic terrorists better than Elves and angels and the end of the world?” He gave him a smile and Alex nodded.

“Yeah, something like that,” he allowed.

“And I suspect Finlay is pretty much in the same boat,” Glorfindel said.

“Okay, I guess, but I still need to go home and grab some clothes for tomorrow. I have office hours.”

“Do you think it wise for you to return to the college?” Valandur asked. “Might you not endanger those who are there?”

“Which is why I thought to just leave and make Farrell follow me to a place of my choosing where we could have it out, but as long as you think I should stay here, then I’ll continue as I have. I refuse to let him dictate my life.”

“I’ll have Ron go with you once we’ve gotten Finlay settled,” Glorfindel said. “I don’t want you traveling alone and when you go to the college tomorrow, one of us will come with you.”

“I told Dave I would stop at the station around nine to give a statement,” Alex told them.

“That won’t be a problem,” Glorfindel assured him. “Ah, everything all set?” This last was addressed to Daeron who had just come in.

“Yes, there are clean sheets on the bed and I’ve put out towels,” Daeron said.

“Good enough,” Glorfindel said with a nod then turned to say something to the Twins, who nodded and Elrohir scooped Finlay up into his arms as if he were a child and he and Elladan left with Sakari and Vorondur following.

“Do you think we should send someone over to the inn and pick up their luggage and bring it back here?” Daeron asked. “I have a feeling our guests will be here for at least a couple of days while Finlay recovers.”

“Good idea,” Glorfindel said. He turned to Alex. “Would you mind…?”

Alex shook his head. “We have to pass it on the way to my place anyway so it’s not a big deal. I think, though, that Sakari should come with us.”

“She may not want to leave her husband just yet,” Glorfindel pointed out, then went over to the desk and pulled out an address book. He pulled out his phone and punched in a number. “Yes, this is Loren DelaFiore. Would Laura Chapman be in by any chance?... Yes, I’ll hold… Hi, Laura, it’s Loren. How are you?... Fine, look the reason I’m calling is that one of your patrons, Edward Finlay, has suffered a collapse and we have him and his wife here at Edhellond. I want to send someone over to pick up their luggage. Dan and Roy don’t think Mr. Finlay should be moved for a couple of days… Yes, that’s right, Edward and Sakari Finlay… Okay, great. I’m going to send Ron over… You bet and send me the bill. I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Laura. Give my best to Noah and the boys… Bye.”

He ended the call. “Laura Chapman is the manager at the inn,” he explained to Alex. “She’ll accompany you to the room.”

“Okay, I’ll go collect Ron,” Alex said and left the library, making his way toward the stairs where he met Vorondur coming down. He quickly explained what Glorfindel wanted from them.

“That’s not a problem. I’ll call Holly and let her know what’s going on. Give me five minutes. I need to speak to Loren first.”

“I’ll go warm up the car,” Alex suggested as he opened the closet door and pulled out his coat. Then he stepped outside and headed for his car. Several minutes later, Vorondur came out and then they were driving away.

****

Words are French:

Allons-y!: ‘Let’s go!’

Le Chat au Chapeau: ‘The Cat in the Hat’.

Enchanté de vous recontrer. Bienvenue en Edhellond: ‘(I am) pleased to meet you. Welcome to Edhellond’.

Merci, Monsieur l’Ange: ‘Thank you, Mr. Angel’.

Je ne suis pas un ange, madam. Je suis un elfe: ‘I am not an angel, madam. I am an Elf’.’

Dis oui, Edward. Je veux entendre ce qui les elfes ont à dire: ‘Say yes, Edward. I want to hear what the Elves have to say’.

Quel est le problème? Es-tu malade?: ‘What’s the matter? Are you ill?’

C’est la vie: ‘That’s life’.

53: Conference Call

When Alex and Vorondur returned to Edhellond an hour later, they were met at the door by Daeron and learned that Finlay was resting comfortably and was sleeping with a little help from the Elves.

“Fairy dust, my mom used to call it,” Alex said with a grin as he dropped a couple of bags onto the floor by the stairs.

Both Daeron and Vorondur chuckled.

“I’ve put you in your old room, Alex,” Daeron said. “You know which one?”

“Sure, thanks. These are the Finlays’.” He pointed to the collection of rucksacks and backpacks on the floor.

“I’ll take care of them,” Daeron assured him.

“I’d better get going,” Vorondur said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex. We have a four o’clock appointment, remember?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there unless something comes up.”

“By something, you mean Farrell,” Vorondur said and Alex nodded. Vorondur sighed, apparently not too pleased, then shrugged. “Just don’t go looking for him.”

“Furthest thought on my mind, Ron,” Alex assured him. “Right now, Farrell’s holding all the aces, but we’ll see.”

Vorondur nodded and wished them a good night and left. Daeron turned to Alex. “Why don’t you go settle in and then come down to the library,” he suggested. “We’re meeting there for a conference.”

“Okay,” Alex said. “You need help with the luggage?”

“No, I’ve got it, thanks. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Alex nodded and headed up the stairs. Once in the room that had been assigned to him, he dropped his bag and pulled out his phone and speed-dialed a number as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, Derek, hi, it’s Alex. How are you doing?... Oh, everything here is just ducky… Sorry, it’s been one of those days... Look, Farrell tried to take a shot at me earlier when I was at the café having dinner… No, I’m okay and no one else got hurt. Nate showed up… Yeah, I swear the guy haunts the place, him and Esther… Yeah, she was there. I’m surprised Manny didn’t show up, too… You and me, both… No, I’m at Edhellond. I decided staying at the apartment was too dangerous… Yeah, I guess your prayers were answered, yours and everyone else’s… Okay, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to let you know what’s been happening. Say ‘hi’ to Marty for me… Later.”

He ended the call and shoved the phone back into a pocket as he stood and left the room, making his way downstairs to the library where he found Glorfindel, Finrod, Valandur, Daeron and the Twins.

“All settled in?” Glorfindel asked politely.

Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

“Your enthusiasm is underwhelming,” Glorfindel said with a grin and the others chuckled.

Alex blushed. “Sorry. I think I’m coming down from an adrenaline high or something. I’m suddenly feeling the way I used to after a bust. All I want to do is curl up and sleep for a couple of decades.”

Everyone gave him sympathetic looks, though the Twins appeared more concerned. Elladan came over. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to Alex’s left wrist. Alex shrugged and held out his arm. Elladan felt for his pulse, timing it. “Pulse is a little on the high side but not unusually so.” He released Alex’s hand, giving him a clinical look. “Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help.”

“It usually does, assuming I sleep,” Alex said, lifting one eyebrow. “Been down this road too many times before, Dan, to worry about it now. I’ll be okay by morning.”

“Well, if you find yourself having trouble sleeping, just find one of us,” Elladan said, nodding to his twin.

Alex nodded and Glorfindel stepped in. “In the meantime, let’s discuss Farrell.” He gestured and everyone found seats. Alex was directed to sit in one of the chairs fronting the fireplace and Daeron handed him some hot chocolate, apparently courtesy of Elrohir, and there was a plate of homemade ginger snaps on the table beside him. Glorfindel sat on one side of the hearth facing him. “I spoke with Dave Michaelson while you were out. Forensics found nothing on the roof, not even a spent shell, though there were traces of powder.”

“Farrell is obsessed, but he’s no fool,” Alex pointed out as he nibbled on a cookie, “and he’s been trained by the best in covering his tracks and leaving behind nothing that can incriminate him. That’s Espionage 101.”

“Apparently,” Glorfindel allowed, giving him a mirthless grin. “Anyway, Dave is going to have the site looked over again in the morning. Maybe in daylight the forensics people will find something that was missed in the near dark. For now, we’ll let the police do their thing and we’ll just worry about Farrell.”

“Where is everyone, anyway?” Alex asked. “I just realized this place is awfully quiet.”

“We sent Beleg and Mithlas and a few others over to the college to keep an eye on the youngsters and Elf Academy,” Glorfindel replied, “And others are patrolling the grounds here. The ellith are all at Ron’s keeping Holly and Sarah company for the duration.”

Alex did a mental count and grinned. “So Ron’s alone in the house with eight ellith? Poor guy. I bet he’s locked himself in his office.”

The others all chuckled. “No doubt,” Glorfindel said. “And actually, there are only seven as Manwen is with Laurendil at the hospital. They’re on duty tonight. At any rate, for the moment, it’s just us and the Finlays.”

“How’s he doing, really?” Alex asked, looking to the Twins for an answer.

“He’s resting comfortably and is sleeping,” Elrohir answered. “I suspect by morning he’ll be back on his feet. Apparently the shock was just too much for him.” He shrugged. “It happens. Last winter I was acting as an Elf Guide for this family — husband, wife and three kids — and when I revealed myself to them, the kids squealed with delight but the parents had a hard time adjusting to the idea of Elves. In fact, the husband actually fainted.” He laughed. “His children thought it was so wimpy and I suspect the poor guy’s never going to hear the end of it from them.” The others laughed.

“I find that the men are more likely to react negatively to learning the truth than their wives,” Daeron said when they had calmed down a bit. “I’m sure there’s a psychological reason for it. I keep meaning to ask Ron about it.”

“Well, that’s beside the point,” Glorfindel admonished. “Let’s just concentrate on dealing with Farrell.” He glanced at Finrod who was sitting in the chair on the other side of the table from Alex. “Esther actually told Dave that Alex and we are to deal with Farrell?”

Finrod nodded. “Nor did Lord Námo contradict her.”

“Should not the police handle this, though?” Valandur asked. “That is, after all, what they get paid for, as I believe the saying goes.”

“Normally, I would agree,” Glorfindel said. “They are quite competent in hunting down one lone sniper, but if one of the Valar says otherwise I suspect that, in this case at least, the police are out of their league.”

Alex grunted an agreement. “Farrell’s been well trained. He’s not in the same league as I, but he has the necessary background. He won’t make it easy for any of us to find him and he’ll choose the time and the place.”

“What I do not understand is why?” Finrod asked and when they all gave him puzzled looks he explained further. “Alex has said that Farrell will want to confront him personally, is that not so?” Alex nodded and Finrod continued. “Then why did he attempt to kill you from a distance? That is not his… um… em oh.” He gave them a proud look at having remembered the correct terminology. Then his expression became more quizzical. “What exactly does ‘M. O.’ stand for, anyway?”

“It’s from the Latin modus operandi or method of operation,” Daeron answered, “how someone does something on a consistent basis. Career criminals generally have a particular way of committing their crimes and the police can use that to figure out who the person is and how to capture him or her.”

“And Farrell’s M. O. is to be confrontational,” Alex said. “Yes, you’re right. He’s out of character and that means he’s doubly dangerous because we have no idea if he’ll try again.”

“I still wonder why he was on the roof with a high-powered sniper rifle,” Glorfindel said. “Was he just sitting there hoping to catch sight of you, Alex, and if so, why didn’t he shoot while you were crossing the square instead of waiting until you were in the café?”

“Not only that, but how would he even know that we would end up in the only booth left when we got there or that I would sit where I did? If I had sat where Ed and Sakari were sitting he wouldn’t have been able to hit me and if we had been sitting elsewhere, at one of the tables, for instance, he wouldn’t have seen me at all, even with a scope. Finlay was right in saying that the angle was screwy. None of this makes sense.” He huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

“No, it doesn’t,” Glorfindel said in agreement, “but that is neither here nor there. The fact is Farrell was there and he was armed and he attempted to kill you. Chances are, he’ll try again.”

“He may have only been trying to frighten you,” Elrohir interjected. “It’s possible he’s trying to spook you with the sniper shot, force you to run. He sounds like the kind of person who enjoys a good chase.”

 “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Alex said with a nod. “I knew a few people in the Agency who weren’t above deliberately prolonging a hunt for an enemy agent just for the fun of the chase and the kill at the end. It was truly a game for them. I stayed away from them. They were too weird for me and my life wasn’t exactly normal either.”

“Farrell’s had a couple of months to plan this,” Valandur said. “The escape was well thought-out and the fact that he has not been found yet shows that he has the resources to hide and stay hidden.”

“So we need to draw him out,” Glorfindel said.

“Which is why I thought of running, forcing Farrell to follow,” Alex said. “I still think it’s our best option.”

“And it may come to that, but if so, I want to make sure that you have someone keeping an eye on you,” Glorfindel allowed.

“One of the Maiar?” Alex asked.

“I’d like to keep them out of it if at all possible,” Glorfindel replied.

Both Twins snorted derisively. “Good luck with that,” Elladan muttered and Elrohir nodded in agreement.

“As long as they have no orders to interfere, they will not,” Finrod said categorically, “and none of us have the power or the authority to tell them not to follow us about.”

“Unfortunately,” Glorfindel said with a sigh.

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Alex asked. “Do we try to find Farrell or do we get him to find us, or rather me? If he’s decided to go the sniper route, there’s precious little we can do about it except stay away from windows and that’s just impossible.”

“Is there a way for him to shoot you when you are teaching your classes?” Daeron asked.

“Hmm….” Alex had to think about it, mentally recalling the layout of the classrooms in relation to nearby buildings. Finally he shook his head. “Both my classes are on the second floor, down the hall from my office, but the windows in the French class face west and they look out onto the main road through the campus. On the other side are woods. The nearest building is off to the side, looking south, barely visible from any of the windows.”

“What about your Italian class?” Glorfindel asked.

“That might be a possibility. It’s on the other side and Hayes Hall is directly across from it. It’s only two stories so the roof would be in line with the windows on the second floor of Rosamond.”

“Can you switch your classroom temporarily to the other side to play it safe?” Valandur asked.

“Don’t know. I could find out, but what excuse would I give?”

“Just say that there was a problem with the radiator and there’s no heat in the room so until they get it fixed, you’ve move the class to another room,” Daeron suggested. “You don’t even have to stay on that floor, just so long as the room is on the other side.”

“Well, I can check it out tomorrow when I’m there,” Alex said. “I’m sure not every classroom is in use when I’m teaching my class.”

“What about your office? How are you situated there?” Glorfindel asked.

“Hmm… I can’t very well move my office, but I might be able to convince Felicity — she’s the German instructor and we share the office — I might be able to convince her to move the desks around so Farrell can’t get a clean shot at either of us. I can come up with some excuse for doing so.”

“Good enough,” Glorfindel said. He paused and gave Alex a searching look. “You’re exhausted. You should go to bed.”

“It’s only nine!” Alex protested. “I’m okay.”

“Perhaps, but I think you would do better to go to bed now, get a good night’s sleep,” Glorfindel said. “Dan or Roy could help you there if you’re having trouble.”

“Loren’s right, Alex,” Elladan said. “I can tell from over here that you’re ready to collapse. That adrenaline high you spoke of? You’re definitely crashing. Why don’t you go get ready for bed and I’ll be up in a few minutes with something to help you relax so you can sleep.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe you’re right,” Alex admitted with some reluctance.

“And you should know us well enough by now to know that we are always right,” Glorfindel retorted with a wicked grin. Alex muttered an obligatory expletive and the others chuckled. “Sleep well,” Glorfindel said as Alex stood and wished them all a good night.

“I’ll go make you a nice cup of herbal tea,” Elladan said as he accompanied the Mortal.

A half an hour later, Elladan returned to the library where the others were still congregated. “He’s asleep,” he said, “and I checked in on Finlay. He’s asleep as well and so is Sakari.”

“Good,” Glorfindel said. “Now that we’ve got them out of the way, let’s figure out how to take Farrell down once and for all. It’s almost time for Amroth to check in. Let’s see if he’s online yet.”

He went over to the desk and sat in front of a laptop that was up and running, while the others stood behind him watching. He clicked on the Skype icon to open it, checking to see who was available. “Good. He’s there. Let’s talk.” He dialed Amroth’s number and after a couple of rings, the call was connected and a screen opened to reveal Amroth.

“Good evening, Loren,” Amroth said with a smile.

“Evening to you,” Glorfindel replied. “How’s life with the Bobbsey Twins?”

Amroth chuckled. “Interesting, very interesting. Gwyn and Gareth are… so young.”

“Tell me about it,” Glorfindel grinned back. “Della and Misty okay, and Zach?”

“They’re fine. Zach’s still unhappy to be here and chafes at being in exile, as he sees it. Gareth has been trying to keep him amused, though. Took him to fight practice the other night and got him armored up. When they got back, Zach was bouncing off the ceiling. I think we have a convert.”

His listeners chuckled. “That’s good to hear,” Glorfindel said. “You alone?”

They saw Amroth nodding, his eyes looking down and to his right. “Della had a craving for Chinese, so we went out to eat and then Gwyn suggested a movie afterwards. I knew you’d be looking for me to check in so I came home from the restaurant. The movie should be getting out right about now so they’ll be along in about a half hour or so. How are things where you are?”

“Complicated. Remember those five agents we took out and sent to that remote Inuit village?” Amroth nodded. “Well, they’ve been released.”

“I thought the plan was to keep them on ice, metaphorically speaking of course,” — they all chuckled at that — “until the spring?”

“Yeah, well apparently the Powers That Be decided differently,” Glorfindel replied with a sigh. “At any rate, four of them apparently hightailed it to DC as soon as they reached Barrows, but one of them — Finlay is his name, Edward Finlay — showed up here with a wife.”

“Wife?!”

“A lovely child by the name of Sakari,” Glorfindel said, nodding. “Finlay tracked down Alex and they went to the café for dinner. Three guesses as to who showed up for a chat and the first two don’t count.”

“Nate,” Amroth said in a whisper.

Glorfindel nodded. “And Esther was there as well, keeping an eye on things. Nate saved Alex’s life and everyone else’s.”

“How?”

“That’s where it gets very interesting. Apparently Farrell was camped on the roof of the bookstore with a high-powered sniper rifle and took a shot at Alex as he was sitting in a booth eating.”

“That’s not possible!” Amroth protested vehemently. “The angle’s all wrong.”

“So Alex and Finlay say. They took a look at the roof. He was apparently sitting where the bookstore roof meets the bakery roof.”

Amroth shook his head. “It’s still not possible. There’s no direct line of sight from that angle. He would practically have to be leaning over the roof hanging by his toes to get a clear shot.”

“Well, all that is moot because someone blew out the window of the booth where Alex was sitting.”

“So what are you doing? Where’s Alex? Is he alright?”

“He’s fine. No one got hurt, thank Eru, but only because Nate was there, he and Esther. Alex and the Finlays are here in Edhellond. We had to tell them who and what we were. Sakari, lovely child of the Great North that she is, thought I was an angel.” He smirked into the laptop camera.

Amroth gave them a disbelieving look. “She doesn’t know you very well, does she?”

“That’s what Vorondur said,” Elladan interjected as the others laughed.

Glorfindel ignored them. “At any rate, Sakari took the news well enough, but Finlay practically had a heart attack. Dan and Roy had to take care of him.”

“He’s alright, though, isn’t he?” Amroth asked with a frown.

Elrohir leaned over Glorfindel’s right shoulder so Amroth could see him. “He’s fine, Amroth. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure. He just had a shock, that’s all. Dan and I are keeping an eye on him.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Amroth said as Elrohir straightened. “So what are your plans?”

“The police are investigating the shooting, but according to Finrod, who happened to show up at the café, Esther specifically told Michaelson that Alex and we Elves were to deal with Farrell.”

“That sounds like… trouble,” Amroth commented after a brief pause.

“With a capital T and that rhymes with D and that stands for Dagor Dagorath,” Glorfindel quipped, altering the phrase of the song from The Music Man. None of those who recognized the reference chuckled though; the circumstances were too grave.

“And Alex?”

“He wants to play fox to Farrell’s hound.”

“Hmm… that might not be a bad idea. Have Alex draw him away to a place of your choosing and then deal with him.”

“I’m thinking the same. There is one question, though,” Glorfindel said.

“Only one? Okay, what?”

“Do we take him out permanently or just take him down and turn him back over to the authorities?”

Amroth’s image stared at them, his eyes unfocused, as if he were in deep thought. Then he became more present. “Is Val there by any chance?”

“Yeah, here, hang on a moment.” Glorfindel got up and motioned for Valandur to take the seat. There was a moment of people shifting positions so Glorfindel could lean over Valandur’s shoulder.

“Le cenin, Amroth,” Valandur said formally.

“Ceninyel, Valandur,” Amroth said just as formally. “Do you think we should remove Farrell from the equation?”

“Only if we can prove self-defense,” Valandur replied. “If Alex simply waits for Farrell to show up and then kills him, it’s murder, plain and simple, and the authorities would be right to arrest him and charge him with the crime.”

“And unfortunately, Alex no longer has a license to kill,” Amroth said with a nod. “Do you think Alex is enough of a lure though? Perhaps I should plan to come up—”

“No!” Glorfindel practically shouted. Valandur winced, shying away from him, rubbing his ear. Glorfindel ignored him, concentrating on Amroth. “By no means are you to come back. You stay right where you are, Amroth. You’ve got Della and the children to think about. Farrell is as obsessed with Alex as he is with you, but we don’t need both of you putting yourselves in danger.”

“Fine,” Amroth replied with a huff of annoyance. Then he addressed his next thought to Valandur. “You will need to plan this very carefully.”

“Hey!” Glorfindel interjected before Valandur could speak. “I can handle this. Val—”

“Valandur is my counterpart in the espionage world, Loren,” Amroth said coldly, “and in my absence, he’s in charge of things. Yes, yes. I know you’ve had plenty of experience, but Val and I have been discussing matters between us, organizing our little spy agency, so let us do our job. You just concentrate on getting better. You’re not in any shape yet to be running about playing James Bond.”

“That’s for sure,” Elrohir said loud enough for Amroth to hear. Glorfindel glared at the younger son of Elrond, but when he straightened from bending over, he winced, holding his stomach. Elrohir gave him a knowing look.

“Do you have any suggestions, my friend?” Valandur asked Amroth.

“Not at the moment, but I will think on it some more and get back to you. My advice though is to not let Alex out of your sight. I know him, perhaps better than any of you. He is very good at disappearing, and he’s still not used to being a team player. He’s been a lone wolf for too long to drop the habit.”

“We already have that covered,” Valandur said. “I will be speaking with Vorondur about Alex as well. I know he will not break any confidences between them, and I respect that, but I agree with your assessment of Alex and Ron should be able to help me decide how best to handle him.”

“Good enough. Ah, I can hear a car in the driveway.”

“Then we’ll say good night,” Glorfindel said, leaning back over so Amroth could see him. “Give our love to everyone. Tell Gwyn that we’ll be discussing setting up a branch of the SCA with some of our Mortal friends this weekend. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Okay. Same time tomorrow?”

“No. Make it Saturday. We should have more news by then.”

“Fine. Take care of yourselves. Good night.” With that, Amroth ended the call and his image went out. Glorfindel reached over and closed down Skype and shut off the laptop before straightening again, grimacing at the slight twinge of pain. He waved off the Twins when they started toward him. Valandur remained seated, looking up at the others.

Glorfindel looked down at him. “Are you sure you can handle this?” he asked.

“Child, I was playing this game before your atto was even a glint in his own atto’s eye,” Valandur said with a grin.

“But who were you spying on in Valinor?” Daeron asked, casting him a dubious look. “Certainly not the Valar?”

“No, that would have been impossible, though there were times when I amused myself with coming up with ways of doing so. No, we didn’t actually do any spying, not in the sense that you mean, but there were undercurrents of unrest throughout Aman, particularly once Melkor was released from Mandos. The Noldor were a constant source of trouble, especially Fëanáro, and I kept a particular eye on him at all times.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel said. “Why him in particular?”

“It was… personal,” Valandur replied with a grim smile. “At any rate, to answer your question, Darren, I was charged by the High King to keep a watch on the goings on in Aman. He did not trust Melkor and did not trust the Valar to deal with him effectively, and he was unhappy with the way things were going in Tirion.” He gave them a rueful look. “Unfortunately, we did not anticipate Fëanáro’s exile and the events that followed, especially the death of the Trees.”

“No one did,” Finrod said, “so do not blame yourself, Uncle.”

“Well, let’s shelve all this for now,” Glorfindel suggested. “We can’t plan anything until we’ve talked with Alex. I want someone with him at all times. Yes, I know he’ll object, but in this he will have no choice.”

“I will stay with him when he is at the college,” Valandur volunteered. “I would like to sit in on his classes anyway and have been meaning to speak to him about it.”

“Fine with me,” Glorfindel said. “He’s also in the Quenya class on Saturdays, though I hesitate to allow him to go far from here when he’s not required to be at the college.”

“We’ll discuss it with him tomorrow,” Valandur said. “We can always tutor him here if he has no objections, but I think he will chafe at being kept a prisoner.”

“Most likely. Okay. We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll head over to Ron’s and see Helena.”

“I’ll go with you,” Daeron said, giving them a grin. “We can rescue Ron from the ellith, give him some male company for a bit after we’ve done our duty to the ellith.”

The others chuckled at that and the meeting broke up. Glorfindel and Daeron wished everyone a good evening as they left, stating that they would most likely not bother to return to Edhellond until the morning. Elrohir asked Glorfindel to explain to Serindë why he wasn’t accompanying him and Daeron and that he would see her in the morning. Glorfindel promised to relay the message and then the Twins disappeared upstairs to check on their charges. Valandur remained in the library with Finrod. When they were alone, the older Elf gave his nephew a knowing look. “Shall we decide between us who will watch over Alex and who will keep Glorfindel amused and out of our hair while we deal with this situation?”

Finrod nodded. “Yes, I rather think we should.” And the two sat far into the night discussing the matter.

****

Le cenin (Sindarin)/Ceninyel: (Quenya): ‘I see you’.

54: The Next Morning

Alex woke around six, his usual waking time, feeling refreshed. He lingered a bit in the shower, taking his time, but by six-thirty, he was dressed and heading downstairs, wondering if anyone else was up and if Finlay was doing any better. When he entered the kitchen, he found Glorfindel and Daeron sitting there with Finrod, all of them drinking coffee.

“Good morning,” all three Elves said in greeting.

“Do you guys ever sleep?” Alex couldn’t help asking as he went to the Mr. Coffee and poured himself a mug.

Glorfindel grinned. “Of course we do, Alex. After you went to bed, Darren and I went over to see Ron and spend some time with him and the ellith and then we got back here around, what, three?” Daeron nodded and Glorfindel continued. “Slept a couple of hours and now we’re about to have some breakfast.”

“Yeah, well that’s what I mean,” Alex said. “You sleep for two hours and then you’re fine. The days when I could go without sleep for forty-eight hours and not feel it are long gone. Guess I’m getting old.” He frowned into his coffee, as if the thought pained him.

“It happens eventually,” Glorfindel said softly, his expression wistful.

Alex looked up at the tone. “Well, you don’t need to trot out a cane for me just yet, so let’s forget about it. What are your plans for me today?”

All three Elves gave him surprised looks and Alex grinned. “I know you all well enough to know that while I was sleeping you were all plotting, separately and together, on how to deal with me. Did you call Amroth?”

“How did—?” Glorfindel started to say and Alex shook his head.

“I’d’ve done the same. So, what did he have to say?”

“He was in agreement with you on your plan to draw Farrell away to deal with him privately,” Finrod answered before Glorfindel could speak.

“It’s really the only option,” Alex said, “unless you’re fine with other people getting hurt or killed.”

“No, we are not,” Glorfindel said, “but neither are we happy about the idea, however necessary it may prove to be.”

“So what exactly have you come up with?”

“For now, nothing, except for you to go about your lawful business, but there will be others keeping watch,” Glorfindel told him. “Val’s volunteered to accompany you to college. He’s interested in seeing how you conduct your classes anyway, so even when we’ve dealt with Farrell, you may still have him hanging over your shoulder asking questions about your teaching style.”

“I’m sure I can live with it,” Alex said with a snort, “and there are some questions I want to ask him about linguistics anyway, so I’m okay with it. Okay, so the college is covered. How long do we wait until we force Farrell to follow me?”

“First we must determine the time and the place,” Finrod replied. “Valandur says your running has to appear natural to Farrell. You are not the type to run immediately though, otherwise you would have gone last night before any of us could stop you. We must wait for Farrell to make his next move before we make ours.”

“That could put others in danger,” Alex said with a frown. “That’s unacceptable. I should’ve run as soon as I could, forced Farrell to come after me.”

“And then what?” Glorfindel asked. “Shoot him as soon as he came into sight? Then it’s murder and not self-defense. No, Amroth is right. We need to plan this very carefully. You know this. You’ve been trained for it.”

Alex nodded, not saying anything, and the others fell silent as well. After a few minutes, though, Alex noticed the time. “I should get some breakfast,” he said. “I told Michaelson I’d be at the station at nine and then I need to be at my office by ten. How’s Finlay doing, do you know?”

“Still sleeping, as far as I know,” Glorfindel answered. “Dan and Roy have been keeping an eye on him through the night. We’ll see how he’s feeling when he wakes.”

“Well he needs to go to the station to make a statement as well, he and Sakari,” Alex pointed out.

“We can always take them later,” Daeron responded, rising from his seat. “We were about to make breakfast for ourselves, so why don’t you sit here and I’ll throw something together. Eggs Benedict okay with everyone?”

“That’s pretty fancy for a Friday morning, isn’t it?” Alex asked as he took the seat Daeron had vacated.

“It’s not as complicated as it looks. The hollandaise sauce is the hardest part. Loren, why don’t you put that together while I do the eggs?”

Glorfindel got up and complied with Daeron’s orders, pulling down a small saucepan from the overhead rack and bringing it to the stove, then gathering the ingredients needed to make the sauce. Alex drank his coffee. “My office hours are from ten until two. I have that appointment with Ron at four.”

“What’s your schedule like on Saturday?” Glorfindel asked as he began whisking the sauce.

“Well, I have the Quenya class in the morning and didn’t you want me to be at the council meeting you have scheduled?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied. “You’ll be here anyway and then you can go with Val to class. But that only takes us to around noon. You have any other plans for the weekend?”

“Mostly working on a couple papers for my linguistic classes. They’re due on Monday. Oh, and I have a date for Saturday night.”

All three Elves gave him surprised looks and Alex actually blushed. “Hey! It’s not a big deal, and it’s not technically a date. Felicity and I are going Dutch. We’re having dinner at Rosalia’s and then going to the concert at the Grange Hall afterwards.”

“Going Dutch?” Finrod asked. “Are not the Dutch from Holland?”

Daeron chuckled. “He means that each will pay for his or her own dinner. Usually, the man pays for the woman’s dinner, but if he does than it’s considered a date. If they go Dutch, then they’re just two people sharing a table and nothing more and there are no further obligations or expectations on the part of either party.”

Finrod sighed. “Mortal customs are so complicated.”

“No more than ours,” Glorfindel pointed out, “just complicated on a different scale.”

Just then, Sakari came into the kitchen, looking both shy and distraught.

“Bonjour, Sakari,” Alex said, being the first to notice her. The others, even Finrod, echoed him, smiling at the Woman.

“Bonjour,” she said politely, then continued, sounding distressed. “Edward does not wake up. Please, why does he not wake?”

“Did Dan or Roy put him into healing sleep?” Daeron asked in English.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Glorfindel replied with a frown. “They didn’t mention it.”

“Where are they?” Alex asked, getting up.

“Sleeping, as far as I know,” Glorfindel said. “We’d better wake them up.”

“I’ll go,” Alex said as he came to Sakari, taking her hand. He switched to French. “Come on, we’ll have Dan or Roy look at him. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Sakari looked doubtful, but nodded, allowing Alex to lead her back upstairs to the second floor. They stopped at one of the doors and Alex knocked. “Dan? It’s Alex. Something’s wrong with Finlay.”

A moment later the door opened to reveal Elladan dressed in a pair of jeans and pulling on a T-shirt. His feet were bare.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in French.

“Edward does not wake up,” Sakari answered.

“Did you guys put him in healing sleep?” Alex asked in English.

Elladan shook his head. “No. We didn’t think it necessary. He should simply wake on his own.” He headed down the hall, stopping at the next door down. He didn’t bother to knock, but went straight in and Alex saw Elrohir already sitting up and pulling the bedcovers off, revealing his naked form. Sakari gasped — in shock or delight, Alex didn’t know— and turned quickly around, blushing and looking very embarrassed. Alex just grinned. The Twins were too busy conversing in Sindarin to notice the effect one of them was having on the young Woman. Alex pulled Sakari away.

“Let’s go see Ed,” he suggested and she nodded gratefully, and they went further down the hall and around the corner to another room, leaving the Twins to follow on their own. Sakari opened the door and Alex saw a room that was larger than those used by the Twins. This was clearly meant for more than one person for the room was dominated by a queen-size bed. Finlay lay with his eyes closed, his breathing appearing normal. Sakari went to him, looking concerned as she brushed his hair.

“Edward, Edward, réveille-toi!” she cried softly, but her husband continued slumbering on.

Elladan and Elrohir, now dressed similarly as his brother, entered and Alex pulled Sakari away so they could examine Finlay. The Twins spoke to one another softly in Sindarin, too soft for Alex to hear. Finally, they straightened and turned to speak to the Mortals.

“He’s in healing sleep, but we didn’t put him under, and none of the other healers have been here,” Elladan explained to Alex, speaking English.

“Can you bring him out of it?” Alex asked.

“No. Only the person who put him into the state can do so,” Elrohir answered. Both Elves looked troubled.

“Il est malade?” Sakari asked simply.

Elrohir went to her, taking her by the shoulders and smiling down at her. “Non, mon enfant, il n’est pas malade. Il est profondément endormi.”

“So if you didn’t put him in healing sleep, who did?” Alex asked.

“That is certainly the question,” Elladan replied. “At the moment, all we can do is keep him comfortable and watch over him. He may wake on his own. Sometimes we instruct the person’s mind to do that once it feels healed enough rather than us bringing the person out of it, but there’s no way to know if that is the case here.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s just great! Michaelson is expecting Finlay at the station with me at nine to give our statements. It’s already going on eight. What do I tell Michaelson?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Elladan said somewhat archly. “In the meantime, I’ll stay and keep watch. Take Sakari with you and get her to eat something. Roy, why don’t you go and explain things to Loren and Finrod?”

“Come on,” Elrohir said to Alex and Sakari, speaking French for her sake. “No, Sakari, Dan will stay with Edward. He’ll be fine, I promise. Alex, take her downstairs while I stop off and put some shoes on. I’ll be right down.”

Alex nodded and with a little bit of encouragement he managed to bring Sakari along. They went downstairs where Glorfindel, Daeron and Finrod were digging into their Eggs Benedicts. Valandur was also there. They all looked up at their entrance.

“Dan’s with Finlay now,” Alex explained in English. “Roy’s on his way down. Apparently Finlay’s in healing sleep but neither one of them put him into it and as far as they know none of the other healers did it.”

“That’s odd,” Glorfindel commented.

“Well, in the meantime, why don’t you two sit and have some breakfast,” Daeron suggested, rising to go to the stove. “It won’t take long to make. Have some juice in the meantime.”

Elrohir entered about then and went immediately to pour some coffee, speaking in rapid-fire Sindarin, apparently explaining the situation. All the Elves looked troubled at whatever the ellon was telling them. Alex had been thinking about what he’d been told and coming to a conclusion, he spoke up, interrupting the Elves.

“If none of you put Finlay in healing sleep, who does that leave us with?” he asked as Daeron put a plate in front of him.

“One of the Maiar or even a Vala,” Valandur answered. “Perhaps Lady Estë looked in on him and noticing his distress put him into healing sleep.”

“Well, can’t you call her or something to find out?” Alex demanded.

“Sure, Alex,” Glorfindel said somewhat scathingly. “I’ve got all the Valar on speed dial or I can just snap my fingers and they’ll come running.”

“Fine, whatever,” Alex retorted. “Just a suggestion.” He glanced at the clock and scooped up some eggs and English muffin and shoved them into his mouth, taking a last swig of juice as he stood. “I’ve got to go. Let me know when Finlay wakes, if he ever does.”

“I will accompany you,” Valandur said, also rising.

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll be ready to leave in about five minutes.”

“I will wait for you at the front door,” Valandur said as the two left the kitchen.

However, it was closer to ten minutes before Alex came back downstairs, carrying a messenger bag. “Sorry,” he said in apology.

“Not a problem,” Valandur said with a smile. “Shall we go?”

Glorfindel came down the hall just then to see them off. “We’ll let you know if there is any change,” he said to Alex. “In the meantime, stay safe.”

“That’s my motto,” Alex quipped and then he and Valandur were out the door.

The drive to the police station was done in silence to Alex’s relief and then they were being ushered into Michaelson’s office. The police chief looked up at their entrance.

“Where’s your friend?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Finlay’s … indisposed at the moment,” Alex answered.

“How… convenient,” Michaelson retorted, clearly unconvinced.

“It is the truth,” Valandur interjected. “We revealed ourselves to Mr. Finlay and his lovely wife last night. Sakari took the news quite well, but I am afraid Mr. Finlay did not. Elladan and Elrohir spent the night watching over him. He is in healing sleep for the moment.”

Michaelson frowned. “Will he be alright?” he asked in a concerned voice.

“So I’ve been told,” Valandur replied.

“And you are?”

“Ah, forgive me. I am Valandur Voronwion, but I go by the name Val Landry here,” the Elf said, sticking out his hand in Mortal fashion.

Michaelson looked a bit nonplused at the action, but he stood and held out his hand as well. “Pleased to meet you,” he said politely. “May I ask what business you have here?”

“He’s my bodyguard,” Alex couldn’t help saying before Valandur could respond.

Michaelson gave them a disbelieving look. Valandur chuckled. “Loren feels Alex should not be left alone. I am more his… um… minder than anything.” Alex grimaced at that.

“Now that I can believe,” Michaelson said, sitting down, gesturing for the other two to sit.

“Loren said that he’ll bring the Finlays around later, once Ed’s woken,” Alex said.

“Okay, I guess I’ll have to live with that,” Michaelson said with a sigh. “Let’s get your statement, though, since you appear to be the main target.”

“Any more news?”

“Still waiting for the forensics report. We’re still trying to figure out how he even got a shot in. That angle is all wrong.”

“Yet, apparently he managed somehow,” Valandur said. “I would like to see this supposed shooting locale, if I may. I may be able to shed some light on the subject.”

“How’s that?” Michaelson demanded skeptically.

“Trust me, Dave, if Val thinks it’s worth his time to look the scene over, you should let him,” Alex said. “He’s had more experience in this than all of us put together.”

“Oh?” Michaelson looked at Valandur who nodded serenely.

“I am more than just the High King’s chief loremaster, David. I am also his spymaster and have been for longer than you can perceive. You think your civilization is ancient, but it only stretches back a mere seven thousand years. My memory goes back to when the Elves woke in starlight by the shores of Cuiviénen, though I am of the third generation from the First Ones.”

“Oh,” was Michaelson’s only response and Alex didn’t blame him. He knew enough about elven history to know just how long ago that truly was and the thought of sitting next to so ancient a being suddenly made him feel nervous. Even someone like Glorfindel did not evoke such awe in him.

Valandur turned to look at him, as if he had read his mind, his eyes twinkling with merriment, and that seemed to help him to regain his equilibrium and he found himself breathing normally again.

“Can we get on with it?” he asked. “I’ve got to be at the office soon.”

“Yeah, sure. Conrad!” Michaelson called and his second appeared at the door. “Take Grant here to get his statement.”

The officer nodded and gestured for Alex to follow him. Valandur stayed seated. “Perhaps, while I am waiting for Alex, someone could give me a tour. I would like to know more about your law enforcement.”

“Do you have anything like police?” Michaelson asked.

“Not in the sense that you mean,” Valandur answered. “We have city guards whose task it is to assure that people behave themselves in a seemly manner when in public and to assist any who may require it. We do not have criminals but even Elves can show indiscretion, especially the young.”

Michaelson grunted. “Yeah, well, I can relate to that. Here, let me find someone to take you around. You won’t be able to visit the jail though. I don’t approve of people coming to gape at prisoners, some of them there because of their own foolishness and not because of any criminal intent on their part.”

“A commendable sentiment, and I have no need to see the jail. I am more interested in the workings of your police, how you keep the peace and go about solving crimes.”

They both stood and Michaelson went out into the squad room and looked about, then gestured for Valandur to follow him to where a young Woman sat before a computer. She looked up as they approached.

 “This is Detective Phillips,” Michaelson said to Valandur. “Detective, this is Valandur. He’s interested in knowing more about how we do things here. You’re working on the burglary case, aren’t you?”

She nodded, giving the Elf a critical look as she stood and offered her hand, which he took.

“Perhaps you could walk him through the procedure, show him what you’ve got. You needn’t spend too much time on it as he’ll be leaving as soon as Grant’s finished giving his statement.”

“Sure, Chief,” the woman said.

“Detective Phillips is one of our best,” Michaelson assured Valandur. “Have Grant stop by my office before he leaves.”

He left to go back to his office. Valandur smiled at the detective. “And what was burgled?” he asked.

“Huh? Oh, ah, we’ve had a string of burglaries since Christmas,” she said, sitting down and gesturing for Valandur to take the chair that was beside the desk. “Seems someone is no longer in the Christmas spirit and several houses have been hit and….”

About fifteen minutes later, Alex returned to the squad room from where he had been giving his statement and sighted Valandur sitting with Detective Phillips. They looked up at his approach. He gave them a quizzical look.

“I didn’t think I was gone long enough for you to get into trouble so soon,” he said, staring at Valandur who was handcuffed.

Detective Phillips grinned. “I was showing Val how handcuffs work, since they do not have them where he’s from.” She pulled out a key and unlocked the cuffs. Valandur removed the cuffs, returning them to the detective and stood.

“Thank you for your time, Detective. It has been most instructive and enjoyable.” He gave her a short bow of respect.

“Anytime, Val,” she said, smiling.

“Val?” Alex couldn’t help saying, giving the Elf a knowing grin. “Does she know you’re married?”

“Yes,” Valandur replied as he took Alex by the elbow and steered him toward Michaelson’s office. “David wishes to see you before we leave.”

“Well, he’d better make it quick,” Alex said with a huff of annoyance. “I need to be at the office soon. I don’t expect anyone to show up looking for help this early in the term, but I do need to be there.”

“I am sure it will not take long,” Valandur said soothingly. They reached Michaelson’s office, but the door was closed.

“Damn!” Alex muttered. “I don’t have time for this. What the hell does he need to tell me that he didn’t tell me earlier?”

Valandur gave the Mortal a tolerant look. “You must learn patience, Alex. If David feels he needs to speak with you now, then it must be important.”

“To him, maybe, but not necessarily to me,” Alex retorted.

Valandur nodded in acknowledgement of the truth of that statement and started to say something when Michaelson’s door opened. “Ah good, you’re here,” the police chief said. “Step into my office for a moment, Grant.” He opened the door wider and stepped back to let the two in before closing the door again and then went around to the other side of his desk to face his visitors.

“Make it quick, Dave. I’m on the clock.”

“Then I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version,” Michaelson said, leaning on his desk. There was no levity in his tone. “Do. Not. Go. After. Farrell.”

There was an expectant pause.

“That’s it?” Alex asked, looking skeptical.

“Do I need to give you chapter and verse, Grant?” Michaelson retorted, straightening. “This is a police matter at the moment. By rights, I should be calling in the FBI, but the fewer outside eyes around here, the better. I know you’re trained and I respect that, but you are no longer an agent, you’re a private citizen and if you and your friends” — his gaze flicked briefly to Valandur before returning to Alex — “insist on interfering I’ll have the lot of you up for obstructing a police investigation. So I’m telling you right here and now.” He leaned over his desk again in emphasis. “Do. Not. Interfere. Let us do our job, it’s what we get paid for.”

Before Alex could respond, Valandur spoke. “I assure you, David, that we have no intention of interfering with your investigation. Now, as Alex keeps pointing out, he needs to be elsewhere, so we will leave now.”

“Okay, get out of here,” Michaelson said as he sat down, already grabbing a file sitting on his desk and opening it, effectively dismissing them.

Valandur gave the Mortal a knowing smile as he gestured for Alex to precede him out of the office. They remained silent the entire time they were leaving and it was only when they were in Alex’s car and he was pulling out onto the street that he finally spoke. “Okay, just what the hell was that about? I thought we were supposed to handle Farrell.”

“And we shall,” Valandur replied soothingly.

“But you just promised Michaelson that we wouldn’t interfere with the investigation.”

“Nor shall we,” Valandur assured him. “The police may investigate all they want but I doubt they will be successful in finding Farrell. Farrell will find us, instead, or rather you, and when he does, then we will strike and end this game once and for all.”

Valandur’s expression became implacable and the absolute sincerity of his words sent shivers down Alex’s spine. Before it became too uncomfortable, Valandur’s cold expression morphed into a sunny one and his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

“So tell me about Felicity. She teaches German, does she? How intriguing.”

****

Words are French:

Réveille-toi!: ‘Wake up!’ (familiar form).

Il est malade?: ‘He is sick?’

Non, mon enfant, il n’est pas malade. Il est profondément endormi: ‘No, my child, he is not sick. He is deeply asleep’.

55: Haunted Memory

When Alex and Valandur entered the office, Felicity was not there, though there was evidence of her presence.

“I think she has a class right about now,” Alex explained as he put down his messenger bag and hung his coat on the coat tree that sat in the corner of the office. “She’ll be back later. Help yourself to coffee or tea if you want.” He went to his desk and turned on the computer, pulling out a thumbdrive from a pants pocket and inserting it into a USB slot.

“So what will you do if none of your students show up looking for help?” Valandur asked.

“Well, I’ve got two essays to write for Monday,” Alex replied. “I figured now’s as good a time to start on them as any.”

“And what are your assignments?” Valandur wandered around the office examining the potted plants on the window sill, checking the soil in them and shaking his head. He went over to where the coffee was and found some water in a bottle and went back to the plants and began watering them. While he was doing that he glanced out the windows, apparently admiring the view as far as Alex was concerned.

“Well, in my Intro to Linguistics class I have to write an essay about the different types of linguistic approaches and how they relate to one another and for Narratology, I have some poetry that I have to analyze for structure, you know, their layout, the metre, rhyming scheme if there is one, genre, that sort of thing. Eventually, we’ll move into fiction.”

Valandur turned around to survey the office. “Which poems?” he said in a distracted tone, as if he wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation.

Alex looked up from the computer. “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” he replied.

Valandur nodded, turning back to look out the window. “I am not familiar with that one. Should you not be analyzing something by your William Shakespeare?”

“Val, what are you doing?” Alex demanded.

Valandur turned around again. “This office is poorly structured. No matter where you move your desk you are in full view of anyone on the roof of the building across from us.”

Alex got up to join him at the window and looked out, gauging the distance and then taking a look at the room around them. “We can close the blinds,” he suggested. “Then anyone on the roof won’t be able to see in and won’t be able to tell who is there.”

“And how do you explain that to Ms Cohen?” Valandur asked.

“Explain what?”

They looked up to see the object of their conversation entering the room, going to her desk and putting down her books and purse. Alex smiled. “Guten Tag.Wie geht’s?”

“Guten Tag. Mir geht es gut und selbst?”

“Gut. Felicity, this is Val Landry. Felicity Cohen.”

“Oh! You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Felicity said, looking a bit flustered as Valandur dutifully put his hand out to shake. Belatedly, she realized this and put her own hand out, but he merely held it, bending over to kiss her knuckles before straightening, giving her a smile.

“If by that, you mean one of the Elves, I am. My name is Valandur and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Uh, likewise,” Felicity replied, taking back her hand and giving Alex a bewildered look.

“Val is a linguist in his own right,” Alex explained. “He was interested in seeing the office. He’ll probably be sitting in on a couple of my classes next week.”

“Oh, I see,” Felicity said. “Well, I hope you enjoy yourself, er, Mr. Landry.”

“Val, please. I am sure I will.”

“So what were you going to explain to me?” Felicity asked, looking at Alex.

“Huh? Ah, oh, um…”

Felicity lifted an eyebrow and Valandur smiled in amusement at Alex’s discomfort. “We were discussing rearranging the furniture to make it less difficult for someone on the roof over there to take a shot at anyone here, but it does not seem that any one spot is less dangerous than another.”

“Why on earth would anyone want to…. You mean, that guy who’s escaped from prison?”

Alex nodded. “He already tried once yesterday.”

“Wait, I think I heard something about that on the news last night, something about the café. That was you?”

“Yes, and I only managed to survive because I’d been given a warning seconds before the shooting. Anyway, the only way I see to avoid getting shot again is to close the blinds so we can’t be seen.”

“Well, wouldn’t we notice someone up on the roof anyway?” Felicity asked.

“How often do you bother to look out the window to specifically see if anyone is on the roof, Ms Cohen?” Valandur asked.

“Please call me Felicity,” she said and then shrugged. “I guess you’re right. I don’t think I’ve even noticed that the roof is directly across from us until you pointed it out to me. It was just sort of there.”

“Exactly,” Valandur said giving her a bright smile, as if she had said something intelligent.

Felicity gave them a worried look. “Do you really think this guy would try something here? How would he get on the roof without anyone taking note?”

“How often do you notice repairmen, Felicity?” Alex asked with a knowing grin. “For that matter, how often do you even acknowledge the presence of the cleaning people who come and empty your trash can?”

She gave them a rueful look. “I see your point.”

Alex nodded. “Well, if you’re okay with it, we’ll just put the blinds three-quarters down so we can still get some natural lighting in here.”

“For how long?” she asked.

Alex shrugged. “That depends on Farrell. We’re working on tracking him down. Eventually he’ll get caught but in the meantime we need to take precautions. I don’t want you or anyone else getting hurt on my account.”

Felicity nodded. “Okay. I can live with that.” She glanced at the clock. “I’d better get going. I have to supervise the language lab. It was nice meeting you, Val.” She put out her hand and this time he shook it.

“And you, Felicity. I hope we will meet again. I am interested in learning about this German you teach.”

“And she speaks Hebrew, too,” Alex interjected. “Now that’s an interesting language and one of the oldest that is still being spoken.”

“I’d be glad to speak to you about both languages,” Felicity said. “Okay, I’m out of here. You’re here until two?”

“Yes. I’ll see you later?”

She nodded and grabbed one of the textbooks and a notebook sitting on her desk, slung her purse over a shoulder and left. For a few moments the two men did not speak. Alex busied himself with pulling down the blinds.

“So you are to analyze this… um… ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ poem,” Valandur said after a moment.

“Huh? Oh, ah, actually no,” Alex replied, looking sheepish. “I just said that to see if you were actually listening.”

“Ah,” Valandur replied with a grin. “But I was listening, Alex. Do not think that because I appear distracted that I am not completely aware of my surroundings. If I needed to, I could give you a verbatim account of every conversation I’ve had with others for the last week.”

“I find that hard to believe, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“So what poems are you to analyze?”

“We have to do three,” he went over to his desk and rifled through a notebook. “Let’s see, one is some lines in the middle of Beowulf, that’s an anonymous poem in Old English written sometime between the eighth and eleventh centuries. The instructor said it wasn’t necessary to actually know what the poem said, only to be able to analyze its structure. The second poem is, as you guessed, one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, sonnet fifty, actually, ‘How heavy do I journey on the way’. Shakespeare’s English is considered Early Modern. It’s still readable by most educated people today but even so, you sometimes need a translation of some of the words and phrases that have changed their meanings over time or are no longer in use.”

“And the third poem?”

“One of Robert Frost’s poems, ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’. He’s a modern poet. Dead now, but he was writing in the last century. My mom always liked his poetry.”

“So, you have three poems written across three different time periods stretching back anywhere from nine to twelve hundred years, depending on when this Beowulf was written. Will you be comparing them?”

“Hmm… the instructor didn’t say to do that, just to analyze each one using the same criteria.”

“And that is fine as far as it goes, but what then is the point? Do as your instructor has told you but when you are finished examining each poem separately, compare your results to see if there is any commonality as well as differences between them. These poems are all written by those who have spoken some form of English, are they not?”

Alex nodded.

“Then there is a hereditary link between them and you should look for it. It may not be what your instructor is looking for from you but I think it will prove interesting in itself.”

“I guess,” Alex said a little dubiously.

Valandur smiled. “Alex, if you wish to be successful as a linguist, you must think beyond the surface of things. You should be asking yourself why did the instructor choose these particular poems? Was it random choice? Could he have chosen others and obtained the same result? There is a purpose behind the poems that have been selected.”

“What purpose, other than needing examples for us to work on?”

Valandur shrugged. “It could be something as simple as these three poems happen to be your instructor’s favorite poems, or it could be something deeper. It doesn’t matter. You only need to acknowledge that there is a reason for this particular selection and not another. Therefore, it behooves you to look at these poems organically. Robert Frost could not have written his poetry if whoever wrote Beowulf had not put pen to paper and that person could not have done that unless someone further back in time had done so. Do you see what I am saying?”

“I think so,” Alex allowed.

“Let us do this,” Valandur suggested. “Give me a copy of the poems along with the list of criteria you are to look for and I will do the assignment as well and we will compare notes and after that we will discuss their commonalities and differences. You need not include them in the assignment itself but I think it will help you in the long run.”

“Fine by me,” Alex said. “Here, I have each of the poems on my computer. I’ll print you out copies, and here’s a legal pad and a pen. I guess you can use Felicity’s desk. I don’t think she’ll mind.” His hands flew over the keyboard and then the printer in the corner turned on and three sheets came out. Valandur went over and picked them up, reading them.

“Ah, most interesting.”

“With Beowulf we only have to analyze the lines beginning at line thirteen-fifty-seven where a new sentence begins and going to thirteen-eighty-two. This section, according to the instructor, gives a description of a haunted mere where Grendel and his mother live. Grendel was the monster who had been ravaging the Danes. Beowulf, who’s from Sweden, comes to help the king of the Danes and he kills Grendel. Now mom’s out for revenge and Beowulf goes after her, following her into the mere.” He cast a sly grin Valandur’s way and the ellon chuckled.

“One must always be wary of vengeful mothers,” he said as he sat at Felicity’s desk. “So, to work, and if you are called upon to attend to other duties, do so. Perhaps before we leave you will show me this language lab Felicity mentioned.”

“Sure, not a problem.”

The two fell silent as each went to work. Alex had printed out copies of the poems for himself, meaning to transfer his notes to the computer later. He decided to work backwards, starting with Frost’s poem, figuring that would be easier. He recalled that this particular one was a favorite of his mother and he liked it as well.

“You are humming.”

Alex looked over at Valandur in bemusement. “Huh?”

The Elf grinned. “You are humming.”

“Oh, sorry,” Alex said, feeling embarrassed. “Bad habit. I used to drive my colleagues crazy back in the Agency. I was always humming whenever I was doing translations. Ron says it’s a sign of contentment. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

Valandur nodded. “I see. Please do not let me stop you. By all means, continue humming.”

“No, I’ll try not to…”

“Alex, do not change yourself for me or anyone else. Be yourself. If humming is something you do to show your contentment, then do it. I do not mind. I was merely commenting.”

“Uh, okay,” Alex said, now feeling self-conscious. He went back to his study, having moved to Shakespeare’s sonnet. At first, he focused on not humming but as he lost himself in the task of analyzing the sonnet, he forgot himself. So far, the first two poems had not been too difficult for him to analyze. He kept in mind what Valandur had said and had tried to see the connection between Frost and Shakespeare, other than the fact that they both spoke a form of English that was recognizable to him.

“Boy, this sonnet is pretty depressing,” he commented to Valandur. “Sounds like the guy is going to his own funeral. This last line, ‘My grief lies onward, and my joy behind’ is pretty bleak.”

“Yes, it does appear that way,” Valandur replied but he made no other comment and Alex went back to studying the texts.

When he got to Beowulf he just stared at the page. None of the words made any sense and he wasn’t even sure how one pronounced some of them. As far as he could see, Beowulf had nothing to do with Shakespeare. Maybe he had to examine some of the poetry in between, like Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, to see the connection.

He must have made some kind of noise of dismay, for Valandur asked, “What is the problem?”

Alex looked up. “Uh, oh, nothing really. I just can’t seem to relate to Beowulf. It’s too… alien or something. I can’t believe that today’s English is derived from it.”

“And yet, it is. Even I can see it.”

“I’m not even sure how to analyze it. Where do you start?”

“Look at the poem as a series of patterns,” Valandur suggested. He stood and went over to Alex. “There are two obvious differences between this poem and the other two. Can you see them?”

“Well, the other two have end rhymes though their patterns are not the same and Beowulf doesn’t. It has what we call alliteration, where beginning consonant sounds are the same, like warigeað, wulfhleoþu, and windige on this line here.” He pointed to the poem.

Valandur nodded. “And what is the other difference?”

“Uh, the lines are broken in the middle so there are two half-lines. That seems to be a characteristic of Old English poetry.”

“I think the rhyming scheme and the line patterning go together,” Valandur offered. “What about stress? Where do you think it lies?”

“Hmm… I think where the alliteration is. I mean, I’m not sure how to actually sound the words out but it seems to me that the stress would fall on the alliterated words. Hmm…”

“What?”

“Oh, I just realized that you never have the same alliterative sound being repeated on any two consecutive lines. See? And there doesn’t seem to be a regular pattern of the number of words with the same beginning sound. Also, the last stressed word never seems to alliterate with the others in the line.”

“So you see, you have already determined something of the structure of the poem on a cursory examination,” Valandur said. “I think with further examination you will discover more. I know your instructor would prefer you not to read a translation of the text, but I am curious to know what it actually says.”

“Ah, I can find you a translation online,” Alex said, turning to his computer. “Let’s see. Here we go… um… ‘They dwell apart among wolves on the hills, on windswept crags and treacherous keshes…’ I think that’s a causeway or something. Hmm… this is interesting. Listen. ‘A few miles from here a frost-stiffened wood waits and keeps watch above a mere; the overhanging bank is a maze of tree-roots mirrored in its surface.’ And further on: ‘And the mere bottom has never been sounded by the sons of men’.”

“And why do you find that interesting?” Valandur asked.

“Oh, even though it’s not the same, the description sort of reminds me of Winterdark Tarn. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

Valandur nodded, looking troubled. “Glorfindel took us there not long ago. Something sleeps there that should never waken.”

Alex shivered. “I… I died there, did you know?” he whispered, staring at the computer screen but not really seeing it. It had been weeks since he had even thought about that day, but now he felt a sudden need to speak of the experience. “It was so cold… and dark… and I couldn’t see the surface. My lungs were burning and… and I was so afraid… Caleb was somewhere and I had to find him but I couldn’t and I needed to breathe and….”

He could feel himself panicking, his breathing becoming rapid and his pulse jumping. He tried to stop speaking, get himself under control again, but it was as if a floodgate had opened and the words just stumbled out in a rush.

“It was so bloody cold and dark and my lungs burned and then I couldn’t go on and… oh God, I died… I died and….”

He was weeping now and felt rather than saw Valandur reaching out and pulling him from his seat, holding him in his arms. The Elf fumbled a hand in one of Alex’s pants pockets, pulling out Alex’s phone. Alex was only vaguely aware of any of this, too lost in the horror of the memory that had overtaken him, but he heard the ellon speaking into the phone in Quenya to someone and the only words he recognized were his own name and Vorondur’s. He assumed Val was speaking to Ron.

“Hey! What’s the matter?”

Alex looked up through tear-drenched eyes to see Felicity entering the office, looking concerned. He tried to pull himself together, forcing the tears to stop. He started to move away from Valandur, but the Elf still had one arm around him and his hold tightened as he continued speaking into the phone for a few more seconds before putting it down on the desk and addressing Felicity.

“Alex has had a bad reaction to a recent memory,” he explained to her and then turned his attention to Alex. “I have spoken with Vorondur. He is expecting us.”

“My appointment’s not until four,” Alex said.

“It is now whenever we get there,” Valandur countered.

“But I can’t leave yet,” Alex protested, wiping the tears from his cheeks and sitting back down.

“You might as well leave,” Felicity said. “It’s doubtful that you’re going to get any students and you look like you’re ready to collapse.”

“I do not think Alex is capable of driving, and I have not yet mastered the art,” Valandur said. “Perhaps we can acquire a… a taxi, I believe you call them.”

“Where are you taking him?” Felicity asked.

“Evergreen Drive,” Valandur replied and she nodded.

“I know where that is,” she said. “Look, I was going to leave soon myself. Why don’t I drive you? I assume you can have someone retrieve Alex’s car later?”

“Yes, that would not be a problem, but we don’t want to impose on you….”

“It’s not an imposition. I have to go in that direction anyway. C’mon. Grab your things and let’s go.”

“What about the office?”

“Forget the office. I’ll stick a sign up on the door saying it’s closed due to illness. That will cover us,” Felicity said.

“Come, Alex,” Valandur said solicitously, pulling him back up. “Vorondur is waiting for us.”

Alex nodded, sighing and feeling tired all of a sudden and there was a sense of defeat as he took a few moments to close down the computer and retrieve the thumbdrive. He gathered up his books and notes, shoving them into the messenger bag, then pulled on his coat. Felicity, meanwhile, taped up a note to the office door and then they were leaving.

****

Words are German:

Guten tag. Wie geht’s?: ‘Good day. How are you?’ (familiar form)

Mir geht es gut und selbst?: ‘I’m well and yourself?’

Note: Alex reads from Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf, lines 1357b -1359a, 1361b-1364 and 1366-1367.

56: Words of Comfort from a Reborn

Felicity turned onto Evergreen and Valandur directed her to the correct house. She didn’t bother to pull into the driveway but stopped in front of it while Valandur and Alex got out.

“Thank you,” Valandur said politely, leaning in to speak to her. Alex just stood staring at the house, ignoring them. He had sat quietly in the back and had refused to speak the entire time.

“Not a problem,” Felicity said cheerily, and then dropped her voice, glancing worriedly at Alex with his back turned to her. “Good luck,” she whispered to Valandur, who nodded, then straightened and closed the door. Felicity waved as she drove off.

Valandur turned to Alex, taking him by the elbow. “Come,” he said softly and led him to the front door, which opened before they reached it, and Ercassë greeted them.

“Ron’s waiting in his office,” she told them. “Here, Alex, I’ll take your coat and your bag.”

But while Alex was willing to relinquish his coat to the elleth, he clung to the bag and Valandur just smiled while Ercassë looked more troubled. At that moment, Vorondur stepped out of his office, apparently having heard them come in and came forward, gauging Alex’s condition.

“Perhaps some tea would be in order,” he said quietly to Ercassë, who nodded.

“I’ll go make some,” and she left them to themselves.

“Let’s go in my office,” Vorondur said, “and you can tell me what happened.”

But when they entered the office and found seats, Alex remained silent and the two Elves spoke quietly about other matters. Ercassë came in several minutes later and Valandur made to leave with her, wishing to give Alex and Vorondur privacy, but Alex grabbed his arm.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he begged, speaking for the first time since leaving his office.

Valandur glanced at Vorondur, whose expression was carefully neutral, but at his nod, Valandur resumed his seat. Alex did not release his hold on his arm, though. Ercassë smiled at her husband. “Let me know if you need anything,” she said, bending down to give Vorondur a kiss, which he returned. Then she was gone. For a long moment, no one spoke, but finally Vorondur looked at Valandur and said, “Perhaps you could explain what has happened.”

“We were at Alex’s office. He was working on an assignment for one of his linguistics classes. Three poems had to be analyzed.” He turned to Alex. “Show him the poems.”

Alex hesitated for a moment before opening the bag and rifling through the papers, pulling several out and handing them to Vorondur, who gave them a cursory glance. “Interesting choice of poems,” he commented. “What’s the Old English one about?”

“You can’t read it?” Alex asked in surprise.

Vorondur gave him an amused smile. “Just as I cannot read Egyptian hieroglyphics or Finnish. I may have lived a long time, Alex, and have traveled over much of this world, but I have never mastered all the languages spoken or written, nor do I think any of us can. So, what is this poem about?”

“The instructor purposely did not offer a translation,” Valandur said, “and discouraged the students to look at one. He wanted them to be able to analyze the poem simply from what they could discover without knowing what it said. However, I was curious to know, so Alex found a translation of it online. I should have had it printed out but….”

“What is the poem?” Vorondur asked, turning to his computer.

“Beowulf,” Valandur replied.

Vorondur nodded and keyed a few strokes and then glanced at the screen, comparing what was there with the sheet in his hands. “A description of a mere,” he said.

“Not just any mere, Ron, but Grendel’s mere,” Valandur corrected.

“Ah, I see.” Vorondur said with a nod, giving Alex a searching look.

“And that is what apparently set Alex off,” Valandur said, “but I think he should be the one to tell you.”

Vorondur nodded, giving his attention to Alex. “Will you tell me?” he asked softly, leaning slightly toward the Mortal.

For a moment, Alex just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. Then, in a hoarse whisper he said simply, “I died.”

“But only for a few moments,” Vorondur pointed out. “You were brought back.”

Alex, however, wasn’t listening, too lost in the memory of dying. “It was so cold,” he whispered, “so cold and dark. I couldn’t see and I couldn’t breathe and I was afraid and…”

Valandur stood and pulled Alex out of his chair, holding him close. “Shh… it’s all right, child,” he said soothingly. “It’s over with. You’re safe and you’re alive.” He turned to Vorondur. “He’s trembling like a leaf.”

Vorondur stood up. “Try to get some tea down him,” he ordered as he opened the door and called to Ercassë, who came quickly. “We need some blankets that have been warmed,” he told her.

“I’ll throw a couple into the dryer for a few minutes,” she said.

Vorondur nodded as she ran off and he turned back to see Valandur attempting to get Alex to drink the tea while still holding him. “Here, I’ll do that,” Vorondur said, taking the cup from Valandur’s hand. “You just hold him.”

“I think he’s gone into shock,” Valandur offered.

“We may need to get him into a warm shower,” Vorondur replied. “This is no good.” He put the cup down, unable to get the Mortal to drink. “Here, let me have him. Alex, look at me,” he commanded, holding the Man’s head in his hands. “That’s it… it’s going to be all right. You’re safe and there is nothing to fear. Alex?”

Alex gave a small, mewling sound of distress and his eyes filled with tears as Vorondur held him close.

Ercassë came rushing in, carrying a couple of blankets. “Here you are.”

“Let’s wrap him in these,” Vorondur ordered. “If he doesn’t stop, we’ll try a warm shower.”

They wrapped Alex in the warmed blankets, even covering his head so only his face was exposed and tried again to get him to drink some tea, but he was either unable or unwilling. He sat in the chair huddled in the blankets but he continued trembling.

“I’ll go get the shower started,” Ercassë suggested and when Vorondur nodded she left.

“Can you manage?” Vorondur asked Valandur. “I’m going to call in some reinforcements.”

“Yes, I can manage,” Valandur assured him. “Come along, Alex. We’ll get you into a nice warm shower and that will help.” He pulled the Mortal out of the chair and led him away as Vorondur went to the phone on his desk and dialed a number.

“Aurora Borealis Bookstore,” someone said at the other end.

“Hello. This is Ron Brightman. Is Quinn there?”

“Just a moment.” There was a brief pause and then Finrod was on the other end.

“What is it Ron?” he asked.

“I have Alex here. He’s in a bad way. He was reminded of his death.”

“As Bregdal?”

“No, when he was at Winterdark Tarn.”

There was a brief pause at the other end. “It is impossible for me to leave the store at this time. I am assuming you wish someone who has experienced dying to speak with Alex?”

“Something like that,” Vorondur said. “Right now we’ve got him in a warm shower, trying to bring him out of his shock, but I think it would help him if he were able to speak to someone with a similar experience. Neither I nor Val, who is here, have that experience.”

“As I said, I cannot leave, and I know Glorfindel is also busy with matters having to do with the college, a meeting with the college president. Daeron is with him. One of the other Reborn would be willing to help, though.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Vorondur said. “I—”

“Ron! We need you!” he heard Valandur call out from upstairs.

Finrod apparently had heard him. “Go,” he said. “I will see who is available and send them straight over.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Vorondur hung up the phone and headed for the stairs, making his way to the bathroom where Valandur and Ercassë were attempting to disrobe a protesting Alex, who apparently was not sanguine about losing his clothes before an elleth. “I’m here,” Vorondur said. “Holly, I spoke to Finrod. He’s sending one of the Reborn over. Would you keep an eye out for whoever comes?”

“Of course,” Ercassë said and she gave them all a knowing smile before exiting, closing the door behind her.

“Okay, Alex, she’s gone. Now, no more nonsense,” Vorondur said firmly and Alex allowed the two ellyn to help him undress and then he was in the shower. After a few minutes, his teeth stopped chattering and then his muscles relaxed and he uttered a small moan of relief. Vorondur reached in to turn the shower off and Valandur helped Alex out, handing him a towel to dry himself off. In a few minutes he was dressed and the two Elves were leading him out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

“We’ll go back to my office and talk, okay?” Vorondur suggested.

Alex nodded but did not say anything. As they entered the office, they heard the front doorbell ring. A few minutes later, Ercassë was escorting Brethorn inside. The ellon gave them a bright smile.

“Did someone call for a Reborn?” he asked.

“That was fast,” Vorondur said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to get here so soon.”

“Gilvegil was kind enough to give me a ride over when Finrod called. I just happened to be there when he did and I said I would come.”

“Where is Gil?” Vorondur asked. “He didn’t come all the way over here just to go back again, did he?”

“No, he’s in the kitchen getting some coffee,” Ercassë said. “He said he’ll wait.”

“Good,” Vorondur said. “Hopefully we won’t be too long.”

Ercassë gave him a peck on the cheek and left. Vorondur closed the door, quietly explaining to Brethorn what had happened. Brethorn nodded and went to crouch before Alex. Vorondur remained where he could see everything and watched, curious as to how Brethorn would handle this situation. Alex just sat there looking lost and alone. Valandur gave the Reborn a welcoming smile but otherwise did not speak.

Brethorn turned his attention to the Mortal. “Hello, Alex. My name is Brethorn, though I’ve adopted the name Brian. I understand you are upset by some memories about dying.”

Alex gave him an incurious look and Brethorn continued speaking in a nonchalant manner. “I was very upset when I began remembering how I died, too, upset and angry.”

Alex frowned slightly. “Why were you angry?”

Brethorn shrugged. “I just was, and to this day I cannot say if I was angry because I had died or because I was now alive.”

“How did you die?” Alex asked.

Brethorn shook his head. “In battle. I doubt there was much left of me to bury once the orcs were finished with me.”

Alex shivered and Brethorn immediately stood and pulled the Mortal up. “Look at me, Alex,” he said with grave authority. Vorondur watched as Alex reluctantly raised his gaze to meet Brethorn’s. “I died and after many centuries abiding in Mandos I now live. You died, for however briefly, but you are alive now. You need to concentrate on that and not on your death.”

“I… so much has happened since then,” Alex said in a monotone. “I didn’t want to think about it too closely.”

“That is certainly understandable,” Brethorn said with a nod.

“But then the poem… I know it’s not the same, but it reminded me of Winterdark Tarn and what lurks there and all of a sudden, I was back there, dying all over again.”

“Shh… Alex, stay calm,” Brethorn said. “Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. That’s it. There’s nothing to fear here. You’re safe. You’re alive. What lurks within the tarn cannot harm you even in spirit unless you allow it.”

Vorondur decided to intervene then, moving to join the others. “You never spoke of what happened there during our sessions and I didn’t press, hoping you would speak of it on your own. I think your reaction to the poem is a sign that you need to talk about it, to someone, if not to me.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Alex said. “No one would.”

“Except someone who’s undergone a similar experience, like Brian, or Finrod or Loren,” Vorondur pointed out. “They’ve all experienced dying, Beleg and Edrahil are also Reborn. Any one of them would understand even though each experienced death differently. I would not be offended if you choose to speak with someone else about it, but you do need to speak, Alex. You need to put that experience into perspective, just as we’ve been doing with other aspects of your life.”

“When I finally went to Lórien after being released from Mandos, I was amazed to meet people who knew exactly how I felt about having died, because they had done the same,” Brethorn said. “Being able to speak of it to others helped me to come to terms with what happened. I think Vorondur is correct. You do need to speak about it and I’m a very good listener. We all are.”

“If you feel uncomfortable speaking about it to all of us, we’ll leave you and Brian alone,” Vorondur suggested.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Alex insisted and sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. “I don’t think the scariest part was actually dying. I know I was panicking, trying to reach the surface so I could breathe but then something inside me just… let go and it didn’t seem to matter anymore. It was after.”

“When you found yourself facing Lord Námo,” Brethorn said.

Alex gave him a wide-eyed stare. “How did—?”

“Child, ask any Reborn and they will tell you that coming face-to-face with the Lord of Mandos was the most frightening part of the whole process. Nothing that happened before or after quite matches the terror one feels.”

“He asked me if I wanted to be saved,” Alex said, sounding perplexed. “I didn’t know what he meant by that. I still don’t.”

Brethorn lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, well, Lord Námo is known for his questionable sense of humor.”

Valandur snorted in agreement, which caused Alex to goggle at him. “Sorry, I’ve had my own run-ins with that particular Vala,” he said. “Questionable sense of humor doesn’t even begin to tell the story.” Then he sobered. “Alex, it’s obvious that your encounter with Lord Námo has upset you…”

“You mean encounters,” Alex interrupted heatedly. “Dude’s shown up as Nate three times while I’ve been in the café. I swear, I’m never eating there again, not when Death seems to be on the menu.”

“Now that’s just plain nonsense,” Brethorn protested with a disgusted huff. “Death is not on the menu and if it hadn’t been for Lord Námo you wouldn’t be here to complain about it. Let’s not descend into…ah…” He turned to Valandur, asking something in Quenya, but it was Vorondur who answered.

“Hyperbole is the word you’re looking for and you’re right. You are not the only person to whom Lord Námo has appeared as Nate, Alex. Let’s keep our focus on what is truly troubling you.”

“I don’t know why this is upsetting me so much,” Alex said with a sigh. “Hell, do you know how many times in the last fifteen years I’ve come close to death? My last assignment before coming to Wiseman, I was shot, right here.” He pointed to a spot just above his heart. “I managed to avoid dying by an inch. That didn’t upset me nearly as much as what happened at the tarn.”

“Because what happened at the tarn was outside your frame of reference,” Vorondur pointed out. “You were lured into that tarn by whatever sleeps there. None of us have any doubt about it, which is why it is imperative that you don’t return there, at least not alone. You weren’t just drowning, Alex. You were being attacked by Evil of a kind you’ve never encountered before. That Which Lurks Below was drawn to you by your own darkness. We’ve discussed this in previous sessions and you are learning to put that darkness behind you, but there will always be a residue of it clinging to your soul, as such darkness clings to all of us in one form or another.”

“Alex, I have little knowledge of Mortals and how they approach death, which is an inevitability for them in a way that it is not for us,” Brethorn said, “but I think what happened to you, while unique in some respects, is not so unique in others. I have heard of these near-death experiences which other Mortals have had.”

“I always viewed them with some skepticism,” Alex admitted, “but now….”

“But now, the shoe is on the other foot and you cannot claim ignorance,” Vorondur said.

“I think it would be helpful for you if you come back to Edhellond and speak with the other Reborn,” Brethorn suggested.

“I agree,” Vorondur said. “Would you like that, Alex? Would you like to speak with the others who have died and now walk among the living as you do?”

Alex hesitated for a moment and then nodded. The three ellyn seemed to relax at that. “Then why don’t we collect Gil and be on our way?” Brethorn said.

“What about my car?” Alex asked. “It’s still at the college.”

“Give me your keys and Holly and I will go and pick up your car,” Vorondur replied. “She can follow me to Edhellond.”

“Okay,” Alex said and fished in his pocket for his keys, handing them to Vorondur. “Not much of a session,” he added apologetically.

“It doesn’t matter so long as we’ve helped you in some manner. We’ll set up another session for next week and perhaps you will tell me how speaking to the other Reborn helped you or not.”

Alex nodded. “I guess we can do that.”

“Good. Let’s go find Gil and Holly and get you back to Edhellond,” Vorondur said and began to usher them out of the room, but Valandur stopped them.

“There’s something I wish to ask you, Ron,” he said. “Alex, do you have a copy of the Frost poem and the sonnet? I want to show them to Ron.”

“Why?” Alex asked, looking puzzled.

“I just have a question about them and I want Ron’s opinion,” came the easy answer.

Alex fumbled in his bag and drew out a couple of sheets. “Here.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you and Brian go find Gil and we’ll be right there.”

Alex seemed reluctant to leave but Brethorn took him by the elbow and steered him out the door. Valandur closed it and faced Vorondur.

“And what is so important about these other poems?” Vorondur asked.

For an answer, Valandur shoved them into the ellon’s hands. Vorondur glanced at them quickly, then gave Valandur a sharp look.

“You find these significant?”

“Don’t you? Coupled with the section from Beowulf, does that not tell you something?”

“It tells me a great many things, none of them good,” Vorondur admitted, frowning. He paused to re-read the two poems. “He’ll need to be watched very carefully.”

Valandur nodded. “That goes without saying. I will alert Finrod and Glorfindel. They will need to be told.”

“Naturally. Just… be careful, Val. Alex is still psychologically fragile and this episode proves it.”

“I know. Well, let us get on our way. I do not want Alex to be any more suspicious about our conversation than he already is.”

“Agreed,” Vorondur said with a grin as he opened the door and they made their way to the foyer where everyone else was already congregated pulling on coats.

“Thank you, Ron. That clears it up for me,” Valandur said in a voice that was loud enough that it was heard by those at the door. “I appreciate your help.”

“Anytime, Val. You know where to find me,” Vorondur responded, following the other ellon’s lead. “Everyone set? Then we’ll see you over at Edhellond.”

“Why don’t you plan to stay for dinner?” Gilvegil suggested. “Unless you already have plans.”

“No, we don’t have any specific plans, do we?” Vorondur asked Holly.

She shook her head. “Sarah’s with Roy and the ellith are back at Edhellond so it’s just us. I was just planning some leftovers, but we can have them tomorrow.”

“Then I guess we’re staying for dinner,” Vorondur said with a smile. “We’ll see you there.”

With that they all exited the house and shortly thereafter, two cars left the driveway.

57: A Meeting of Done Been Dead Dudes Anonymous

Once they reached Edhellond and had divested themselves of their coats, Brethorn took Alex in hand, leading him upstairs. “We will go to the sunroom,” he said, then stopped and looked down at Gilvegil and Valandur. “Gil, you want to find Bela and Ed? They must be around somewhere.”

“I’ll check the woods,” Gil said. “That’s where they usually hang out.”

“And if either Finrod or Glorfindel show up, send them up as well, will you?”

“Not a problem,” Gil said and he headed down the hall toward the kitchen.

“What about Vorondur?” Valandur asked. “Do you want him present?”

“That is up to Alex,” Brethorn said, turning to the Mortal.

Alex shrugged. “I guess.”

“No, Alex,” Valandur said. “Do not think you will offend Ron if you do not want him there. If you would prefer to speak to Brian and the others alone, that will be perfectly fine with him, and if at some point you feel he should be there, then he will be.”

“He’s going to know anyway,” Alex protested. “I might as well save myself the bother of repeating everything to him next week.”

“That may be true, but it should not dictate how you feel now,” Brethorn said. “If you would prefer not to have him present at this time, then say so.”

Alex sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. “Six months ago, I could make snap decisions that meant either life or death for me or someone else. Now, I have trouble deciding which shirt to wear in the morning, and I feel tired all the time, like I’m being drained of energy or something.”

“You have suffered a great deal of emotional turmoil in recent months from what I understand,” Brethorn said sympathetically. “It is only natural for you to feel this way. Let us do this. For the moment, it will just be us Reborn. Once you are comfortable with us, if you still want Ron to be present then we will call him. Does that meet with your approval?” Alex nodded. “Good. Val, will you tell Ron when he and Holly get here?”

“Yes, of course,” Valandur replied. “In the meantime, I had better warn whoever is cooking tonight to add two extra plates.” With that, he headed for the kitchen and Brethorn continued climbing the stairs with Alex following.

When they reached the sunroom, Alex gravitated to the large windows looking out onto the back garden while Brethorn found a seat and waited with an air of patience that astounded Alex, though he refused to comment on it.

“Looks as if Gil found the others,” he said, pointing out the window. “Three people are coming out of the woods and heading this way. Why do they hang out in the woods all the time? It’s still bloody cold out.”

Brethorn chuckled. “Pure Reborn stubbornness.”

“Yeah, but what do they do there all day? Hug the trees and sing with the birds? C’mon. That is so… I don’t know… lame.”

Brethorn laughed. “From a Mortal’s point of view, perhaps.”

Alex had no comment on that and remained silent, staring out the window, watching as Gil and the other two made their way into the back garden. He turned around and stood waiting and a few minutes later Beleg and Edrahil arrived.

“You require our presence?” Beleg asked Brethorn, the two newcomers eyeing Alex speculatively.

Brethorn spoke quickly in Sindarin, apparently explaining why they had been summoned, while Alex remained standing, feeling suddenly shy and embarrassed as the other two Elves gave him appraising looks. At the end of Brethorn’s recital, Beleg nodded.

“Speaking of your experience will help,” he said in English. “Why do we not sit and be comfortable,” and he and Edrahil found seats on either side of Brethorn while Alex sat facing them.

For a long moment, the four just sat there in silence. Alex had the feeling that the Elves were waiting for him to make the first move, to dictate how the conversation would go. He suddenly wished that Derek were there to lend support. His gwador had a way of putting everything in perspective and seeing the absurdity of the situation. And it was absurd, the four of them sitting there to speak about having died.

It’s like this is a meeting of Done Been Dead Dudes Anonymous. Alex could almost hear Derek saying something like that and he couldn’t help grinning. The Elves took note.

“And what is so amusing?” Brethorn asked.

Alex shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about what Derek would say about all this. He came up with this expression about someone being Námo’d. He claimed that Námo was a verb waiting to happen.”

The Elves all laughed. “Then we have all been Námo’d,” Edrahil said when they had calmed down and the other three Elves nodded in agreement. “I remember once in Mandos becoming overly excited about something and apparently none of the Maiar attendants were able to calm me down. Then Lord Námo was there and he spoke a single word in no language I had ever heard before and the next thing I know I’m waking up in my chambers and he was there waiting for me.”

“Gave you one of his little chats, did he?” Brethorn asked with a knowing smile.

“Oh yes,” Edrahil replied with great feeling.

“Is he always so scary?” Alex couldn’t help asking.

“Personally, I think it is part of an act that he puts on for our benefit,” Beleg replied. “There were too many times when he held one of us and comforted us much as a parent would comfort a small child. He is scary, as you put it, only when he needs to be, but I suspect it is not the role he prefers to play.”

Brethorn and Edrahil nodded. Then Brethorn spoke. “Perhaps if we were to describe our own experiences in dying and facing Lord Námo, that will help.”

“Sure, but I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable about it,” Alex said.

“We have no problem speaking about it, Alex,” Beleg said. “We have had more than enough time to get used to the idea.” He turned to Edrahil. “You were judged before all the Valar, were you not?”

“Yes, but I still was met by Lord Námo before that.”

“Why were you judged?” Alex asked. “I don’t remember being judged, and why before all the Valar?”

Before any of the Elves could answer, Finrod was at the door along with Glorfindel. Alex gave them a falsely cheerful smile. “Welcome to Done Been Dead Dudes Anonymous, gentlemen. My name is Alex….”

Glorfindel grinned, stepping further into the room. “Hello, Alex,” he drawled.

“…and I’ve done been dead,” Alex finished.

Glorfindel laughed but Finrod and the others just stared at the two of them as if they were not sure who was crazier.

“Done been dead dudes anonymous?” Finrod asked as he came further into the room.

“I’ll explain later,” Glorfindel said, as he and Finrod found seats. “So, do you want to tell us what this is all about?” Glorfindel asked Alex.

“Are you familiar with the poem Beowulf?” Alex asked him.

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes. I remember when it first made the rounds of the meadhalls. It was quite an exciting tale and everyone thought it splendid, though I didn’t care for the ending myself, however realistic it might have been.”

Alex gulped and his eyes widened at the very nonchalant manner in which the Elf spoke of an event that was lost in the mists of time to become more legend than history. “Oh… ah, well, I had an assignment where I had to analyze a section of the poem. The instructor gave it to us in the original Old English. Val was helping me with the assignment and he wanted to know what the verses said so I found a translation online. It… it was a description of Grendel’s mere.”

Glorfindel nodded. “And it reminded you of Winterdark Tarn.”

“I know they’re not the same,” Alex said. “Grendel’s mere is overhung by trees and it’s more a bog than anything else from what I could tell, but it was just… I don’t know… eerie and it brought to mind the tarn and then I was back there drowning in the cold and the dark and…”

He was beginning to hyperventilate and as hard as he tried to stay calm, he felt himself panicking again. All five Elves started to rise but Glorfindel, sitting next to him, got to him first, pulling him into his embrace and rubbing his back. “It’s all right, Alex. Stay calm. That’s it. Breathe.”

“Damn! Why do I keep panicking?” Alex protested after a moment or two.

“That is why we are here,” Finrod said, “to help you through this.”

“Alex was saying that more frightening for him than the process of dying was coming face-to-face with Lord Námo,” Brethorn told them.

“Oh, yes,” Glorfindel said with some feeling as he released Alex from his hold so they could sit. “Even more frightening than being judged by all the Valar.”

“Edrahil said something about being judged,” Alex said. “I don’t remember being judged. I don’t think I was there long enough. Lord Námo kept asking me if I wanted to be saved. Saved from what? I still don’t know.”

“What were his exact words?” Finrod asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Why? What difference does it make?” Alex demanded.

“The Valar never lie, but they are careful with the truth and with their words,” Finrod explained. “It will be informative to know precisely what Lord Námo said. In his words may lie the clue you need to understand what is happening here.”

Alex frowned, trying to dredge up a memory and a conversation he had studiously forgotten until now. “He… he kept asking if I wanted to be saved, or no, not saved, rescued. That’s the word he used, but they mean the same, don’t they?”

“In a sense,” Glorfindel replied, “but you know that in this culture ‘saved’ has more religious connotations attached to it, while ‘rescue’ tends to have more mundane connotations, such as being rescued from a fire or drowning. People speak of being saved, not rescued, when they refer to a religious conversion. Do you feel you’ve been saved in that sense and that is why you’ve been using that word instead of ‘rescue’?”

Alex shrugged, not sure how to answer that question.

“What else did Lord Námo say to you, do you remember?” Brethorn asked.

“Ah, he said something about there being many things from which one can be rescued and death was the least of them and that’s when he sent me back.” He gave them a mirthless chuckle. “It was a very short interview and there was no judging. And why didn’t I experience going through a tunnel toward a white light and dead people greeting me like everyone else who claims to have had a near-death experience? No one I’ve read about has ever mentioned meeting Lord Námo. I feel almost cheated.”

“Perhaps the encounter was too frightening for them and they have blocked it from their conscious memory,” Finrod suggested.

“I guess,” Alex said, not sounding too convinced. “So, what now?”

“That is up to you, Alex,” Glorfindel said. “We’re here for you, not the other way around. All of us in this room have been where you are now. All of us have had to come to terms with dying and living again. We spent centuries in Mandos, totally unaware that there was even a life beyond its walls, until we were once again re-embodied. I remember feeling a sense of having been cheated of a life I could no longer claim. I died here in Middle-earth, but when I returned, I found myself back in Aman, in the one place I did not want to be, and I think that was true for all of you, as well, am I correct?” He addressed this to the other Elves and they all nodded.

“What was most frustrating was not being able to learn what had happened after I had died,” Brethorn said. “I died defending Fingon in the Battle of Sudden Flame but I could not learn what followed, at least not at first. I remember while in Lórien making plans to find a boat and sail back to Middle-earth, to the only place I considered ‘home’,  though I had been born in Valinor. Of course, I had no idea where the nearest boat was or how to get there.” He chuckled slightly, his eyes brightening with memory and the others grinned back. “It was a long time before I accepted that Aman was now my home and always would be.”

“And that holds true for all of us,” Finrod said. “Even though I was born in Aman and only lived in Beleriand for a little over three hundred years of the sun, I always thought Nargothrond to be my true home and finding myself back in Aman felt more like exile than living in Middle-earth ever did.”

“Well, that certainly isn’t my problem at the moment,” Alex countered. “Like I said, I wasn’t dead all that long. It’s just an odd thing to ask someone, do you want to be rescued? Why wouldn’t I?”

“That is the question,” Glorfindel said. “Assuming Lord Námo was not referring to being rescued from drowning, for he had already sent his people to save you from it, from what do you think you needed to be rescued?”

Alex shrugged. “Maybe from myself or from the Agency or what it was doing to me. Ron thinks my troubles really began when I was assigned to terminate one of my colleagues who had betrayed us.”

“And do you agree?” Finrod asked.

“Yeah, sure. Looking back, I know that affected me more than any other assignment I’d had, and it wasn’t the first termination order I’d been given, but the others were people I really didn’t know. Junior… Junior was the closest thing to a friend I actually had in the Agency.” He shook his head, as if to clear it of memories. “I think we’re getting a bit far afield here. We were talking about dying.”

“Then let’s talk about dying,” Glorfindel said.

Only, Alex didn’t know what else to say and the Elves remained silent, apparently waiting for him to speak, sitting patiently, as if none of them had anywhere else to go or anything better to do. The silence stretched and Alex tried not to squirm. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair.

“Man, this is so awkward,” he muttered, hiding his face in his hands.

Glorfindel reached over and began rubbing his back and for some reason that simple gesture broke something within Alex and to his everlasting shame he found himself silently weeping. He tried to stop, to pull himself together, but it seemed as if a dam had broken within him and he couldn’t stop. None of the Elves moved or commented, allowing him the space he needed to release the emotions that had been bottled up for so long. Glorfindel continued rubbing his back and Finrod, sitting on the opposite side, stroked his hair.

Eventually, the tears slowed and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Brethorn had gotten up at some point and left the room, returning with a wet cloth and a box of tissues, silently handing the cloth to Alex as he placed the tissues on the coffee table. Alex nodded his thanks, wiping his face with the warm cloth, which helped to restore his equilibrium. Then he blew his nose.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he said softly, not looking at anyone.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Alex,” Glorfindel said, giving him a slight smile. “You’ve obviously been keeping a lot of this inside you and the fact that the poem has affected you as it has tells me that this was long overdue.”

“Ron said that I was lured into the tarn by whatever sleeps there. Can that be true?”

“It is what we believe,” Glorfindel said carefully. “You were the only one there who felt any uneasiness. Zach, Derek and the children apparently felt nothing unusual about the place. I asked Zach what induced him to choose that place for a picnic, especially when I had told him specifically not to go there and certainly not to go there with the children.”

“What was his explanation?” Finrod asked.

“He claimed that his original plan was to go to Chandalar and have the picnic in the park along the lake, but when he got to the turn-off to Chandalar, he continued going straight and headed for the Mt. Horace Resort. And that, in and of itself, was fine, but he chooses to take the most difficult trail with three kids, one of them a five-year-old. He really had no explanation except that at the time it felt like a good idea.”

“Do you think he was being influenced?” Beleg asked with a frown.

“Sounds like it,” Edrahil commented. “It sounds as if whatever sleeps in the tarn wanted Alex there for purposes of its own.”

“I am not familiar with the geography as I have not been to Chandalar and we only went to the tarn the one time,” Brethorn said. “How close to Chandalar is this resort?”

The others gave him speculative looks. “You think that it was only when they came into proximity to the tarn that Zach was influenced to bring them there,” Glorfindel said.

Brethorn nodded. “It is possible, is it not?”

“Whoa,” Alex protested. “That is just too freaky.”

“But plausible,” Finrod pointed out. “We are not sure what is there or what powers it has, only that it is old, very old, and evil.”

“But why? Why me?” Alex asked. “Did it want me dead or what?”

“That is something we do not know,” Glorfindel replied. “We only know that when you were brought in, we could all sense the darkness clinging to your fëa, your soul. Dan and Roy struggled to free you from it and a number of us had to pitch in to help. We almost lost you once or twice.”

“Sometimes I’ve wondered if… if it was attracted to me, that it recognized me as a… a kindred spirit or something, that I was evil and….”

“No, Alex, you are not evil and never have been,” Glorfindel said firmly. “Yes, you’ve done things that others might label as evil, but so have we all at one time or another. In spite of it you still retained a core of goodness and decency and you never relinquished it. That was and is your saving grace. Have you ever considered the idea that perhaps that thing meant to eliminate you from the playing field? Remember, the Valar arranged for you to come here, to join us. Is it not possible that the Enemy attempted to thwart whatever plans the Valar have for you?”

Alex gave him a skeptical look. “You make it sound as if I were important.”

“And aren’t you?” Glorfindel countered. “Aren’t we all?”

“You maybe. You’re Elves. I’m just a run-of-the-mill Mortal. We’re a dime a three thousand dozen.”

“Do not belittle yourself,” Edrahil said, speaking sharply. “I am told you are descended from Beren himself. He was a Mortal like you, not particularly handsome as Mortals go, rather on the short side, as I recall. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about him, and yet, his actions reverberate down the ages and affect us all, whether we realize it or not. Without him, none of us would be sitting here today. Without him, this world would have long been lost to Morgoth’s darkness. He did what no Elf was able to do.”

“Well, he did have help,” Finrod said with a glint of humor in his eyes.

Edrahil nodded. “Yes, but we’re talking about Beren, not Lúthien or even you, Finrod. Together they achieved much, but it was Beren who accepted the challenge from Thingol and sought you out. Your own fate was woven with his, as was mine and Bregdal’s and the others who chose to follow you. All I’m saying is that Alex should not think himself less because he is a Mortal. The Enemy sought to eliminate Alex from the battlefield as early as possible, which tells me that he, at least, deems Alex a threat to his own plans.”

“And that’s really scary to think about,” Alex said. “So are we just pawns on a celestial chessboard?”

“Pawns?” Brethorn repeated. “Perhaps, but if so, we are very important pawns or else the Valar would not have bothered to tell us what our roles are in this particular game of chess.”

“And remember, Alex,” Glorfindel said, “you are not the only Mortal being recruited.”

“But so far I seem to be the only one who’s had the pleasure of being the object of the Enemy’s regard and deemed dangerous enough to try to eliminate, if what you’ve said is true.”

“But you are dangerous,” Brethorn retorted. “The Mortals who are being recruited are generally ordinary people with no special skills that I’m aware of, although I gather from what Glorfindel and others have told us that a large number of them have military experience, which only makes sense, but your background in intelligence puts you in a different category altogether, I think.”

“Brian’s right, Alex,” Glorfindel said. “You and Amroth, along with Derek and Val, are important to us for gathering the intelligence that we need. Until now we’ve concentrated on recruitment, but we need to start training people more systematically and we need to have a good sense of what is happening around us. Dan and Roy meeting Gwyn and Gareth was not coincidental, nor was your coming to Wiseman. The SCA is an excellent cover for training the warriors and the Wiseman Intelligence Agency will become more and more important as time goes on.”

“And do not think that you are the only one who has been targeted by the Enemy, Alex,” Finrod said. “Others have also been targeted, including me.”

“And me,” Glorfindel added. “Though in my case, I think it’s been an ongoing project.” He cast them a bright smile.

“What do you mean?” Beleg asked.

“Do you know how many times I’ve come close to dying over the ages?” Glorfindel stated. “I probably hold the record for the most times a Reborn has almost died again and made Lord Námo’s day.”

Alex snorted in amusement, picturing Glorfindel standing before the Lord of Mandos with that cheeky look he often had on his face and Námo rolling his eyes. The Elves gave him curious looks and he held up his hands. “Sorry, but the image of Loren standing in front of Nate and going ‘I’m back’ and Nate looking horrified just sort of struck me funny.”

The Elves chuckled. “And with good reason,” Beleg said and the others nodded while Glorfindel smirked.

Then he gave Alex a more considering look. “Are you going to be okay now?”

Alex sighed a little. “I suppose. Talking’s helped.”

“You know you can always come to any of us if you need to talk some more,” Finrod said, gesturing to the other Elves. “I think it is important that you realize that your experience is not unique, that you are not alone in having died and lived to tell about it.”

Alex grinned. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Just then, Alphwen came to the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, Alfa,” Glorfindel said. “I think we’re about done here anyway. Are Ron and Holly here yet?”

“Yes, they arrived some time ago. Did you want Ron?”

Everyone looked at Alex, who realized the question had been directed at him and he shook his head. “No, I’m cool.” With that, he stood up and the others did as well and they all trooped downstairs and made their way into the library where Vorondur and Ercassë were conversing with Daeron and Valandur.

Vorondur gave Alex a searching look. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine, or rather, I’m better,” Alex replied. “Talking helped.”

“Good. We’ll get together next Friday at our usual time if that’s okay with you and perhaps we can discuss it further,” Vorondur said.

“Sure,” Alex said, though he didn’t seem too enthused by the idea.

Vorondur gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’ve come a long way in a short time, Alex. Do not feel discouraged. Setbacks happen in all our lives, and now that you’ve begun to face what happened to you at the tarn you can move forward again. I have wanted you to speak about your experience for some time now but I hesitated to ask you directly and you ignored my hints so I let it go. I’m glad that that poem forced you to deal with what happened to you. I do not think you can move forward in your life until you do. Today was a good start, but only that.”

“But you don’t really understand what I went through,” Alex pointed out. “You’ve never died.”

“No, that’s true, though, inevitably I’ve come close to it over the long years of living in this world, but I have not experienced most of the psychological ills that plague Mortals either, yet I am able to counsel them and help them to deal with their problems. This is no different.”

 “Okay,” Alex said, capitulating. “So, can we talk about something else now? This is getting old.”

“And what topic would you suggest?” Finrod asked.

“Who do you think will win the Super Bowl on Sunday? The Giants or the Patriots?”

The Valinórean Elves looked puzzled, not understanding the reference, but the Wiseman Elves just raised their eyebrows. “Do you really care?” Daeron asked.

“Hey! I’m from New Hampshire,” Alex exclaimed. “The Patriots are practically my home team and this is their chance to even the score against the Giants after they ruined the Patriots’ perfect season in twenty-oh-seven.”

“What’s a super bowl?” Edrahil asked.

“And are there still giants living in this day and age?” Beleg added. “I thought they disappeared a long time ago.”

The Wiseman Elves chuckled and Alex grinned. “Come on,” Glorfindel said. “Let’s go eat and we’ll explain.”

They started out but then Glorfindel stopped and gave Alex a sober look. “Just promise us one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Under no circumstances should you ever go near Mt. Horace Resort or the tarn unless one of us is with you.”

“No fear of that,” Alex said with some feeling. “That’s the last place on earth I ever want to find myself.”

“Good. Let’s go eat.”

58: Dinner Conversations

“So is Finlay still sleeping?” Alex asked no one in particular as he and the Elves filled their plates of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and acorn squash.

“No, he came out of healing sleep about two hours ago,” Elladan answered. “He kept asking where Finn was. From what we’ve been able to gather, Fionwë came to him in the night and they spoke for a while and then the next thing Finlay knows, he’s waking up and it’s the middle of the next afternoon. He thought Finn was one of us, I mean an Elf. We’ve not disabused him of that belief and merely told him that Finn was busy with something and he might see him later.”

“So Fionwë put him into healing sleep?” Alex asked as he stood beside Valandur and Brethorn and began eating. As a guest, he had been offered a seat at the table, but he had waved the offer away, insisting he was fine eating standing up as were most of the others. Only Finrod and Glorfindel took their usual seats. They were joined by Vorondur and Ercassë, Laurendil and Manwen and Erestor and Lindorillë.

“Apparently,” Elladan replied from where he was standing beside Gilvegil and Aldarion. “Finlay was ready to leave Edhellond right then and there, but Sakari convinced him to stay. Right now they’re having a quiet meal together. I thought it might be overwhelming for him to eat with us.”

“Yeah, been there, done that,” Alex said with a grin. “Maybe afterwards I’ll go up and see how he’s doing. We still need to talk. Our last conversation was rudely interrupted.”

There were chuckles from some of the Elves.

“When you go up, perhaps I will join you,” Vorondur said. “Finlay might need… additional help.”

Alex nodded. Then Vorondur turned to his wife. “And perhaps you will come as well and give Sakari some female companionship.”

“Of course,” Ercassë said. “I would have insisted on it had you not mentioned it first.”

“Will you plan to attend the council meeting in the morning, Alex?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yeah, sure, if you want me there, though I really don’t see the point.”

“The point is, you are a member of the team,” Valandur said before Glorfindel could answer. “And while Amroth is away, I am in charge of intelligence and you are my lieutenant. It would be better if Derek were also here but I understand why he is not. We will fill him in later on any decisions we make.”

“When I spoke with him yesterday he was griping about being out of the action,” Alex said. “I want him here, too, but it’s too dangerous for him or Zach. They’re better off out of the way until Farrell is taken care of.”

“Do you have any ideas as to how to accomplish that?” Mithlas asked.

“Not a clue,” Alex responded with a shrug. “Right now, Farrell holds all the cards. Unless the police or the FBI get real lucky and find him first, we have to wait until he makes his next move and hope no innocents get hurt in the process. The shooting at the café was out of character. Farrell prefers to see his victim’s eyes when he goes in for the kill. I gathered that much from when he kidnapped me and the others. Right now, I don’t know what game he’s playing.”

“Well, until he’s caught, we all need to practice extra vigilance,” Glorfindel said. “I don’t want anyone wandering around by themselves and under no circumstances is anyone to walk into town. If you need to go somewhere, we’ll drive you. Mir, I want you to speak with Kyle and Geoffrey, explain the situation with Farrell and see if you can’t have all the healers scheduled to work the same shift. That way, we can drive you all there together and pick you up when your shift is over.”

Vardamir nodded. “I spoke with Kyle about that already and he says he’ll have a new schedule for us by Monday. In the meantime, we’ll just work the shifts to which we’ve been assigned.”

“Okay. Let me know what everyone’s schedule is for the weekend and we’ll work something out,” Glorfindel said, then turned to Finrod. “And I don’t want you wandering about on your own either. Farrell is as likely to come after you as any of us. The fact that he apparently was on the roof of the bookstore while you were inside leaves my blood cold. He could as easily have entered the store and taken you and everyone else out before you could even blink.”

“I will not hide away,” Finrod replied.

“I’m not asking you to,” Glorfindel countered. “I think I’m going to have patrols set up around the square.”

“Patrols, is it?” Elladan said with a grin. “Haven’t done patrol duty for so long, I’ve forgotten how.”

Glorfindel gave him an amused grin. “Well, since you will be busy at the hospital, you won’t have to worry about it, will you? And it won’t be that kind of patrol. For one thing, we won’t be armed and armored. I want people who are good at hiding in plain sight, like Bela or Mick.” He nodded to Beleg and Mithlas.

“And Liam and Thad and Gavin and Hal,” Erestor said, giving the Mortal names of Prince Legolas, Thandir, who had been a scout in Imladris, Gilvagor, who had been Laurendil’s second in the Warrior’s Guild, and Haldir, once a Marchwarden of Lothlórien. “Not to mention me,” he added with a smile.

“Exactly,” Glorfindel allowed. “Gil, Conan and Barry have also had experience in scouting.”

“And you are going to have all of them patrolling the square for my sake?” Finrod demanded.

“Not just you, but everyone else,” Glorfindel replied with a shake of his head. “Farrell was aiming at Alex, but others, either in the café or in the square, could’ve taken a bullet. I think it was only because Lord Námo and Lady Estë were there that no one got hurt, but we can’t depend on them to always be there. So, I think we should take precautions. Barry, would you mind staying with Quinn tomorrow while he’s at work, at least for a few hours? I’ll have someone spell you sometime in the afternoon.”

“Sure, I have no other plans,” Barahir said, then turned to Finrod. “What time do you report for work?”

“Not until after the council meeting,” Finrod replied.

“I would like to have at least two people patrolling the square while someone is inside the bookstore with Quinn,” Glorfindel said.

“I can work something out,” Erestor told him.

“You mean, we’ll work something out,” Valandur corrected. “I think this is something the Wiseman Intelligence Agency can help with.”

“I would welcome your assistance,” Erestor said formally, giving Valandur a bow of his head.

With that settled, the conversation turned to other topics of interest. Cennanion commented on the announcement that had been made earlier in the week that Robert Locke, who owned the Locke, Stock and Barrel Hunting and Fishing Store, was running for mayor.

“He’s a member of Harry’s party and as far as I know, he’s on our side.”

“I don’t think I know him,” Glorfindel said, “though I’ve been to his store. Richard Martina took me there to help me pick out a pole when I agreed to go fly-fishing with him once.”

“Locke,” Finrod said speculatively. “The name sounds familiar.”

“You might have met his wife, Sarah,” Cennanion said. “She runs the bakery next door to the bookstore.”

“Ah yes. She came in one day bearing a gift of sticky buns.”

“So Robert Locke is running against Tom Peterson,” Glorfindel said. “Are there any other candidates for mayor?”

“Not that I’ve heard, and the deadline for declaring oneself was Monday.”

“There might be write-ins later,” Daeron commented.

“It’s rare that that happens, though, so I wouldn’t count on it,” Vorondur replied. “Robert seems to be a good choice, though. He’s well liked in the community, very active in the Rotary and other civic organizations, including having been a past president of the PTA. We could do a lot worse.”

“We will have to see how we can lend him our support without alerting the opposition,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll need to find out who his campaign manager is.”

“Way ahead of you there,” Cennanion said with a smile. “His wife, Sarah, is his campaign manager.”

“What about the bakery, though?” Daeron asked. “She can’t be running that and the campaign at the same time.”

“I heard she’s turning over the day-to-day business to their daughter, Emily. She’s fresh out of college with a degree in business administration. And it will only be for the next several months until the election.”

“Well, we’ll have to keep our eyes on the campaign, lend our support where possible,” Glorfindel said and the others nodded in agreement.

By now, dessert was being served, a black forest cake. Alex offered to take some up to the Finlays and Vorondur and Ercassë went with him. When they knocked on the door, it was opened by Sakari who gave them a smile in welcome. Alex greeted her in French and, in fact, the entire conversation which followed was in that language.

“How’re you feeling, Ed?” Alex asked solicitously as he put the tray of dessert down on the dresser and began passing dishes out.

“Okay, I guess,” Finlay replied with a shrug as he accepted a plate from Alex. He was dressed and sitting in a chair by the window. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“Here in this room or here in Edhellond?” Vorondur asked. “I’m Ron, by the way, and this is my wife, Holly.”

“So where’s Finn?” Finlay asked, ignoring Vorondur’s question.

“I heard he came and talked with you last night,” Alex said carefully as he stood by the bed with a plate in his hand. Ercassë and Sakari were sitting on the bed facing Finlay, while Vorondur sat on a bench in front of the vanity table. “Did you have a good conversation?”

“Yeah, he was pretty cool. He told me something about what you people are doing here and why. Sakari slept through it all. I was pretty wacked out, though. I don’t remember Finn leaving and I can’t believe I slept for most of the day.”

“You suffered an emotional shock,” Vorondur said. “Your body needed time to recover. You look well. Are you feeling any discomfort or anxiety?”

Finlay stared at the Elf and then gave Alex a look that clearly said, ‘What’s with this guy?’. Alex grinned. “Ron’s a psychiatrist. He’s just making sure you’re really okay. You gave us a few anxious moments last night when you collapsed.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty surprised myself,” Finlay said with some chagrin. “I’m a seasoned agent. I’ve seen and done stuff that would turn most people’s hair white, but last night… that was too darn freaky.”

“You were forced to step outside of your worldview,” Vorondur offered. “Some people don’t handle that sort of thing well. Alex certainly didn’t.” He gave Alex a knowing smile and Alex shrugged.

“Still, the idea of Elves… it’s insane. Next you’ll tell me there really is a Santa Claus.”

The two Elves and Alex chuckled. “But Ed, everyone knows that Santa exists.”

“You mean little kids,” Finlay retorted with a snort of disgust. “I stopped believing in Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy before I was ten.”

“But now you have encountered Elves and you are no longer sure of the world you thought you knew,” Vorondur said.

“Yeah, I guess,” Finlay said, then busied himself with the dessert. “Hmm… this is good. I can’t remember the last time I had this kind of cake. I don’t know if I can go back to Sakari’s village and give up everything again. That village is way too primitive.”

“Do you have to go back?” Ercassë asked. “Though I’m sure Sakari misses her family.” She gave the Inuit Woman a bright smile and Sakari returned it with a shy one of her own.

“Edward promised to return,” she said, “and the spirit guide said we must.”

“She means Nate,” Alex supplied. “When we were at the café, and that’s what we need to discuss. Police forensics agree that the angle was all wrong for getting in a clear shot.”

“So what are you saying?” Finlay asked.

“I’m saying that no way could Farrell have shot from the roof. I think that’s a blind.”

“So he shot from somewhere else,” Finlay said with a shrug.

“Yes, but where?” Alex countered.

“Does it matter?” Finlay retorted. “The bullets were real enough. You could have died.”

“I suppose, but I hate the mystery.”

Finlay gave him a feral grin. “Welcome to the club. Do you know how many nights I lay awake trying to figure out who those ninjas were and how we got to the village and why we were unable to leave? There was no visible barrier and the villagers themselves wandered all over the place without any trouble, but none of us could go any further than the last house. It was freaky. And then one day, Sakari’s dad comes to us and says we’re free to leave. Just like that. No explanations, no apologies. The villagers outfitted us with enough supplies to get us to Barrow and that was it. Well, they did hold a farewell feast for us, but otherwise it was ‘adieu’ and ‘bonne chance’.”

Alex stole a glance at Vorondur, not sure how to address Finlay’s implied question. Vorondur shook his head. “I have no explanation for you,” he said, “or none that would make sense to you at this time. And to answer your original question, you and Sakari are free to leave any time. We just thought you needed more time to recover, but if you wish to leave tomorrow, no one will stop you.”

“I promised Atanninuaq, Sakari’s dad, that I would return,” Finlay said, “but now….”

“Perhaps we can help make it easier for you to do so,” Vorondur said. “One of the Mortals who is a friend of ours is related to someone in the village. He was the one to arrange for your incarceration. So, there is communication with the outside world. How far is the village from Barrow?”

“Can’t tell you in miles but it took us almost three days going by dog sled,” Finlay replied.

“Those dogs can run as far as a hundred miles in a single day given the right conditions,” Vorondur said.

“I don’t think we traveled that far, though. There was a storm that blew up out of nowhere that delayed us. We had to hole up early that first day and we weren’t able to move until the day after that. Got into Barrow in the late afternoon.”

“So, possibly you’re less than two days travel from Barrow,” Vorondur pointed out. “I know Barrow isn’t the big city, but it’s civilization of a sort and it has an airport. I think we can set up something that will allow you to at least keep in contact with Alex so he can let you know what is happening. What about your superiors at the Agency?”

“I wrote out a letter of resignation and sent it along with the guys going back,” Finlay replied. “If they really want me, they’ll find me and there’s precious little I can do about it.”

“I can email Deputy Director Washburn and find out what’s going on in Washington,” Alex offered. “She’s our liaison there. We think Director Dolan is working for the other side, but there’s no actual proof of it, but she was the one who cut your orders to come here.”

“Yeah, I know. Okay, I guess we go back to the village.”

“And don’t forget what Nate said about teaching the villagers everything you know,” Alex said. “I think they want you to start preparing these people for war.”

“War, is it?” Finlay gave them a skeptical look. “Well, we’ll talk about it some more before we leave.”

“And when do you wish to do that?” Vorondur asked.

“Well, certainly not before I finish dessert,” Finlay retorted with a wry grin. “Any chance for seconds?”

The others laughed and Alex said, “Why don’t we all go downstairs and see?”

To that no one had any objections and soon they were back in the kitchen which was deserted. Vorondur and Ercassë left to find Finrod and Glorfindel, leaving the Mortals to themselves. The three sat in the breakfast nook enjoying second helpings of dessert while Alex and Finlay reminisced about their days in the Agency and Sakari listened.

****

Atanninuaq: Alaskan Inuit: ‘One who counsels or has lived and knows things’, an appropriate name for a shaman.

59: Saturday Morning

Alex woke on Saturday morning at his usual time in spite of the fact that it was the weekend. He eschewed a shower for the moment, contenting himself with throwing water on his face before he padded downstairs dressed in loose lounge pants and an oversize T-shirt. In spite of the early hour, the Elves were already up, assuming any of them had bothered to sleep. They gave him cheerful greetings which he returned. He made his way down the hall that led to the conference room, passing it to enter another, smaller room that was empty except for a set of utility shelves along one wall where various types of exercise equipment were stored, yoga mats mostly. Alex knew from previous stays at Edhellond that this room was used by the Elves for yoga, tai chi and even unarmed defense. A closet held several rolled up mats that could be placed on the wood floor for that purpose.

This morning, however, the room had been reserved for him and Finlay. Before retiring for the night, they had consulted with Daeron, who had assured them that the room would be free for their use. Alex pulled his feet out of his slippers and began doing some limbering up exercises. Finlay wandered in right about then, with Sakari trailing. She was fully dressed, but Finlay was dressed similarly to Alex in loose pants and T-shirt, his feet clad in sandals, which he removed.

“Bonjour, mes amis,” Alex said, speaking French for Sakari’s sake. “Did you sleep well?”

“Considering I slept for most of the day yesterday, I did,” Finlay replied, also in French, as he motioned for Sakari to find a place along the wall. She squatted on her heels, her expression one of interest as Finlay joined Alex on the floor and began his own warm-up.

“I understand healing sleep is different from regular sleep,” Alex said.

Finlay shrugged, apparently not really caring. They continued warming up in silence for a few more minutes and then positioned themselves side-by-side, though with plenty of space between them, facing Sakari.

“Begin,” Alex said softly and in tandem the two stepped into the first position of tai chi, their movements flowing as they lost themselves in the meditation. Alex noticed Sakari watching them with wide-eyed wonder but otherwise ignored her and everything else, concentrating solely on the movements and his breathing. Eventually, they finished the final form and stood silently for a moment as they centered themselves before coming out of the meditative state and back into the present moment.

“Man, I am so rusty,” Finlay complained, speaking English. “Haven’t done this in too long.”

“You kept up and that’s all that matters,” Alex said with a smile. “A few more sessions and you’ll be back in form.”

“Yeah,” Finlay agreed. “I’ll need to find a place at the village to do it. Maybe the gathering hall will do.”

“You could even teach it to the villagers,” Alex suggested. “I’m sure your wife would like to learn. Would you like to learn tai chi, Sakari?” he asked, switching to French.

“You will teach me?” she asked Finlay.

“Sure, ma petite,” Finlay said with a smile, gathering her in his arms and kissing her. “Do you think we could use the gathering hall for lessons?”

“Oh yes,” Sakari said excitedly. “But you will teach me now?”

“Now? Well, not this very minute, perhaps tomorrow Alex and I will give you your first lesson, okay?” Finlay said and Sakari nodded.

“I need to grab a shower and some breakfast before this council meeting they want me to attend,” Alex said. “What are your plans?”

“Not sure,” Finlay replied. “Maybe take Sakari shopping. Tell you the truth, I figured we’d just head back to the village once you and I had our little pow-wow, but with Farrell on the loose, I have the feeling I should stick around and help.”

“He’s not your responsibility. You shouldn’t feel obligated to stay.”

“Maybe, but he’s Agency and we take care of our own.”

“Take care or take out?” Alex countered.

“Sometimes it comes to the same thing, doesn’t it?” Finlay retorted with a feral look and Alex had no choice but to nod in agreement.

“Well, you know you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” Alex said. “The Elves are very accommodating.”

“Yeah, I know,” Finlay said. “So what are your plans for the day?”

“Well, the council meeting, then Quenya class, and then… oh.”

“Oh what?”

“Um… I just remembered I’m supposed to go out tonight with… ah… a friend, but after yesterday I’m not sure she’ll want my company.”

“She, is it?” Finlay asked with a knowing leer.

“It’s not a date,” Alex protested, recognizing the look. “She happened to have an extra ticket to a concert and wanted to know if I’d be interested in going. We’re supposed to have dinner first and it’s Dutch treat.”

“Uh huh,” Finlay said, apparently not too convinced. “So what happened yesterday that makes you think she won’t want anything more to do with you? Did you insult her or something?”

“No, I… it’s really too complicated to explain,” Alex said. “I’m going to grab that shower and then I had better call Felicity.”

“You do that, buddy,” Finlay said with a grin. “And good luck.” Then he turned to Sakari. “What do you say to going shopping after breakfast, my love?”

Sakari nodded eagerly and the three exited the exercise room and headed back upstairs where Alex separated from them to go to his own room on the third floor. About twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, he sat on his bed and looked up Felicity’s number on his phone and punched ‘send’. It rang several times and he was ready to end the call when someone picked up on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Alex. Did I wake you?”

“No, I’ve been up. I was just finishing taking a shower. How are you doing?”

“Better, thanks. That’s why I’m calling, to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For acting like an idiot weeping away for no good reason? For being a smuck or a wimp? Take your pick.”

Felicity laughed, obviously amused. “You don’t have to apologize and I don’t think you’re an idiot or a wimp or even a smuck. Well, no more than the next male,” she amended, still amused.

Alex chuckled. “Anyway, I’m sorry you saw all that. I’ve been having some… issues about certain things, including almost having drowned and…”

“Alex, you’re not obligated to explain to me,” Felicity cut in. “I promise, I don’t think you’re a wimp or whatever. I was there at that court back around Thanksgiving. I heard your testimony. Now, enough. Are you still interested in going to the concert tonight? I’ll understand if you don’t.”

“That’s really why I called. I was afraid that after yesterday you would want nothing more to do with me, at least not socially, and…”

“Do you think I’m that flighty or foolish?” Felicity demanded. “Trust me, I’m not. So, is our non-date still on?”

“Yes, if you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. Let me tell you something, Alex. My dad was in the army, so I’m an army brat. He saw combat back in the ninety’s during the First Iraq War. This was just before his retirement. I remember him coming home afterwards and crying on my mom’s shoulders as soon as we were back home from picking him up at the base. My dad’s the strongest man I know, both physically and emotionally, but I never thought the less of him for breaking down as he did and I don’t think less of you for doing the same, for whatever reason. Now, I hate to put an end to this fascinating conversation but I have a hair appointment in thirty minutes and I need to get going.”

“I hope you’re not getting all spiffed up on my account,” Alex couldn’t help saying, smiling as he did so, even though Felicity couldn’t see him.

“Oh, no. This is my usual appointment. I go once a month. I mean, really, Alex, you get your hair cut every so often, don’t you? This is the same thing. Now, I’ll see you at Rosalia’s at five-thirty, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there, and thanks, Felicity.”

“Not a problem. See you then.” The call was ended and Alex got up and went downstairs where he found Finlay and Sakari already there enjoying a breakfast of oatmeal, scrambled eggs and bacon, courtesy of Cennanion, who wished Alex a good morning. Once he had served Alex and made sure they all had what they needed, he left. The three Mortals took their time eating and were lingering over coffee when the front door bell rang.

“That must be people for the council meeting,” Alex said, draining his mug. “I’d better get going. Enjoy your shopping.” With that, he stood and put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and headed down the hall where he found a number of people, including Dave Michaelson, which surprised him. He recognized a few others from when he’d been at Elf Academy but did not know everyone. Glorfindel was there, greeting everyone, and made quick introductions and then they were all trooping down the hall to the conference room where the other Elves were already waiting. Once they were settled, with Alex taking a seat next to Finrod, Glorfindel opened the meeting.

“Thank you for coming. We really only have a couple of items to go over, so it shouldn’t take long and I know some of you have things to do. First of all, do we have an update on Farrell, Dave?”

Dave Michaelson stood. “At the moment, no. FBI has been informed that we think Farrell is in the area, but no one’s actually spotted him, so they’re sending up an investigator rather than an entire team. The investigator will make a final decision once he or she has had a chance to see what’s what.”

“We’ll have to be very careful around whoever they send,” Vorondur offered. “It is my understanding that Farrell is our concern, ours and Alex’s, and that we will deal with him.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dave started to say, but Glorfindel cut him off.

“No, Dave. I know you think we’re encroaching on your territory, but if the Valar are telling us we are to deal with the matter, there’s a reason for that and you or anyone else interfering will just bring us all grief. By all means, continue your investigation. Your people are in a better position to sift through all the evidence, what there is of it, and that might help, but leave Farrell to us, for all our sakes. When the FBI investigator comes you’ll have to stonewall without seeming to do so.”

“Okay. I don’t like it, but I have a feeling that my likes and dislikes don’t factor into this. Just do me a favor and if you run into trouble, call me.”

“Trust me, Dave. You’ll be the first one I call. Was there anything else?”

“Actually there is. You’ll be pleased to know that we have a positive lead on those who attacked you, Loren.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and as soon as we make the arrests, I’ll need you to come down to identify the perps.”

“Assuming I recognize them,” Glorfindel countered. “I was pretty blotto as they say and I still have no clear memory of the attack.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, but perhaps seeing these guys might jog your memory. At any rate, it’s police procedure and we need to follow it through if we want to bring these guys to trial.”

“Will it come to that?” Daeron asked.

“We can only hope,” Dave replied. “We’re still gathering evidence, and granted, it’s mostly circumstantial, but if you could make even one positive ID that will go a long way to solidifying the prosecution’s case.”

“Well, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. I won’t lie and pretend that, yes, officer, these are the sorry bastards who did me wrong.”

“And if I even suspected you would stoop so low, I would be the first to haul your tail before Judge Harrison and have him throw the book at you,” Dave retorted.

Glorfindel nodded and Dave sat down. “Well, that’s item number one. Item number two. Daeron, how are we doing with applications for the next term?”

“We have had a twenty percent increase in applications,” Daeron answered.

“And that can be a problem,” Elladan offered. “We only have space for so many. We’re pretty much reaching our limit as it is. If applications keep increasing, do we start expanding operations and build another dorm?”

“For now, that would be impractical, but we should certainly consider it,” Glorfindel said. “Marion, could you and Deirdre look into that? See if there is a way to add more student living quarters, either here or off-campus.”

“No problem,” Marion Goodfellow replied. “I was sort of anticipating that request when I saw how many more applications we were getting this time around, and have already begun looking. I might have something for you by next month.”

“Good enough.”

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Eirien asked. “I mean, those of us on the selection committee.”

“Do as you normally do and weed out those whom you think may not be good Elf Guide material,” Glorfindel replied. “If you still end up with more applications than we have room for, then I guess we can choose in the order in which the applications were received. When we reach our limit, anyone who’s left over gets on a waiting list. Some of those selected might decide not to accept our invitation. Those who are on the waiting list should be informed that if they are still interested in becoming Elf Guides, then they can be part of the next class after this one, unless, in the meantime, we find a solution that allows them to join this year’s class.”

“What about the ones that have been chosen by the Valar?” Barahir asked. “How do we make sure they get in this year’s class? We only know that some of these people are being… um… encouraged to apply but so far the Valar have not told us outright who these people are. I would hate to have to deny a place for someone whom the Valar have specifically chosen.”

“Well, unless they offer us a list of candidates, there’s precious little we can do about it,” Glorfindel countered, sounding irritated. “Either that or they can come up with a solution for having more students than the facilities can accommodate at the moment.”

No one else had a comment to that. After a moment, Glorfindel continued. “So, we’ll see how things progress along those lines. It’s still early so if we can find a solution to this before summer, then maybe we won’t have to worry about the increase in applications.”

“This might be an opportunity to consider expanding the school year and including the spring term, as we discussed last month,” Paul Pettingill offered.

“That could be one solution, though I hesitate to implement it,” Glorfindel said. “For one thing, those students coming here in the spring would have no opportunity to be Elf Guides and I doubt any of them would want to hang around for half the year until the holiday season rolls around for them to be guides.”

There were nods all around. “Well, let’s see what Marion and Deirdre can come up with by the next meeting, okay?” Glorfindel said and when there were no objections or further comments, he went on. “Now for the last item. When some of us were in Fairbanks recently, we met with some people who belong to the Society for Creative Anachronism. It’s a historical re-creation group, sort of. Maybe some of you have heard of them.”

A few of the Mortals nodded. “I think there was a group at the college I attended back East,” Shane Englebert said. “They dress up in medieval clothes and have tournaments with rattan weapons, pretend they’re lords and ladies and all that.” Her tone was somewhat dismissive.

“Yes, that’s pretty much what they do,” Glorfindel said. “Well, as it happens, two of the people we met are Elves.”

“What?!” shouted the Mortals at once. “How?” “Who?”  Glorfindel raised a hand to stem the tide of questions being aimed at him.

“Their names are Gwyn and Gareth ap Hywel. Both were born in Wales nearly a thousand years ago. Their parents are still living as well. They go by the names Tristan and Iseult ap Hywel. Gwyn and Gareth arrived in Fairbanks about ten years ago and from what they have said we think they were inspired by the Valar to come there. Shortly after their arrival they joined the SCA and rose through the ranks of their fighting forces. Gwyn is now Captain of the Baronial Militia and by order of the Valar he has formed an elite fighting group called Gwaith-en-Angbor.”

“An elite fighting force ordered by the Valar,” Jud von Frank said with a speculative look. “You don’t think….”

“The Valar have many fingers in the pie, yes,” Glorfindel said, “and we suspect that Dan and Roy’s flight from Wiseman was not coincidental for they met the Scadians on their very first night there.”

“That’s right,” Elladan said, “and we had a chance to see Gwaith-en-Angbor in action. They’re very good and will get better under the ap Hywel brothers. Roy and I saw immediately the advantage of having such a group here in Wiseman as a means of not only getting more recruits but also training them under the very noses of those who are suspicious of us.”

“The trick is to make sure that we Elves cannot be accused of forming the group for our own purposes,” Glorfindel said. “We need to find someone who is willing to start the group for us, someone not directly associated with us. We have all the information needed to start a group. For the moment, we will be associated with the Barony of Winter’s Gate, which is Fairbanks. Later, as we expand operations, we may become independent, but for now, we will play by the SCA rules. Gareth will be coming up in a few weeks to see how we’re doing, so we need to move on this as quickly as possible. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Finally, Shane raised a hand and Glorfindel acknowledged her. “I don’t know that much about the SCA but I know that many of the groups back East were situated in colleges and universities. There’s a group at Cornell University, for instance. Friend of mine went there and told me about it. It seems like a natural draw. Perhaps we can find someone at the college here.”

“The only problem I see in that is that the college population is transient,” Daeron said. “We will need to make sure that there are sufficient numbers from the community who are members so when students leave we can still function.”

“Then if some people are in the know and are willing to join, then they can recruit others from the community without necessarily telling them what the real purpose for the group is,” Gilvegil said.

“Except that we have to play by the rules of the SCA,” Vorondur pointed out. “To make this work, we need to enter fully into the Society. The group has to function on more than one level and people have to honestly want to be members and do the things that other groups do or it will fall apart very quickly. Training fighters for the Dagor Dagorath is an important goal but it cannot be the only goal in joining.”

“No, that’s true,” Finrod said. “When we were visiting the barony we were told that many skills that were common centuries ago but have been lost are being resurrected by people in the Society, skills that could become important for survival if this civilization ever collapses, and it may if the war that is coming is as destructive as it is supposed to be. The SCA appears to be the perfect vehicle for teaching people the skills and crafts that may be needed in the future so that we are as self-sufficient as possible should this civilization cease to exist.”

“Then, that might be our draw,” Elrohir said. “Besides enticing people to indulge their fantasies of living in an earlier age, we can stress the survival skills that can be taught, from making swords to spinning wool and everything in between.”

“So how do we go about getting the group started?” Alphwen asked.

Jud von Frank raised his hand. “Speak to someone in the history department,” he suggested. “Maybe one of the professors would be interested.”

There were nods all around. “Very well,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll check it out. So, I have some brochures that were sent to us by the people in Fairbanks explaining what the SCA is all about. Anyone who is at all interested, feel free to look them over. Also, if you have any questions just see one of us who were in Fairbanks and we’ll answer as best we can. If there’s no further business, then why don’t we adjourn?”

No one had any objections to that and soon several of the Mortals were gathered around Glorfindel and the others who’d been in Fairbanks demanding more details. Alex stood to one side watching. Valandur came to him.

“We should go,” he said. “It would not do to be late for class.”

“Sure. Let me go freshen up and then I’ll go warm up the car.”

They left together and Alex did as he had said and fifteen minutes later they were on their way.

“So will you join this SCA?” Valandur asked as they drove along.

Alex shook his head. “Doubt it. I told Ron I was through playing roles. I just want to concentrate on being Alex Grant. Derek seemed interested in the idea, though. He’ll probably join.”

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip. In the class, Alex got to see another side of Valandur and found himself enjoying the Elf’s teaching style. Afterwards, the two stopped at the café for lunch. The window had been repaired and the place was as busy as ever. Alex, however, insisted on a table away from the windows and Valandur did not object. When they returned to Edhellond, they found Finlay and Sakari were back from their shopping trip.

“Have a good time?” Alex asked them politely when he joined them in the kitchen where they were enjoying some tea.

“Yeah, sure,” Finlay answered with a roll of his eyes. “Considering that I’m out of work and living on credit that I don’t really have, we had loads of fun.”

Alex grinned. “Cheer up, Ed. The end of the world may come before you have to pay the bill.”

“One can only hope,” Finlay retorted. “So, you all set for the evening?”

“Sure. I spoke with Felicity and it’s still a go.”

“What’s a go?”

They turned to see Glorfindel at the doorway.

“Ah, I have a sort of date with Felicity Cohen, the German instructor? We’re going to meet for dinner and then go to some concert at the Grange Hall.”

“And you were going to tell us when?”

“I just did and what’s it to you?”

“In case it’s slipped your mind, you are being targeted. How can we protect you if you’re gallivanting around town on a date?”

“It’s not a date,” Alex protested. “And I refuse to hide.”

“Granted, but you are putting others in danger when you go out.”

“So I’m just to sit here like a good little boy minding my manners?  Where the hell do you get off?”

“Hey, Meriwether, take it easy,” Finlay said in a conciliatory manner, patting him on the shoulder. “The Elves are not the enemy.”

“I know that, and it’s Grant now. Try to remember that. As for you,” Alex turned back to Glorfindel, “you are not my mother or my babysitter.”

“I never said I was,” Glorfindel replied quietly.

“Then stop acting like it!” Alex nearly shouted.

“Is there a problem here?” Daeron asked as he entered the kitchen.

“No, there’s no problem,” Alex said through gritted teeth, glaring at Glorfindel who never moved, his own expression neutral. “I’m going to have dinner with Felicity Cohen and then we’re going to the concert at the Grange Hall and that’s final. Unless you plan to drug me or tie me up or kill me and shove my body into the cellar out of the way, I suggest you get used to the idea.” With that, he pushed his way past the two Elves and left, seething as he went, his previous good mood gone. He started up the stairs, then stopped and with a snarled oath, went to the front closet and grabbed his coat and went outside. But instead of leaving the grounds, he went around the side of the house and into the back garden, then out the back gate and plowed his way across the snowfield to the woods.

Back in the house, Glorfindel and Daeron were assuring the other two Mortals that all was well, though Finlay appeared skeptical, when both Elves froze. In the distance they heard someone scream in anger and anguish. They recognized the source and gave each other grim looks. Daeron shook his head and went out the back door without bothering to fetch a coat, while Glorfindel sighed and excused himself, leaving Finlay and Sakari feeling confused by the abruptness of their manner.

60: Saturday Evening

It did not take Daeron long to find Alex and when he did he also found several other Elves already there, those who pretty much haunted the woods day and night, returning to the mansion only for meals and to change their clothes and take a hot shower, sometimes to sleep. Alex had gotten as far as the clearing where he and Derek had interrupted the Elves’ New Year celebration before collapsing. Now he was huddled in the middle of the clearing, his arms wrapped around himself as he rocked back and forth. Mithlas was crouched beside him, holding him and speaking soothingly to him while Legolas of Gondolin, Aldarion, Gilvagor and Haldir stood around them. They all looked up at Daeron’s approach.

“We heard him scream and came as quickly as we could,” Haldir told Daeron, speaking Sindarin. In the woods, most of the Elves tended to ignore Finrod’s edict to speak only English, reserving that for when they were inside the mansion or among Mortals.

Daeron nodded. “He had a confrontation with Glorfindel that did not go well.”

“Ah, well confrontations with that one rarely do,” Legolas of Gondolin said with a grim smile.

Daeron crouched in front of Alex and Mithlas and placed a hand on the Mortal’s knee. “Alex, why are you so upset?” He asked, speaking English. “Loren is only looking out for your interests. You cannot blame him for that.”

“Perhaps you should call Vorondur,” Aldarion suggested in Sindarin. “Is he not under the care of the nestar-in-innath?”

“I hesitate to do so,” Daeron said in the same language. “He should not have to be called for every little thing. Let’s see what we can do first.” He switched to English again. “Alex, look at me.” He put all the power at his command behind the words, knowing that the Mortal had little defense against it. “That’s it. Alex, I know you are upset by Loren’s attitude, but he is only looking after you. He’s very protective of people, it’s in his nature to be so.”

“I’m tired of being treated like a child,” Alex whispered, his arms still wrapped around his knees.

“Then you may want to stop acting like one,” Daeron couldn’t help retorting and then relented. “Stop and think, Alex. Farrell had help to escape. Is it not likely that those who helped him are still with him? Even if Farrell cannot be everywhere at once, he can still have you under watch.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Alex protested, unwinding himself and standing with a little help from Mithlas. He began brushing the snow off him as Daeron also stood. “But I refuse to hide. What happened at the café was scare tactics on his part. He wants me to know that he can get to me wherever and whenever he pleases. He’s playing with me and I refuse to play back.”

“And what about Felicity or anyone else?” Daeron asked. “Do you wish to risk their lives as well?"

“Of course not, but lives are at risk whatever I do or don’t do,” Alex pointed out. “Farrell’s not going to make a move if I’m hiding in a closet in Edhellond. You’re never going to find him that way, and he’s only gunning for me. You forget. Farrell is highly trained. He’s not going to do anything that sends me into hiding, which means he’s not likely to start shooting indiscriminately. He wants me, no one else.”

“Yet, innocents could get killed,” Daeron said.

Alex gave him a cold look. “Innocents get killed every day.”

The Elves looked troubled by that announcement. Alex relented a little. “Look, I’ve managed to keep the body count to a minimum for the last fifteen years. I promise I will be careful, but I need tonight, Darren. I need to be doing something normal, like going out with a girl and having a good time. I refuse to allow Farrell or anyone else to dictate my life for me. My life’s been dictated enough by others for far too long and it’s high time I took control of it.”

“I certainly understand your need to do this, but…”

“There’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there?” Alex snarled and he pitched his voice into a sneering tone. “But Farrell is out there, but people can get hurt, but you didn’t invite the rest of us to tag along on your date.”

“I thought it wasn’t really a date?” Daeron asked, giving him a sly smile.

Alex shrugged. “Not officially, but…” He paused, looking at the ground, his shoulders slumped. “I’d better call her back and tell her it’s off.”

“No,” Daeron said firmly. “That you will not do.”

“But you just said—”

“What I said was that Loren is just looking out for you. I said nothing about you not going on your date that really isn’t a date. Now, let’s go back to the house. You’re shivering and the last thing you need is to come down with a cold or something and ruin Felicity’s evening.”

He hooked an arm around Alex’s left elbow to lead him away. The other Elves followed and Mithlas addressed Daeron in Sindarin. “What is this date of which you speak?” He was forced to use the English word.

“When Mortals in this culture are interested in one another beyond mere friendship, they will go on dates,” Daeron replied, also in Sindarin. Like Mithlas, he used the English word, as Sindarin had no real equivalent. “Usually they will go out to dinner and follow that with attending a concert or a movie.” Again he resorted to the English term. “It’s a courtship ritual, though it does not necessarily lead to a betrothal.”

“But why does Alex insist it is not a date?” Haldir asked, looking as puzzled as the others.

Daeron grinned. “Because he doesn’t want the woman to think he’s being too forward since they barely know one another. By declaring that it’s not really a date, they both can pretend that they are just friends and there is nothing more to the relationship or not yet. I know, I know. It’s very complicated and a rather messy way of going about things, but that’s how it is here.”

“And Glorfindel does not want Alex to go on this date?” Aldarion asked. “Is Alex not of age to decide these things for himself?”

“Glorfindel fears that Alex will be putting himself and others in danger if he goes out tonight because of Farrell,” Daeron supplied.

“Okay, I know you’re all talking about me,” Alex said, stopping. “At least have the courtesy to speak in English.”

“I’m sorry,” Daeron said. “The others were asking what dates were and I was trying to explain the concept, which is foreign to how things are done in Elvish societies.”

“So how do you get together, I mean, how do you find your one true love and all that?”

“We have a variety of venues where our young people are able to meet under the watchful eyes of their elders,” Legolas of Gondolin answered.

“Sounds boring,” Alex retorted.

“It is the way it is,” Daeron said with amusement. “Now, let’s get you inside and warmed up. When are you supposed to pick Felicity up?”

“We’re meeting at Rosalia’s at five-thirty for dinner and then going to the Grange Hall for the concert.”

“Well, then, you have plenty of time to get ready,” Daeron said.

They reached the edge of the woods where the other four Elves stopped, bidding them farewell before melting back into the trees. Alex shook his head. “Those dudes are insane,” he said and Daeron chuckled. Once inside the house, Daeron insisted that Alex go take a hot shower to drive the chill out, for the Mortal was still shivering. Alex agreed and went up the back stairs. Daeron went looking for Glorfindel whom he found sitting in the sunroom, obviously brooding.

“I’ve assured him that he is free to go out tonight with Ms Cohen,” he said as he entered the sunroom.

Glorfindel nodded but did not otherwise comment. Daeron took a seat opposite him. “I am assuming you’ll be sending people to keep an eye on things without him knowing it.”

“He’ll know,” Glorfindel said.

“Of course,” Daeron agreed, “but while he’s looking for the watchers…”

“He won’t be aware of who is actually watching him,” Glorfindel finished.

“You mean a Maia,” Daeron said, his eyes narrowing.

“Not necessarily,” Glorfindel retorted and then he stood up and walked out without another word, leaving Daeron sitting there in bemusement.

****

Alex took his shower and then, feeling somewhat fatigued by all the emotions of the last hour, he lay down for a nap, waking in plenty of time to dress for the evening. Coming downstairs, he was oddly disturbed by the utter silence. The house felt deserted, yet delectable smells wafting down the hall from the kitchen assured him that someone was around. He was tempted to go find someone to let them know he was leaving, but then decided not to bother. It wasn’t as if he needed their permission to leave the house or anything. Still, it would’ve been nice to have someone see him out and wish him a good time. Shrugging away that thought, he grabbed his coat and went out to the car.

Fifteen minutes later, he was pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. It was not quite five-thirty. Stepping inside he was pleased to see that the place was not too crowded yet even though it was a Saturday evening. The restaurant was bright and cheerful with walls paneled in light-colored wood and the tables decked with red, green and white tablecloths under glass with floral centerpieces and candles. Quiet music played in the background.

Felicity was not there yet and when the hostess greeted him he explained that he was waiting for someone and he would wait to be seated. Looking around, he was surprised to see Finlay and Sakari sitting in a corner. He sauntered over to the table. Finlay and Sakari looked up.

“What are you two doing here?” Alex asked in English, trying not to sound suspicious and failing miserably.

Finlay gave him a knowing grin. “I’m introducing Sakari to Italian cuisine.”

“So you just happened to pick this particular restaurant instead of taking her to Pizza Hut or something?” Alex narrowed his eyes.

“Pizza Hut?” Finlay gave him a shocked look that Alex suspected was more for show than anything. “No one takes his bride to Pizza Hut, boy. I have more sense than that. No, I asked one of the Elves, um, Ken I think his name is—”

“Conan,” Alex corrected.

“Yeah, whatever. Anyway. I asked for his recommendation and he suggested this place, and really, it’s unique you gotta admit, with there being no fixed menu and all.”

“So you’re not here to keep tabs on me,” Alex said, still not convinced.

“I didn’t say that,” Finlay replied with a thin smile.

“Hi. Sorry I’m late.”

Alex turned to see Felicity and smiled. For someone who wasn’t strictly on a date, she had dressed up quite nicely, though given the weather, quite sensibly as well. She wore a calf-length gray worsted wool skirt and a cream-colored cashmere sweater graced with a cameo pendant. Her feet were shod in leather boots, the tops of which disappeared under the hem of the skirt. Her hair was neatly coifed and Alex thought perhaps it had been cut and shaped. He had to admit to himself that he couldn’t remember what her hair style had been the day before and realized that was something he was going to have to pay attention to from now on.

“You’re not late, you’re right on time. I was early. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said somewhat shyly and then looked politely at the two sitting at the table.

“Oh, um, Felicity these are friends of mine, Ed Finlay and his wife, Sakari. Sakari doesn’t speak English, just French.”

“Oh, um, bonjour,” Felicity said to Sakari.

“Bonjour,” Sakari replied with a smile. “Comment allez-vous?”

“Oh, um, bien, merci, et vous?” Felicity replied. “And that is just about the extent of my knowledge of French,” she added.

Finlay and Alex both grinned and Finlay translated Felicity’s words for Sakari who giggled and then held out her hand and said in slow and careful English, “I am well, thank you.”

Felicity took the girl’s hand and shook it, the two sharing a smile. Alex gave Finlay a surprised look. Finlay just shrugged. “She’s a quick study,” he said.

Just then the hostess arrived asking if they wished to be seated or if they wished to join their friends. Before anyone else could respond, Alex shook his head, taking Felicity’s elbow. “That’s all right, we’d like our own table.”

“Hey, it’s not a big deal and there’s plenty of room,” Finlay said in protest.

But Alex just shook his head. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said in English and then repeated the sentiment in French for Sakari’s sake as he led Felicity away, following the hostess to another part of the restaurant.

“They seem like a nice couple,” Felicity said as she allowed Alex to seat her. “Have you known them long?”

Alex grinned. “Ed and I used to work for the same company.”

“Oh? Oh!” Felicity stole a look to where Finlay and Sakari were sitting, her expression thoughtful as she grasped what Alex was saying. “And Sakari?”

“I only met Sakari recently. They’re newlyweds, been married only for about a month or so, which is why I thought we should let them dine alone.” That wasn’t the real reason, of course, but it was a convenient excuse. In truth, he thought Finlay was there on Loren’s orders. He was tempted to feel resentful, but instead he felt sorry for Sakari, an innocent pawn in their cloak-and-dagger game.

Their waitress came over with glasses of water and introduced herself and asked for drink orders. Felicity ordered a rosé and Alex did the same. When the waitress left to fill the orders, Felicity asked, “How are you, I mean, since yesterday?”

“Better,” Alex replied, taking a sip of water. “Sorry you had to witness that. I’ve been avoiding dealing with having drowned a few months back and—”

“You don’t have to explain or apologize, Alex,” Felicity interrupted. “I’m just glad you’re doing better. It must have been a terrifying experience.”

“It was, and in some ways, it was more terrifying than anything I’ve faced in my years as a spy.”

“Do you regret giving up that life and settling down in Nowheresville teaching French and Italian to ungrateful children?”

Alex raised an eyebrow at the acerbic tone. “I take it you do.”

Felicity shrugged, taking a sip of water before answering. “This was not my first choice or even my second, but circumstances forced me to come here.”

“But you’d rather be somewhere else, anywhere else.” Alex made it a statement.

“I promised myself that I would look on the bright side of things,” Felicity said in answer, not looking at him. “I told myself that things could be a whole lot worse. Sometimes I convince myself that that is true, but mostly I just feel cheated by God or whoever dumping me here in the Frozen North away from civilization.”

“If you think this is the Frozen North, you should see where Finlay landed,” Alex said with a smile, but he sobered somewhat. “I won’t ask for details because it’s none of my business, but let me ask you this: where else could you have ended up where you would have met Elves? Wiseman may indeed be Nowheresville and I’m not arguing otherwise, but right now it’s the most exciting place to be because Elves walk the streets and you can’t get that anywhere else.”

“True, and that’s a consolation, but, really, had I been able to choose, I would be ignorant of all this and I wouldn’t care.”

“And ignorance is bliss, they say. Well, I agree that given my druthers I would prefer to be living elsewhere as well but I know I’m needed here and that’s enough for now.”

“Teaching French and Italian in a community college?” Felicity gave him a skeptical look.

Alex grinned, putting a finger to his lips and making a shushing noise. “Shh… that’s just my cover,” he whispered, giving her a wink.

Felicity laughed and her mood lightened. The waitress returned then with their drinks and then began reciting the menu for the day from memory. After a few minutes of deliberation and having the menu repeated, they both decided on the ravioli. There were several types of stuffing to choose from and Alex chose shrimp, crab, spinach and mushroom, while Felicity chose spinach, mushroom and cheese. As the waitress left she said somewhat apologetically, “I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m allergic to beets myself. Break out in hives.”

“So if you ever come over for dinner, I promise not to serve beets,” Felicity said with a smile.

“And I promise not to make shrimp cocktail,” Alex returned and he lifted his wine glass in salute and she copied him and they toasted one another.

The rest of the dinner was spent in quiet conversation with the two sharing memories of their childhood, Alex growing up in New Hampshire and Felicity growing up in New York and Tel Aviv. Her parents were archeologists specializing in biblical archeology. “After Dad retired from the army, they started going on digs. They’re still at it, and probably will continue with it until they die,” she said at one point. “Got a postcard from them not too long ago. They’re at a dig somewhere in Galilee, Huqoq I think they said.”

“Sounds interesting,” Alex said as he ate his ravioli. “But I take it you weren’t interested in archeology?”

“Oh, I was interested enough that I took it as a minor, but I was more into German Romanticism and was fascinated with the whole Northern culture. I studied a little bit of Old English and Old Norse and I can read Old High German fairly well. I was going to get my PhD in German Literature and teach at Heidelberg, and had all these other plans and then life got in the way and here I am.”

“Hey! I thought we weren’t going to go down that road again tonight,” Alex admonished her.

“Sorry, and you’re right, so let’s change the subject and, we’d better finish up soon because the concert will be starting in a little bit.”

“We can stop for coffee and dessert afterwards if you want,” Alex suggested.

Felicity agreed and a few minutes later they were leaving. It did not escape Alex’s notice that Finlay called for his check at about the same time. “I’ll meet you there,” he said to Felicity as they went to their cars.

“See you shortly,” she replied.

The drive to the Grange Hall took only a matter of minutes and soon the two were reunited as they met at the front door to the hall. Inside, they were given programs and found seats. On the stage where Finrod had held his Court, the orchestra was tuning up. Alex took a quick moment to look around to see if anyone was there who shouldn’t be. He half-expected to see Finlay and Sakari sitting nearby and was secretly pleased when he could not find them, though he did not doubt that others were there on his behalf. He figured at least one Maia had to be lurking about, but they didn’t really count. It was the Elves he had to deal with. He did recognize a few people from the town whom he knew and Felicity waved to friends but otherwise he did not see anyone from Edhellond. Sitting down he glanced at the program, noting that it appeared to be an all-Wagner concert. The first half appeared to be overtures to some of his operas, but the second half… He frowned, wondering at the significance of the selections.

“The orchestra tends to do thematic programs,” Felicity explained, perhaps mistaking his frown for disapproval or confusion. “Last time all the music had to do with water in some form or another. I wonder why they chose Wagner this time around? He’s a bit heavy-handed, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Alex said with a shrug. “I can’t say I’ve ever gotten into opera all that much, just enough to speak about it intelligently at cocktail parties while on assignment. Or at least, that was how it was when I was stationed in Europe for a couple of years. The wannabe terrorists I hunted down in recent years weren’t all that interested in opera unless they were planning to blow up the opera house.”

The very drollness of his tone set Felicity chuckling. Then the lights began to dim and the concertmaster came out to applause and tuned the orchestra before taking her seat as first violin. A brief moment went by and then the conductor came out and soon the first notes of Wagner’s overture to Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg were being played and Alex settled in to enjoy the music. This was followed by the overture to the Flying Dutchman and then the first part of the program ended with the haunting overture to Lohengrin. As the last note was played, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause and the lights came up.

Alex and Felicity joined the line to the concession booth to purchase something to drink. “They play very well,” Alex commented. “Better than I was expecting. Wagner isn’t easy but these kids pulled it off. It will be interesting to see how the other half of the program goes.”

“They work very hard,” Felicity said, “and they have very dedicated instructors. Jack Morley, the conductor, teaches music at the local high school.”

Alex nodded, and while outwardly he appeared calm, inside he was hyperalert. Something felt off and his spidey-sense, as one of his former colleagues at the Agency called it, was suddenly in play. He made a casual sweep of the hall, trying to find the source of his unease, but everything appeared fine on the surface. They reached the head of the line and bought some wine and retired to another part of the hall where Felicity met with a couple who turned out to be neighbors of hers. She made the introductions and they spent a few minutes chatting amiably about nothing of importance. All the while, Alex remained vigilant, half regretting not having brought his gun with him, but he had left it behind at the last minute, determined to just have a normal evening with a girl and Farrell be damned.

The lights flickered and everyone began drifting back to their seats. Alex saw that the line to the gents had diminished greatly and excused himself to use the facilities, returning to his seat just as the lights dimmed. The second half of the concert appeared to be devoted to music from Wagner’s Ring cycle, beginning with the Entrance of the Gods into Valhalla from Das Rheingold. That was followed by the ever popular Ride of the Valkyries and then the haunting Magic Fire music from Die Walküre. The final selection was Siegfried’s Funeral March from Götterdämmerung, the Twilight of the Gods.

Alex was not sure if there was a message in the music or not. As the first selection progressed, he couldn’t help equating the gods of Asgard entering the newly formed Valhalla with the Valar creating Valinor. The stirring notes of the Ride of the Valkyries brought to mind the coming War for which he and all of Wiseman were preparing. He wasn’t sure of the significance, if there was any, of the Magic Fire music, where Woden places Brunnhilde in a magic sleep that would ultimately make her mortal and surrounds her with a wall of flames that only a true hero could breach, but there was no mistaking the meaning of the last piece, the slow drum beats of death and loss reverberating through the hall. He did not fear death or dying, but he did have a healthy regard for it and wished to avoid it for as long as possible, however inevitable it might be.

When the final selection ended there was a hushed pause for a long moment and then the audience leapt to its feet, giving the young players a standing ovation. It went on for several minutes, but finally the audience began making its way out of the hall and Alex and Felicity joined the exodus.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Alex said to Felicity. “I enjoyed it very much.”

“I’m glad. If you’re interested, I’ll see about getting tickets to their next concert, which is scheduled for May or June.”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

They eventually made it outside and stopped to let their eyes adjust to the darkness while they were both fishing out keys and heading for their cars, which were parked near one another.

“Hmm, I seem to be missing a glove,” Alex said, checking his pockets. “I’d better go back and see if I dropped it. Can we do coffee and dessert another time?”

“Of course,” Felicity said, and if she was disappointed, she did not show it. “I should be getting home anyway. I have to get up early tomorrow and drive over to Coldfoot. Friends of mine are expecting their first child and she’s pretty much bedridden for the next three months. I visit most Sundays, give Jonathon a break from caring for his wife while I stay with Nora.”

“You’re very giving,” Alex commented.

Felicity shrugged as if dismissing his compliment. “So, I’ll see you on Monday?”

Alex shook his head. “I won’t be in until Tuesday. I arranged my schedule to allow me a couple of days to devote to my linguistics studies. There will be times when I have to go down to Fairbanks, to the university, to consult with my advisor, so Mondays are left free to allow me time to get down there and back over a weekend.”

“Ah, yes. Okay, then. I’ll see you Tuesday. Good night.”

“Good night. Safe trip home.”

Felicity climbed into her car and he remained standing where he was, watching her, watching everything, for his sense of unease had not diminished, but neither had it increased and that bothered him. Felicity waved as she drove off and he waved back and then returned to the Hall, telling one of the ushers who tried to stop him that he was missing a glove and could he go look for it? The usher let him back in and he made his way to where he and Felicity had been seated. People were in the process of stacking the chairs but his row was still untouched. He pretended to find something on the ground in case anyone was looking and then made his way past the stage as if to go out one of the side exits. He paused just before the door leading to the back stage, the very door from which Finrod had processed at his Court, and looking around to make sure no eyes were on him, he slipped inside the room, waiting to close the door behind him before turning on the light.

Sitting in a chair facing the door was Glorfindel.

****

Nestar-in-innath: (Sindarin) Healer of minds; psychiatrist [nesta-‘to heal’ + -r ‘agental suffix’, -in- ‘of the (plural form), innath ‘minds’ (collective plural).  The Quenya equivalent would probably be inwisti-envinyatar, literally, ‘mind-mood healer’.

61: After the Concert

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find me,” Glorfindel said with a smirk before Alex could speak.

“What are you doing here?” Alex demanded angrily.

“Keeping you and everyone else safe,” Glorfindel replied calmly.

“You… alone?” Alex said, giving him a skeptical look.

“No. I had help,” Glorfindel replied.

“I saw no one. I mean, no one from Edhellond. Finlay was at the restaurant, he and Sakari. That was pretty cheap, by the way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Using Sakari that way. Finlay, yes. He’s an agent, or was, so keeping tabs on someone is second nature to him and I’m sure he didn’t mind being your eyes and ears at the restaurant, but dragging Sakari into our little cat-and-mouse game that we have going here is really low, even for you.”

“She agreed to it once we explained what we wanted,” Glorfindel said.

“Oh, really?” Alex shot him a disgusted look, not at all convinced. Then deciding not to pursue the matter further, he changed the subject. “You said you had help keeping watch. I’m assuming you mean Maiar, because I saw no one.”

“No. He means me.”

Alex actually leapt back, giving a slight gasp of shock, his heart racing, as Finrod seemed to materialize from midair. “How—? Where—?” He looked around the room as if expecting to find a secret entrance or something to explain how Finrod had not been there and then was.

Both Finrod and Glorfindel gave him amused looks and that angered him, their sense of superiority grating on his nerves. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, automatically reaching for the gun that wasn’t there, catching himself when he realized what he was doing.

“You saw no one because we did not allow you to,” Finrod said with preternatural calmness. “I have been standing in that corner there while you and Glorfindel conversed and though you looked, you did not see me.”

“That Jedi mind trick you pulled on the cops,” Alex said.

“If you wish,” Finrod replied, though Alex suspected that there was more to it than that. He decided not to pursue that subject further either. “I’ve been feeling uneasy for most of the time I’ve been here. I couldn’t pinpoint my unease. In fact, it’s still there, like an itch that can’t be scratched.”

Glorfindel gave him a concerned look, as did Finrod. Before either one could comment, the door leading to the stage opened and Elladan entered. “All clear,” he announced. “Ron called and said Felicity made it home safely.”

“Felicity?” Alex exclaimed in alarm. “What do you mean? Ron actually followed her home? How many of you are here? Where have you been? I saw no one. Finlay was so obvious, but he and Sakari never followed us to here.”

“That’s because their job was done,” Glorfindel said. “Once you left the restaurant others took over. Finlay and Sakari went back to Edhellond.”

Alex felt himself getting angrier by the minute. The whole evening had been orchestrated by the Elves. He and Felicity…. “Damn you! Damn you all!” he shouted. He flung open the door leading into the hall and stalked away, in sudden need of air. The hall was dark, everyone else having left in the meantime, but he could see the exit sign and headed for it. He never reached it.

Someone grabbed him from behind, putting him into a choke hold and placing a hand over his mouth. “Shh… be quiet, Meriwether,” Finlay whispered as he dragged Alex to the right of the exit and into deep shadow.

Alex went completely still and the pressure on his throat eased as Finlay removed his hand from his mouth. “What’s going on?” Alex whispered back as he saw Glorfindel, Finrod and Elladan exit the green room, turning off the light and heading unerringly toward them in the almost total darkness with only light from outside providing illumination. Alex could barely see his hand in front of him.

“Finlay, what are you doing here?” Glorfindel asked quietly.

“Well, I couldn’t let my good friend Meriwether have all the fun, could I?” He released Alex completely.

“It’s Grant, not Meriwether,” Alex rejoined.

“Whatever. You guys may want to be careful leaving this place. I think all the exits are being targeted.”

“If that’s true, how did you get in?” Elladan demanded. “None of our people would have allowed that.”

Alex could almost hear the smirk in Finlay’s voice. “Everyone’s so busy watching the doors, they ignore the windows. Found one that wasn’t locked.”

“Which one?” Glorfindel asked, sounding more curious than angry.

The smirk became more obvious in Finlay’s tone. “The ladies’ room. I think someone went in to sneak a cigarette during the performance. I could sort of smell the tobacco. They must’ve opened the window but forgot to lock it properly afterwards.”

Alex turned to look at Finlay, only a shadow in the darkness. “You sneaked in from the ladies’ room?”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Meriwether,” Finlay said with a chuckle. “I kept my eyes closed the whole way to the door.”

“Yeah, right,” Alex snorted in disbelief.

“Let’s take this conversation elsewhere,” Glorfindel said, then issued orders in Sindarin to Elladan who sprinted away, apparently unconcerned that the place was in near total darkness.

Alex felt Finrod take him by an arm and lead him back to the green room, while Glorfindel led Finlay. Once inside and the door shut, Glorfindel warned everyone just before he flipped the switch and the lights came on. Alex winced with momentary pain even with his eyes closed and then opened them slowly to allow them to adjust. Finlay was standing nearby blinking as well. The two Elves were quietly conversing in Quenya. Glorfindel pulled out his phone from a pocket and spoke into it for a few minutes before shutting it down.

“So what brings you here, Edward?” he asked. “Where’s Sakari?”

“Back at your place,” Finlay replied. “As for me, I got… suspicious or nervous or something and decided to see what was going on. Took me a bit to find this place or I would’ve been here earlier.”

“How do you know the exits are being targeted?” Finrod asked.

Finlay shrugged. “Not sure, but…”

“I told you I’ve been feeling uneasy since I got here,” Alex reminded the Elves, “but there was no sense of unease at the restaurant.” He turned to Finlay. “By the way, how was your dinner?”

“Excellent. A little heavy on the garlic, but otherwise, the best Italian I’ve had outside of Italy. Sakari wants to go back tomorrow night and the night after that and the night after that.” He rolled his eyes.

“If they have ravioli again, I highly recommend the lobster,” Alex said with a straight face.

“You two can discuss the menu later,” Glorfindel interjected. “Let’s concentrate on getting Alex out of here alive. We’ve been going in and out of this place all evening and have felt nothing untoward, or at least I haven’t.”

Elladan came in just then and with him were Elrohir, Prince Legolas, Valandur and Thandir.

“Mr. Finlay is correct,” Valandur said before anyone could speak. “All the exits are being watched. Thaddeus, tell them what you found.”

Thandir shrugged. “One is across the street from the parking lot, another is in the trees overlooking the exit to the north and a third is on the roof of the building to the south. The kitchen exit is being watched from the other end of the alley to the left as you leave.”

“Are they armed?” Glorfindel asked and Thandir nodded.

“So four watchers and we must assume one of them is Farrell,” Finrod said.

“Not necessarily,” Finlay said. “We don’t know how many people were involved in Farrell’s escape and Farrell likes to watch from a distance. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not even near here.”

“So how did he know where we would be?” Alex asked, perplexed. “Is there a leak somewhere?”

“Not with us,” Glorfindel said categorically.

“Yet, he somehow knew where to find me,” Alex said. “Not at the restaurant, but here, and I felt uneasy almost from the moment I parked, which means he was in place before I got here. How?”

“Have you checked your car lately?” Finlay asked.

Alex blinked at the import of Finlay’s words. “Damn! I am getting sloppy, but even if he’s planted a tracer, he can’t know ahead of time where I’m going.”

“No, but he doesn’t have to,” Finlay pointed out. “All he has to do is tap into your phone conversations if you’re using your cell phone.”

“Blast! I’d forgotten about that and I called Felicity this morning to confirm our getting together.”

“If Farrell has the ability to tap into phone conversations, he’s getting help from someone with access to the technology that allows it,” Elladan pointed out.

“You mean the Agency,” Alex said.

“Or some element within it,” Elladan said with a nod.

Silence fell as they contemplated Elladan’s words. Finally, Glorfindel stirred. “Well, if he’s tapping into our phones, he’ll get no joy from us. We’ll speak only in Sindarin or Quenya from now on.”

“That’s fine for you, but what about me or Finlay or anyone else?” Alex demanded.

“Most of our friends speak Sindarin so that won’t be a problem,” Glorfindel replied. “My suggestion is that you be circumspect in your conversations and speak only in generalities so that Farrell has no way of knowing what your plans are.”

“We need to bring him down,” Alex snarled.

“That goes without saying,” Finrod retorted.  “However, at the moment, we must deal with getting you and Mr. Finlay out of here safely.”

“Some of us could go out and neutralize them,” Thandir suggested. “They will never know we are there until it is too late.”

“That would certainly solve a lot of problems,” Glorfindel said, his brow creased with a frown as he thought things through. He turned to Finrod. “What do you think, gwador? Should we risk it?”

“And in what manner would we neutralize these people?” Finrod asked.

“Well, whatever you do with them, just don’t send them to Sakari’s village,” Finlay retorted.

“No, but if we can incapacitate them in some way so Farrell no longer has any backup…” Glorfindel said, his words trailing off into silence.

Just then, Barahir came in the room. “They’ve pulled out,” he said. “They all got in a van that was parked right next to your car, Alex.” He flashed the Mortal an ironic look.

“Cute,” Glorfindel muttered. “Okay, I guess the excitement is over. Barry, you want to ride with Alex? Edward, I assume you have your jeep. Okay, Val, go with Ed. I want Alex to be in the middle of our little convoy.”

“Ron came back here and is waiting for us with his car,” Barahir said.

“Even better,” Glorfindel said with a nod. “He can bring up the rear. Shall we go?”

Barahir led the way with Glorfindel last, turning off the light. No one bothered with flashlights if they even had them. Alex felt one of the Elves taking him by the arm and leading him directly to the exit. He had to assume someone was helping Finlay who was muttering something too low for him to hear, though from the chuckles coming from the Elves, they apparently had no trouble and found whatever the Man was saying amusing. When they reached the doors, they stopped.

“Okay, let’s keep Alex and Ed in the middle. Ed, where are you parked?”

“To the right as you exit.”

“We’ll head that way first. You and Val get into the jeep and bring it over to where Alex is parked. Roy, here are the keys to the van.” He handed a set of keys to the ellon and as they all exited, Elrohir headed away from them, keeping to the shadows. Finlay’s jeep was about twenty yards away. Alex felt every inch of it and was half-expecting to hear bullets flying, but the night was quiet. They reached the jeep and as soon as Finlay and Val got in the others headed directly to Alex’s car, parked in the opposite direction and closer to the street. Another vehicle came toward them showing no lights and then it stopped a couple of feet away. Alex realized it was Glorfindel’s van. Vorondur’s car was parked beside Alex’s. Vorondur was kneeling in the snow flashing a light under the carriage.

“I have not found anything suspicious yet,” he said, not even looking up as he continued to examine the underside of the car. “Ah, yes!” He reached under and pulled something out, rising to shine his flashlight on whatever was in his hand. Alex leaned closer and recognized it as a tracer.

“Nasty little buggers,” Vorondur said with a grin and then dropped it onto the ground and stomped on it.

By now Finlay was there with his jeep, his window rolled down. “Okay, let’s roll,” Glorfindel said. “Alex, follow the van. Ed, you follow Alex. Ron, bring up the rear. You have the walkie-talkie? Good. Holler if you notice a tail. Stay on Orion and go straight over to Aurora rather than taking Morningside, then take North Wingate and come onto Sycamore from there.” With that, he headed for the van with the others, leaving Alex and Barahir to get into Alex’s car. A minute later, with headlights on, the van rolled out of the parking lot with Alex directly behind. He glanced into his rearview mirror and saw the jeep and then Vorondur’s car pulling out onto the street.

Traffic at that hour was relatively light and the route Glorfindel had mapped out avoided traffic lights, so no one was forced to stop for a red light and be left behind. Alex kept his focus on the van and he was grateful that Barahir remained silent. It took them about five minutes longer to reach Edhellond than normally, but eventually they all pulled into the drive and Alex breathed a sigh of relief as he parked the car and climbed out. The front door opened to reveal Daeron waiting for them. Barahir grabbed Alex and pushed him down.

“Don’t make yourself a target,” the Elf said and Alex walked in a crouched position with Barahir keeping a hand on his shoulder to help him maintain balance. All the other Elves surrounded them and Daeron stepped back as Alex and Barahir entered. Alex stayed crouched but moved to sit on the stairs out of the way as the others came in and only when Glorfindel and Finrod, bringing up the rear, entered and the door was closed did he get up and doff his coat.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he said as he handed his coat to Barahir who hung it up for him.

“Perhaps, but you made it home alive and that is all that matters, is it not?” Finrod asked and Alex could only nod in agreement.

“I have some hot chocolate on the stove if anyone is interested,” Daeron said and several people, including Alex, voiced their thanks to the suggestion.

“Where’s Sakari?” Finlay asked, sounding worried.

Daeron smiled at him. “She is in your bedroom waiting for you. Why don’t you bring her up some hot chocolate? I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

”Yeah, sure,” Finlay said, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Come on, then, and you can tell me all about the concert, Alex.”

“Don’t you want to hear about how we foiled Farrell’s plans?” Glorfindel asked.

“Bah! I’m sure you pulled it off with your usual aplomb, Loren,” Daeron said dismissively. “I’m more interested in hearing about the concert.”

“Spoken like a true bard,” Valandur said with a grin and everyone else chuckled as they headed down the hall to the kitchen with Alex describing the program.

“Wagner, huh?” Daeron said as they entered the kitchen. “The second half of the program sounds… significant.” He went to the stove and began ladling hot chocolate into mugs. Elrohir helped him.

“I wondered about that myself, but really, that’s getting a bit paranoid, isn’t it?” Alex exclaimed as he accepted a mug from Elrohir, liberally topped with homemade whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg.

Daeron shrugged. “Perhaps. If you were to assign any significance to the program, what would it be?”

“Well, let’s see, the first piece reminded me of the Valar sitting safely on their thrones in Valinor, while the second one obviously represents the coming war. Not sure about the Magic Fire music, though. Brunnhilde becomes Mortal afterwards, right? And she’s the one who deliberately rides her horse into Siegfried’s funeral pyre with that ring everyone was all hot after, thereby cleansing it of its curse. So does that mean it’s going to take Mortals to win this War and we’ll have to sacrifice everything, including our lives, to do it?” He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. No one commented. “But the last piece is real obvious. Apparently, no one gets out alive and like all good opera, everyone dies at the end.”

“Except, if that is so, who’s lit the funeral pyre?” Daeron asked with a lift of an eyebrow.

“Maybe the Valar sitting pretty in Valinor,” Alex retorted.

“You sound very bitter,” Vorondur commented, his eyes narrowing.

“Shouldn’t I be? I can’t turn around without one of you lot or the Maiar in my face. And we all know you take your orders from the Valar.”

“As do you,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“No. I take my orders from me.”

“You are not a lone wolf, Alex,” Valandur said. “You are a part of this team and under my and Amroth’s command.”

“I agreed to help you, I said nothing about taking orders from you,” Alex exclaimed hotly.

“Man, Meriwether, you are one obnoxious little twit, aren’t you?” Finlay said with a shake of his head. “Don’t glower at me boy. I don’t know half of what you-all are going on about, but I know this much and it’s as plain as the nose on your face: you’ve been recruited to their cause and while you’re all for it, you resent the hell out of it and them.”

“What do you know about it, Ed?” Alex demanded.

“I know this much, kid. You were a big fish in a little pond when you were with the Agency. Everyone thought you were a regular hero and you knew it. I even overheard a couple of women wondering if you stood in front of your bathroom mirror going, ‘Bond, James Bond’ before you left on an assignment.” He grinned and some of the Elves, understanding the reference, grinned as well. Alex started to protest but Finlay raised his hand. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’ve started to believe your own propaganda but now you find yourself in a bigger pond and you’re no longer king and that rankles. Well, welcome to my world, Meriwether. Oh, thanks.” This last was directed at Elrohir handing him a couple of mugs. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a lady waiting and that’s never a good thing to do.”

All the Elves chuckled and wished the Mortal a good night as he headed up the back stairs. Alex just stood there glaring at them all. The Elves effectively ignored him, all of them concentrating on their hot chocolates, though Alex had the feeling they were all watching him. He drained his mug and set it on the kitchen island.

“I’m going to bed,” he muttered. “Good night.”

“Good night,” they all said.

Alex hesitated. “You’re not going to insist we talk about this?” he asked.

Vorondur shrugged. “Only if you want to, Alex. We’re not your masters. We can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, including being a team player. If you insist on going your own way, then you effectively lose all support from us and the Valar. You might want to keep that in mind. Now, why don’t you go and get a good night’s sleep? Perhaps you’ll feel differently about things in the morning. And, as far as the concert is concerned, I wouldn’t worry about its significance, because there is none.”

“How do you know?” Alex asked.

“Because, as Sigmund would say, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Now, good night.”

Alex nodded and headed up the stairs, thinking over what Vorondur had said. He went through his nightly routine and was soon climbing into bed, turning off the light. He lay there staring up at the ceiling for some time, going over the night’s events and all that had been said and done. Eventually, he fell asleep, his last thoughts centered around Felicity Cohen.

62: Midnight Conversations with the ap Hywel Brothers

Amroth stared at the computer screen as he listened to Glorfindel’s account of what had happened and shook his head.

“Fool of a boy!” he muttered, though he knew Glorfindel would hear. Glorfindel grinned.

“He is young, at least by our standards,” Glorfindel commented. “I know by Mortal standards he’s way too old for his age. He’s seen and done too much.”

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t excuse his attitude. I taught him better than that.” Amroth sighed. “I think I made a mistake leaving the Agency when I did. If I’d stayed…”

“You and Della would never have met again,” Glorfindel said categorically. “Don’t beat yourself up, Amroth. The past, as Lord Námo is always at pains to remind us, is just that: the past. It cannot be altered nor can it be retrieved. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a Reborn is that now is all that counts. In fact, now is all we’re given. We, none of us, are ever promised the next five minutes, so concentrate on the moment. We’ll keep an eye on Alex. I think he’s feeling at sea right now because Derek isn’t here to be his anchor.”