1: Deck the Halls

“Oh come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant….”

Finrod stood beside the front door of Edhellond with some of the others, listening to the carol being sung by a group of children with a couple of adults acting as chaperones. It was the third such group of singers in as many days. It was now the third day of the month that Mortals called December and the Elves called Ringarë and Christmas was three weeks away. 

As he listened to the caroling, Finrod pondered the magical change that had come upon Wiseman almost overnight. Late in the afternoon of the day after he had held his Court, the Elves had gathered with the good folk of Wiseman in the central square of the town where a large conifer, easily seventy feet high and which Glorfindel said was a Norway spruce, had been raised. The Elves recently come from Valinor were somewhat mystified by all the excitement that was evident as townspeople huddled in their coats patiently waiting for something to happen while children ran hither and yon. A band was playing somewhere and when he had asked, Daeron had explained that it was very special music played only during this time of year. Then, the band went silent and the mayor came forward giving a mercifully short speech of welcome before flipping a switch. Finrod was not the only one to gasp in utter amazement as the tree suddenly blazed with light. There was much oohing and aahing among the Mortals and everyone clapped and then to Finrod’s amazement, they all broke out into song. 

“O Tannebaum, O Tannebaum, how lovely are your branches….”

Even the Wiseman Elves were singing, which amazed him even more. Glorfindel, standing next to him, had glanced his way, giving him a wink, his face wreathed with a wide smile. Afterwards, there was hot chocolate or mulled cider, courtesy of the Gold Nugget Café, and Finrod was formally introduced to the mayor, Harry Whitman, by Glorfindel. It had been then that the mayor had invited him to join the town council, along with Glorfindel and Daeron, and he had accepted, with the proviso that he would act only as an observer, for he was too new to this world to offer any real advice. Mayor Whitman seemed content with that and told them that the council meetings were scheduled for the second Wednesday of each month. 

Over the next week, Finrod had observed the transformation of the town as people began putting up lights and decorating their front lawns with the most interesting (and to his mind, ridiculous) adornments. He was even more nonplused when Elrohir and Serindë began bringing several boxes down from the attic and pulling out their own decorations, stringing up strands of colored lights along the eaves of the roof and placing two large lighted stars on either side of the gate that was never closed. A balsam wreath was also hung on the front door decorated with red ribbon and pine cones. 

Inside, the house was also transformed, with swags of balsam tied with red ribbon gracing the balustrade of the front stairs and on every mantelpiece. Red, green and white candles were brought out and placed in silver candleholders and bowls of potpourri were placed strategically throughout the mansion, infusing the air with the scent of roses and peppermint and spices. 

Findalaurë, Calandil, Elennen and Nielluin, being the youngest among them, had become very enthusiastic about helping with the decorating while Daeron taught them all a few Christmas carols. Glorfindel also taught them some carols, though they were rather ridiculous, not at all solemn and joyful as the ones Daeron sang. He had to admit, though, that they were rather hilarious, especially the one about the reindeer with the shiny nose. He and the others had been quite amused by the ‘Glorfi’ version as Elladan had so cheekily put it when he and his twin had sung it, much to Glorfindel’s embarrassment. 

Valandur had admitted to him later that his personal favorite was ‘Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer’. “Especially the bit about not trusting someone who played with Elves,” he had said with a sly wink and Finrod had laughed. “Indeed,” was his only comment. 

“…We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year….”

Finrod brought himself out of his reverie as the last carol was being sung. When the children had finished, he and the others clapped their appreciation. 

“Come in, come in,” Glorfindel gestured to them. “We have some hot cider for you to warm you up before you go to the next house.” 

There were cries of appreciation and soon the front hall of Edhellond was crowded with children and their adult chaperones stamping their feet and clapping their mittened and gloved hands to warm them while Finrod and the others handed out the cider. He listened to Daeron speaking to the two adults. 

“We’re from Our Lady of Snows,” one of them was saying and Finrod recognized it as the name of one of the… churches, if he remembered the name correctly. “These are members of the children’s choir.” 

“They have lovely voices,” Daeron said politely, giving the children a fond look. 

Finrod felt someone tug on his arm and he looked down to see one of the children, a boy, staring up at him. “Are you really a king?” he asked, looking somewhat skeptical. 

“Travis,” one of the chaperones admonished, sounding shocked and embarrassed, “do not be rude.” 

“It is quite all right,” Finrod said mildly, giving them a smile. It was not surprising that the child would be curious about him. He gave the boy a nod. “Yes, or rather, I once was a king, but my kingdom was destroyed long, long ago.” 

“Is that why you don’t wear a crown anymore?” Travis asked. “Kings are supposed to wear a crown. That’s how you know they’re kings and not just anyone.” 

Finrod stole a glance at his fellow Elves and saw the amusement in their eyes. When he looked down at the child he wasn’t at all surprised to see expectant expressions on the faces of the other children. Obviously, they were just as curious. 

“Yes, that is why. Without a kingdom, I have no crown, so now I am just like everyone else.” 

“No you’re not,” said a girl with a disdainful sniff. She looked to be a little older than the boy. “You’re Finrod Felagund. We read about you in our History of Middle-earth class. You’re famous.” She gave him a brilliant smile and he was unsure how to deal with the hero-worshipping look she and others gave him. He was saved the trouble by one of the Mortal adults thanking the Elves for the cider. “We still have two more blocks of houses to get to,” he said. 

“Thank you for stopping and singing for us,” Glorfindel said graciously as he opened the door and the Mortals began filing out. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” they all echoed back, waving farewell, and then the door was closing and the Elves were left to themselves. 

“And this happens every year?” Finrod asked as he and the others began collecting empty plastic cups which would be washed and dried and ready for the next batch of singers, for he had been warned that there would be many more groups of carolers between now and Christmas. 

“Apparently,” Glorfindel answered. “You have to understand that this is only our second Christmas here at Edhellond and last year I think we had only about three or four groups of carolers at our door the entire season. I have a feeling your Court last week forced some hard truths upon the good people of Wiseman and these carolers are a small way of them letting us know that we are accepted as part of their community.” 

“It is something I had hoped to instill in them,” Finrod said as he helped himself to some of the leftover cider. “I know you and the others have not had it easy here and that you have achieved as much as you have in this short time is nothing short of miraculous. You should all be very proud of yourselves.” 

“But? I know there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere,” Glorfindel said with a slight frown. 

Finrod raised an eyebrow in surprise. “There is no ‘but’, gwador. I meant what I said: you all have much to be proud of. You, not I, have been the ambassadors of the Eldar and the Valar to the good people of Wiseman and the surrounding towns. You, not I, have befriended these people, gotten them to work with you, to allow you to take over Elf Academy and turn it into a training school for the Dagor Dagorath. All I have done is driven home to the Mortals the importance of choosing which side they wish to be on.” 

Glorfindel and some of the other Wiseman Elves still looked dubious and Finrod resisted a sigh. Draining his cup of cider, he placed it in the dishwasher along with the others. “I will rest now,” he said. 

Now his fellow Elves gave him worried looks. Findalaurë wrapped his arms around him. “Are you well, Atto?” he asked. “You do look a bit pale. Does your wound still trouble you?” 

Finrod gave his youngest child a smile. “Do not worry so for me, Finda. This is no worse a wound than the many I received in the Dagor Bragollach.” He chuckled. “Indeed, I ended up breaking my leg at one point and had to hop on one foot to safety.” 

Laurendil snickered, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And your atto is a very good hopper.” 

Findalaurë gave Laurendil a disbelieving look but did not dispute the older Elf’s words. “At any rate, I desire to rest for a time,” Finrod said. 

“Then you should,” Laurendil said, his demeanor more grave as he gave Finrod his best ‘your-healer-is-not-happy’ look. “I am only just beginning to understand just how perilously close to dying you came, Aranya.” He shook his head. “The weapons these Mortals wield in this time are surely inventions of the orcs.” 

“In that you may be correct,” Daeron said with a grim smile. “But do not dismiss the imaginations of the Mortals. They have proven themselves quite capable of inventing infernal devices that are simply appalling and one has to wonder just how sane any of them are these days.” 

“A discussion for another time, though,” Vorondur said. “This is supposed to be a season of peace and light. Even the Mortals, who are so in love with killing each other, will stop their petty squabbles during this time and the prayers of many will be directed to the One that someday peace will finally come.” 

“Peace, like hope, is a fleeting commodity in this world,” Nimrodel said with a snort. She placed a hand on her belly that was only just beginning to round with pregnancy. Amroth, his arms around her, kissed her on the temple. 

“And yet, we who stand here tonight are a testament that both are achievable, else the Valar would not have sent us to secure that hope and that peace, though we must come through death and destruction first to do so,” Finrod said. He shook his head. “Well, as Vorondur said, a discussion for another time.” He gave them a brief bow and headed for the back stairs that would lead to his room. Findalaurë followed him in case he required any assistance. He still had trouble with his left arm and was still doing exercises to strengthen it. Soon though, he was lying in bed, slipping onto the Path of Dreams. 

**** 

He woke to the smell of something delicious baking and quickly went through his ablutions before heading downstairs. It was nearly eight by the clock and he was surprised he had slept for so long. His wound was still taking its toll and the discussion they had had last night had weighed heavily upon him. He stopped on the landing to look out the small window that offered illumination there. The grounds were covered with snow, white and pristine. The trees were also snow-covered and the sky was clear. It was still dark out, for at this time of the year sunrise was still a couple or so hours away. He could see over the walls surrounding Edhellond and smiled as he noted a group of children bundled up so only their eyes were visible, pulling sleds, obviously on their way to the sledding hill, as it was called. He had seen the children playing there under the watchful eyes of some of their parents and had wished to join them. Glorfindel assured him that there would be plenty of time for such foolishness, as he put it, “once you are fully healed, and not before.” Finrod had the grace to accept that, knowing the truth of his gwador’s words. 

“Good morning.” 

Finrod pulled his gaze away from the window to see Glorfindel standing there dressed in his Elf Guide outfit, smiling up at him. 

“Good morning. I did not realize you were scheduled to act as a guide today.” 

“Normally, I am not, but Derek called last night after you went to bed to ask if I would take his shift today. His father flies into Fairbanks later today and he wants to go down to meet him. Alex is also off today so he’s going with him to keep him company. They’ll stay the night and return tomorrow.” 

Finrod nodded. “I am still not used to the idea of anyone being able to travel so swiftly.” 

Glorfindel just shrugged and Finrod realized that he and the other Wiseman Elves had watched these Mortals take their first tentative steps into flight. He felt a sense of… betrayal? He wasn’t sure. It seemed that his gwador had had far more interesting experiences here in Ennorath than he had had in Valinor. 

“Why don’t you come with me?” 

Finrod blinked, forcing himself to focus on Glorfindel. He found lately that he was having difficulty focusing on anything for any length of time. The Court had been far more a strain on him than he had let on and for some reason he was now feeling depressed. “Is that allowed?” he asked. “The Valar…” 

“Do not ever dictate to me,” Glorfindel said darkly. “I spent millennia without their interference and I am not about to let them dictate to me this late in the day. I take everything they say under advisement and while I have normally agreed with their suggestions, I do not automatically accept them.” He paused and his mien became less forbidding. “Come with me, gwador,” he pleaded. “I think you need this.” 

“How will you explain me? And I do not have an outfit such as yours.” 

Now Glorfindel’s expression brightened. “You are an apprentice Elf, of course, learning the ropes from your master. And I think Elrohir’s outfit will fit you well enough. Now, I have to leave in about fifteen minutes, so best to hurry.” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Yes, Master. Anything you say, Master.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Glorfindel said facetiously and Finrod laughed. 

“I’ll just track down Elrohir and I will be ready when you are.” 

“He’s in the kitchen. Oh, and Finda and his gwedyr are in town doing some Christmas shopping with Jud.” 

“Christmas shopping?” 

“Buying gifts to give to their friends and family,” Glorfindel said. “I gave them each plenty of money to buy small gifts, assuming they find anything they think will suit.” 

“I had not thought of that,” Finrod said with a frown as he descended the stairs. He sighed. “I will have to think of my own gifts.” 

“You are gift enough, gwador,” Glorfindel said, giving him a hug. “You are our greatest gift, you and those who came with you. Never doubt that.” 

Finrod gave him a shrewd look. “And do you have a gift for me?” 

“Yes, I do and no, I won’t tell you what it is. You’ll just have to wait and see like everyone else. Now, stop wasting time. I’ll go warm the van.” With that, he stepped outside and Finrod went down the hall in search of a quick breakfast and Elrohir. 

**** 

They drove down the James Dalton Highway in silence, Finrod staring out the window at the stark scenery, lost in thought, while Glorfindel kept his eyes on the road. They were headed south to the Northern Lights Holiday Resort to spend the day guiding the Taylor family from someplace called Homer, a town in southern Alaska. They had apparently arrived the evening before and were due to return home on Monday. 

“We get plenty of day-trippers, as we call them,” Glorfindel said, breaking the silence between them. “They are our bread-and-butter, so to speak, for those who come from further afield are not as plentiful and these last few years have been hard economically, so fewer people are spending hard-earned money on such trips.” 

“Will that prove troublesome for us?” Finrod asked. 

“Not sure,” Glorfindel said with a shrug. “The economy is sluggish, but we are actually seeing more tourism here than in previous years. It was why Elf Academy was established in the first place. The resorts here have been really pushing to draw people here and many are willing to come, if only for a day or two. Here, take a look at Derek’s plan.” He nodded to a file folder sitting between them and Finrod opened it. The Taylors had three children between the ages of ten and fourteen. They weren’t at all interested in meeting Santa, the children all deeming themselves too old for it, but they were interested in doing the same things as all other Mortal children: sleigh riding, husky sledding and snowshoe walking through the wilderness. There was even a stop to visit the ice maze. 

“Do you remember the mazes the Valar have?” he asked as he put the folder aside. 

Glorfindel chuckled. “Oh yes, especially that one of Námo’s. That Vala is one crazy dude, as the Mortals would say.” 

“I sincerely hope you don’t tell him that to his face,” Finrod said with a wry look. 

“I’m not that stupid or suicidal,” Glorfindel retorted. “Ah, here we are.” 

Finrod looked out the window and saw they had arrived at the resort. Quickly parking the van, they climbed out and headed inside where they were greeted by Marty, the resort owner. “I told Derek not to sweat it,” Marty said after Glorfindel introduced him to Finrod and explained why they were there. “He’s a good worker. I’m seriously considering hiring him full time.” 

“I think he would appreciate the offer,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “Derek is… special.” 

“Aren’t we all?” Marty retorted and there was no flippancy in his tone. Then he turned to Finrod and to the Elf’s surprise gave him a bow that was anything but awkward. “I am honored to meet you at last, my Lord Finrod. If there is anything you require of me or my people, you need only ask.” 

“Thank you,” Finrod replied, feeling suddenly humble. The Man had only met him and already he was pledging himself and his employees to his cause. It defied explanation, but he accepted it for the gift that it was. He was suddenly reminded of Barahir and had to force himself not to lose himself in that particular memory. 

“Well, we need to find the Taylors,” Glorfindel said, “and get on the road.” 

“Barney is your driver,” Marty said. “He’s got the van all ready for whenever you want to leave. Ah, here are the Taylors.” 

Finrod saw a family approach them, the father and mother looking a bit bemused, while the three children merely gawked at them as they approached. Glorfindel turned to them and gave them his warmest smile, placing his hand over his heart and giving them a courteous bow. 

“Mae govannen, mellyn nîn. I am your Elf Guide, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, and this is Finrod, who is an apprentice Elf Guide. He will be joining us for the day.” 

Finrod gave them his own bow. “The blessings of the Belain and the One be upon you.” 

“Bell…ein?” one of the children, a girl-child, asked, sounding the word out. 

“The Powers,” Glorfindel answered before Finrod could. “What you would probably call archangels.” 

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” the mother said. “Thank you.” 

Finrod refused to look at Glorfindel. Whatever the Valar were, ‘sweet’ was not a word he would ever have associated with them. 

“Then, if you are ready, we will go,” Glorfindel said smoothly. “I understand you wish to do some husky sledding. We can do that here and then we will go on to reindeer sleighing. We can visit the ice maze afterwards and then have lunch. After that, we will do some snowshoe walking. Does that meet with your approval?” 

“Yes, yes, it does. Thank you,” the children’s father said. “Lead on.” 

“Have fun,” Marty said with a smile as he left them to their own devices and in a short amount of time, they were outside with Glorfindel showing them how to hitch up the dog teams that were waiting for them. 

The day continued with one activity after another, the children full of excitement and the parents actually relaxing. Finrod found himself joining Glorfindel in teaching them a hymn to Elbereth as they traveled to their next destination and the ice maze found him laughing and making a game of chasing the children as they sought the center. When the day ended and they had said farewell to the Taylors, Finrod gave a contented sigh as he and Glorfindel climbed into the van and headed back to Wiseman. In spite of the fact that his shoulder ached from the stress of using it, he was in high spirits. 

“Thank you,” he said simply. “I am glad I came.” 

Glorfindel gave him a smile. “And I’m glad you had such a good time. When was the last time you played catch-me as you did with the children today?” 

“Too long ago,” Finrod admitted. 

“Well, if you’re at all interested, when I have to play Elf Guide again, you’re welcome to come along.” 

“Perhaps I will,” Finrod said. 

And the rest of the drive home was spent discussing what activities Glorfindel’s next family was interested in doing. By the time they got home it was several hours after dark but a hot meal was waiting for them and Finrod was encouraged by Finda to describe the tour. Several of the others gathered around to hear him speak. The satisfied looks that passed between Glorfindel, Daeron, Vorondur and Valandur as he regaled them with his tale did not escape his notice but he chose to ignore them. If today had been a plot on their part to get him out of his dark mood, then it had succeeded and he was grateful. Perhaps in the ensuing weeks he might even find joy again. 

**** 

Gwador: (Sindarin) Sworn Brother. The plural is gwedyr. 

Atto: (Quenya) Hypocoristic form of atar: Father. The Sindarin forms are adar/ada. 

Dagor Bragollach: (Sindarin) Battle of Sudden Flame, the fourth of the five great Battles of Beleriand. It was in this battle that Finrod was rescued by Barahir and gave him his ring as pledge of friendship, a pledge Barahir’s son, Beren, later redeemed. 

Aranya (Quenya): My king; Laurendil’s usual title for Finrod.

2: Away in a Manger

The next morning found Finrod sitting in the sunroom alone, looking out and thinking. The place was eerily quiet with most everyone out. Glorfindel and Daeron had some Academy business to attend to and had left early. Others had gone their separate ways: Elrohir and Serindë were apartment hunting and Elladan had gone with them. Amroth and Nimrodel were out taking a walk, a daily ritual. Most of the healers were either at St. Luke’s or the college clinic. He had no idea where his son and his gwedyr had disappeared to, or Nielluin… 

He paused in his ruminations. Nell had surprised him when she had asked Glorfindel about enrolling in the Northern Lights College’s Child Care program, a certificate program for people interested in working in daycare centers caring for young children while their parents were at work, or so his gwador had said. It was a complete turn-around and while he approved her decision, he was not sure he accepted her transformation as being entirely genuine. She was, after all, his sister’s daughter. Artanis had been willful as an elflling and that hadn’t changed even if her name had. 

Oh well… He would have to wait and see. He had noticed that his niece had been less eager to voice her opinions about things mortal and that was an improvement. He was tired of having to come up with suitable punishments for her or anyone else for that matter. Amarië kept insisting he should write a book to keep track of the types of punishments he meted out. 

“Then you can refer to it when you run out of ideas,” she had said with a laugh and he had laughed with her. 

He chuckled now at the memory and then looked about, listening carefully, for he could hear music coming from somewhere. He stood and wandered out, making his way downstairs where the music was louder. He followed the sound until he came to the room which only a week ago he had used as a bedroom until he was strong enough to manage the stairs. Now the room had been transformed back to its original purpose and he belatedly remembered Glorfindel calling it the ‘music room’. 

The door was partly open and he quietly came to it, peeking in. He saw Vorondur sitting before a strange looking instrument, running his fingers over it, pressing down on white and black keys, which created the music. He forgot what the instrument was called and this was the first time he had ever heard anyone playing it. He stood there, mesmerized, wondering if the music had been composed by a Mortal. It sounded too Elvish, but he was unsure. 

“Well, my lord, would you like to come all the way in?” 

Finrod started and then tried not to blush as he opened the door and entered. Vorondur looked up with a smile, never stopping his playing. 

“Forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you,” Finrod said apologetically. 

“You are not disturbing me.” 

“What are you playing?” 

“‘Claire de Lune’. It means ‘Moonlight’ in French. Composed by a Mortal named Debussy.” 

“Moonlight. Yes, I can almost see it rippling across water. I did not think Mortals could create something so….” 

“Elvish?” Vorondur supplied with a twinkle in his eyes as he came to the final chords of the music and then sat quietly as the music faded away. “Mortals are as capable of creating sublime beauty as we.” 

“And equally capable of creating horrors unimagined,” Finrod retorted. 

Vorondur gave him a considering look. “And we are not?” he asked. “You know better than most how untrue that is. Alqualondë, Doriath, the Havens of Sirion. We’ve had our own share of madness.” 

“True,” Finrod said with a sigh. 

“You are depressed,” Vorondur said and Finrod gave him an arch look. Vorondur grinned. “It’s not a dirty word, your Highness. Depression is a common ailment among Mortals, especially this time of year. When I was in private practice, this was often my busiest time.” 

“I am not depressed nor am I Mortal,” Finrod retorted. 

“Depression is not an exclusively Mortal malady, Finrod,” Vorondur said, his expression more… clinical and Finrod belatedly remembered that the ellon was as much a healer as Laurendil and Vardamir and the twin sons of Elrond. “You suffered a grave injury and are only recently recovered, physically, at least. How are your nightmares?” 

“I have not had any lately,” Finrod replied without thinking. 

“But you have had them,” Vorondur insisted, “and they most likely center around being shot, do they not?” 

Finrod stared at him in surprise. “How….?” 

“You forget, my lord, I’ve had millennia to observe Mortals and their coping mechanisms. Elves are not that much different and they can be as psychologically burdened as any. Your own uncle is proof of that.” He shook his head. “If either Freud or Jung had met Fëanor they would have had a field day, as the saying goes.” 

“And who are these Men you mention?” Finrod asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from him. Vorondur sounded uncannily like Lord Irmo at his best, or worst. 

“Hmm? Oh, they were Mortals who lived not long ago who are considered the founders of modern-day psychoanalysis. I met them both and it was actually Jung who encouraged me to attend medical school and earn my degree as a psychiatrist. Before that, I had spent much of my time wandering the globe and observing Mortals and how they acted and interacted as a way of understanding my own motivations. I was an anthropologist and sociologist, long before those terms were ever invented. But enough about me. We were talking about you.” 

Finrod sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am not depressed,” he insisted. “I am just….” But he did not have the words for what he was feeling at the moment. “I remember at times feeling this way when I was newly reborn.” 

Vorondur nodded. “Yes, Loren has told me much about that and it is understandable why you would feel depressed on occasion then, just as it is understandable why you feel depressed now. If you were Mortal, I would prescribe medication, but they would not work on you or rather they would but we probably wouldn’t enjoy the results, nor would you. What did they do in Lórien when any of you Reborn were in a depressed mood?” 

“Usually had us painting,” Finrod replied with a snort of amusement. “I hated that class.” 

Vorondur chuckled as he stood up from the piano. “So Loren said. Well, unfortunately our time is up for I promised Holly I would join her, Amroth and Della for lunch and then we’re going to look at some houses. Will you be all right here?” 

“Yes, of course,” Finrod said. “I will be fine. Have no concerns for me. I may take a walk in the woods.” 

“An excellent idea,” Vorondur said. “You know how to reach Loren if you need to or Darren?” 

Finrod nodded and he followed Vorondur to the front hall. “Enjoy your lunch and good luck with the house hunting,” he said as the other ellon set off, having decided to walk into town. Finrod closed the door and sighed, wondering how he was going to make it through the rest of the day. 

**** 

In the end, he grabbed his cloak and set off, not for the woods behind the house but for the college and the woods there. Glorfindel had, of course, introduced him to them soon after they had come to Wiseman but he had not had an opportunity to actually explore them. He knew the route to take from Edhellond to the college and took his time, refusing to rush, admiring the scenery. The mountains of the Brooks Range rose above him to the west and he was reminded of the Pelóri, though these were not nearly as tall or sheer. But they were beautiful and the grandeur of them nearly left him breathless. 

There were few pedestrians and even fewer vehicles, for he knew that the children were still in school and most people were at work, but the one or two people he met along the way gave him cheery smiles and often wished him a Merry Christmas, which sentiment he returned. Eventually, he reached the college bounds and headed straight for the woods. Almost as soon as he entered them, he felt his spirits rise and tension he hadn’t realized he was feeling melted away, leaving him feeling lightheaded. He leaned against one of the trees and breathed in the clean pine scent that filled the air, closing his eyes. It was some time before he stirred and when he opened his eyes… 

“My Lord Fionwë,” he said in surprise, giving the Maia a bow. 

Fionwë smiled at the erstwhile King of Nargothrond. “Greetings, Findaráto. I understand you’re feeling depressed.” 

Finrod sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am not depressed, I am just…” But he still could not put a name to the feelings and he ended up shrugging, grimacing at the tightness of his left shoulder. He gave the Maia a shrewd look. “I suppose you are here to tell me to cheer up?” 

“Furthest thing from my mind,” Fionwë said with a laugh. “As much as I would like to, I cannot order you to be happy, no one can. No, I am here for a different purpose.” 

“And what is that?” 

Instead of answering, the Maia gestured. “Walk with me, Findaráto.” 

Finrod fell into step with the Maia, who led him back out of the woods and along one of the walkways that intersected the various college buildings. Young Mortals hurried about, no doubt heading for classes. None of them gave him or Fionwë a glance and he suspected that the Maia was preventing any of the Mortals from seeing them. He forebore to ask where the Maia was taking him, knowing that he would most likely not get an answer that was at all informative. 

They finally reached their destination, a low single-story log building with stained-glass windows. There was a sign which declared that this was the Interfaith Chapel. Finrod gave Fionwë a puzzled look. 

“A place of prayer and meditation as well as for worshiping the One,” the Maia said, opening the door. “This chapel is open to all regardless of their particular faith tradition.” 

“And why are we here?” 

“That should be obvious, Child,” Fionwë said. “Come.” 

Finrod entered the chapel and stopped to look about. It was not overly large and he thought it might not hold even a hundred people. The walls were whitewashed and there was a light, airy feel to the place. The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows created miniature rainbows. Long benches on either side of a central aisle took up the bulk of the space. On a dais opposite the entry was a stone table adorned simply with a low vase of flowers between two unlit white candles. On the wall behind the table was a mosaic that showed no particular scene but was full of light and color in a pattern that was pleasing and restful to the eyes. But it was what stood in front of the table that drew Finrod’s eyes, for it seemed totally out of place. It appeared to be a replica of a straw-strewn cave with a trough set in the center. There was a ceramic donkey nestled in the midst of the straw. 

“It is a stable,” Fionwë said, answering his unasked question. 

“A stable? It looks like a cave.” 

“Yes. In some churches you will find a replica of a wooden structure instead, but in all cases they are called The Stable.” 

“You make it sound as if it were special.” 

Fionwë gave him a brilliant smile. “It is, for in this stable came this world’s greatest gift.” 

“It’s empty, except for the donkey,” Finrod couldn’t help pointing out, giving the Maia a grin. “I hope you’re not saying the world’s greatest gift was a donkey.” 

Fionwë laughed. “No. As the days towards Christmas advance, other figures will be placed in and around this stable. The Gift will be revealed on Christmas Eve.” 

“And what exactly is this gift?” 

“Ah, you’ll just have to wait and see,” Fionwë answered. “In the meantime, I challenge you, Findaráto, to discover what the Gift is and what it means to this world. Perhaps, in seeking for the Gift, you will find an answer to your own malady.” 

“What malady?” Finrod demanded, feeling confused. “I am not ill, my lord.” 

“No. You are simply depressed and you are not sure why. You look about you and you see the excitement of the Mortals, even the excitement of the Wiseman Elves, as I believe young Alex likes to call them, and you are not sure why they are so excited. You see the lights and you hear the carols but you do not totally understand what they are all about. I am giving you a challenge, to discover for yourself the meaning of Christmas.” 

“Do you not think I know what it means? Glorfindel has explained…” 

“He has explained the outer reasons for this holiday, but it is for you to learn the deeper meaning. It is not really something anyone can relate to another, it is something that you must come to realize for yourself. By all means, pester your gwador and others for information, but keep your eyes and your heart open for what cannot be taught through words. Now, it is nearly time for the noon meal. I will escort you to the Academy where you will find your gwador and the loremaster. They will be surprised and pleased to see you, for they have been worried about you.” 

“Why? I am fine,” Finrod protested. 

“No, Child, you are not, but you will be in time,” Fionwë said gently. “Shall we go?” 

Finrod nodded and they left the chapel, making their way across the campus to the Academy. At the front door, Fionwë stopped and gave Finrod a smile. “And here I leave you, but know that I am not far away.” With that, he turned and walked away, fading into the fabric of the universe. None of the Mortals who were walking about even noticed. 

Finrod went inside and walked down the corridor to Glorfindel’s office where he saw his gwador and Daeron standing outside talking. They looked up and gave him surprised smiles. 

“What are you doing here?” Glorfindel asked. 

“I was in the woods and decided to hunt you up,” Finrod answered, deciding not to mention a certain Maia. 

“We were about to go to lunch,” Daeron said. “Perhaps you would like to join us.” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Well, give me your cloak and I’ll put it in the office,” Glorfindel said and soon they were heading upstairs to the cafeteria. It was the first time Finrod had been there and he looked about with deep interest. 

“It is almost like how they served us in Lórien,” he observed and Glorfindel nodded as he pointed out the various dishes, identifying them so Finrod could make his selections. Soon the three were seated at a table. 

“So what are your plans for the day?” Glorfindel asked Finrod. 

“I have none. I have been wandering about rather aimlessly today. Everyone seems to have a purpose but me.” 

“And what purpose would you like to have?” Daeron asked. 

Finrod gave them a sour look. “Anything that doesn’t involve sitting around… moping.” 

“You could go Christmas shopping,” Glorfindel suggested. “That should cheer you up.” 

“I do not need cheering up, I need something to do.” 

“Comes to the same thing, actually,” Daeron said with a slight smile. “Hmm… Christmas shopping. You know, with so many of us now that might be a problem.” 

“We don’t have to give gifts,” Glorfindel said. “This is, after all, a Mortal holiday.” 

“True, but you know the Twins,” Daeron replied with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You would think they were ten the way they carry on about presents under the tree. And our Valinórean friends are probably feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the hoopla.” 

“I know I am,” Finrod said without thinking and then blushed when both Glorfindel and Daeron gave him considering looks. 

“Hey, why don’t you play Secret Santa?” 

The three ellyn looked up to see a Woman standing there. Both Glorfindel and Daeron gave her warm smiles. 

“What do you mean, Grace?” Glorfindel asked. 

“You never played Secret Santa?” she asked in surprise and when they shook their heads, she gave a snort of contempt. Finrod forced himself not to smile. “Well, it works well with large groups. You draw names out of a hat and you are the person’s Secret Santa. You leave up to four clues as to your identity, maybe with small trinkets, like a candy cane or an ornament, making sure that others do not catch you at it. In the meantime you buy a gift and you put the person’s name on it but not your own. Then, when you all gather together, you show your clues and you get up to three tries to guess who was your Secret Santa before you’re allowed to open your gift.” 

“What happens if you guess incorrectly?” Finrod couldn’t help asking. “Do you forfeit the gift?” 

Grace gave him a disbelieving look. “It’s Christmas, my lord! Gifts are never forfeited. The guessing game is just for fun.” 

Finrod sat back, mulling over Grace’s words, ignoring Glorfindel and Daeron discussing doing Secret Santa as Grace drifted away. Gifts are never forfeited. He could almost hear Another’s Voice in those words. 

“What do you think?” 

Finrod blinked, aware that Glorfindel had asked him something. “About what?” 

“About doing the Secret Santa. It would assure that everyone will receive at least one gift at Christmas, though we’re an odd number, so someone would be left out.” 

“Someone has to act as the coordinator,” Daeron pointed out with a shrug. “I don’t mind doing that.” 

“Unless someone acts as a Secret Santa for two people,” Finrod suggested. 

Glorfindel and Daeron exchanged considering looks. “That might work,” Glorfindel finally said. “Why don’t we discuss it with the others tonight and if everyone is agreeable we’ll do it. Tomorrow is St. Nicholas’ Day. That would be an appropriate time to begin. Grace said up to four clues, so let us say the final clue has to be given by the twenty-third and we will have a party on Christmas Eve where we can guess who our Secret Santa is.” 

“What about the ceremony for the swords? Will that not interfere? And I know some of us are already buying gifts,” Finrod pointed out. 

“That will be for Christmas Day when we invite some of our Mortal friends over,” Glorfindel explained. “We’ll reserve Christmas Eve just for us. Most of the Mortals will be in their various churches that night celebrating anyway.” 

“Then let us play Secret Santa,” Daeron said with a grin. “If people wish to give additional gifts to friends or family, they may do so, but at least this way everyone is assured at least one gift.” 

“Then we will discuss it with the others after dinner,” Glorfindel said. “Do you want to let everyone know?” he asked Daeron, who nodded. Then he turned to Finrod. “In the meantime, why don’t you and I spend the rest of the afternoon in Wiseman?” 

“Doing what?” Finrod asked. 

“Doing what comes naturally,” Glorfindel replied with a mischievous grin. “Getting into trouble.” 

Daeron rolled his eyes and Finrod laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said and they spent a few more minutes finishing up their lunch before setting off for Wiseman. 

**** 

Ellon: (Eldarin) Male Elf. The plural is ellyn.

3: He’s Making a List and Checking it Twice

Glorfindel parked the van in the Safeway Supermarket parking lot and the two got out, crossing the street and entering the town square lined on all sides with quaint shops all brightly decorated. The Gold Nugget Emporium and Café was directly across from them, bedecked with tinsel and lights. The Norway spruce rising in the center of the square was also lit. Even though it was only early afternoon, it was already dark. 

“So what sort of trouble were you thinking of getting us into?” Finrod asked as they went down one side of the square. 

Glorfindel cast him a bright look. “That remains to be seen. Actually, I thought we’d do a bit of shopping. There are some decorations I want to buy for the house.” 

“I would think it was decorated enough,” Finrod retorted. 

“Oh, sure, but there are one or two items still missing. Here. This is the place.” He stopped before one shop and opened the door, letting the warmth of the interior embrace them as they entered. Finrod was not sure what type of shop it was but all about them were wreaths and various types of floral arrangements, and they were bombarded by conflicting scents of pine and roses. Glorfindel pointed up to what looked like a ball suspended from a beam. It was covered with sprigs of evergreen and red rosebuds and he thought he saw some mistletoe as well. The ball was topped with filmy red ribbon. “That’s what we want.” 

“What is it?” 

Glorfindel gave him a sly look. “You’ll find out. Ah… Noah, good afternoon. I’ve come for that.” He pointed to the ball and Noah, a bespectacled Man with graying hair smiled and nodded as he reached up to unhook the ball. “I figured you’d be along soon enough, Loren. That will be a ten. Shall I box it for you?” 

“Yes, please,” Glorfindel said as he pulled out his wallet and fished out a bill, handing it to Noah. In a matter of minutes, the ball safely boxed, they left Noah with good wishes for a Merry Christmas and stepped back out into the cold. 

“You still haven’t told me what that ball is for,” Finrod said. 

“You’ll find out. Telling you would just spoil it. Now, I want to check out something in the bookstore, but alone. Would you mind carrying the box? I won’t be long. Why don’t you wander over to the café and find us a booth? I wouldn’t mind some hot chocolate right about now even if it isn’t Roy’s special blend.” 

Finrod was tempted to ask his gwador why he needed to go to the bookstore alone, but decided against it. He had noticed that in the midst of all the holiday cheer there was also a sense of secrecy, of people hiding things from others, yet no one seemed to mind. So he nodded and took the box. “I will meet you there.” 

Glorfindel headed across to the other side of the square and Finrod hefted the box, making his way toward the café, stopping every once in a while to admire the window displays of the various shops that he passed. One in particular caught his attention. It was a room in which an old Man, fat and bearded, sat in a chair by a fireplace, holding a long scroll of parchment that fell to the floor and wandered away. He had a quill pen in his hand. Behind him, leaning casually over the chair to read what was on the scroll, was an Elf, clad in a forest green robe, his hair golden and carefully braided with warrior braids in the style worn by those from Gondolin. It was a remarkably cozy scene with many subtle details that he only noticed the longer he looked: the fire that actually appeared real though he suspected it was not; the tiny window that showed snow falling even though the window was inside the shop; the dog and cat sleeping peacefully on the hearth; the plate of cookies and milk by the chair; the various toys scattered about the room. 

“Wiseman is the only place where Santa’s Elves are tall and beautiful.” 

He turned to see a young Woman with rich brown curls whom he did not know standing next to him, staring into the window. She turned and gave him a bright, suggestive smile. “Now there’s an Elf I wouldn’t mind being naughty with.” 

Finrod felt himself blushing for no particular reason and the Woman laughed. It was gay and there was nothing malicious or lascivious about it. She held out her hand and he shook it, a Mortal custom he was learning to accept. “Gloria Richards. I’m the lead singer of the Arctic Fringe.” 

“Arctic Fringe?” 

“A local rock band.” 

Now Finrod was thoroughly confused. “Um… what do you do with the rocks?” 

Gloria threw back her head and laughed again. “Oh my. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” 

“Forgive me….” 

“No, your Majesty, it is I who ask for your forgiveness. I forget that you are new come to these shores and would not necessarily know all there is to know about us.” Her tone was oddly formal, which rather surprised him. He was (slowly) getting used to being spoken to by the Mortals with a level of familiarity that no Elf in Aman would presume to use with him if they were not kith and kin. 

“I am no longer a king,” he said wistfully. “Please, just call me Finrod or Quinn.” 

Gloria gave him an enquiring look and he found himself blushing again. “It is my… um… Mortal name: Quinn O’Brien. Daeron says the names together mean ‘noble wisdom’.” He gave her a shrug. “Loremasters.” 

She laughed again and Finrod found he enjoyed hearing it. “Well… Quinn, to answer your question, a rock band is a group of people who play a particular type of music known as rock music. It’s difficult to explain. You would have to hear it. The Arctic Fringe will be playing at the annual Christmas Ball at the Grange Hall this weekend. I’m sure Loren will be there, along with the other Wiseman Elves. You should ask him about it if you’re interested.” 

“Thank you. I will.” 

“Well, I still have miles to go before I sleep, as the poet says, so I will bid you a good-day, sir, and a Merry Christmas.” She gave him a nod. 

“Merry Christmas,” he answered back. She made her way across the square and Finrod watched her, suddenly reminded of Amarië, and finding he missed her terribly. Gloria looked nothing like his beloved, but she had a warm and friendly spirit that was similar to Amarië’s. He shook his head and gave a last look at the window display before moving on to find Glorfindel waiting for him in front of the café. 

“I thought you’d gotten lost,” he said and while his tone was light, Finrod could detect the note of worry beneath it. 

“I was admiring the window displays and spoke with a young Woman named Gloria.” 

“Ah, the fair Gloria Richards,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “Careful, my lord, she’s already spoken for.” 

Finrod gave him a disbelieving look. “As am I, if I recall correctly.” 

His gwador laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go in and warm up, then we’ll head back to the mansion.” 

“I thought we were supposed to be getting into trouble,” Finrod said as they entered the Emporium and made their way into the café area. The café was only half full and most of the people there apparently had been shopping for they were surrounded by bags. 

“Oh well, in this café we can find plenty of trouble,” Glorfindel said as they slipped into a booth by one of the windows. “You never know which one of the Powers will drop by for a chat.” 

Before Finrod could respond to that, a waitress came over with menus. Glorfindel smiled at her. “Just some hot chocolate for me, please.” 

“I will have the same,” Finrod said and the Woman left to fill their order. Finrod stared out the window watching people passing and the two sat in silence. The waitress came back a few minutes later with their hot chocolates and Finrod concentrated on drinking. “Gloria mentioned something about a Christmas Ball.” 

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes. It’s an annual event, held at the Grange Hall. We went last year. Everyone dresses quite formally. Are you interested in going? We had decided not to go this year because there are so many more of us, but if you’re interested, I can see about obtaining tickets. I think they’re still available.” 

“Gloria said her band would be playing there,” Finrod replied. “I am curious to know about this… um… rock band of hers.” 

“The Arctic Fringe. A good band and Gloria has a lovely voice.” 

Both Elves looked up at the sound of the dark, melodious voice and saw Lord Námo standing there in his Nate disguise of black duster and wide-brimmed hat, grinning at them. 

“Hello, Nate,” Glorfindel said with a cheeky grin. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” 

Nate removed the hat and casually corralled a nearby chair, turning it about so he was straddling it. Ignoring Glorfindel, he gave Finrod a sympathetic look. “I understand you’ve been feeling depressed lately.” 

Finrod rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone think I am depressed?” he demanded. “I am not depressed, I am just… missing Amarië and my other children, perhaps?” 

“I’m sure that is part of it,” Nate said with a nod, “but only a small part. You suffered a grievous wound and you are still dealing with the aftermath.” 

“I suppose,” Finrod averred somewhat reluctantly, staring down at his cup of hot chocolate. 

“There is no ‘I suppose’ about it, gwador,” Glorfindel said firmly. “I’ve seen you watching Finda, as if you’re almost afraid to let him out of your sight. I know about the nightmares you’ve been having. What happened to you was traumatic and not even you are immune to the aftereffects of being shot.” 

“As if you would know,” Finrod shot back with a sneer, which he instantly regretted when he saw Glorfindel’s pained expression. 

“I do, Finrod,” Glorfindel said quietly. “Don’t think you’re the first person or at least the first Elf to have suffered being shot.” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow, but before he could ask for more details, Nate intervened. “I also understand Fionwë issued you a challenge.” 

“Challenge? What challenge?” Glorfindel demanded. “And when did this happen?” 

“Just before I met you and Daeron,” Finrod answered. “He challenged me to find the meaning of Christmas.” 

“I told you….” 

“The deeper meaning of Christmas,” Finrod said. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and nodded. 

“At any rate, I wish you luck in your search, Findaráto,” Nate said. 

“And you showed up just to tell me this, my lord?” Finrod demanded with a wry look. 

“No. I am here for another purpose,” the Lord of Mandos said, smiling. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several tickets, placing them on the table. “Enough for anyone who wishes to go.” 

Glorfindel picked one up. “These are tickets to the Christmas Ball,” he said almost accusingly. 

“Yes. Had you enquired, you would have learned that the ball had been sold out. We thought Finrod and the other Valinórean Elves would enjoy it.” 

“We?” Finrod asked. 

Nate nodded as he stood and returned the chair to its original place but did not elaborate and the two Elves could guess just who ‘we’ were. “Oh, and don’t worry about obtaining formal wear. My wife has been busy with that. So, enjoy yourselves, Children.” Then he gave them a sly look. “And do try to stay out of trouble. Santa is keeping an eye on you both.” He actually snickered as he walked away, fading into the fabric of the universe. 

After a moment of silence between the two Elves, Glorfindel gave Finrod a considering look. “So, do you want to go to the ball?” 

“Yes. I would like to see how these Mortals entertain themselves. Will it be anything like what we have in Aman?” 

“Yes, or perhaps no. I’m not sure. I’ve gotten so used to not comparing what I knew in elven society to what is true in any Mortal one that I happened to be living in that I can’t really say anymore. You’ll have to wait and see for yourself. There will be dancing, just not the kind you know. I suppose we’ll need to give everyone a crash course on one or two of the slow dances so you’re not spending the night standing about watching everyone else having fun.” 

Finrod nodded as he finished drinking his hot chocolate. He glanced out the window. “It’s snowing again,” he commented. 

“It’s what it does this time of year,” Glorfindel said with a smile as he pulled out his wallet and left some money on the table, scooping up the tickets and shoving them into a coat pocket. “Let’s get back to the house. It’s my turn to cook dinner. I think I’ll order pizza instead. We’ll stop at Mario’s Pizza Parlour and put in an order. I’ll have Dan and Roy pick it up on their way home from the hospital. They said their shift ends today around five.” 

“Let us go, then,” Finrod said and he grabbed the box and his cloak and they headed out the door. 

**** 

Later, as they were all munching on pizza, Glorfindel told them about Lord Námo giving him tickets to the Christmas Ball for anyone who wanted to go. “And we were assured that formal wear would be made available to us.” 

“We’d better teach you a couple of the dances,” Gilvegil said to the Valinórean Elves. “The waltz and the fox trot?” He cast an enquiring look Glorfindel’s way. 

Glorfindel nodded. “Those will do. We’ll use the conference room to practice in. So anyone who is interested in going, just take a ticket.” Naturally, they all wanted to go. 

“And don’t forget the Secret Santa,” Daeron said and when asked, he explained what Grace had told them at lunch. Everyone thought it was a good idea and they spent a few minutes putting their names on paper and throwing them into one of the shoe boxes that were used for the Elvish Name Lottery at the Academy. Daeron pointed out that with an odd number of people playing, either someone would have to not play or would have to be Secret Santa for two people. 

“It would be unfair for someone to be left out of the fun,” Helyanwë said, speaking for everyone else. 

“Then, if you agree, I will be Secret Santa for the last two names,” Daeron said and they all nodded. “If you draw your own name, do not put it back until you’ve drawn another name,” he told them as he covered the box and shook it, then uncovered it and held it out. “Who’s first?” 

For a moment they all stood about, giving one another uncertain glances, as if afraid to be the first to make a move. Glorfindel chuckled. “We’ll go by order of age starting with the youngest,” he said and Serindë stepped forward, giving them a shy smile as she reached in and snagged a piece of paper, opening it so no one could see, then shoving it into her pocket, stepping away. One by one they stepped in front of Daeron and reached in. One or two people drew their own names and in each case Daeron took a second to close the box and shake it before letting the next person draw. When they were finished drawing names, Glorfindel reminded them about leaving clues. 

“At least three clues should be given but no more than four and the last clue should be left no later than the day before Christmas Eve. We will limit gifts to no more than ten dollars in value and if you wish to make a gift rather than buying one, that is acceptable. We will open our Secret Santa gifts on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day will be reserved for our Mortal friends.” 

Finrod had hoped he would pick Glorfindel’s name but, in fact, he had drawn Cennanion’s. He did not know the ellon very well, indeed knew nothing about him other than the fact that he was a Sinda who had once lived in Lothlórien, his sister’s realm, and he played the flute. He supposed it did not matter. The ellon was as deserving of a gift as his gwador and while he was a bit disappointed at not being able to be Glorfindel’s Secret Santa, even as he was joining the others in the library for an evening of song, he felt a rising sense of excitement at the thought of devising clues for the game and he felt almost like an elfling or a newly released Reborn again. 

As he settled himself into a chair, ready to enjoy the evening’s entertainment, he decided it wasn’t a bad way to feel.

4: Jolly Old St. Nicholas

Finrod opened his bedroom door the next morning to find a red felt stocking hanging from the doorknob with his name carefully stitched in gold thread in Beleriandic script. Inside the stocking was a large candy cane, if he remembered the name correctly. There was nothing else. Looking up and down the hall, he noticed other doors had similar stockings, though some were made from white felt and others green. All had a name stitched in metallic thread. 

“Good morning!” 

Finrod looked up to see Nimrodel coming up the stairs at the other end of the hall. She was only just beginning to show her pregnancy and Finrod smiled at the sight. “Good morning. What are these?” He lifted his stocking from the doorknob. 

“A gift from us,” Nimrodel said. “Holly, Misty, and I have been making them on the sly for several weeks now. Now everyone has one.” 

“But what do we do with them?” 

Nimrodel shrugged. “Whatever you wish. Traditionally, stockings are hung on the mantle but they can also be hung on a bed or wherever. Parents will fill the stockings on Christmas Eve with small toys and candies and perhaps a new pair of socks or whatever.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “It’s usually considered a bribe.” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow and Nimrodel smiled even more and nodded. “The children will spend time looking at everything in their stockings and won’t bother their parents about opening the larger presents under the tree until later.” 

“I see… I think.” He shook his head at the strangeness of Mortal behavior, but was suddenly reminded of his own children on their begetting days eagerly waiting to see what gifts were to be had. “Well, I suppose I will keep mine on the doorknob for now. Has Glorfindel left already?” 

“Yes, he and the Twins are acting as Elf Guides today, it being St. Nicholas’ Day.” 

“St. Nicholas? Is that not one of the names attached to this Santa Claus?” 

“The original name, yes. In many European countries, children receive a small gift, usually of chocolate, on this day in honor of the saint. Some of the resorts are holding holiday parties for their patrons and the Elf Guides are asked to help out if they are not already scheduled to give a tour.” 

“It seems I will be on my own again today,” Finrod said with a faint smile. 

Nimrodel gave him a considering look. “You don’t like being alone, do you?” 

Finrod felt himself growing hot with embarrassment. “It is not that so much as I do not like being alone with my thoughts. Foolish, I know, but when I am alone I cannot help thinking about… about Finda being kidnapped and how it could all have gone wrong and….” 

He was somewhat surprised to find himself being held and suddenly he was crying. It did not last long and when the last sobs faded, Nimrodel let him go, giving him an understanding look. “Every parent’s fear,” she said. “I know some were dismayed by the fact that Amroth and I decided to have a child in these dark times even as they rejoiced in our good fortune.” 

“By some, I suppose you mean Glorfindel,” Finrod said with a slight quirk of his lips. 

The elleth laughed. “Oh yes, and there is certainly some justification for his concern. The Eldar, of course, do not marry or bring forth children in times of war, and I suppose that, technically speaking, we are at war or at least in the first stages of one, yet, the Mortals who now have the means to prevent pregnancies if they so wish, still choose to bring forth children even in these troubling times. For them there is no real choice. They must reproduce, whatever state the world may be in, or the species will eventually die out. We who are immortal are not so burdened with this choice, yet Amroth and I spoke long and hard about it. In the end, we decided to let the Mortals be our guide. They bring forth children in hope that there will be a future even if all the signs say otherwise. Our children will be a sign to the Eldar that even we live in hope and that the Future, not the Past, is, as they say today, where the action is. Now, if you are truly afraid to be alone, why don’t you come with me and Amroth?” 

“Where are you going?” 

“Into town and you’re welcome to join us.” 

Finrod hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling stupid about being left to himself. “I do not wish to be a… um… what is that expression?” 

“A fifth wheel? You will not be, I assure you. Misty will be coming with us and I think one or two others.” 

“Then I will join you.” 

“Good. We’ll be leaving in about a half hour, so you have time for breakfast. Oh, and bring your harp.” With that, she headed down the hall, leaving Finrod to fend for himself, wondering what purpose his harp would serve. 

**** 

They ended up taking two cars. Besides Finrod, Amroth, Nimrodel and Mithrellas, Gilvegil, Barahir and Alphwen also came. Finrod noticed Barahir and Mithrellas were also carrying musical instruments. Finrod watched as Amroth competently maneuvered through the streets of Wiseman. 

“I still think I should learn to drive,” he said. “It is ridiculous to be dependent on others in this manner. Why could the Mortals not have stuck to horses?” 

The others in the car laughed. “We’ll teach you soon enough,” Amroth assured him, “but it’s better to learn when you’re not fighting a blizzard. Valar! I remember the first horseless carriage, as automobiles were called back then. Most people at the time were convinced they were just a passing fad, nothing more. How wrong they were.” He turned down a street and pulled into a long curving drive that fronted a large building. 

“What is this place?” Finrod asked as he climbed out of the car. 

“You’ll see,” Amroth said as they went inside. 

Finrod found himself in a large sunny lobby, tastefully appointed with comfortable looking chairs and low tables scattered about. To his right was a chest-high partition behind which a woman sat working on a computer. Beyond her was an open space where an ornament-bedecked tree stood all lit up, though Finrod suspected that it was not a real one. He noticed several elderly people, some in wheeled chairs, sitting about. One group was sitting at a round table playing cards while others were relaxing in overstuffed chairs, reading newspapers or quietly conversing. There were other people who appeared to be wearing uniforms of some type and they were much younger in appearance. The woman at the computer looked up at their arrival and smiled. 

“Good morning, Mr. McKinley and you, too, Mrs. McKinley. They’re waiting for you upstairs.” 

“Thanks, Martha,” Amroth said with a smile. “As you can see, we’ve brought reinforcements.” 

Martha laughed, giving them a sly look. “With that crowd, you’ll need it. Have fun.” 

Finrod and the others then followed Amroth and Nimrodel as they went to the left and down a short hall to elevators. All around Finrod could see elderly people, some of them quite frail looking and being helped by younger people. “What is this place?” he asked quietly as they waited for one of the elevator doors to open. 

“Brookwood,” Amroth answered. “It’s an eldercare facility where senior citizens, as they are called, live if they are unable to care for themselves or have no family to care for them.” 

“And what are we doing here?” 

“Bringing them some holiday cheer.” The elevator door opened and they crowded in. The doors closed and Finrod felt the car move. He was still not used to the sensation, but luckily the elevator stopped almost immediately and they stepped out onto the second floor. Amroth turned right and they walked down the corridor to a large gathering room. 

“Happy St. Nicholas Day, everyone,” he called out to the large group of people gathered there. Finrod estimated there were close to forty or so, including attendants. A ragged chorus of voices repeated the sentiment. 

“So, did you bring us any chocolate?” one old Man with dark skin and nearly bald called out. He was in a wheelchair. 

“Sorry, Harold,” Amroth said with a smile. “No chocolate.” 

“Drat!” Harold exclaimed. “It’s Christmas. We ought t’be allowed chocolate.” 

“Perhaps if you’re extra good, Santa will bring you some,” Amroth suggested with a laugh. 

“Hah! And pigs will fly,” Harold retorted and now others were laughing. 

“Shut up, old man,” a Woman sitting next to him said somewhat testily. She was also dark-skinned and appeared to be a few years younger than Harold, her white hair carefully coifed. She held a cane before her. “I came to hear the Elves sing, not to hear you gripe.” 

“Yes, dear,” Harold said, rolling his eyes, then he cast a sly look at Finrod, who was looking on in bemusement. “My wife, Mary,” he confided. “Been married to her for fifty years…” 

“Fifty-two,” the Woman interjected. 

“She gets prettier every day,” Harold continued as if he hadn’t heard, and perhaps he hadn’t, Finrod reflected. 

“Flatterer,” Mary said with a snort of derision, but Finrod could see the love that she had for her husband in her eyes, the same love for her reflected in Harold’s eyes. 

“Well, since you all are here to hear us sing, why don’t we start?” Amroth said amiably and before Finrod knew it, he was sitting next to Barahir with Mithrellas on his other side. Barahir had a lute while Mithrellas fiddled with a recorder. 

“What will we be playing?” Finrod asked softly. “How should I tune my harp?” 

“I think if you tune it to Starlight-on-Snow that should be fine,” Barahir suggested. “We’ll be singing and playing Christmas carols.” 

“None of which I know,” Finrod said with a wry smile. 

But Barahir shook his head. “Listen to the melody, which Mithrellas will play, and add harmony to it, as I will with my lute.” 

Finrod nodded and tuned the harp accordingly and then waited. Apparently Amroth, Nimrodel, Gilvegil and Alphwen would provide the voices. When the instruments were properly tuned, Amroth spoke. “As today is St. Nicholas’ Day we’ll begin with a song about him.” Then Mithrellas began playing a sprightly tune. 

“Jolly old St. Nicholas, lean your ear this way, don’t you tell a single soul what I’m going to say….” 

By the second verse, Finrod was able to follow along, taking his cue from Barahir. Other carols followed. The audience was appreciative and clapped after each rendition. Amroth and Nimrodel tried to encourage them to sing along, but few did, most being content to just listen to the ethereal voices of the Elves. As they were finishing with the last carol, attendants were filling small bowls with ice cream and Finrod and the other Elves helped to distribute them to the residents. Harold got his chocolate, which pleased him very much. 

Amroth and the others began circulating among the old people, easily speaking to them on a first-name basis, asking after their families (if they had any) or asking about the person’s health. Finrod realized that his fellow Elves had done this before, perhaps quite often. He felt somewhat left out, and was suddenly shy for some reason. So, he concentrated on helping to retrieve empty bowls and smiling a lot. He thought at that point they would be done, but no. There was another activity planned which apparently involved cutting out snowflakes and stars from sparkly paper. 

“The residents like to make some of the Christmas decorations,” one of the attendants, a middle-aged woman named Cindy, explained to Finrod as he helped her pass out the paper and scissors. 

So he watched as Harold and Mary and all the other elderly people folded and cut the paper, some of them with a little help from the Elves or the Mortal attendants. Finrod found it rather fascinating to see how the snowflakes were made, each one completely different, just as in reality. He helped Cindy pierce one limb of the snowflakes and stars with a sharp needle, creating a hole large enough to string filament. The paper glittered and shone in the sunlight streaming through the large windows that graced the room and Finrod felt himself being drawn into their beauty. 

Then it happened. 

One minute he was in the upper recreation room at the Brookwood Senior Living Assistance Center, the next he was standing on a frozen wasteland with the bodies of Elves, Men and Orcs scattered about him. He looked around and, even in the dark of night with the snow falling rapidly, nearly blinding him, he recognized the place: the Fen of Serech looking north toward Thangorodrim across the plains of Ard-galen. To the east lay the charred remains of what had been Dorthonion where his brothers had held the Leaguer in his name. Westward flowed the headwaters of the Sirion along the flank of the Ered Wethrin, the Mountains of Shadow, dark and menacing, and he could just make out in the far distance to the northwest Barad Eithel, that fortress of the Noldor from which his Uncle Fingolfin had ruled. 

He took a step and faltered, pain overwhelming him, and looked down at himself, realizing that he was gravely wounded, blood seeping from a sword gash in his left shoulder, near to his heart. He felt suddenly weak and disoriented and fell to his knees as he clutched at the wound, hoping to slow the blood flow. What was he doing here? Where was everyone? He glanced at one of the dead lying before him and gasped. 

Barahir! 

But that was impossible. Barahir hadn’t died. Not then, at least. And he suddenly saw others, all Men, lying nearby, their dead eyes accusing him. These were the Men who had rescued him when the Leaguer had been broken, when he had been cut off from the main army and would have been killed or taken had it not been for Barahir. So why was he dead? Why were any of them dead? 

He stumbled to his feet, trying not to panic, knowing that all that he was experiencing was wrong, that it could not be real. He tried to think past the pain, to remember where he had been before this vision or dream or whatever it was had assailed him, but his wound pained him and he had difficulty thinking. This is not how it had happened. So why was he here? Why was he alone? 

Even as he thought that, he saw movement and sought frantically for a sword. And that was also wrong, for nowhere could he see any weapons. The figure came closer and he struggled to see who or what it was through the blinding snow and then… 

“Ah, there you are, Findaráto.” 

Finrod blinked, unsure he was seeing what he was seeing and half suspected that this was all part of a nightmare and that he was still back in Edhellond sleeping. Before him stood a Man with long white hair and a beard, dressed in an ankle-length hooded robe of red and gold brocade in a floral pattern with wide sleeves trimmed with ermine at the cuffs, hem and front, which was open, revealing a deep red velvet tunic underneath that fell to just below the knees. The hem and placket were trimmed with gold thread in a knotwork pattern. Pearls were sewn inside each knot. Black leather boots disappeared under the tunic’s hem and a black leather belt cinched his waist. In one hand he held a wooden staff slightly taller than himself on which hung a lantern and how it stayed lit in this blizzard Finrod had no idea. 

“Who are you? Why am I here?” Finrod demanded harshly and then clutched at his shoulder, hot pokers of pain suddenly lancing through his body, forcing him back to his knees with a stifled gasp. 

“Easy now, son,” the Man said, gently placing his hand on the Elf’s head as if in benediction. The pain ebbed away but did not cease completely. 

Finrod looked up and saw the Man smiling at him. “Can you not guess? Well, no matter. Come. I will lead you away from here.” And he stooped down to take Finrod’s elbow, helping him to rise. 

“How did I get here?” the Elf asked, now feeling dizzy and confused. “This is the Fen of Serech. This is where I should have died or been captured by Morgoth’s Orcs but was not. Why do Barahir and his men lie dead? And my wound. I was not wounded so gravely in the battle. Please, help me.” 

It was a plea borne of despair as much as anything and he felt tears flowing down his cheeks. The Man wrapped his arm around Finrod’s waist. “We will, child. We will,” he said gently. “Now close your eyes and I will lead you hence.” 

Finrod hesitated for a moment, then did as he was bid. He felt movement and there was a sense of vertigo that lasted only for a few seconds and now he felt warm and dry and there was a light and someone was calling his name. He opened his eyes to see several people looking down at him with concern. One of them was Glorfindel and he saw his gwador give him a relieved smile. 

“Welcome back,” Glorfindel said. 

“What happened? How did you get here?” Finrod asked, struggling to sit up, for he realized he was lying on a sofa. Glorfindel helped him up even as Amroth handed him a glass of water. Finrod took it gratefully, looking about as he drank, realizing he was still in the recreation room and everyone was staring at him. He blushed in embarrassment and concentrated on drinking the water. 

“He gonna be okay there, Mr. Loren?” he heard one of the residents ask. 

Glorfindel nodded, looking up at the questioner. “Yes, Sam. He’ll be just fine.” 

“Perhaps we should finish up here as it’s almost time for lunch,” Amroth suggested then. 

There was a chorus of assent from the residents and Amroth gave Glorfindel a nod as he and the other Elves moved away to help with the cleanup. Glorfindel sat on the edge of the sofa, his expression one of concern. 

“Lunch?” Finrod asked. “How long have I been out? How did you get here? Were you not at Rainbow Lake?” 

“Amroth called me when he realized he was getting no response from you and no Maia or Vala showed up to help.” Glorfindel gave him a mischievous grin. “Apparently you don’t rate.” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that but eschewed answering back. 

“Can you tell me where you were?” his gwador asked. 

“The Fen of Serech at the time of the Dagor Bragollach when I was surrounded and would have died had it not been for Barahir and his men rescuing me,” Finrod answered promptly enough. “But I was alone and Barahir lay dead at my feet. Also my shoulder wound was open and I was bleeding rather copiously even though at the time I never suffered such a wound.” He looked down at his shoulder, half expecting to see blood soaking his shirt, but there was none. He looked back up at Glorfindel, continuing his narrative. “Then, someone came, a Man, or at least he seemed one to me. He was dressed in red robes and held a lantern on a wooden staff. He said he would lead me home.” 

“Did you know him?” Glorfindel asked. 

Finrod shook his head. “No, but he knew me, calling me Findaráto. The way he spoke, it was almost as if he’d been searching for me.” He paused and closed his eyes. “I haven’t had that kind of episode in so long, I’d forgotten what they were like. The only difference was, I somehow knew I was having a flashback, yet everything about it was wrong and I do not know why.” 

“Why don’t you just sit here and relax until it’s time to go,” Glorfindel suggested. “I cannot stay as I need to get back to the resort. Are you going to be all right?” 

Finrod nodded. “I cannot believe I’ve been out for nearly three hours. It seemed only a few minutes to me.” 

“We’ll talk about it later.” Glorfindel stood and bent down to give him a kiss of benediction on his forehead before going over to where Amroth was putting away paper supplies, speaking with him softly for a moment. Amroth nodded and then Glorfindel left, casting them all a brilliant smile, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. 

Finrod sat on the sofa, watching everyone bustling about. One of the residents, a Woman with short white-blond hair and wearing glasses wheeled herself over to him, giving him a smile. 

“We prayed for you,” she said. 

“Prayed for me?” 

The Woman nodded. “Mr. Loren said you were lost and could not find your way home and asked us to pray. I asked the Lord to send you St. Nicholas, it being his feast day and all. Did he come?” 

Finrod looked at the Woman sitting there before him, her expression earnest and sincere. “He wore robes of red and carried a lantern on a pole.” 

The Woman smiled. “Yes, that’s him, alright. I’m so glad.” She reached over and patted him on the arm. 

One of the attendants came over just then. “Ready to go, Suzanne?” he asked. 

Suzanne nodded. “Yes, thank you.” The attendant nodded at Finrod and started to wheel the Woman away but Finrod held out a hand to stay him. “Thank you,” he said simply and sincerely and wished to say more but words suddenly failed him. Suzanne smiled and there was a look of joy in her eyes. “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever,” she said and then she was being wheeled away. 

Finrod sat there, pondering. Amroth came over. “We’re ready to go if you are.” 

“Yes, I am.” Finrod stood up and started to follow the others out. They passed the table where the residents had been cutting out snowflakes and saw them neatly piled, no doubt to be hung up later. He hesitated, then picked one up, turning to Cindy, who was still there waiting to see the Elves out. “If I may, I would like to take this.” 

Cindy gave him a searching look, then nodded. “Of course. And thank you, all of you, for coming.” 

“It was our pleasure,” Amroth said with a smile and then they left. 

No one said anything about what had happened as they made their way back to Edhellond, for which Finrod was grateful. When they were home, he went directly to his bedroom and hung the snowflake up where he could see it when lying in bed. 

**** 

Notes:

1. The Beleriandic script of Sindarin utilizes a full alphabet rather than using diacritics to indicate vowels, as in Classical Sindarin and Quenya. An example of this script can be found on the doors of Moria illustrated in LoTR. 

2. The Dagor Bragollach, or the Battle of Sudden Flame, began in the winter of 455 of the First Age. 

3. Suzanne quotes from the beginning of Psalm 106 (NIV version).

5: Jingle Bells

Later that evening, when they were all gathered together in the library after dinner, Glorfindel asked Finrod to tell them about what had happened. He was reluctant at first but with a little encouragement from Amroth and Nimrodel, he described how he had been admiring the cut-out snowflakes and their different patterns and then found himself standing in the Fens of Serech during the Dagor Bragollach. 

“It was all wrong. Barahir lay dead at my feet and I was badly wounded here.” He pointed at his left shoulder. “But I had not suffered any wounding there at the time. Indeed, I had suffered no serious wounds then.” He paused and gave Glorfindel a considering look. “Suzanne said you told them to pray for me.” 

Glorfindel nodded, ignoring the surprised looks on the faces of the others. “Mortals no more like feeling useless than we do, but often in many situations there is little they can do except pray for a good outcome. When one of them asked me if they could do anything to help, I told them to pray, knowing that they would not think it an odd request, for they were brought up in a culture that believes in the power of prayer.” 

“Suzanne said she prayed to the Lord — and I must assume she meant Eru — to send St. Nicholas to help me find my way back.” 

“Yes. Let’s talk about that,” Vorondur interjected. “Why do you suppose you found yourself where you were yet not as it actually had been?” 

Before Finrod could answer, Glorfindel gave Vorondur an amused look. “Should the rest of us depart while you treat the patient?” 

“I am not a patient!” Finrod exclaimed. 

Vorondur just shook his head, chuckling. “No. This is not a counseling session, otherwise I would throw you all out. I know little about the Reborn, other than what you’ve deigned to tell me, Loren, but it seems to me that Finrod’s experience doesn’t follow the usual pattern of a flashback. For one thing, he knew he was having one almost from the beginning. He wasn’t so lost in the memory that he did not know that it simply was a memory and not reality. So, why did he have it and why St. Nicholas, if that is who it really was?” 

“You doubt that?” Vardamir asked, his expression one of clinical interest. 

Vorondur shrugged. “Why a Mortal saint? Why would he not create the image of one of the Valar or a Maia of his acquaintance?” 

“You’re assuming that that is what happened,” Elrohir said. When Vorondur and Vardamir turned to him he blushed somewhat, as if he feared being reprimanded for his presumption in speaking to his elders. 

“Why don’t you explain,” Vorondur said gently. 

Elrohir glanced at his twin, who nodded encouragingly, before answering. “You are assuming that Finrod created the image of St. Nicholas just as he created the landscape in which he found himself. That may be true of the landscape, but perhaps not so of St. Nicholas. Loren was correct that many of the Mortals of this society are great believers in the power of prayer. I’ve lived among them long enough to know that that power is there. If St. Nicholas appeared to Finrod, I have no doubt that that is who it was, nor have I any doubt as to who sent him.” 

“Still….” Vardamir started to say, clearly unconvinced by the younger ellon’s arguments, but Vorondur shook his head. 

“No. Roy has the right of it. The psychic landscape was Finrod’s creation, borne, I suspect, from his anxieties over recent events, but St. Nicholas coming to him, that is what makes this so strange. We all would have expected at least a Maia to appear, not some Mortal saint from a belief system that is not ours. And certainly Finrod would be the last to imagine that, for he has neither the cultural background nor the knowledge that lies behind it.” 

“So you’re saying that this St. Nicholas actually appeared to Finrod, that it wasn’t some aspect of his own psyche projecting outward?” Ercassë asked her husband. 

“Who can truly say?” Vorondur replied. 

At which point Finrod stood up. “I think I will retire. Please let me know what you have all decided about my mental well-being when you’ve come to a consensus.” And before anyone could respond to that, he stalked out of the room and up the hallway to the foyer, but rather than take the stairs, he grabbed his cloak and stepped outside into the frigid night. He half expected at least Glorfindel to come running after him, but no one did, and on one level he was grateful for that small favor, yet, on another level, he felt perversely angered that no one had come running to apologize. 

He took a few deep, cleansing breaths as he stepped off the porch and made his way to the street, deciding he needed to walk off his anger and frustration and, yes, his embarrassment. He had sat there listening to them speaking of him as if he were not there, or worse, as if he were indeed a patient while the healers all discussed his symptoms and a course of treatment before him. He had no idea if this St. Nicholas had actually come to him or if he’d simply dreamed him up out of desperation as a means of bringing himself out of his fugue. After all, what did it matter? The end result was the same, was it not? 

And yet… 

He slowed his pace and looked up at the stars glittering coldly and serenely above him, basking in their song. He could not get the image of the Woman Suzanne out of his mind, a Mortal bound to a wheelchair, living in that place without kith nor kin to care for her, perhaps even knowing that she would never leave Brookwood alive. She had been so serene, her smile so gentle and full of love. She had prayed for him, a stranger, an Elf, not even one of her own people, prayed to her Lord to send someone to help him, though she could not know what type of help was required, only that he needed it. He recalled the total sense of despair he had felt standing amidst the carnage of battle, unable or perhaps unwilling to understand what was happening to him, and the plea for help he had uttered to the stranger who had come to him. 

“Out of the depths I cry to thee, O Lord; O Lord, hear my voice. Let thine ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.” 

Finrod gasped as he turned around at the voice, one that sounded familiar, and found himself standing before St. Nicholas still carrying the staff with the lantern, but he was not alone. Standing placidly by his right side was a whitetail doe and sitting on his left shoulder was a snowy owl gazing at Finrod with wise scrutiny. The saint smiled. 

“You were in despair, were you not, Child of the Eldar?” he asked. “You were lost in a landscape of death, experiencing an alternate history of what might have happened but did not. And this was a projection of your fear over your beloved son and all that could have gone wrong in rescuing him and the others. It almost went wrong anyway, did it not, with you being shot? That was, as I think they say these days, not in the plan.” 

“Who are you?” Finrod asked. “Are you real?” 

“Are you?” the saint shot back, then shrugged, giving him a chagrined look. “Well, let’s not get into an existential argument. I am as real as you wish me to be, Findaráto of the Eldar.” And he reached out and touched Finrod’s arm. “You see. For now, at this time, I am real. As to who I am, I will leave that for you to decide. Am I in truth St. Nicholas, a Mortal dead for nearly seventeen hundred years, or someone else who is, shall we say, borrowing the saint’s image for purposes of my own?” 

“And if the latter, then you must be a Maia or perhaps one of the Valar,” Finrod stated. 

“Indeed?” the saint retorted, clearly unconvinced. “Well, perhaps, or perhaps not. Eru, as you call Him, is not limited by your imagination, or lack thereof, as to whom He sends to another, including, I may add, Himself.” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that revelation and felt a shiver of something near to awe at the implications of the saint’s words. Before he could comment, Nicholas continued. 

“Accept that I am indeed Nicholas of Myra, once a bishop of that city or not. It is of no consequence. However, you cannot deny that your plea was answered as were the prayers of those good people at the senior center. And your despair is groundless. Your son lives, as do you, and that is what is important. Now, your friends are frantically looking for you. I suggest you go back and reassure them that you are well and not angry at them, or at least not too angry.” He gave Finrod a sly look and the Elven prince could not help smiling. 

“Good, good,” Nicholas said approvingly and then raised his right hand in benediction. “The blessings of the One be with you.” Then he gave Finrod a warm smile and turned to walk across the empty street, the owl suddenly flying off as the saint and the deer faded away before they reached the other side, leaving Finrod alone once again. 

He sighed a bit then gathered his cloak more firmly around him and pulled up the hood as snow began drifting from the sky. He looked about, realizing that in his anger he had walked further than he had intended. Indeed, he did not recognize the neighborhood at all, but he was facing the direction from which he’d come and set off, figuring he would eventually come upon familiar territory. 

As it happened, he needn’t have worried, for he came to the next block and saw three Elves heading his way, one of them his son. He raised a hand in greeting and Findalaurë ran to him, practically throwing himself into Finrod’s arms. “Atto! Are you all right? We were so worried about you.” 

“I am fine,” Finrod said, giving his son a brief hug. “I am sorry I ran off. I needed some time to cool down.” 

“And we’re sorry as well,” Vorondur said as he and Ercassë reached them. “It was thoughtless of us to speak about you as we did.” He reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a cell phone, speed-dialing a number. A few seconds later, he was speaking into it. “He’s with us. We’re heading back.” Then he closed down the phone, shoving it back into his pocket. “Are you ready to return?” he asked. 

Finrod nodded, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Yes. Let us go home.” 

They walked in silence, for which Finrod was grateful, and they reached the gates at about the same time as several others all came from different directions and Finrod was touched by the obvious concern and worry that his friends felt. Nielluin, Helyanwë and Elrohir went to the kitchen and made some coffee, tea and hot chocolate while the others trooped into the library. No one spoke until they were all gathered in the library again. Finrod sipped on some hot chocolate and waited, deciding not to speak first. He was unsurprised when Vorondur spoke, rather than Glorfindel. 

“First of all, on behalf of all of us, I wish to apologize for our inexcusable rudeness.” 

“Apology accepted,” Finrod said, “and I apologize for my behavior as well. I am sorry I worried you with my running off. I have decided that it matters not who came to my aid, or even if I created the image from my own mind. What matters is that I am alive, Finda is safe and so is everyone else. What happened, happened, and it is time to move on.” He drained his mug of cocoa and put it down on a side table as he stood. “And now, if you will excuse me, I truly will retire. This has been a rather emotional day for me.” 

“Sleep well,” Vorondur said, “and Finrod, if you ever want to talk about it….” 

“Thank you. I will keep it in mind. Good night.” 

He left to a chorus of good-nights and made his way to his room. After readying himself for bed he climbed between the covers and lay there thinking of all that had happened that day and the conversation he had had with St. Nicholas, or whoever he was. As tired as he felt, though, it was some time before he slipped onto the Path of Dreams. 

**** 

When he woke the next morning he found an envelope in the stocking that was still hanging from the door knob. Taped to it was a large piece of candy that was somewhat dome-shape and wrapped in bright silver foil. There was a tag that read “kisses”. He removed the candy and opened the envelope where he found a sheet of paper on which was written a single line of Classical Sindarin: 

“There is no LAW in the universe that says Eru can only act as we decide. I believe St. Nicholas was sent to help you and I am grateful.” 

The word ‘law’ had been written in red ink rather than black and written much larger than the other tengwar. Somehow he realized that this was more than an anonymous apology but the first clue sent from his Secret Santa and he was reminded that he, too, needed to devise clues for Cennanion. He smiled as he slipped the piece of paper back into the envelope and stuck it back into the stocking, taking the piece of candy and setting it on his night table, deciding he might indulge in it later. Then he made his way downstairs where he was greeted by others gathered in the kitchen or the dining room breaking their own fast. He took a couple of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and some juice and sat in the breakfast nook along with Glorfindel, Vorondur and Daeron. 

“How are you feeling?” Vorondur asked. 

“I am feeling well,” Finrod answered then turned to Glorfindel. “I need to go into town today. There is some shopping I need to do.” 

“I think Laurendil and Manwen were planning to go into town as well,” Glorfindel said. 

Laurendil came into the kitchen from the dining room, apparently having heard his name being mentioned. “We’re scheduled for a stint at St. Luke’s, Aranya,” he said. “Barahir will drop us off before heading for the college.” 

“Then, I will walk,” Finrod said. “The distance is not far.” 

“Alone?” Glorfindel asked with a frown. 

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Yes, ammë, alone.” 

Daeron, Vorondur and Laurendil all snickered as Glorfindel glowered. “Do you think it wise after what happened yesterday?” he asked. 

“Well, if it happens again, which I doubt, I know who to pray to for help,” Finrod shot back and Glorfindel’s scowl deepened. Vorondur stepped in at that point. 

“I have to stop at the real estate agent’s office to sign some papers now that the seller has agreed to our offer. Why don’t I drop you off and you can find your own way home?” 

“I just don’t like the idea of you being alone,” Glorfindel said. “There are people out there who are not friendly to us and I prefer none of us wander about by ourselves.” 

“I will not be alone,” Finrod said, “or rather, I will appear to be but I will be watched and guarded, of that I am sure.” 

Now they all gave each other considering looks and some silent communication passed between them as Finrod sat there calmly biting into a cinnamon roll. 

“Are you planning to set yourself up as bait?” Daeron finally asked him. 

Finrod laughed. “No, being bait is Glorfindel’s specialty. I truly just wish to do some shopping on my own. It is, after all, Christmas.” 

“Ah… well, that makes sense,” Vorondur said with a nod. “Then, if you wish, you can ride in with me and I’ll drop you off.” 

Before answering, Finrod looked at Glorfindel. “Is that all right with you, gwador nîn?” 

Glorfindel sighed. “As if you need my permission,” he muttered. 

“Well, apparently I do,” Finrod retorted somewhat sharply and then relented at the chagrined look on his gwador’s face. “I promise I will be careful.” 

“I will hold you to that,” Glorfindel said in all seriousness. “Well, Darren and I need to get going ourselves. We’ll see you all later.” With that, he and the loremaster rose and made their way out of the kitchen. 

Vorondur gave Finrod a nod. “I will not be leaving for another hour.” 

“That is fine,” Finrod said. 

**** 

Vorondur dropped him off at the Safeway and he made his way across the street and into the main square. Being a weekday, it was not crowded with shoppers and he was grateful. This was the first time he had come here on his own and he had to admit to feeling a little nervous as he walked across the square. 

“You were once king of Nargothrond,” he muttered to himself. “Get a grip, as the Mortals say.” He came to the Gold Nugget Emporium and Café, mentally going down the list of things he hoped to find as he opened the door and went inside, nodding to the clerk behind the front counter, wishing her a good morning. He wandered up and down narrow aisles looking at all the items crammed onto the shelves, amazed at the variety. There was one section of shelves filled with figurines and, glancing over them, he found one that would suit his purpose: a woman holding up a torch. Then he found a section filled with different kinds of sweets and chose a chocolate Santa and a candy cane. There was also a wall of ornaments. He remembered Glorfindel explaining to him what they were for and chose one that was of a harp. 

Having found what he was looking for, he went to the front to pay for his purchases. The clerk gave him a smile and wished him a Merry Christmas as he left. Outside, he took a deep breath, relieved and pleased that he had managed to make these small purchases on his own. It was a new experience for him and he found it to be liberating, being able to walk about the town on his own, doing the simple things, like shopping, that the Mortals took for granted. He had no doubt that he was indeed being guarded by unseen Maiar, but as long as they did not make themselves known to him, he did not care. 

Deciding that he did not wish to return to the mansion just yet, he wandered about, looking at the shop windows and all the decorations. He did not pay much attention to his route and eventually found himself crossing the street to the Safeway where he saw part of the parking lot had been fenced off and iced over and there were a few people skating. He stood and watched in fascination as one young girl pirouetted, landing gracefully. There was a mother holding up her child as he wobbled across the ice and some couples skated hand-in-hand. 

As he stood there watching the skaters, he began to notice a constant ringing and, looking about, saw a man wearing a red felt triangular cap, standing beside a huge black kettle and ringing a large golden bell. He saw people as they left the store tossing coins into the kettle. Walking over, he greeted the Man, noticing that there was a sign above the kettle that read ‘Salvation Army’ and wondering what type of army it might be and who were they hoping to save. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

The Man gave him a startled look, as if he couldn’t believe anyone would ask such a stupid question, but then his expression cleared. “Oh, yes, you’re one of them,” he said, all the while continuing to ring the bell. “Well, I’m soliciting money for the poor. People throw in any spare change they might have on them. Sometimes they may even throw in bills. The money goes to feeding the poor at Christmas.” 

“And are there people who are so poor that they have no means of feeding themselves?” Finrod asked with a frown, remembering when he was a king and how he had made sure none of his people, however lowly their status, went without. 

“People lose their jobs or whatever and suddenly they no longer have the means they once did. The Salvation Army and other such charity groups are there to help, providing free meals, especially at the holidays.” He nodded at a man coming out of the store who stopped to throw in some coins. “Merry Christmas and thank you,” he said as the shopper moved away, pushing a cart of groceries. 

Finrod gave the bell-ringer a wry look. “He threw in only a few coins and yet it is obvious that he has more than enough to feed his family.” 

The Man shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “He gave money to the poor. It doesn’t matter how much or how little, only that he reached out for a brief moment to the unfortunates of the world in this small way. That, in itself, is a minor miracle in an age where people tend to think only of themselves. And when others also give a coin here and a coin there, it does add up.” 

Finrod nodded and reached into his pocket to pull out the money Glorfindel had given him so he could buy what he needed. “How much should I give?” he asked. 

“What your heart bids you to give, my lord.” 

Finrod turned to see Fionwë standing beside him, dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt and a long coat. The bell-ringer did not seem surprised to see him there, and then Finrod realized the Man could neither see nor hear the Maia, for he was busy thanking a couple of women for their contributions. He gave Fionwë a considering look. 

“You’re guarding me, aren’t you?” 

“Actually, I’m on watch for all of Wiseman,” the Maia answered, “and as you happen to reside here, then, technically speaking, I am. Now, do not feel you need to give all your money away. I doubt Glorfindel would appreciate it, if only because he has given you this money out of his own funds and they are not unlimited. It is enough that you are willing to do your part in seeing that others who, through no fault of their own, are forced to accept the charity of others in order to survive.” 

Finrod nodded and, selecting two dollar bills, shoved them into the kettle. The Man smiled at him and thanked him, wishing him a Merry Christmas. Finrod did the same and then decided to head back home. Fionwë walked with him as he left the town center and made his way toward Edhellond. The Maia did not engage him in conversation but Finrod appreciated his presence. When they reached the gates of the mansion, Fionwë simply nodded and faded from view. Finrod went inside where he met Gilvegil coming down the stairs. 

“Did you have a good time shopping?” the ellon asked. 

“Yes, thank you.” 

“I was about to put together some soup for anyone who wants lunch,” Gilvegil said. “I thought lentil soup would be good today.” 

“Let me put my things away and I will come and help you,” Finrod offered. 

“I’ll just get things started,” Gilvegil said as he headed for the kitchen and Finrod took the stairs. 

**** 

Ammë: (Quenya) Hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother. 

Gwador nîn: (Sindarin) My (sworn) brother. 

Note: St. Nicholas (or whoever he may be) quotes the beginning of Psalm 130, one of the seven penitential psalms (NIV version cast in archaic English).

6: I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

The next few days passed quietly. Finrod organized his clues, leaving the first one on the mantle of the fireplace in the library when no one was there to see him. It was the statue of the woman holding a torch, a slip of paper tied around its base with a bit of red yarn pilfered from one of the ellith’s knitting stash. On one side he had written Cennanion’s name and on the other the words ‘Guess who?’. Perhaps it was too obvious, but he figured that it would give him time to come up with better clues which he could leave with the candy. The last clue would be the harp ornament. 

As for his Secret Santa, he pondered the first clue he’d been given. It seemed that the fact that the word ‘law’ had been highlighted was significant, but he would have to wait for additional clues before deciding what it might mean. 

On Saturday morning they woke — those who had bothered to even go to bed — to find formal wear hanging in their closets. The ellith all brought out their gowns to show each other, exclaiming how perfectly the colors matched them. In his closet Finrod found what Glorfindel identified as a tuxedo complete with shirt, a red bow tie and cummerbund. There were even dress shoes. 

“So, does everything turn into a pumpkin at midnight?” Elladan asked with a cheeky grin when they were examining each other’s clothes. 

“It better not!” Alphwen retorted and the Wiseman Elves all laughed. Those from Valinor just shrugged, unsure to what Elladan was referring and deciding they didn’t really want to bother finding out. 

“Way too embarrassing if it did,” Barahir said. “Just in case, though, I think I’ll bring another suit with me.” 

“Or just be sure you’re safe home before midnight,” Cennanion retorted. 

“I am sure that these clothes will not suddenly disappear on us,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “The Valar aren’t that cruel. The Ball begins at eight. We’ll plan to leave around seven-thirty.” 

“The moon will be completely full tonight and they are promising clear skies, so it should be quite lovely, even magical, as the Mortals would say, though I think ‘enchanting’ would be a better word,” Ercassë said. 

“It will be special,” Glorfindel said with a nod. “The people of Wiseman look forward to this night every year. It’s the highlight of the season. The winters here are long and the days are dark. This Ball is one way in which they drive out the darkness.” 

“Much as we do with our Midwinter balls,” Finrod said. 

“Yes, very much so,” Glorfindel responded. 

**** 

Finrod spent the day at the college helping Glorfindel with some of the administrative duties that normally fell to Zach Austin, but Glorfindel had sent the young Man home to his parents shortly after the trial with orders not to show his face before New Year’s. Finrod had approved the plan, for he could see how haunted the Mortal was by his recent ordeal. Vorondur had seconded Glorfindel’s orders and had even contacted a colleague in Anchorage, setting up an appointment for Zach. 

“Jonathan Atherton is an excellent psychologist, very sympathetic and good at getting people to open up to him,” Vorondur had told Glorfindel and Finrod. “Zach will like him.” 

And so Glorfindel found himself without an assistant. Finrod volunteered to help. “It will be like old times, neh?” he had said with a smile when he made the offer. 

“Just so long as we don’t burn the building down,” Glorfindel had quipped. 

Finrod had sniffed in disdain. “You are no fun.” 

Everyone had laughed, Glorfindel laughing the loudest. 

At the Academy Glorfindel explained the intricacies of the computer to him and what needed to be done, then left him to go to a meeting with the college president and the board of trustees. “It should not take long,” he told Finrod, “but with Mortals, you never know.” 

“I will be fine,” Finrod assured him. “And if I run into any trouble, I will call Daeron.” 

As it was, he had little trouble except when he wished to print a document out. He decided not to call for help, but stepped out of the office and wandered down the hall until he came upon one of the Mortals who lived at the Academy, asking if she could help him. The young Woman gave him a surprised look but followed him readily enough, introducing herself as Lucy Barton. She quickly showed him how to print out and even stayed long enough to make sure that the printer was working properly before leaving. Finrod thanked her graciously and then, without really thinking about it, he asked her if she wouldn’t mind showing him how to find information on the computer. 

“I wish to learn more about your holiday customs,” he explained to her, “but other than to importune people with my questions, I have no idea how to find the information I need.” 

When Glorfindel returned about an hour or so later, he found Lucy sitting next to Finrod, apparently showing him something from YouTube, the two of them listening to someone singing a Christmas carol. 

“I thought I left you working,” he said with a grin. 

Finrod merely pointed to a pile of papers on the desk and smiled back. Lucy excused herself, saying she needed to review the tour she was giving in the morning and the two Elves bade her farewell. 

“Thank you again for all your help,” Finrod said, rising from his seat and giving her a courtly bow. 

“My pleasure,” Lucy replied, giving them both a smile as she left. 

“Well, if you’re through playing, why don’t we head back home and get ready for the Ball?” Glorfindel suggested. 

“Let me just turn off the computer,” Finrod said and five minutes later they were on their way back to Edhellond. 

**** 

“And this is considered formal wear among Mortals?” Finrod asked a while later as he allowed Glorfindel to help him with his tie. 

“In this culture, yes,” Glorfindel said as he stood behind Finrod, the two of them standing before a mirror while Glorfindel tied the bow. Glorfindel was already dressed, his golden hair unbraided, tied back with black ribbon. Finrod’s hair was the same. “Wiseman is not the big city, by any stretch of the imagination, and the people who live here are not what we would call sophisticated, but they are proud of their heritage and the Christmas Ball is a tradition that goes back almost to the founding of the town. This Ball is eagerly waited for by the townspeople, though admittedly not everyone attends. Yet, there will be smaller, less formal gatherings in other parts of the town for those who do not wish to dress so formally. In effect, the entire town dances the night away tonight. There, all set, and don’t you look the handsome dude. You’ll have all the women insisting you dance with them.” 

“I just hope I remember the steps,” Finrod said with a smile. “The dances you taught us are rather… um… strange.” 

Glorfindel patted him on the shoulder, smiling into the mirror. “You’ll do fine and you are not required to dance with any of the women if you don’t wish to, though I think you should at least dance with Nielluin.” 

“That goes without saying,” Finrod said. “She is my niece and I am her oldest male relative. She would not be able to dance with anyone until I have danced with her.” 

“In our culture, yes, but not in this one,” Glorfindel replied. “Once she’s danced with you and Finda, then she should be allowed to dance with whomever she pleases, though I suspect most of the male Mortals will be too intimidated by her… um… beauty to ask her.” Finrod chuckled and Glorfindel grinned, then continued, “At any rate, we’ve taught you a couple of the more popular slow dances, since their steps are easier to remember, but do not feel obligated to dance if you do not wish to. Shall we go?” 

Finrod nodded and they headed downstairs where everyone was beginning to gather. He noticed Glorfindel’s eyes lighting up at the sight of Helyanwë and hid a smile. The elleth was dressed in a beautiful deep green velvet gown that complemented her eyes, her silver-golden hair carefully coifed in an intricate crown of braids plaited with emeralds. She looked like her great-grandmother, Alassiel, whom, he suspected, his gwador had had some feelings for, but she had fallen in love with Sador and Glorfindel had not begrudged either of them their love. It was just as well, Finrod reflected, with Glorfindel destined to return to Middle-earth. Alassiel would never have been permitted to go with him and that would have been unbearable for them both. Now, however, things were different and he rejoiced that his gwador had at last found someone to love and who could return that love. He wondered if there would be more than one wedding in the future, then pushed that thought away as he looked for Nielluin whom he would be escorting as her oldest male kin. The Mortals might not hold to such proprieties, but Finrod felt responsible for his niece and would not consider doing otherwise. He smiled as he saw her, dressed in a filmy gossamer gown of pale rose, her hair less formally coifed as befitted a younger ellith. She offered him a shy look as he approached. 

“You look lovely tonight, my dear,” he said as he took her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. 

“Thank you, Uncle, and you look quite… um… different in these clothes.” 

“You mean I look ridiculous,” Finrod said with a laugh. “I feel rather ridiculous. The Mortals of this time have little sense of taste.” 

“Nonsense, Finrod. I think you look splendid, you all do,” Nimrodel said and the other ellith murmured their agreement. 

“Well, let us go,” Glorfindel said, offering his elbow to Helyanwë as he opened the front door. As it was a clear night, the Elves had decided to walk to the Grange Hall. Setting off down the street with Findalaurë, Calandil and Elennen in the lead carrying old-fashioned lanterns, they made quite a spectacle. Ercassë started singing a hymn to Elbereth and they all joined in. As they came closer to the Grange Hall, the traffic along the street came to a halt as the Mortals watched their procession go by, many of them rolling down their windows to listen to the singing. The few pedestrians moved quickly out of their way, flattening themselves against buildings and gaping at them. The Elves ignored it all. 

Once at the Grange Hall, they made their way to a side door, for the main doors were closed. Inside they found attendants to take their cloaks and then they made their way down the corridor into the main hall. It had been transformed and Finrod looked about appreciatively at the swags of balsam and red ribbon and twinkling white lights that were the main decorations. The stage on which he had held his Court was now covered with a variety of equipment. He recognized none of it, but he saw Gloria Richards, dressed in a white sequined gown, standing there, speaking to others whom he suspected were members of the band as they looked over their instruments. Along one wall were set several tables on which were plates of delicacies and large crystal-cut bowls filled with punch. People congregated along the sides, leaving the center of the room empty. Glorfindel gestured for them to move to the right, out of the way of the doors to allow others to enter. 

“There will be a brief welcoming speech from the mayor and then the first dance, which is always a waltz,” he explained to the Valinórean Elves. “As I told Finrod, no one is obligated to dance, though I hope you will dance at least once. If you’re not sure which dance steps to use, just find one of us and we’ll tell you or watch the Mortals. The fast dances will be somewhat different.” 

“How different?” Prince Legolas asked as he accepted a glass of champagne from a server who was mingling with the crowds. 

“It’s rather hard to describe,” Daeron answered. “You’ll have to see for yourselves. The important thing is simply to enjoy yourselves. Mingle with the Mortals, ask them about their families and their work and what they hope for in the coming New Year and speak about your own hopes and dreams. If they ask questions, answer them as truthfully as you can and don’t be surprised at what they may ask you. They are not being rude, merely curious, and you must not take offense.” 

“Hey! You’re here!” 

Everyone looked to see Alex Grant smiling at them. With him were Derek and an older gentleman who bore a striking resemblance to Derek, though his hair was graying and his eyes were brown instead of hazel as were Derek’s. Like the ellyn, they were all dressed in tuxedos. 

“Good evening,” Glorfindel said, speaking for them all. “Don’t you look the dashing dudes.” 

Alex and Derek laughed and the older Man snorted in amusement. Then Derek made the introductions. “This is my dad, Andrew Lowell. Dad, this is Loren, Darren and Quinn and I’ll let everyone else introduce themselves, but they’re all friends of mine.” 

“Glad t’finally meet ya all,” Andrew Lowell said as he shook hands with Glorfindel, Daeron and Finrod. “Especially you,” he gave Glorfindel a significant look. “All I’ve heard since comin’ here has been ‘Loren this and Loren that’. You don’t walk on water, do ya?” He winked and Glorfindel and several others laughed while Derek blushed. 

“Not recently,” Glorfindel said. “I’m glad to finally meet you as well, Mr. Lowell. Derek is a fine young man and I know you must be very proud of him.” 

“I am and the name’s Andy.” 

“Andy. And how are you liking Alaska so far?” 

“Well, it ain’t sunny California, that’s for sure, but it’s pretty enough. My son seems happy here and that’s all that matters to me, though this Elf Guide business....” He shook his head. 

“I won’t always be an Elf Guide, Dad,” Derek said, “but it’s a start, and hey, I haven’t told you my news.” He turned to the Elves with a huge grin. “Marty, the manager at the resort where I’m working, offered me a permanent position.” 

“Congratulations,” Glorfindel said and everyone else echoed him. 

“So what will you do after the season ends?” Nielluin asked. 

“Marty wants me to continue acting as a tour guide for now, though not as an Elf. He also thinks I might help out as a sort of assistant to the assistant manager, get some training there with the idea that eventually I might take over for Bobbie. She’s getting married in a couple of months and then she and her husband are moving to Anchorage where he now works and I guess a couple of the other guides will be heading off to college so Marty will be short of staff.” 

“Well, we’re all very happy for you, Derek, and wish you all the luck,” Glorfindel said. “What about you, Alex? Still interested in teaching Beginning Italian and French?” 

“Oh sure,” Alex answered. “And I’ve applied to the University of Alaska in Fairbanks for their graduate linguistics program. In fact, I got the letter of acceptance today. Most of my classes will be online or via teleconferencing so it shouldn’t interfere with my teaching schedule. I can’t imagine too many students wanting to take either language.” 

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Daeron said with a faint smile. “Ah, it looks as if the Ball is about to be officially opened.” 

Everyone looked to see Mayor Whitman walking up to the stage and taking a microphone from Gloria. “Good evening,” he exclaimed, “and welcome to the ninetieth anniversary of our Christmas Ball. I want to especially welcome our friends from Edhellond who have graced us with their presence.” He gave a short bow in their direction and there was a scattering of applause. “And so, without further delay, I declare the Christmas Ball officially open. Have a good time everyone.” He handed the microphone back to Gloria as everyone clapped and then the lights dimmed somewhat and the Arctic Fringe began playing a waltz tune. 

Finrod watched as Glorfindel escorted Helyanwë onto the floor along with Daeron, who was escorting Melyanna, Vorondur and Ercassë, Amroth and Nimrodel, and Elrohir and Serindë. Even Elladan was dancing with Eirien and the other Wiseman ellyn had also partnered with one of the ellith. The Valinórean Elves hung back, content to watch the Mortals. Finrod noticed the wistful look on his niece’s face as she watched the dancers. Before he could move to take her onto the dance floor, Alex spoke up. 

“Would you care to dance, Nell?” 

She gave him a surprised look but when he held out his hand, she glanced at Finrod, who nodded, and then she gave Alex a shy smile as she took his hand. Finrod watched as Alex gracefully swung her into the dance and they swirled away. 

“Dude’s a cool dancer,” Derek commented with a fond smile as he and his father stood by watching. 

“Will you not dance?” Finrod asked. 

“Oh sure,” Derek drawled. “Just as soon as I’ve had too much punch to care how many left feet I have.” 

The Elves all smiled and Derek’s father shook his head and rolled his eyes. The dance came to an end and then another song was played, this one with Gloria singing a lively tune and Finrod watched in open-mouthed amazement as people began gyrating. He saw Glorfindel and Helyanwë make their way to where the Elves were congregated. Amroth and Nimrodel also came off the floor as did Alex and Nielluin but the others remained dancing. Derek straightened his lanky frame as Alex and Nielluin approached. 

“My turn?” he asked, holding out his hand to Nielluin, who looked quite happy to accept and soon the two of them were gyrating with the others, though Nielluin was a little hesitant, glancing around at the other dancers to see what they were doing. Derek took her hands and whispered something to her and she nodded and he began showing her some steps. 

Alex, meanwhile, was speaking with Amroth, Nimrodel and Mithrellas. “C’mon, Grandmama,” he said to Mithrellas, giving her a wicked grin, “let’s you and me boogey.” Mithrellas giggled as she accepted Alex’s hand while Amroth and Nimrodel waved them cheerily onto the floor before joining Finrod and the others, accepting cups of punch which Glorfindel handed them. 

“This is dancing?” Vardamir asked, his eyes wide with surprise. 

Amroth grinned. “So they tell me. I stopped trying to figure it out when the Charleston came into vogue. The waltz is about my speed.” 

“It looks… um… fun,” Prince Legolas said, “but why do they even bother with a partner?” 

“Because dancing by yourself is totally not cool, as the Mortals would say,” Glorfindel replied with a grin. 

“But there’s no pattern to the steps,” Manwen exclaimed. 

“You dance to the rhythm,” Nimrodel explained. “You let the music take you where it wishes to go,” and she began swaying even while in Amroth’s arms. He kissed her gently on the forehead and whispered something. She nodded and without a word they joined the other dancers. 

Glorfindel gave Finrod and the others looking on a smile. “Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of slow dances. In the meantime, why don’t we spread out a bit and mingle? Right now we look like a bunch of losers huddled together.” 

Erestor, an arm around his beloved wife Lindorillë’s waist, gave him a sniff of disdain. “That’s your opinion,” he said, “but you are correct that we should mingle and get to know these people better. My dear, shall we?” Lindorillë nodded and the two went off, stopping to introduce themselves to a group of Mortals who were visiting one another. That seemed to be the signal for the others and soon they were drifting away, leaving Finrod alone with Glorfindel and Helyanwë. The song ended about then and a new one began, this one slower but apparently not a waltz, for Finrod watched as couples wrapped their arms around each other and stepped in small circles. Several of them apparently were holding soft conversations with their partners, for he could see their lips moving. 

“Go and dance,” Glorfindel said to him. 

“Nielluin seems occupied,” Finrod replied, nodding to where his niece was now dancing with Findalaurë, the two of them surreptitiously watching the Mortals around them and trying to copy their movements. He watched as Alex, now dancing with a young Mortal woman whom he did not know, moved beside them and spoke, perhaps giving them some dancing tips, for Finda and Nielluin both nodded and then looked more relaxed as they danced. At one point, much to Finrod’s surprise, Alex and Finda exchanged partners and he watched as the Mortal woman apparently was giving his son some instruction. 

“There are other women who would love to dance,” Glorfindel pointed out as he led Helyanwë onto the dance floor. 

Finrod looked about, watching the various couples, missing Amarië even more than usual and feeling suddenly tired. He recognized the signs, the feeling of despair washing over him, wishing he could just leave, knowing that would be impossible. 

“Would you like to dance?” 

He turned to see a Woman standing there, one whom he recognized. “Is your husband not here?” he asked, giving her a smile. 

“Oh, Dave is around here somewhere,” Janna Michaelson, wife of Wiseman’s Chief of Police, said with a dismissive wave of a hand. “Probably talking shop with Harry and Carl,” she added, naming the mayor and the county Sheriff. 

“I thought it was the man’s duty to ask for a dance,” Finrod said. 

Janna gave an unlady-like snort. “My lord, if the women waited for the men to get up enough nerve to ask us for a dance, we’d all die of old age before that miracle happened.” 

Finrod laughed and Janna smirked. “Then, if you do not mind dancing with someone who has no idea how to do your dances, then I would be honored, gracious lady,” he said with a slight bow, holding out his hand for her to take. 

And so he danced and found that it was not as difficult as he thought it would be. Janna was a patient teacher, showing him where to place his hands and giving him quiet instructions. When the song ended, the next one was also a slow dance and he continued dancing with Janna, asking about her children and telling her about his own. When that dance ended, they left the floor, Finrod leading her to where he saw Dave Michaelson standing with Carl Graff and Harry Whitman, with Harry’s and Carl’s wives talking to each other while the men conversed. They all looked up as Finrod and Janna approached. 

“Here is your lovely wife, David Michaelson,” he said. “I think she would like to dance with her husband.” Then he gave Harry and Carl significant looks. “As I believe your own wives would. When I was king of Nargothrond, I made it a point of etiquette that no discussion of a political or martial kind was to take place during a feast. The first time someone ignored that particular rule the poor fool found himself on the other side of the doors of my kingdom with only his weapons and the clothes on his back.” 

“What happened the next time?” Dave asked, looking at him with amusement. 

Finrod gave him a cool look. “There was no ‘next time’.” 

“Ah….” Dave said then gave his wife a smile. “Would you care to dance, my dear?” 

“Thought you would never ask,” Janna said with a wink to Finrod as she allowed her husband to escort her. Harry and Carl followed with their wives, Harry’s wife giving him a grateful smile. 

“Nicely done.” 

Finrod turned to see an amused looking Námo standing next to him. Like Finrod, the Vala was wearing a tuxedo with a maroon tie and cummerbund, his dark hair unbraided and tied back with a black ribbon. Lady Vairë was with him, looking lovely in a dark maroon gown. 

“Are you here for the dancing, too?” Finrod asked. 

“My husband is a big fan of the Arctic Fringe,” Vairë said with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “He has all their CDs.” 

Finrod gave them a disbelieving look. Námo simply smirked as he gave Finrod a slight bow before taking Vairë onto the dance floor. Finrod watched as they swirled away among the other dancers and he was never afterward sure if they faded away or he simply lost sight of them in the darkness of the Hall, but he did not see them again that evening. 

The Ball continued until midnight. Finrod did dance with Nielluin eventually and with a few others, but generally he spent the evening mingling, occasionally catching sight of the other Elves as they, too, mingled or danced. The Arctic Fringe took a short break around ten and the lights came up slightly, giving people more illumination. Many took advantage of the lull to fill their plates with food and Finrod was introduced to fondue, both cheese and chocolate. Then, as the clock turned to midnight, the Arctic Fringe finished one last dance number and then Gloria spoke. 

“I hope you all had a good time tonight.” There was much applause and cheering and it was a moment before she could continue. “We’d like to finish up with one last song, a Christmas carol, that speaks to all our hopes and dreams for a brighter future for ourselves and our children.” She paused and then one of the musicians started playing. 

“I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play, and mild and sweet their songs repeat: Peace on Earth, good will to Men. And the bells are ringing, like a choir singing. In my heart I hear them: Peace on Earth, good will to Men….” 

Finrod watched the Mortals around him as they listened to the song. No one was dancing. Many of the couples had their arms around each other, gently swaying to the music. 

“And in despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on Earth, I said. For hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on Earth, good will to Men….” 

Finrod felt a lump in his throat, feeling as if the words were speaking to his own sense of despair. 

“Then rang the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead nor doth He sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right prevail with peace on Earth, good will to Men….” 

Finrod noticed Alex and Derek standing nearby with other Mortals he knew as they listened to Gloria singing and saw expressions of hope and determination on their faces. They knew that a war, the Final Battle, was coming. When, was anyone’s guess. They knew that they themselves might not live to see it, but perhaps their children or grandchildren might. The very thought had to frighten them, he could not doubt it, and yet, there was no sense of despair or anger in them. There was only hope… estel… something he had lost along with his life’s blood from a bullet wound. He felt tears flowing down his cheeks as he listened to the final verse of the song. 

“Do you hear the bells, they’re ringing? The life the angels singing. Open your hearts and hear them: Peace on Earth… peace on Earth… peace on Earth, good will to Men.” 

The music faded away and the hall was completely silent. “Merry Christmas everyone, and good night,” Gloria said softly into the microphone and the entire hall burst into loud applause as the lights came up. Finrod swiped at the tears on his face, hoping no one had seen. Glorfindel came up to him. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. 

“Should we not stay and help put things away?” Finrod enquired. 

“Cleaning crew is already here waiting for us to leave,” Glorfindel replied. “Come. It looks as if it’s started to snow again.” Then he gave Finrod a searching look. “Are you all right, gwador?” 

“Yes, I am,” Finrod said, straightening. “Shall we go find the others?” 

Glorfindel stared at him for a long moment before nodding. “Yes. Let’s go. Roy and Sarah have already left. They’ll have hot chocolate waiting for us when we get home.” 

“That sounds good to me,” Finrod said and together the two began rounding up the others, giving their Mortal friends their farewells and then they were outside, pulling up the hoods of their cloaks against the snow gently falling as they set off. 

The Mortals who happened to see them pass watched in wonder at the glow of light that surrounded them, so that they appeared to be moving in a bright mist. 

**** 

Ellith: (Eldarin) Plural of elleth: a female Elf. 

Note: The version of ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day’ that inspired this chapter is a rendition sung by Casting Crowns. You can hear them singing this song on YouTube.

7: In the Bleak Midwinter

None of the Elves bothered to retire after the Ball, more interested in speaking of their experiences. The ellyn did take the time to remove jackets, ties and cummerbunds and unbutton the top button of their shirts but the ellith merely kicked off their shoes as they settled into chairs and settees with their hot chocolates. 

“So, did everyone enjoy themselves?” Glorfindel asked as he sat next to Helyanwë and there were murmurs of assent. 

“Though it was nothing like our own balls,” Lindorillë said where she was seated with her husband, Erestor, who had an arm around her shoulders. 

“And why should it be?” Elladan retorted with a shrug where he was kneeling by the fireplace, poking up the fire. “It is a Mortal affair, after all, and as such things go these days, quite enjoyable. Some of adar’s feasts could be quite tedious.” He gave them a teasing grin. 

“Which is why you and your brother were at pains to avoid them at all cost,” Erestor said with a mock scowl. “And your excuses for doing so became more and more… shall we say, ludicrous.” 

“I particularly liked the one about needing to see if there were any Nazgûl hanging about the front garden,” Glorfindel said with a wide grin. 

“Well we did have to hunt them down to see if any survived the flooding of the Bruinen when the Ringbearer was being chased by them,” Elrohir responded with a sniff. “And as I recall, you sent us.” 

“Yes, of course, but that was a legitimate excuse,” Glorfindel averred. “I’m referring to the time you wished to avoid the delegation from King Beleg of Arthedain who was bringing his heir Mallor to be fostered in Imladris.” 

“Boring Mortal and his son was about as interesting as dead leaves,” Elladan said disdainfully. “’Roh and I had a perfectly lovely time chasing after wargs that winter.” 

His twin nodded. “The bestest of times,” he said with a straight face and there was a round of laughter from everyone. 

“Well, it’s too bad we can’t take the Arctic Fringe on a tour to Valinor,” Calandil said once they had calmed down. “They’re wicked cool.” 

Several of the older Elves raised eyebrows at that statement and Calandil blushed slightly as if he had just realized that he might have said something gauche. 

“Did anyone see Lord Námo and Lady Vairë at the Ball?” Finrod asked in the brief silence that followed. 

All of them looked at him in surprise. “Lord Námo was there?” Vorondur asked, frowning. 

 “In a tuxedo,” Finrod replied with a nod and that elicited several comments of surprise. 

“So what were they doing?” Glorfindel enquired. 

“Dancing,” Finrod replied, “or that’s what they were doing when they disappeared. Lady Vairë said something about her husband having all of the Arctic Fringe’s CDs.” 

Now the silence was complete and then Vorondur chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, if only Sigmund were here,” he muttered before taking a sip of his drink. 

“So, I wonder if any of the other Valar were there,” Glorfindel said but Finrod simply shrugged. 

“I only saw them and then just briefly as they spoke to me. I am not even sure why they bothered to let themselves be known to me and to no one else.” 

“It does make you wonder, though,” Daeron said. “In all these ages, the Valar have never been this active in the affairs of Men and Elves, especially of Men.” 

“No. I would disagree with you there,” Finrod said. “It would be more accurate to say that they have never been so directly involved in your affairs as they are now, but they were always there behind the scenes. Lord Manwë often kept us, or at least the kings, informed of the major events occurring in Middle-Earth and while he never came out and said it, I always had the impression that the Valar or more likely the Maiar were in the thick of things, helping to bring about a desired outcome.” 

“There have been tales all down the ages of ‘angels’ suddenly appearing at critical times in human history, especially in times of war,” Vorondur said. 

“Perhaps Lord Námo and Lady Vairë just wanted to have a good time,” Nielluin offered in the thoughtful silence that followed Vorondur’s statement. “I remember that when the Valar were invited to any of our feasts back home, Lord Námo and his lady rarely attended. I don’t think too many people welcomed them. That must have been lonely for them.” 

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. Finrod gave Nielluin a smile. “You are very perceptive, my dear, much like your ammë. The Reborn have always been welcoming to the Lord of Mandos and his lady, and as we now outnumber the Once-born, that attitude is beginning to change. I think, as we come closer to the time of the Dagor Dagorath, we will be seeing more of the Valar, especially Lord Námo. It behooves us to treat him in a welcoming manner so that the Mortals in our care do not end up fearing him.” 

“And what makes you think that the Mortals are in our care?” Vorondur asked. “That’s rather presumptuous, not to mention arrogant, of you, my lord.” 

“Presumptuous or not, arrogant or not, it is the truth,” Finrod shot back. “Why do you think we are here?” He gestured to the others from Valinor. “It is our duty to nurture in these Mortals a true sense of what is happening. They are all caught up in their own mythologies, many of which are so distorted that it is difficult to discern what is true and what is not, and they need to be retaught. That is our task.” 

“And the Valar told you this?” Glorfindel asked stiffly. 

Finrod shook his head. “No. we were told only that we were to help you with the Academy.” He gave Glorfindel a bright smile. “I was told in no uncertain terms that I was not to take over. The Academy is yours to rule and I am here for another purpose, but what that purpose is, I do not know yet. I was told that when the time came, I would know, but in the meantime I and those accompanying me were to place ourselves into your hands and help in whatever capacity was needed.” 

“And I’m grateful for that help, we all are,” Glorfindel said and the other Elves of Wiseman nodded. “The Valar keep insisting that there are other Elves out there who have not faded and that they would eventually find us, but so far that hasn’t happened.” 

“It’s early days yet,” Cennanion said. “We only discovered you purely by accident.” 

“Oh?” Daeron said. 

“I think it was Alfa who found you,” he said and the elleth nodded. 

“I was doing some research on the internet and the search engine called up the Academy website among others. I opened it more out of curiosity than anything since I could tell it wouldn’t have the information I was looking for. I remember sitting there staring at the screen, reading the tengwar and weeping as I read it. For so long Barry, Conan, Daisy, Gil and I thought we were the only ones left. I emailed the others and gave them the link and the rest, as they say, is history.” 

“That’s pretty much how it happened for us, as well,” Vorondur said, nodding to Ercassë and Serindë. “It was pure chance that Ercassë found that website when she was helping one of the students in the school where she was a guidance counselor find an appropriate college.” 

“I doubt if it was pure chance, my friend,” Finrod said. “I would not be at all surprised if in both cases a Maia was involved in making sure you found the website. When the Valar deem it appropriate for others to do the same, I have no doubt that we will see more Elves who never Sailed.” 

Just about then, the clock on the mantle chimed four times. “Why don’t we fix some breakfast and then afterwards we’ll drive over to the Mt. Horace Holiday Resort. I want to take you all to the Winterdark Tarn. You need to know what lies there.” 

They all agreed to that and after divesting themselves of their formal wear and donning more sensible clothes, they congregated in the kitchen and dining room to fix breakfast, limiting their conversation to discussing the Ball and what they thought of it. 

**** 

By the time they reached the resort it was nearly eleven o’clock and the sun was just rising. There would only be about four hours of daylight but Glorfindel assured them that that would be plenty of time. Glorfindel and Finrod went inside the lodge to speak with the assistant manager, a Woman named Amanda Taylor, while the others headed for the funicular. 

“We’re going to take the Winterdark Tarn trail,” Glorfindel said after making introductions. “There is something there my friends need to see.” 

“That trail is closed,” Amanda said with a frown. “It’s far too dangerous this time of year.” 

“For Mortals, perhaps,” Glorfindel assured her. “We should be back before it gets dark.” 

Amanda shook her head. “Just don’t expect anyone to come rescue you if you get into trouble. I won’t risk my people for your stupidity… my lord.” She gave them a sardonic look. 

Both Glorfindel and Finrod raised eyebrows at that but Amanda refused to back down, which Finrod admired. Glorfindel grinned. “We’ve been suitably warned, then, so your conscience is clear, Amanda.” 

With that he and Finrod left and made their way to the funicular where they found that only a few people were still waiting to take it. “Everyone else is up,” Amroth said as he helped Nimrodel into the car. Once they were all at the top, Glorfindel ordered Elladan and Elrohir to scout ahead. They took Findalaurë, Calandil and Elennen with them, for the three younger ellyn had expressed a desire to learn more woodlore. Everyone else trailed behind, taking in the views and communing with the trees. 

Finrod felt himself relaxing as he had not done since the kidnapping. He took deep cleansing breaths, all the tension inside him seeping away as he walked beside Glorfindel. The trail did not prove overly difficult for any of them, though Finrod could see why it was closed during the winter months, especially when they reached the fall of stones and had to clamber over them. He helped Amroth with Nimrodel who confessed to feeling a bit awkward in her growing condition. 

“It’s a good thing we’re doing this now,” she said. “If we had waited until spring I would not have been able to come.” 

“Surely you have been here already,” Finrod said. “I am surprised all of you of Wiseman are accompanying us.” 

Amroth grinned. “We’re enjoying the outing. It’s a lovely day for a walk in the woods.” 

Almost as he spoke, the sky, which had started out blue, began to turn gray with clouds. The wind picked up and swirled the snow about them, causing them to be blinded for a moment or two until it died and the snow settled back onto the ground. 

Finrod gave Amroth a sardonic look as he brushed the snow out of his eyes. “You were saying?” 

Amroth just shrugged and Nimrodel laughed. 

“Hey, you’re falling behind,” Glorfindel called out to them from further up the trail and the three resumed their walk. 

By the time they reached the tarn, the sky was completely clouded over and the wind tore into them. Finrod eyed the tarn, its dark waters crusted over with ice. The mountains loomed around them, gray and menacing, their granite peaks snow-capped. There was a brooding silence that settled over them and the air felt dead. Glorfindel stood along the west bank staring into the frozen waters. Finrod joined him; everyone else huddled in groups of three or four, remaining silent. 

“And this is where Alex almost drowned?” Finrod asked quietly. 

“Not almost, did,” Glorfindel replied. “When they brought him out he had no pulse. According to Derek, it took them nearly five minutes to revive him. Only the fact that the water is so cold whatever the time of year helped to prevent brain damage from the lack of oxygen.” 

“And young Caleb?” 

Glorfindel shook his head. “He swallowed some water but otherwise suffered nothing worse than a dunking.” 

“What lies beneath the waters, do you suppose?” 

“Can you feel it?” 

Finrod nodded. “Yes, but beyond that I can tell nothing. It sleeps but its dreams are troubled. If it should wake….” 

“Something I hope to avoid,” Glorfindel said. “I fear though that Alex’s presence disturbed its slumbers more than we would wish.” 

“He has the blood of Elros in him, however diluted,” Finrod averred. He fell silent, pondering what he had been told about Alex and what had happened to him. He was as shocked as the others when he learned about Alex apparently tapping into the memories of Bregdal, one of the Companions who had died in Sauron’s dungeon along with Finrod. Vorondur had shown him the essay Alex had written, describing the last days of Bregdal’s life. 

“I must tell Alex that Bregdal is alive and happy,” he said suddenly. “He should know that the ellon now lives in Vinyalondë, married to a lovely elleth and surrounded by children and grandchildren.” 

“I am sure he would appreciate it,” Glorfindel said. “I know it’s taken some time for him to accept his heritage. Ron has been helping him with that.” 

“Caleb was the lure.” 

“Excuse me?” Glorfindel gave Finrod a stunned look. 

Finrod nodded, never taking his eyes off the tarn. “Think about it. Alex was the only one that felt any uneasiness here at the tarn. The others felt nothing. What lies below somehow recognized Alex for who he is. It wanted him and Caleb was the lure.” 

“Caleb only fell in because he was startled by Alex’s shouting at him,” Glorfindel pointed out. 

Finrod, however, just shook his head. “The child would have fallen in regardless. You told me that, according to what Alex told you later, the boy was leaning over, reaching out for something. If Alex hadn’t shouted when he did, Caleb would have been drawn into the water in some manner. The end result would have been the same: Alex would have dived in to rescue the boy. That is what it wanted. It wanted Alex and had it not been for Lord Námo’s Maiar, the Man would have been lost.” 

“Alex is important to the Valar, which is why he was lured here to Wiseman in the first place,” Glorfindel said, pursing his lips in thought. 

“And if he is important to them, he is equally important to the Enemy, as we have already seen from recent events,” Finrod commented. 

Just then, Amroth came over with Nimrodel. Mithrellas was with them. “We’re heading back,” the former king of Laurinand said. “I don’t care for Della and the twins to be near that for too long.” He gestured with his chin at the tarn. 

“Nor do I,” Glorfindel said, then addressed the others in a louder voice. “Have you seen enough?” 

There were nods all around. “What do you suppose sleeps beneath these waters?” Beleg asked Glorfindel. 

“My guess, and that’s all it is, is that it’s possibly a balrog, but it may be something similar to the Watcher that haunted the entrance into Moria. Personally, I hope we never find out.” 

The others agreed to that and they set off again. The clouds which had been piling up now let loose their burden of snow so the trail back became more treacherous and they had to go slowly. It took them longer to get back to the funicular than Glorfindel had planned and it was after three before they made it back down to the lodge where it was barely snowing. The sun had set a half hour earlier and it was now completely dark. Amanda met them as they trooped inside, shaking off the snow. 

“I was beginning to worry,” she said in greeting. “I was about to call Search and Rescue.” 

“The snow held us up,” Glorfindel replied, “or we would’ve been back sooner.” 

“Well, why don’t you head into the dining room and have something hot to eat before you leave?” Amanda suggested. “You all look as if you could use it.” 

And they did just that. It was another hour or so before they climbed back into their cars and headed back to Wiseman. 

**** 

The next couple of days passed quietly in Edhellond. Finrod received a second clue from his Secret Santa on Tuesday morning. It was a postcard that showed gleaming towers beside a stretch of water that he thought must be a lake. There was nothing else, not even any writing. In fact, looking at the back he saw that some writing had been blacked out, so apparently whatever the clue, it was up to him to discover its meaning. He stared at the picture on the front, marveling at the cityscape. The picture showed a night scene and the towers were lit up. He slipped the postcard into a pocket. He would not show it to any of the Elves, for he had no idea who might be his Secret Santa, but he could show it to Mortals, who might be able to identify the picture for him. How knowing which city of Men this might be would help him to discover the identity of his Secret Santa, he was not sure, but the person obviously thought that it was an important clue. 

Thus, while he was at the Academy, helping Glorfindel out while Glorfindel played Elf Guide, he had the opportunity to speak with one or two of the students as he made his way toward the administrative wing of the building, showing them the postcard. Unfortunately, none to whom he showed the postcard could tell him for sure which city it was and he was beginning to despair, wondering how he would learn what he needed to know. Deciding that for now he would not learn what he wished, he put the postcard away and went to work. 

Around one o’clock, he stopped, deciding he needed a break. Stepping out of the office he smelled food and realized the cafeteria would be open for lunch. Grabbing the postcard, which he had propped up against the computer screen, he made his way upstairs to the cafeteria, which was now nearly empty of diners, for most of the students who were not acting as guides that day would have eaten earlier. 

“Is it too late to get lunch?” he asked one of the servers. 

“No sir. We close in about a half an hour,” the young Man said. “Would you like some tomato bisque and we’ve got toasted cheese sandwiches or there’s some pizza.” 

“The soup will be fine and a salad,” Finrod answered and a few minutes later he was looking for a place to sit. To his delight he saw Alex Grant sitting alone, drinking coffee and reading something. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. The Mortal looked up and smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him. “What are you reading?” 

“‘An Introduction to Linguistics’. I thought I would start boning up on the subject before I begin my studies at the university. It’s been way too long since I’ve done linguistics and I’ve forgotten much of it.” 

Finrod nodded. “My uncle, Fëanor, founded the Lambengolmor, a school of language loremasters who were interested in studying how our language, Quenya, developed and attempted to preserve its… um… purity, you might say, deploring such things as substituting ‘ess’ for ‘eth’ in certain words. When those from Beleriand began to arrive in Valinor after the War of Wrath the loremasters were initially eager to study Sindarin, but too many of them considered it a bastardized form of Quenya rather than a language in its own right.” He gave Alex a sardonic smile. “They refused to help in setting up schools where Sindarin would be taught to Amanians, insisting that it was unnecessary. The Tol Eressëans were better off learning Quenya, they insisted. Some of them even suggested that Sindarin should be outlawed.” 

Alex raised an eyebrow at that. “It sounds as if you Elves aren’t much different from us Mortals. In France, they have a Language Academy that seeks to preserve the purity of their language, even going so far as to outlaw the use of foreign words, especially English, which have made their way into the language, so instead of using the perfectly good word ‘weekend’ they insist it should be ‘la fin de la semaine’. The French are language snobs anyway.” He chuckled. “English, on the other hand, has no pride. It steals from everyone. Half the words we use in daily life are taken from other languages, some of them not even remotely related to it. Ketchup, for instance, is from the Chinese.” 

“You have studied Sindarin. Will you study Quenya as well?” Finrod asked. 

“Yeah. Loren offers a beginning Quenya course on Saturdays. I’ve already signed up for next term. The linguistics program at the university requires that any student who does not have knowledge of at least one language other than English has to take a language course. Since I am fluent in half a dozen languages, I’m exempt, but I do want to learn Quenya and Gil says he’ll continue working with me on improving my Sindarin. The course here at the Academy is very introductory and I am by no means as fluent in it as I would wish.” 

Finrod nodded. “You are wise to continue your studies and perhaps when you are sufficiently fluent in both our languages you may wish to study them linguistically. I would be interested in knowing what you think of them. Perhaps it might be possible to share your views with the lambengolmor back in Aman. The loremasters have never had the opportunity to hear how a Mortal sees things.” 

Alex gave him a wry look. “From the sounds of it, I doubt they would be impressed by anything I or any other Mortal might have to say about such things.” 

“I am sure any number of them would be dismissive, however, Valandur is a lambengolmo, one of the most respected loremasters in Aman, high in the councils of our high king and my own atar. He would welcome your insights.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex said. “Well, if you will excuse me, I promised Derek I would meet him and his dad at two. We’re going to drive over to Chandalar for their Lights on the Lake.” 

“What is that?” 

“They set up a whole bunch of different Christmas lights along the lake and people can come and view them. I understand it’s quite spectacular. They have ice sculptures as well. We’ll be spending the night there and returning sometime tomorrow.” 

“It sounds fun. Before you go, perhaps you could help me with something.” 

“Sure. What do you need?” 

Finrod fished out the postcard. “It is a clue from my Secret Santa.” 

Alex’s eyebrows lifted but he made no comment as he took the postcard. 

“As you can see, there is nothing to indicate where this is. I was wondering….” 

“Chicago, the Windy City,” Alex said, handing the postcard back. 

“You are sure?” 

“Been there too many times not to recognize the skyline. When I was chasing down terrorist wannabes in the Midwest, I worked out of the Agency’s Chicago office. It’s a pretty city. I like it better than New York or even Washington.” 

“Chicago.” Finrod stared at the postcard for a moment then looked up, giving Alex a smile. “Thank you.” 

“Hey, no problem. Catch you later, okay?” 

Finrod nodded and Alex stood up, taking his tray and his book with him, leaving Finrod to finish his own lunch. So, Chicago. He thought he understood what the clue was meant to tell him, but he would hold off judgment for now and wait for the other clues. He finished his lunch, taking some coffee in a Styrofoam cup with him and returned to the office, staying until about four when he shut everything down and headed back to Edhellond, stopping at the woods on the way and spending a few minutes communing with the trees.

8: Give Me No Splendour, Gold or Pomp

Wednesday evening was when the Wiseman town council had its monthly meeting. Finrod was not sure what he, Glorfindel and Daeron would be doing there, other than listening. None of them had any standing with the town council, who were elected officials, as was the mayor, but he figured it was merely a courtesy on Harry Whitman’s part to invite them. Glorfindel had told Finrod earlier that this was the first time any of the Elves had been invited to sit in at a council meeting. 

“The meetings are open to the public,” he had explained, “but we did not feel comfortable going. We felt it would be intrusive and might cause resentment among certain people who already fear us and our intentions.” 

“But now that we’ve been invited, you are hoping that such attitudes will change?” Finrod had asked. Glorfindel just shrugged and the matter was dropped. 

The meeting was scheduled to begin at seven at the town hall, which was on a side street off the main square. The three Elves arrived in good time and were warmly greeted by the mayor and introduced to the members of the council of which there were six, two of them women. Finrod noted that there were few people in the visitors’ section of the council chamber and commented on it. 

“Most people find these meetings too dull for words,” Harry Whitman said with a deprecating grin. “Frankly, so do I, but since I’m the mayor, I have no choice.” 

Finrod grinned at that, recalling his own experiences in presiding over his privy council and took the seat offered him. He watched with interest in the procedures which were taken: the mayor declaring that the session was now open, someone whom Glorfindel said was the Recording Secretary reading the minutes of the last meeting, the asking of approval of those minutes and if there were any changes or additions to be made. It was so different from how he himself had conducted his own council. Once the minutes were read and approved, Whitman then asked if there was any old business, at which point a councilwoman spoke up and there was a discussion about something called zoning. Finrod got the impression from what was being discussed that certain parts of the town were set aside for certain activities but he was unclear about why. He would have to ask Glorfindel or Daeron about it later. 

That discussion lasted close to twenty minutes and in the end the council voted against changing the zoning and they moved on to new business, which apparently had to do with taxes. That, Finrod understood all too well and he listened closely to the discussion about raising the local sales tax a half of a percent to help increase town revenues which had fallen slightly due to the ongoing economic slump. Certain councilmembers pointed out that raising the sales tax would cause resentment from those struggling to make ends meet and it might be better to trim the budget a bit more. Others felt that cutting back on essential services would cause more harm than good to the community. After almost an hour of debating the issue, it was decided to do a needs analysis to determine what would have the least negative impact on the community: raising the sales tax or cutting back on certain services. 

Then there was a brief (thankfully) discussion about an ongoing construction project concerning rebuilding certain bridges in the town that did not meet particular safety specifications which had been mandated by the State three years earlier. The deadline for compliance was coming up it seemed and there was a concern that the town might not be able to meet the deadline. 

“We’ve still got two bridges that we haven’t gotten to,” a councilmember pointed out. “With winter upon us, we’re not going to be able to get to them until late spring and the engineers estimate that the bridge over on Sandhill Road will take most of a year to rebuild.” 

“Should it matter that it’s not done before the State’s deadline, though, if we can show that we are in the process of complying?” someone asked. 

“You know the State and those guys at the compliance office,” the mayor said with a grunt. “They’ll find any excuse they can to stick us with penalties. I swear they set the deadline on purpose knowing that some communities won’t be able to make it and so have to pay some rather stiff penalties. That’s how they earn their vacations to Aruba, I imagine.” 

There were snorts of laughter at that. 

“What about applying for an extension?” another councilmember asked. “If we can show that we are in the process of rebuilding and show them the engineers’ report on how long it will take, they have to accept that we are in good faith in complying with the mandate.” 

“It won’t hurt to try,” Whitman said with a nod. “Mark and I will talk with the engineers and get their report and then write up something for the boys in Juneau.” He looked at one of the councilmembers, a graying, portly man who nodded. 

“I’ll check with Hank Robertson tomorrow,” the Man said. “I’ll also contact Fairbanks and see if they’ll send up one of their people to take a look. If we can get Fairbanks to agree that we need the extension that might help. Juneau is going to listen to Fairbanks before they listen to us.” 

There were nods all around and then the motion was made and seconded to apply for an extension of time to meet the bridge safety compliance and that seemed to be the end of the meeting, for when Whitman asked if there was any other business, the answer was in the negative. By now it was just after nine and Finrod could tell that people were anxious to leave. The people who had been sitting in the visitors’ area had already left some time ago so that only the members of the town council and the Elves were present. The mayor officially closed the meeting and people started to get up. 

“There is one other thing,” Harry said and everyone looked at him expectantly. “I did not want what I have to say to go into the minutes, which is why I’ve waited until after the official business was over with to make this announcement. Elections are coming up next year and I have decided not to run again.” 

There were exclamations of surprise and even consternation. Finrod glanced at Glorfindel and Daeron to judge their reactions. Both ellyn looked as surprised as the Mortals and Daeron even grimaced. 

“But Harry, you’re the best mayor we’ve had, way better than Cliff Hayward,” one of the councilwomen exclaimed, giving a shudder, and one or two others nodded. 

“That may be true, Sylvia,” Harry said equably, “but I’ve already served as mayor for two terms. Eight years is enough and I need to be doing something else, anything else. No, my decision is final. I will not be making a formal announcement until after the New Year, but I wanted you to know now. Three of you are also up for re-election, don’t forget. This will be the first time there’s been an election since our Elven friends made themselves known.” He nodded to the three Elves sitting nearby and everyone glanced their way. 

“And you think that is significant?” Daeron dared to ask. 

“And you do not?” Harry countered. “This council passed a resolution welcoming your kind here. We’ve provided you with the mansion where you live and pretty much allowed you free access to just about everything else. I have to tell you that the debate on that was long and loud and people stopped talking to one another for several months.” He gave them a grimace. “I don’t think you appreciate the shock we all felt when you revealed yourselves. It’s taken these last two years for there to be any real acceptance, and you know that in some quarters you are still looked upon with suspicion if not downright hatred. I guarantee you that when the elections come up, you will be at the heart of any debate that will be generated by the candidates. You are going to be the sticking point and people’s political careers are going to rise or fall over you.” 

“Do you think that if the wrong person is elected then we will be in trouble?” Glorfindel asked. 

“I’m saying that whoever is elected is going to have to deal with you and your bosses,” Harry replied, jerking his head in an upward direction. 

“Your bosses, too,” Glorfindel retorted with a grin. “They speak for the One. I wonder how many people really grasp that little detail?” 

An uncomfortable silence followed and the Mortals gave each other uneasy, even frightened, looks. Finrod took pity on them and stood. All eyes fell upon him. “You need not be afraid. The Valar will not dictate to you how you will govern yourselves, but they will take a dim view of any who threaten us and our mission. For better or for worse, Wiseman has been chosen as the training ground for the coming Battle.” 

“And that’s what really gets me,” one of the councilmen said with some anger. “We were chosen. No one asked us.” 

“And a good thing,” Harry said with a snort. “If they had asked us, I guarantee we’d still be debating the issue, insisting on forming a committee to look into the matter and then stalling on it. No, the Valar are smarter than that. They beat us at our own game simply by luring the Elves here and then sitting back and watching events unfold themselves naturally.” He sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. “Let’s face it folks. We were summarily drafted into the good Lord’s Army whether we wished to be or not. Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t have preferred a little advance warning but the cold reality of all this is that we are smack in the middle of things. The Elves aren’t going to disappear and neither are the Valar. This upcoming election is going to be critical, because the Opposition is going to do what it can to get its guys elected.” 

“And by ‘opposition’ you don’t mean the other political party,” Daeron said. 

“No, I do not,” Whitman said firmly. “I’m a God-fearing man and I’ve seen enough evil in this world to know that the events that have occurred recently in Wiseman, and right under our noses, too, are not isolated instances but part of a long-term strategy and not necessarily that of the Valar.” 

“In that you are correct, Mister Mayor,” Finrod said. “The Enemy is preparing for the Battle just as we are. It is one reason, though not the only reason, why I insisted on holding my Court as I did, to make your people more fully aware of what is at stake here. I will admit that I was taken aback by Lord Námo revealing himself as he did. Up to now the Valar have been very circumspect, revealing themselves only to a chosen few. That Lord Námo showed himself to the citizens of Wiseman as he did should send a message to all. Whether people will accept what they have learned is another matter and only time will tell, but I suspect that battle lines are being drawn across Wiseman even now.” 

“And that is very troubling,” Harry said. “It is one reason I have decided not to run again, even though our bylaws allow me three consecutive terms. I feel inadequate to the task and I think someone younger will be better at handling things.” 

“You are a good man, Harry,” Glorfindel said sincerely. “I regret that you do not feel up to this, but I understand, more than you know. I hope that in the meantime we will continue having your support and the support of this council. The elections are not until May, am I correct?” 

“Yes. We elect our officials in May rather than in November,” Harry replied. “We find we get a better voter turnout when people don’t have to struggle through snowdrifts to get to the polling stations.” 

There were chuckles among the Mortals at that and several nods. 

“Do you have any ideas who might decide to run?” Daeron asked. 

“No, and until I make the formal announcement, there won’t be any takers from my party, for everyone is assuming I will run for a third term. Once the announcement is made, we’ll have to see. And I’m asking each and every one of you not to speak of this.” 

There were nods all around. Harry stood and that seemed to be the end of the evening’s meeting. As they filed out of the council chamber, Finrod walked next to Whitman. “What are the criteria for becoming mayor? I am not sure I understand this about elections.” 

“Hmm… well, being involved in politics in some manner would help but it isn’t necessary. Legally speaking, to be mayor of Wiseman there are only three requirements,” Harry said. “You have to be of legal age, which means at least twenty-one, you have to be a U.S. citizen and you have to be a permanent resident of the town.” He gave Finrod a shrewd look. “I suppose you meet the first requirement and you could easily meet the third, but as for the second….” 

Finrod gave him a surprised look. “Do you think I wish to become mayor?” He started laughing and everyone stopped just shy of the doors leading outside and stared at him. 

“What’s so funny?” Glorfindel asked. 

It took a minute for Finrod to stifle his mirth enough to speak. “I was just thinking that if I were to become mayor, I will have fallen even further from the heights than I already have.” 

The Mortals had puzzled looks on their faces, but both Glorfindel and Daeron only nodded. “I’m not sure….” Harry started to say but Finrod shook his head. 

“It is of no consequence, my friend,” he said gently. “You are correct that not being a citizen of your country, I could not become mayor, so the question of my seeking election is moot.” 

“Not necessarily,” Daeron said. “The law only says that you have to be a U.S. citizen, but it doesn’t specify that you have to be native-born, which is the requirement for becoming president. That means that if you are a naturalized citizen, you would qualify.” 

“But that would mean he would have to give up all his titles,” Glorfindel pointed out. “He would no longer be Prince Finrod and he could not be Finarfin’s heir.” 

“Besides which, who would vote for him?” Sylvia asked. “Meaning no offense, sir, but even if you meet all the legal requirements for becoming mayor, you’re an outsider, you don’t even belong to a political party, you don’t vote or pay taxes. You are an unknown and in these troubling times people prefer to cling to what they know even if it’s not in their best interest to do so.” 

“And that is another reason why the idea of my becoming mayor is ludicrous,” Finrod said, “though admittedly, the idea is intriguing.” He paused for a moment before looking at Daeron. “You said something about becoming a naturalized citizen. How does one go about doing that?” 

“You usually take courses in American history and government and I believe you have to have been in the States for at least five years. Since the next election after this will be just as you reach your fifth year as a resident, you would have to wait for the election after that one before you could think of running. That wouldn’t be a bad idea. In the meantime, you would have developed a presence here in Wiseman.” 

“Too bad we can’t somehow speed up the process,” Glorfindel said with a wink to Finrod. “We could easily secure you with the necessary documents to prove you are a U.S. citizen, but there’s bound to be someone who will contest it, especially the residency requirements. You just haven’t been here long enough.” 

“Well, as I said, it is a moot point,” Finrod said with a smile. “I really only asked the question because I wished to understand how the process worked and what criteria are looked for in a person who is seeking to become mayor. I wish to be able to analyze the… um… candidates, I believe you called them, and determine what makes them suitable to become mayor, especially mayor of Wiseman.” 

“Which is probably more than most people do when it comes to choosing the most likely candidate,” Whitman said as he pushed open the doors and they all stepped outside. “Still, I think the idea of one of you Elves running for mayor would be… um… interesting to watch from the sidelines.” He gave them a wry look and everyone chuckled. 

The Mortals bade the Elves goodnight as everyone headed for their vehicles. Finrod climbed into the front seat of Glorfindel’s van while Daeron took a back seat. “A very interesting evening,” Finrod said as Glorfindel started up the van and pulled out of the parking space. 

“Boring actually,” Daeron retorted with a chuckle. “Very much as I remember the interminable council meetings Thingol forced me to attend.” 

Glorfindel barked a laugh. “I think any council meeting by definition has to be boring. Though I usually was able to liven up Turgon’s council meetings every once in a while.” 

“I just bet you did,” Finrod said, giving his gwador a merry look, well remembering the times when Glorfindel had livened up some of Arafinwë’s council meetings with his antics. 

“So are you interested in becoming a U.S. citizen and running for mayor?” Daeron asked somewhat diffidently. 

Finrod turned around to face him. “It is not something I would do lightly. Also, even if I wished to do so, I might not be allowed by the Valar if they have other plans for me.” 

“Who would become Finarfin’s heir if you abdicate?” Daeron asked. 

“My oldest son, Lórindol, and he is more than capable. Indeed, he presently rules over Vanyalondë, a kingdom in southern Valinor. He could turn the crown over to my grandson, Artafindë, and return to Tirion, though he much prefers Vinyalondë.” 

“It was just a small city when I left,” Glorfindel said as he turned onto their street. “When did it become a kingdom?” 

“Hmm… probably sometime in the Third Age as time is measured in Middle-earth.” 

“So, should we take Harry’s suggestion about one of us running for mayor seriously?” Daeron asked as Glorfindel turned into the mansion’s drive. 

“Are any of you actual U.S. citizens?” Finrod countered as they climbed out of the van and headed inside. 

“Technically, the Wiseman Elves are all citizens,” Glorfindel said. “Darren, Dan, Roy, Della, Misty and I were here during the American Revolution. When the Colonies achieved independence from England and became the United States, everyone who was living here automatically became citizens, which is why a large number of people who had sided with England against the Colonies migrated north into Canada, as they wished to remain subjects to the English Crown. All we had to do was to register ourselves at the town hall in Boston where we were living. We decided to do so because it gave us legitimacy at that time that did not require us forging documents.” 

“What about the others?” 

“Barry, Gil, Conan, Daisy and Alfa came to the States after the Civil War and have been here ever since,” Daeron answered. “They actually applied for citizenship and were granted it. Ron, Holly and Sarah came just before the Second World War, fleeing Austria where they were living when it was annexed by Nazi Germany. They also became naturalized citizens. All of us have legal papers that prove we are U.S. citizens and all of us carry U.S. passports.” 

“So any of you could conceivably run for mayor,” Finrod stated as they divested themselves of coats and cloaks and headed toward the library. 

“Yes, of course, and we certainly have all the legal documents to prove it and no one could dispute them, but which of us would be that daft?” Glorfindel retorted with a grin as he opened the library door and they stepped inside. “Running Elf Academy is a headache, running an entire town would be worse.” 

“Still, Harry may have a point,” Daeron said. 

“What point is that?” 

The three ellyn looked to see Vorondur sitting at the desk, his laptop open with folders piled up around him. 

“Oh, sorry. You’re working,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll go up to the sunroom.” 

“I can certainly take a break,” Vorondur said with a smile. “These evaluations can wait. How did it go?” 

“Where is everyone?” Glorfindel asked. “This place is way too quiet.” 

“Hmm… a group of carolers came by just after you left. It consisted of young children with a single parent herding them along. I don’t think the oldest child was more than nine or ten. They were from one of the nearby neighborhoods rather than a church choral group and I doubt any two of them were singing in the same key.” 

He gave them a grin and they all grinned back. “I’m not sure who suggested they all go caroling with the children, probably Finda or perhaps Nell, but before I knew it, Holly was kissing me goodbye and the house emptied out. Hmm… they should have been back by now, I would have thought,” he said, glancing at his computer screen to check the time. Then he shrugged and gave them a smile. “I wouldn’t have minded going myself, but these psych evaluations of those students to whom we’ve decided to reveal ourselves don’t get done by themselves, and in truth, I welcomed the silence. I was able to get through most of them.” He gestured to where the folders were piled higher on one side of the desk than on the other. “I’ll finish up the rest later.” 

“You really should let us help you with this,” Daeron said. “It’s unfair to lay the burden on you.” 

“Well, just as soon as one of you produces papers showing that you’re a bona fide member of the American Psychological Association, I would be glad for the help,” Vorondur said with a laugh. “Trust me, I don’t mind. It’s what I do and have been doing for the last century. So, what did Harry say that has you three all excited?” 

“I’m going to make some hot chocolate if anyone is interested,” Daeron suggested. 

“We’ll join you,” Vorondur said, standing. “I need to get away from the computer for a while.” 

They all headed for the kitchen and while Daeron made the hot chocolate, Glorfindel filled Vorondur in on what had been said at the council meeting. “… and then, Harry suggested that one of us who is a citizen could run for mayor.” 

For a moment, there was silence. Finrod sipped his hot chocolate and munched on a molasses cookie. Vorondur looked at him. “Would you want to become mayor, assuming you go through the process of becoming naturalized?” 

“I would not entertain the idea lightly,” Finrod answered. “As it is, I think Harry Whitman is correct: this next election will be critical. If I have to wait eight or nine years to run, that may be too late for us unless we are assured that the right person becomes mayor in the meantime. There is no guarantee of that and not even the Valar have the right to manipulate matters to our benefit, even if they have the power to do so. They can inspire, they can even threaten, but they cannot alter the votes.” 

“No, of course not,” Vorondur said, “and that’s not my question. My question is, would you be willing to give up your titles, all of them, to become a U.S. citizen and run for mayor of Wiseman when you are legally able to do so? Are you ready to leave Finrod Felagund behind and become Quinn O’Brien in truth and for all time or at least for the foreseeable future?” 

“I do not know,” Finrod said. “I am beginning to think that how we came here was not the best method for doing so. We should have come quietly, showing up in ones and twos over a period of time, arranged to have legal documents proving that we were already U.S. citizens and that we had been living elsewhere in the country before coming here. But everyone knows we just arrived from Valinor and so our ability to blend into this society is somewhat hampered.” 

“To say the least,” Glorfindel said. “Alex was certainly right about that, but the damage is done and we have to live with the consequences. I don’t think, however, that any of us are really qualified to be mayor. None of us have the experience of ruling a kingdom except Amroth and I know he has no desire to involve himself in mortal politics. I once was the lord of my House and a member of Turgon’s council, but that is not necessarily the same as being a king or even a mayor. Of all of us, you, Finrod, are the most qualified to be mayor, at least as far as being a leader is concerned. The legal questions are easily addressed, or can be.” 

“So the question is, do we get involved in promoting someone among the Mortals to replace Harry who is sympathetic to us and our purpose here or do we sit back and allow events to occur as they will, knowing that whoever becomes mayor may well not be on our side?” Daeron asked. 

“A weighty question to be sure,” Vorondur said, pursing his lips. “It may be something that should be discussed by all of us. At least we have been warned in advance of what is coming. I suspect Harry will make his announcement at the next council meeting, which gives us a month to develop our own response.” 

The others all nodded and they lapsed into silence. The silence was broken a few minutes later by the sound of the front door opening and they heard laughter and several voices. The four ellyn grinned at one another and Daeron stood. “I’ll make some more hot chocolate.” 

**** 

Note: The title is a translation of the Finnish Christmas Carol, En etsi valtaa, loistoa [Giv mig ej glans, ej guld, ej prakt].

9: I Wonder as I Wander

Finrod could not get the idea of someday seeking to become Mayor of Wiseman out of his mind. It was a ludicrous idea. He had no intention of abdicating and giving up his titles, nor did he have any desire to apply for citizenship. Yet, the idea would not leave him as he continued to help Glorfindel out at the Academy while Glorfindel was busy acting as an Elf Guide. He would find himself stopping every now and then to gaze out the window, thinking about the mayoral race that would begin after the New Year as soon as Harry Whitman made his announcement and what the elections might mean for the Elves. The length of the term of office was, in his opinion, much too short and if one had to stop every four years to seek re-election that effectively cut into one’s time to actually act in a mayoral manner. And then only to be able to run for three terms before letting another become mayor? 

Even when Sador was Cáno of Tol Eressëa, the council members who were not permanent members suffered re-election only every yén and there were no term limits. Some of them were still on the council, although it was now Gil-galad’s privy council. Sador had gratefully given up his office, insisting he had only been a steward until the right king had come along. It had not surprised Finrod at all when Gil-galad had insisted that Sador remain as his Steward in truth and even elevated him to the status of a prince. No one had objected. 

At which point in his ruminations he would sigh, turn away from the window and return to the task at hand, but he still couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of becoming mayor. 

On Friday morning, Finrod encountered Vorondur sitting at the breakfast nook drinking a cup of coffee and reading the Wiseman Gazette, a weekly newspaper. Finrod had been fascinated by the concept of a newspaper, though he had questioned the timeliness of the news. Daeron had explained that the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, which covered state, national and international news, was shipped to Wiseman every day and that up-to-the-minute news could now be accessed via the internet. The Wiseman Gazette, on the other hand, dealt with local events and so came out once a week on Fridays. 

“Anything interesting happening in Wiseman this week?” Finrod asked as he poured some coffee for himself, liberally lacing it with cream. He glanced out the window over the kitchen sink. Even though it was nearly eight in the morning, it was still dark out and there was only the faintest hint of the sky lightening in the east. 

“Oh, the usual,” Vorondur said, folding the paper and shoving it to one side as he leaned back in his seat. “Personally, they should rename this rag the Wiseman Gossip Sheet.” 

Finrod snickered. “But even gossip has its uses. My sire always insists that his bards tell him the juiciest gossip first before getting on to what he refers to as ‘boring news’ whenever they report to him.” 

Vorondur smiled. “Did you follow the same practice when you were king?” 

“Oh yes. I found that gossip often was more interesting than the actual news of what was happening in Beleriand. Gossip often sheds light on the mindset of the people; it is a truer barometer of public sentiment than anything else.” 

Vorondur nodded. “Which is why I read every article in the Gazette with particular care. What the editors of the newspaper choose to publish or not can be quite illuminating and helps me to gauge the pulse of the people, to anticipate where there might be trouble.” 

Finrod gave him a considering look. “That is something that Valandur does for my uncle, the High King.” 

Vorondur nodded. “He and I have had a series of discussions for he wished to understand the mindset and motivations of the Mortals with whom we must deal. He has never had the experience that even you had in interacting with Mortals on any level, yet he cannot do his job effectively unless he has a handle on things, as we say.” 

“I know so little of what any of you endured over the ages. I know you and your family lived in Nargothrond, but nothing else about you.” 

For a long moment, Vorondur did not respond, his eyes darkening with memory. “There were times when I felt that those who had died when Nargothrond was destroyed were the lucky ones. I survived the sacking to become a slave. That’s how I met Holly. She was a slave as well, having been captured after the North was overwhelmed by Morgoth’s forces at the Dagor Bragollach. I’m not sure how long we toiled in the mines, but a time came when some of us planned our escape. Holly and I managed to make it as far south as Nargothrond where we met up with Laurendil and his people. We stayed with them until the War of Wrath when we joined with Gil-galad’s army. Afterwards, neither of us wished to Sail. We lived in Lindon for a time and then eventually followed Elrond to Imladris. After the War of the Ring, when so many of our people chose to Sail, I still did not wish to. In fact, I conceived the idea of seeking our roots, to find Cuiviénen, and so Holly and I set out to the East now that it was free of Sauron’s influence.” 

“Did you find it?” 

“No, but that didn’t matter. It was the exploring that was important to me.” He gave Finrod a rueful look. “I suffered from wanderlust, as they call it now. I could never stay long in any one place. We might remain in an area for a century or so then move on, always further east and then south when we came to the end of the lands. Eventually we made our way to another continent, what we now call Australia. We were there through much of the last ice age before returning to what we now call the Middle East. That was where Serindë and her younger brother were born.” 

“Your son?” Finrod gave him a surprised look. “But…” 

“We were blessed with three children, two sons and a daughter. Our oldest, Findaráto — yes, we named him after you, just as his brother was named Findecáno, after your cousin — was born when we were in the far east. We lived among people who plied the oceans trading. Findaráto loved the ocean and sailing and eventually became captain of his own ship. That area of the world suffers typhoons. One came up suddenly when my son was out on the ocean. His ship sank with all hands.” 

“Oh, mellon nîn, I am so sorry,” Finrod said. 

“We left Australia soon afterwards and made our way westward,” Vorondur said, not acknowledging Finrod’s expression of sympathy. “Serindë was born in Persepolis and her brother was born in Athens. We were there at the time when Persia invaded Greece twice. My son and I fought in both wars. Findecáno was an excellent warrior, but even the best warrior cannot avoid an arrow in the back.” He paused and the pain in his eyes was nearly overwhelming. Finrod did not speak, merely reached over and put his hand on one of Vorondur’s and gave it a squeeze in sympathy. Vorondur still did not acknowledge Finrod’s presence. His gaze was distant and he spoke in a monotone. 

“Losing Findaráto was bad enough but when Findecáno died as he did… I went insane. I did things….” He shook his head, his eyes becoming more present, looking directly at Finrod. “It was only the love of my wife and daughter that kept me from fading and it was the wisdom of a single Mortal, a Man named Socrates, which helped me to reclaim my sanity. His practice of asking very pointed questions forced me to really examine myself and my own motivations. I suppose it was then that I became a psychologist even though there was no term for it then. I’d always been fascinated by the Mortals, studying their ways of life and seeking to understand their motivations, but it was always from the outside looking in. Now, however….” He shrugged, giving Finrod a rueful look. “I have to admit I was somewhat disappointed that neither of my sons came with you, assuming they have been reborn.” 

“Oh, my friend, you have no idea how many people clamored for the honor to join me in returning to Middle-earth. We would have needed a hundred Vingilots for that.” Finrod chuckled. “I am sure your sons will come eventually. The Valar assured me that those who once dealt with Mortals and respected them would be allowed to return. They will not allow those who had no dealings with Mortals or who are not very sympathetic toward them. Many of those who asked to come were people who only wished to satisfy their own curiosity with no genuine concern for what is happening here. Those people will remain in Aman. Now, not to change the subject, but I will anyway, with your permission, I would like to look at the… psych profiles, I believe you called them, of the Academy students to whom we’ve revealed ourselves.” 

“Is there any particular reason why you wish to see them? Even Loren has not asked to see them, unless he has an interest in a particular student.” 

“I am not so much interested in any one student as I am in seeing what common characteristics these students have that lead us to reveal ourselves to them, those who are not originally from Wiseman or the surrounding area. I am seeking to understand what type of people they are and why the Valar have chosen them, for I have no doubt that these particular students were inspired to come here in one fashion or another by the Valar.” 

“That is certainly true,” Vorondur said. “If you will allow me some time, I will produce an analysis of the criteria we look for. I prefer to keep the files themselves confidential, for there is information on the students that falls under doctor-patient confidentiality and I have neither the legal nor moral right to let others, even you, see them without the student’s permission.” 

“And gaining that permission from all the students would be counterproductive,” Finrod said with a nod. “The analysis would be acceptable, so long as it is complete.” 

“It will be, I promise.” 

“Thank you for your time,” Finrod said, rising and going to the sink to rinse out his mug before placing it in the dishwasher. “It has been most informative. Now, I leave you as I wish to go into town and do some shopping. If anyone is looking for me, tell them I will return around noon or perhaps a little after and if it is very important, they may call me. I have the cell phone Glorfindel gave me.” 

“And how important is important?” Vorondur asked with a knowing smile. 

Finrod smiled back. “Trust me, my people know the definition of ‘important’ where I am concerned.” 

Vorondur’s smile widened. “Have fun.” 

Finrod went to the front closet and withdrew his cloak and headed out. He spent the time as he walked into town contemplating what Vorondur had told him about himself. There was a groundedness, a wisdom, in the ellon that was deeper than any he had ever encountered among the Eldar. Valandur had mentioned it to him once, stating that speaking with Vorondur sometimes felt as if he were speaking with one of the Valar or at least with one of the more powerful of the Maiar, someone like Eönwë, who had almost Valarin-like status in the eyes of many of the Elves. 

As he came to the town center, he paused to look about, wondering which shop might suit his purpose and what he might be able to find as gifts for all those at Edhellond. While he knew that it was not entirely necessary to buy any gifts other than one for Cennanion, he knew that others were planning on gifting him, and he wished to reciprocate. Back home, that would not have been a problem, but here, with no means of support other than what Glorfindel deigned to give him, his options were few. He hoped to find something inexpensive yet meaningful, a token of his esteem for them all, especially those of Wiseman who had made it possible for him to return to Middle-earth at all, though he had once vowed never to go any further than Tol Eressëa unless bade by the Valar otherwise. 

He thought perhaps there might be something he could buy at the small book and stationery shop and made his way across the square, past the Christmas tree. The bookstore was nestled between a bakery on the left and a clothing store on the right. Delectable smells of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls wafted into the air whenever the bakery door opened. Finrod decided he would stop there afterwards and buy a sticky bun for himself. 

As he reached the bookstore he noticed a small Help Wanted sign in the window. Going inside, he stood at the threshold to look about. It was not a particularly large shop, but it was pleasantly appointed. The walls were covered with shelves and there were free-standing shelves as well, all crammed with books. To his immediate right was a counter and further along he saw a more open area where one could find stationery supplies. Further into the shop were a set of comfortable looking chairs and small tables placed before a small wood-burning stove. There was a colorful woven rug on the floor before the stove, giving the area a cozy look. Christmas decorations were evident and there was a pleasant smell of cinnamon, cloves and oranges. 

“May I help you?” 

Finrod looked to his left where a young Man with reddish-brown hair and beard and brown eyes came around one of the stacks. He stopped and stared at Finrod, his eyes widening. 

“Oh, you’re one of them… I mean… you’re the Elf with the crown… that is….” 

Finrod cocked his head to the right, giving the Mortal an amused look. “If you mean, I am Finrod, you are correct. I take it that you were present at my Court?” 

“Oh… um… yeah… I mean, yes sir… er… your Majesty. Sheesh. Do I bow or what?” The Man looked so confused and mortified that Finrod could not help but laugh, the sound of it light and joyful and he saw the Man relax a bit and grin sheepishly. 

“Much better,” he said. “My Mortal name is Quinn and I would be pleased if you would call me by that name as I must get used to it.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure. Anything you say… um… Quinn. I’m Nick. Nicholas Greene. And my question still stands. May I help you?” 

“Actually, I thought to help you.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Your sign. You are looking for assistance?” 

“Oh, yes.” Nick gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you standing here telling me you’re looking for work?” 

Finrod nodded. “Is that not surprising? I wish to make my own way rather than be beholden on those from Edhellond, all of whom work in one fashion or another. That will be true of those who came with me. Indeed, several have already found employment or are in the process of doing so by taking necessary courses at the college.” 

Nick gave him a dubious look as he walked around to the other side of the counter, pulling out a sheet of paper from a drawer and grabbing a pen. “Well, it is true, I do need help. You wouldn’t think so, considering the place is empty of customers, but I’ve noticed an influx of new residents over the last couple of years, some of them originally from out of state. They come in here thinking this is a Barnes and Noble but it’s just a small bookstore and stationery shop. Still, I’m getting more customers and I need to expand my hours. That’s why I need someone to help out. It’s just a part-time position, you have to understand, and I can’t pay more than minimum wage.” 

“That would be acceptable,” Finrod said. “I did bring means to support myself and my people, but they are in the form of gemstones, as well as gold and silver. The gemstones are presently being evaluated and your bank is handling the gold and silver, but all of that has to be done discreetly and over time so as not to flood the market or raise questions that cannot be answered.” 

“Yeah, I can appreciate that,” Nick said, stroking his neatly trimmed beard in thought, then glancing at Finrod, giving him a sly smile. “Well, I do need the help. That sign’s been up there for over a week and no one else has applied. I’ll need to have you fill out this application and give me the required documents to prove that you’re able to work. Hmm… will that be a problem, I mean, you just arriving and all?” 

“No. We secured the necessary documents. As far as your government is concerned, I am, or rather Quinn O’Brien is a citizen of this country.” He gave Nick a sly look. “Of course, the documents are forged, but I doubt we need to trouble your government with that little detail.” 

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Okay. That works for me. What Uncle Sam doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right?” 

“Uncle Sam?” 

“Er… the U.S. Government… It’s often referred to as Uncle Sam. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know.” 

“Fair enough. So, what exactly will I be doing?” 

“Oh… um… pretty much not a lot. Cash out purchases, direct customers to a particular shelf if they are looking for a particular book or author, help me with inventory, dust.” Nick shrugged. “You know, the usual stuff.” 

Finrod grinned. “I am sure I can manage. When would you like me to start?” 

“Oh, well, why don’t we do this… um… legally and have you fill out this application. If you can bring it back on Monday with the necessary ID, then I can officially hire you. We can decide then what your hours will be and all that and I can show you what you’ll be doing.” 

“That sounds fine,” Finrod said, taking the sheet of paper and folding it, shoving it into a pocket. “Now, I actually did come here for a purpose other than to ask for work.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure. So what do you need?” 

“I wish to purchase some small gifts for my people. Nothing expensive, more a token gift, if you understand what I mean. I actually have little in the way of coin on me.” 

“Well, you’re in a bookstore,” Nick said, glancing about. “Bookmarks make nice gifts; every time someone uses theirs they will remember who gave it to them.” 

“I suppose that might work if these bookmarks are unique enough,” Finrod said, sounding dubious. 

“Yeah, you don’t want to give them just any old bookmark,” Nick averred still looking about the shop. “Hey, here’s an idea.” He came away from the counter and headed to a small table where there was what Finrod saw were pins and earrings and other pieces of small jewelry, none of it expensive looking, but they were lovely pieces. “Friend of mine over in Nolan makes these and I sell them for him. He usually makes only a few pieces, each one unique, which is why they sell well, but for some odd reason he made a whole bunch of these star pins this time.” 

He picked up a pin and showed it to Finrod. It was small, perhaps an inch and a half across, made of a silvery metal shaped like an eight-pointed star so reminiscent of Varda’s emblem. Embedded in the center was a sapphire-colored crystal. 

“How many do you have?” Finrod asked. 

“Hmm… something like fifty, which is really strange because the most of any one kind of jewelry he’s ever given me to sell has been maybe ten. Normally, these pins are worn by women, but I figure Elves might see things differently and your name for yourself — Eldar? — that means People of the Stars, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes, it does. Is the crystal the same color for all of them?” 

“And that’s the really weird part,” Nick said. “I have forty that are this blue color, the rest have different colors.” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that, finding the coincidence rather hard to believe and suspecting more was behind these pins than even Nick knew. “These, I think, will do very well. I will take thirty-nine of the blue pins. How much do they cost?” 

“Corey, my friend over in Nolan, when he brought these to me, told me he had no idea why he made so many of the one color because it’s not his style. He said to sell them at a discount. Normally a single pin costs five dollars, but I’m willing to sell you them at half price.” 

“Even so, I do not have that kind of money on hand,” Finrod said, putting the pin back on the table. 

“No problem. You pay me what you can now and then I’ll deduct the balance from the first couple of paychecks once you start working here.” 

“That will be acceptable.” He gave the Mortal a considering look. “You realize, of course, that it is no coincidence that your friend made forty of these blue crystal pins, for there are now thirty-nine Elves living in Edhellond, including myself.” 

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that,” Nick said, looking nervous. “Why?” 

Finrod shrugged. “Someone anticipated my need and inspired your friend to make these.” 

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” Nick asked. 

Finrod chuckled. “No, for which I am grateful, yet I cannot deny the fact that such anticipation comes in handy at times.” 

“I can see that, but how….?” 

“The Valar are able to see a little ways into the future but they are careful in how they act for, as they are constantly reminding me, the future is not set in stone but is constantly in flux, yet some events have a higher probability of happening than others. Someone anticipated my need before I was even aware of it myself and knew how best to address it, inspiring your friend to make these.” 

Nick shook his head. “My dad’s a minister of a church in Richardson, that’s just south of Fairbanks. If he knew I was talking to an Elf about angels and archangels….” 

Finrod gave the Man a sympathetic smile. “It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?” 

“You got that right, sir.” 

“Actually, I should be calling you sir, since you are now my employer.” Finrod gave Nick a sly grin. 

“Which is really too weird a concept to wrap my mind around at the moment. Why don’t you just call me Nick?” 

“And I am Quinn.” Recalling the Mortal custom, Finrod held out his hand and after a second’s hesitation, Nick shook it. “I will come by on Monday then.” 

“Great. I’ll be here between ten and four, so anytime.” 

“As for the pins….” 

“I’ll get them all boxed for you and you can pick them up on Monday.” 

“Thank you. Until then.” Finrod gave the Mortal a slight bow and was amused at Nick awkwardly copying him. Then he stepped outside, taking a deep breath and looking about the square. He noticed Nick removing the Help Wanted sign from the store window and waved. Nick waved back and Finrod, remembering he wished to buy a sticky bun, turned right and entered the bakery. A few minutes later he was outside again, munching on a bun and clutching a bag with a second bun and wandered around the square, wondering how the others would take the news of him working at the Aurora Borealis Book and Stationery Shop. 

**** 

Words are Quenya:

Cáno: Governor [see Elf Interrupted for further details on Sador]. 

Yén: An elvish century equal to 144 solar years. 

Notes:

1. Findecáno is the Quenya version of Fingon. 

2. Vorondur is speaking of the Second Persian invasion of Greece (480-479 BCE) by Xerxes. Socrates was born in 470 BCE.

10: You Better Watch Out, You Better Not Cry, You Better Not Pout…

Finrod waited until after dinner to spring his news. By then, most of the residents of Edhellond were back from wherever they had been earlier. Two or three were still out and would not be back until later but Finrod decided not to wait. They were finishing with dessert, something called an apple brown betty, and sipping tea or coffee. Toward the end of the meal the conversation had centered around describing what Findalaurë, Calandil, Elennen and Nielluin could expect when they entered college after the New Year when Calandil asked about it. Vorondur was just finishing explaining what the three ellyn could expect when attending the lab portion of their Psychology 101 course and in the lull that followed, Finrod spoke up. 

“I have found employment.” 

All eyes turned to him and the silence was complete. Finrod smiled wryly. “Do not all speak at once; I only have two ears.” 

Glorfindel was the first to recover. “What… when did this happen?” 

“This morning. I went into town to do some Christmas shopping and there was a ‘Help Wanted’ sign in the bookstore window. As that was one of my destinations, when I went inside, I asked the proprietor Nicholas Greene about it and when I left, I was employed.” He fished the application out of his pocket, unfolding it and handing it to Daeron. “I will need help in filling this out.” 

Daeron took the application, nodding. Glorfindel just stared at him. “You’re working as a clerk at the bookstore?” 

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound as if such work is beneath me. I assure you it is not.” 

“Is this a firm commitment? I mean, are there any other applicants who may be more qualified than you….” 

“And why am I not qualified?” Finrod demanded, feeling both anger and hurt. He had thought everyone would be glad that he was finding a way to ‘fit in’, to become a part of the community. 

“Do you know the first thing about running a bookstore or any store for that matter?” Glorfindel asked, sounding perilously supercilious to Finrod’s ears. 

“I ran an entire kingdom,” Finrod retorted. 

“Which you lost.” 

The silence after that was deafening. Finrod felt the blood draining from him and he stared at Glorfindel in disbelief for a second or two before he found he could no longer breathe properly. He stood abruptly and fled, ignoring everyone’s pleas to come back, practically running out into the back garden where he stood by the fire pit, his eyes closed, his hands clenched. He was trembling, but not from cold for all that the night was frigid even by Elvish standards. 

He heard the back door open and close but he did not turn around to see who had dared to follow him, for he had a pretty good idea. 

“Finrod, I’m sorry. I didn’t….” 

“Mean it?” Finrod exclaimed, turning to face Glorfindel. “Then why did you say it? Why did you, of all people, throw that into my face? Do you not think I know? Do you not think I do not regret at times that I did lose my kingdom and over a Mortal? You are the one who keeps insisting that we of Valinor need to blend in more, become part of the Mortal community.” 

“But working in a bookstore?” 

“What is wrong with working in a bookstore?” 

“Nothing! So long as your name isn’t Finrod Felagund.” 

“I never took you for a snob, gwador.” 

“I’m not! It’s just that I figured you would be doing something more… significant. What do you expect to accomplish sitting behind a counter and counting out change for the customer?” 

“And you have not?” 

“Of course I have, but that’s not the point!” 

“Oh? What is the point, mellon nîn?” 

“The point is you’re Finrod Felagund!” Glorfindel nearly shouted, throwing up his hands, looking frustrated. 

“No! I am Quinn O’Brien,” Finrod shouted back. “Finrod Felagund may not need to work, but Quinn O’Brien does and as long as it is honorable employment, why do you care? We both have done menial work, or have you forgotten our stint in the royal kitchens of Tirion? Working in the bookstore is not menial, but even if it were, it is work, honest work. I would think you would be pleased and proud that I was able to do this all on my own.” 

“But why didn’t you consult me first?” 

Finrod reared back, staring at Glorfindel in stunned disbelief. Then he felt himself going cold with anger. 

“Consult you?” he whispered angrily. Glorfindel seemed to realize how close he had come to insulting his gwador and attempted to apologize but Finrod brushed it aside. “You dare! Since when must I consult you about anything, Lord Glorfindel?” 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean….” 

“Do you think I spent all these ages in Aman incapable of making any decision because you were not around to tell me what to do?” Finrod demanded scathingly. “Do you think I am so inept? Or is it that you believe me an innocent abroad and you are here to lead me by the hand, because you know all about living in this world whereas I know nothing at all? How dare you!” 

“You need to stop shouting, the two of you.” 

Finrod and Glorfindel turned as one to find Vorondur standing there, looking more amused than anything. Before Finrod could respond, Glorfindel snarled, “What are you doing here? This is a private conversation. Go away.” 

“So private that even with the windows shut and standing around with our fingers in our ears humming loudly we could all hear every word spoken,” Vorondur retorted sharply. “In fact, I’m sure even the Mortals nearby heard every word and their hearing is not as sharp as ours.” 

“It’s still a private conversation and no one asked you to butt in,” Glorfindel growled. 

“At least take your argument elsewhere,” Vorondur said, unperturbed by Glorfindel’s truculence. “The rest of us have no wish to listen to the two of you whine at one another.” 

“I never whine!” Glorfindel screamed, clenching his hands. 

“Oh yes you do,” Finrod couldn’t help retorting. “There were times when I wanted to strangle you to stop your whining. Honestly, for someone as old as you purport to be you sounded like a ten-year-old at times.” 

“Take that back!” Glorfindel yelled and before Finrod realized it, the ellon attacked him, sending them both crashing to the ground. Finrod hissed in pain as the back of his head hit the snow-covered flagstones. There was a confused sound of shouting but Finrod was too busy trying to push Glorfindel off him to pay much attention. Then he was free of Glorfindel and was lying in the snow and mud, trying to catch his breath. He rubbed his left shoulder, attempting to ease some of the pain he felt there. Findalaurë knelt beside him with Laurendil on the other side, the two looking worried. 

“Are you all right, Atto?” his son asked while Laurendil examined him. 

“I am fine, Finda,” Finrod answered, trying not to wince at the pain as he attempted to rise. 

“No you are not,” Laurendil said firmly, gently pushing him back down. Laurendil looked up to where Vorondur was speaking softly to Glorfindel while Elrohir and Elladan held him in place. Vorondur turned to him with a questioning look. “His Highness,” and he stressed the word, glaring briefly at Glorfindel, “is essentially fine, but Glorfindel did him no favors knocking him to the ground like that. The shoulder muscles around the wound have been wrenched and it looks as if he has knocked his head on the pavement as well. I can feel a lump on the back of his head.” 

“Let’s get him inside and made comfortable while I deal with our fearless leader.” 

Laurendil chuckled, though Finrod saw nothing amusing about any of it. He was in pain and he was still angry and hurt. Everything was going wrong. This wasn’t how he imagined his long-awaited reunion with the other half of his soul would turn out. He tried to protest that he did not need anyone’s help, but when he attempted to stand, the world lurched sickeningly and he clutched Findalaurë’s arm. Almost immediately, Vardamir was there as well and between the three ellyn, Finrod was helped back into the house. As they made their slow way down the path he heard Vorondur speaking to Glorfindel. 

“… take one of my anger management classes.” 

“I don’t need to take your classes,” he heard Glorfindel snarl. 

“I can always go to Judge Harrison and get a court order forcing you to attend,” Vorondur said and there was a coldness to his voice that told Finrod that the ellon was not jesting. “I have enough evidence to support my petition and enough clout that James will listen to me.” 

Whatever Glorfindel replied to that, Finrod did not hear, for he was now inside the house and being led up the back stairs to his room. Vardamir asked Findalaurë to draw a warm bath. “Warm, not hot,” the healer warned the younger ellon. “We just want your atto to be able to calm down and a hot bath will only raise his blood pressure.” 

“Blood pressure?” Finrod asked. “Since when are you concerned about blood pressure?” 

“Since working at the hospital,” Vardamir replied. “Now, let’s get you out of these wet things and into the bath. Laurendil, give his Highness a hand, will you, while I consult with your lovely wife and the Lady Mithrellas about concocting some balm for his Highness’s wounds.” 

“Why such formality?” Finrod asked even as he allowed Laurendil to help him out of his shirt, trying not to wince. 

“Because we think certain people need to be reminded of your status,” Vardamir replied, then exited the room as Findalaurë came in and announced that the bath was ready. He and Laurendil helped Finrod to the bathroom and into the bath. 

“Why is this happening?” he asked, sighing more in despair than in pleasure at the feel of the warm water covering him. Findalaurë had had the presence of mind to sprinkle some lavender-scented bath salts into the water and the smell brightened the air even if it did not lift his mood. 

“What do you mean?” Laurendil asked. 

“I thought he would be proud that I was able to find work all on my own.” 

“I’m proud of you, Atto,” Findalaurë said as he sat on the lip of the tub, idly running a hand through the water, making little eddies. “I think you working at the bookstore is so… cool.” The last word was in English rather than Quenya, which the three had been speaking. 

Both Finrod and Laurendil gave the younger ellon amused looks. “Cool?” Finrod couldn’t help saying in a teasing tone. 

Findalaurë blushed. “Sorry.” 

“Do not be, yonya,” Finrod said sincerely. “I rejoice that you are becoming comfortable in speaking the Mortal language and using the proper idioms. It is one reason why I wish to take this job, to have greater exposure to how the Mortals speak, as well as to be able to meet them on a more intimate level.” 

“As a clerk,” Laurendil said. 

“You disapprove?” Finrod gave his friend and former subject a frown. 

“On the contrary. I think it is an excellent idea. We all do.” 

“Not all,” Finrod said with a sigh, slipping deeper into the water. 

Vardamir appeared then, carrying a small bowl. “I have some salve for you, my lord, that should help, so whenever you’re ready to get out….” 

“Where’s Glorfindel?” 

“Taking a shower, I believe. The Twins are with him.” 

“He is so angry,” Finrod said. “Why is he so angry?” 

“It’s been a rough couple of months.” 

They all looked to see Vorondur entering the room, which made for rather crowded conditions and Finrod was actually feeling outnumbered, sitting naked in a tub of water while everyone else was standing about fully clothed. At Finrod’s questioning look, Vorondur continued his explanation. 

“This past semester was particularly hard on us all with the blizzard that left us without power for three days and then Richard Martina died and Alex almost died, twice, and then you came and you got shot and I don’t think Loren’s been able to relax since. He feels obligated to be the strong leader, running between being Administrator of Elf Academy to seeing to the needs of you Valinórean Elves, making sure your transitioning into our society is smooth and trouble-free. It is proving too much for him.” 

“I am not an elfling needing minding, though,” Finrod said as he indicated his wish to get out of the tub. Both his son and Laurendil helped him as Vardamir handed him a towel to dry off. “And I do not need his approval, yet I had hoped he would be happy for me.” 

“He will be, once he’s had time to think things through and get used to the idea that, as clueless as you are about life in Wiseman, Alaska, you are quite capable to figuring things out for yourself.” Vorondur gave him a knowing grin and Finrod grinned back. “Now, I suggest you go and rest and….” 

“No. This has to be resolved tonight,” Finrod said firmly as he rubbed some of the ointment on his shoulder before donning a robe. “Have everyone gather in the library in a half an hour. If you have to bring Glorfindel there in chains, do so.” 

Vorondur raised an eyebrow at that, for there was no levity in Finrod’s voice. He gave a short but respectful bow. “It will be as you say, Highness.” 

Finrod sighed and rolled his eyes. “I do wish everyone would stop being so formal all of a sudden.” 

“What is the punishment for attacking a lord of the land in Aman?” Vorondur asked as they headed back to Finrod’s room. 

“If it is Glorfindel doing the attacking, usually he ends up cleaning the ovens in the royal kitchens,” Finrod replied with a grin, winking at his son, who blushed and would not meet anyone’s gaze. Laurendil and Vardamir actually snickered. Vorondur simply nodded. 

“I will tell everyone,” he said and headed downstairs with Vardamir. 

Twenty minutes later, Finrod descended the stairs with Findalaurë and Laurendil in tow. When they entered the library it was to find it full of Elves. Finrod noticed that the ones who had been out earlier were now back and were being advised as to what had happened, their expressions as troubled as everyone else’s. As soon as he entered the room all conversation stopped and everyone looked at him, those of Wiseman with some trepidation. 

“I am fine,” he said, “if a little bruised. I….” 

He was interrupted by the sound of the front doorbell ringing. “Now who can that be?” Nimrodel asked, looking perturbed. “We’re not expecting visitors tonight and if it were carolers they would just start singing.” 

“The only way to find out is to go see,” Vorondur said with a slight smile as he slipped past Finrod and headed for the foyer. Everyone else started to follow but Finrod held up his hand and they all settled back somewhat reluctantly. 

“Who’s at the door?” 

Finrod turned to see Glorfindel standing behind him, staring up the hall. The Twins and Daeron were with him. 

“Vorondur has gone to see,” Finrod said. They could all hear Vorondur greeting the person at the door and then a moment later he was returning with a Mortal who turned out to be none other than Judge Harrison. 

Glorfindel actually paled and Finrod remembered Vorondur’s threat. Vorondur must have noticed Glorfindel’s stricken look because he smiled in amusement. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “Shall we all go in?” 

Finrod nodded and stepped back into the room and everyone else followed. Vorondur motioned for the Judge to take a seat behind the desk while everyone else either sat or stood. Finrod was directed to a chair by the fire at Laurendil’s insistence; Glorfindel leaned against one of the walls, his arms crossed in front of him, attempting to look nonchalant. Vorondur was speaking even as he saw to the Judge. “I called James to come over because I think we need someone impartial to mediate this situation,” he explained. 

“You should not have done that, Ron,” Glorfindel said with a scowl. “It’s unfair to drag James or any other Mortal into this.” 

“Glorfindel is correct,” Finrod said. “It is unfair and I apologize for you having to come all the way over here. I am sure we are all capable of resolving this without outside help.” 

“Well, I don’t live that far away, actually, just a couple blocks over on Seward,” the Judge said with a smile, “so I didn’t mind coming out and I’m glad to help. Mediation was my specialty when I was a lawyer, before sitting on the bench.” 

“But what is there to mediate?” Lindorillë asked. 

“Lord Glorfindel attacked Prince Finrod,” Vardamir explained. “That cannot be brushed aside and we cannot pretend it did not happen. But I do agree that dragging a Mortal into our affairs is not wise and you should have consulted with the rest of us before unilaterally making such a decision, Vorondur.” 

“Well, he’s here now and I won’t be so rude as to throw him back out into the cold without at least offering him some coffee or tea,” Glorfindel said. 

“Coffee would be good. Decaf if you have any.” 

“Elves drinking decaf?” Daeron said with a glimmer of amused disbelief. “Perish the thought.” Several people chuckled and Judge Harrison actually laughed. 

“Then whatever you have will be fine,” the Mortal said. 

“I’ll bring you some hot chocolate, shall I?” Elrohir said and when Harrison nodded he left. 

“In the meantime, why don’t you just tell me what all the fuss and bother is about?” Harrison said. “I promise I won’t charge by the minute, so take your time.” The Elves actually grinned as the Judge turned to Vardamir. “Did I hear you correctly, sir, that Loren attacked Prince Finrod?” 

Vardamir nodded and started to speak but Harrison held up his hand to forestall him. Elrohir entered just then with the hot chocolate which the Mortal accepted gratefully, taking a sip. “Why don’t we hear from the two parties themselves? I’m sure you all are capable of telling me what happened but I’d rather hear it from the horse’s mouth myself. So, which of you two sterling examples of Elvenhood would like to start?” The Judge looked pointedly at Finrod and Glorfindel as he continued to sip his drink. 

Several eyebrows went up and Finrod noticed Glorfindel actually blushing. There was no levity in the Mortal’s eyes and Finrod realized that Harrison was fully in judicial mode. An awkward silence ensued and Finrod sighed. “I am afraid I provoked Glorfindel into attacking me,” he admitted and there were several voices of protest at that statement. Harrison picked up a paperweight and pounded on the desk just hard enough to get everyone’s attention. 

“Let’s have some order here, people,” he said, “and let Prince Finrod explain himself. Your Highness.” 

“I do wish you would all stop calling me that,” Finrod exclaimed with a modicum of disgust. “This is not Aman and my titles hold no weight in this society.” 

“But we are not of this society, not completely, and we hold to the old ways in terms of courtesy,” Daeron said then gave Finrod a sniff. “So, I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with us being formal for a while, you stupid Noldo.” 

“Hah!” Finrod exclaimed, but he was smiling as he and Daeron exchanged fond looks of friendship and others chuckled. Finrod then looked at Glorfindel. “Well, I wish to apologize for what I said, Glorfindel. It was untrue and hurtful, but you made it easy for me with your own attitude. I do not understand why you are so against my working in the bookstore. It is the perfect way for me to meet the people of Wiseman and to get to know them even as they get to know me without my titles and such getting in the way. When Nicholas Greene saw me he was so flustered he didn’t know what to do or say and I do not wish that. I want these people to approach me without fear, to treat me in the same manner in which they treat you and Daeron and you others of Wiseman.” 

“So Nick Greene hired you to help out, did he? Well don’t that beat all,” Harrison said. “And that is what the argument was about, the fact that you applied for the bookstore job?” 

Glorfindel spoke then. “It wasn’t about the job. It was just…” 

“That I did not consult you about it first,” Finrod finished for him. 

“And why did you feel that Prince Finrod needed to consult you on this or any other matter?” Harrison asked. “I am assuming that his Highness is well past the age of consent.” 

“But I’m responsible for him, for all of them,” Glorfindel replied. 

“Responsible in what way?” 

“In every way,” Glorfindel exclaimed, shaking his head. “We’re in a precarious situation here, James. Not all of you Mortals welcome us and recent events have exacerbated the situation even more. I’ve spent the last two years trying to build bridges of understanding between us.” 

“And my working at the bookstore threatens this?” Finrod asked. 

“No, or maybe yes. Honestly, I don’t know. I only know that I would have appreciated you speaking to me and others first before deciding to take the job. You know how I hate surprises and when you told us about the job and that it was a done deal, I guess I just didn’t handle the news very well.” 

“You haven’t handled things very well for quite some time, Loren,” Vorondur said. “You practically threatened Kyle Stoner with bodily harm because he was rude and arrogant, you hid in the Goldmine Inn for a week because you couldn’t bear to come back to Edhellond knowing that your room had been damaged when the tree fell on the roof, you were arrogant and supercilious toward Alex and Derek and I admit the rest of us were no better but we tend to take our cue from you, because, like it or not, you are our leader, or you were.” 

“What does that mean?” Glorfindel demanded hotly. 

Vorondur pointed to Finrod. “Ever since he’s arrived the two of you have been dancing around the issue of who is our leader, each of you trying not to overstep certain bounds because you two are gwedyr. Finrod, as a prince of Eldamar, outranks us all and by rights should be our leader now, but he is presently incapable of assuming that role because he’s too new to this place. You, on the other hand, are afraid of the day when he is able to take over because you’ve been doing quite well as our leader up to now. As you pointed out, you’ve spent the last two years building bridges between us and the Mortals and you’ve been quite successful at it. Elf Academy is prospering, perhaps more than the founders of the school ever thought it would, and it’s because of your leadership skills. Now you feel your position threatened.” 

“I told you that I was told I was not to take over from you, Glorfindel,” Finrod said before Glorfindel could comment. “I meant what I said. Elf Academy is your responsibility. I have a different purpose, though Lord Manwë failed to tell me just what that purpose was, only that I would know it when I saw it.” 

Silence settled about them and for a time there was only the sound of the fire crackling. Finally, Judge Harrison stirred. “So, to get back to the matter at hand, I am assuming that you, Prince Finrod, said something to Lord Glorfindel that so angered him that he physically attacked you, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you, Lord Glorfindel. Do you feel you had proper provocation to attack Prince Finrod as you did?” 

“I don’t know if I would say proper provocation,” Glorfindel said with a rueful shake of his head. “We both said hurtful things to one another and for that I apologize.” 

“Yet, it cannot be denied that you did attack a prince of the realm,” Prince Legolas said with a frown. “Even here in Middle-earth, that cannot be ignored, can it?” He looked at Harrison who shook his head. 

“I heard about you threatening young Kyle Stoner, Loren. I think all of Wiseman heard about that. Not that the arrogant pup didn’t deserve it, but still…. If you had been hauled into my court on assault charges I would probably have consigned you to community service and then ordered you to take some anger management classes. As this is not my courtroom the best I can do is advise you all to take a deep breath and step back from the emotional precipice you seem to be teetering on.” 

“What do you mean by that, James?” Vorondur asked, though Finrod suspected the ellon knew full well what the Judge meant but had asked for the benefit of the others. 

“I’m just a poor Mortal and have no clue about how you Elves do things, but the moment I stepped in here I could feel the anger and dismay that was being radiated throughout the room and most of it seemed to be directed toward Loren.” 

“For good reason,” Laurendil said. 

“Perhaps, but which of you was capable of presiding over this little court of ours with impartiality toward both parties?” 

There was a pause as everyone thought it over and one or two nodded in agreement. “And Ron was wise enough to realize that you needed someone from outside to mediate. Now, I am not about to dictate to any of you, but if you wish for my advice, I suggest very strongly that you all get a grip. I have no doubt that seeing Loren attack Finrod was upsetting, but brothers often fight. Hell, my brother and I fought all the time. Still do, though these days we usually limit ourselves to a mean game of chess to air out our differences as neither of us is in any condition to roll about the floor trying our level best to gouge each other’s eyes out.” 

Several people, Finrod included, actually chuckled and the tension in the room eased somewhat. Harrison nodded and looked at Glorfindel. “Loren, you’re an estimable person and I highly respect you, but you’re beginning to lose it, as they say, and that’s a dangerous thing to do in your position. I would recommend a couple of sessions with Ron here to help you manage your emotions a bit better. “ 

“If it will help, I will join you in those classes,” Finrod said to Glorfindel. 

“Why?” Glorfindel asked, obviously surprised. 

“Because I want to. We are gwedyr after all. How often did we share each other’s punishments back in Tirion?” 

Glorfindel snorted in amusement. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised Lord Námo didn’t haul us both before his Court like that last time.” 

Finrod laughed. “And my atar commenting that it was probably more a trial for him than for us.” 

Now others were grinning, some of them well remembering the events being spoken of. 

“So, all is forgiven then?” Judge Harrison asked and when both Finrod and Glorfindel nodded he banged the paperweight once. “Then I declare this court adjourned. I’ll leave it to you, Ron, to work out the details of the classes.” 

Vorondur nodded. 

“Why do we not all take the classes along with Finrod and Glorfindel?” Erestor suggested. When everyone just gave him disbelieving looks, he shrugged. “I admit that my expectations of what Middle-earth would be like since I was last here have fallen short of reality and I find myself feeling angry and confused at times. I think we could all benefit from such classes.” 

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Vorondur said. “If everyone is willing, I will ask a couple of my colleagues who are counselors at the college to help out and we’ll set up classes for after the New Year.” 

“That would be fine,” Finrod said. “Is that all right with you, Glorfindel?” 

Glorfindel nodded. “Do what you think best, Ron. Now, I’m sure James would like to get home. I am sorry you were dragged into this.” 

“I am not,” Harrison said as he pulled himself out of the chair. “It’s been most illuminating. Rather reminds me of my days presiding over night court. Never knew what crazies were going to show up even when the moon wasn’t full.” He gave them a knowing smile. Several eyebrows rose at that statement. 

“We will see you out,” Finrod said, also standing, and everyone bid the Mortal a goodnight as Finrod, Glorfindel and Vorondur escorted Harrison to the door. 

“Thank you, James,” Vorondur said as he handed the judge his coat. Finrod and Glorfindel echoed his sentiment. 

“Any time, Ron. You know where to find me if you need me.” Then he turned to Finrod and Glorfindel with a frown. “And you two. I don’t ever want to see either one of you in my court again. Do I make myself clear?” 

“As glass, Judge,” Glorfindel replied, grinning. Finrod simply gave him an amused look. 

Harrison nodded, wishing them a goodnight as he stepped outside and headed for his car. Vorondur closed the door once he saw the Mortal pulling out of the drive. 

“Thank you, Ron,” Finrod said, using the ellon’s Mortal name for the first time. 

Vorondur just nodded. “Let’s go back to the library and we’ll talk, all of us, shall we? I think there are things that need to be said between us all.” 

Finrod and Glorfindel nodded and together they headed back down the hall to the library. 

**** 

Yonya: (Quenya) My son, contracted from yondonya.

11: What Child is This?

The weekend was quiet, but not in a good way. Most of the Elves seemed to be walking on eggshells, as Mithrellas put it, the events of Friday night still present in everyone’s mind. The Wiseman Elves seemed more upset about it than those of Valinor and Finrod suspected they were feeling embarrassed. Finrod found that he and Glorfindel tended to avoid one another. Not deliberately, he realized, for Glorfindel was busy playing Elf Guide all weekend, but he did not invite Finrod to accompany him and Finrod felt depression settling over him again. He spent most of Saturday in idleness, mostly resting, for his shoulder ached and the back of his head felt tender. All of his healers insisted he spend the day quietly, and so he retired to the library and picked out one of the paperback mystery books belonging to Glorfindel, losing himself in the world of medieval England and someone named Cadfael, who appeared to be quite observant of human nature. The others left him alone, though both Findalaurë and Nielluin looked in on him from time to time and when he decided to take a walk in the woods behind the mansion, they accompanied him. As they did not spend the time chattering he did not mind, the three walking softly as only Elves can, quietly communing with the trees and stopping to pass the time of day with a herd of elk passing through. 

Sunday morning, Daeron did take some time to help him fill out the application form, the two of them sitting at the breakfast nook. As they were putting the finishing touches on ‘Quinn O’Brien’s ersatz history’, as Daeron called it, Finrod spoke. 

“I am supposed to discover the true meaning of Christmas, but so far I have not had much luck.” 

Daeron gave him a considering look. “What do you know of Christmas?” 

“Beyond the fact that it is a time of gift-giving and charity, I am not sure. Fionwë said that there was a gift in the stable, but he did not tell me what that gift is. Do you know?” 

“I know what the Christians believe was the gift, but I do not know if what they believe is true or not.” 

“What do they believe?” 

Daeron hesitated for a moment, looking suddenly uncertain. “Perhaps it would be better for you to learn that on your own, Finrod. That was, after all, the task given you by Fionwë.” 

“Perhaps I should ask the Mortals, then.” Finrod sighed, closing his eyes briefly, rubbing the space between them. 

“Perhaps you should.” There was a pause and Finrod opened his eyes to see Daeron giving him a searching look. “You’re depressed and I do not think you have slept well lately.” 

“I did not sleep at all the last two nights even though I find I am in need of it more than usual as I recover from my wound,” Finrod averred. “I had too much to think on. Glorfindel’s reaction to my news was… disheartening. This is not what I had envisioned our reunion would be like.” 

“I doubt Loren thought it would be like this either,” the loremaster said. “When we received the message that help would come, and to go to Wild Lake, we had no idea who it would be or from where. I actually thought that perhaps we would find some other Elves who never Sailed camping there or something. Last thing I expected was to see Vingilot come in for a landing with you lot on board.” He grinned and Finrod grinned back. 

“Thank you for your help,” Finrod said, taking the filled-out application form and folding it. He started to stand. 

Daeron held out a hand to stay him and Finrod gave him an enquiring look. The loremaster smiled sympathetically. “It will work out. It always does. For so long….” He shrugged. “Well, neither here nor there. All I want to say is that Loren’s been under a great deal of stress lately and he has not been handling things as well as he or we would like, but never doubt his love for you. He looks up to you, more than you realize. I cannot tell you how many times he asked himself what you would do in a certain instance before making his own decision. You were always the model by which he judged his own actions.” 

“I did not know that,” Finrod said, feeling somewhat disturbed by what Daeron was telling him. 

“And now you do.” Daeron glanced at the microwave clock and sighed, getting up. “Well, I must leave you. I am due at the Lightfoot Reindeer Farm in a couple of hours. If I leave now, I’ll be there in plenty of time, assuming the weather holds.” 

“I do not sense any storm,” Finrod said, standing as well. 

“Neither do I, but I’ve lived here long enough not to discount the possibility that one will come up suddenly and without any real warning. You will be all right?” 

“Yes, of course. I think I will go into town. Finda was telling me that he and his gwedyr wished to learn to ice skate and are taking lessons today. Perhaps I will join them.” 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Daeron said with a smile. “When we were living in Holland, we often skated along the canals during the winter. It was the easiest way to get anywhere around Amsterdam. Do you want me to drop you off? I will be going that way, anyway. 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ll be leaving in about ten minutes.” 

“I’ll be ready.” 

**** 

Daeron dropped Finrod off in front of the Safeway and waved as he sped off. Finrod waved back and then turned to look about. It was only about ten in the morning. The sky was cloudless and the stars shone brightly, though to the east it was beginning to brighten with the coming dawn. The air was crisp without being too cold. He walked across the parking lot to where the skating rink was set up. Christmas music floated in the air. To his left was a wooden booth where one could rent skates. There was also a concession stand to his right and the smell of hot dogs and hot chocolate was in the air. This early on a Sunday morning there were only a few people skating. He saw his son and his gwedyr already on the ice, taking tentative steps, trying to keep their balance, while a couple of Mortals, skating backwards, encouraged them. Calandil suddenly waved his arms in a frantic manner and then ended up landing on his rump, uttering a profanity in Quenya that had Findalaurë and Elennen laughing while the Mortals looked on in amusement. Calandil turned red as he struggled to regain his feet, one of the Mortals lending him a hand up, giving him instructions on how to keep his center of gravity low. 

“Do you want to give it a try?” 

Finrod looked to his left to see Gloria Richards there with another Mortal whom Finrod recalled was named Matt. He had an arm around Gloria’s waist in a proprietary manner. They both were carrying skates. Finrod smiled. “It does look a bit tricky.” 

“You never skated?” Matt asked. “I’m surprised you Elves never came up with the idea.” 

“When we are capable of walking on top of the snow, why would we?” Finrod replied with a laugh. “But if you are willing to teach me, I am willing to learn.” He gave them a conspiratorial wink. “After all, I do not wish to be outdone by my son.” He nodded toward Findalaurë who was making his way around the rink, apparently having figured out the trick of staying upright on the thin blades. Calandil and Elennen were not far behind. 

“Let’s find you a pair of skates, then,” Gloria said and the three went over to the skate rental booth. It took a few minutes for them to find the right size and then they were sitting on a bench, removing their boots and putting on the skates. Matt told Finrod to be sure to lace the skates as tight as possible. Gloria finished putting on her skates first and stood up and then Matt was standing as well. Finrod felt a bit awkward as he attempted to stand with the two Mortals lending him their hands to help steady him. 

“It’s a weird feeling, I know,” Matt said. “The trick is to keep your knees slightly bent. Not that far. Good. Just about there.” He pointed at Finrod’s midriff. “Lean slightly forward so that your center of gravity lies just below your belly button. Okay, now we’re going to walk to the ice. Gloria, you take his arm.” Matt took a few steps away from the bench and slid onto the ice, moving confidently and turning to face Finrod and Gloria. “Easy now. Take your time.” 

“Atto!” 

Finrod looked up to see his son skating by and waving. He tried to slow down, no doubt wishing to join him, but apparently miscalculated and the next thing he was flailing his arms about and then landing hard on the ice. One of the Mortals who had been acting as a teacher came up, stopping without any effort, and held out a hand to help the ellon up. Findalaurë looked rather embarrassed. 

“Continue with your own lessons, yonya,” Finrod called out in Quenya, “and do not worry for me.” 

Findalaurë just nodded and gave the Mortals a sheepish look. Gloria and Matt grinned. “Falling is part of the process of learning,” Matt said as he began skating backwards while Gloria showed Finrod how to move. “I’m sure you all will be first-rate skaters in no time.” 

Finrod had his doubts about that as he flailed about for the next half hour or so, but both of his teachers assured him that he was doing just fine and soon enough he was skating, if slowly, around the rink with the others. He did fall twice along the way, but the second time he was able to stand on his own and start skating again. After that, his confidence grew and he and the others spent another hour skating. Finrod marveled at the feeling of freedom the skates gave him. 

“Next we’ll have to teach you how to ski,” Matt said at some point when the three of them decided to take a rest. Gloria offered to get them all some hot chocolate and Matt stated he was hungry and wanted a hot dog as well. Finrod suddenly realized that he, too, was feeling hungry and so the three of them ended up at the concession stand still in their skates munching on hot dogs and potato chips and downing hot chocolate. 

By now, the rink was filling up with skaters. Finrod watched his son and his two gwedyr taking a break from skating, speaking with several young Mortals who had just arrived, carrying their own skates. Finrod recognized Jack Whitman, the mayor’s son, among them. The three ellyn conversed easily with Jack and the others, laughing at something one of them was saying. Once the Mortals had their skates on, everyone headed onto the ice. It was obvious to Finrod from the way Findalaurë and his gwedyr acted that they were enjoying the company of the Mortals. It was so different from when they had first arrived and how the three had treated Alex and Derek. 

“What can you tell me about Christmas?” he asked suddenly. 

Matt choked on his hot chocolate and Gloria pounded him on his back even as she asked her own question. “And what about Christmas do you wish to know?” 

“Whatever you are willing to tell me about its true meaning, beyond gift-giving and charity and wishes for peace in the coming year.” 

“Well, its true meaning is rather hard to explain if you don’t know certain history which goes back some six thousand years,” Gloria said. “How much time do you have to listen to an explanation?” 

“All the remaining ages of Arda,” Finrod responded with a grin, “but I doubt you can say the same.” 

Both Mortals gave him surprised looks, which transmuted into something more thoughtful as they took in the import of his words. 

“Well… um… it shouldn’t take that long,” Matt said, “but it’s not something I feel qualified to explain with any authority.” 

“Who is?” Finrod asked. 

“Any of the priests or ministers,” Gloria answered. “You might try St. Mary of the Snows. The pastor there is known to be something of a biblical scholar and he can explain things better than we can.” 

“Hmm… Thank you,” Finrod said, nodding, then he finished drinking his hot chocolate, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. “I am ready for more skating. What about you?” 

The two young Mortals grinned and soon they were joining the other skaters on the ice. 

**** 

After another hour or so of skating, Finrod had had enough. His shoulder was now aching again and he had a slight headache centered in the back of his head, which was still feeling tender. He returned his skates, thanking Matt and Gloria for the lessons and fellowship. When he told Findalaurë that he was going home his son offered to join him, but Finrod declined. 

“I can tell you are enjoying the company of your friends from the Academy. You need not leave them on my account. I will see you back in Edhellond later.” 

He crossed over to the square and headed down a side street that would bring him out onto Kodiak. Sycamore, where Edhellond was located, was another half mile. He came to an intersection and realized that the church Gloria had mentioned was across the street from him. It was an imposing gray stone structure with what he thought was a bell tower. The windows were stained glass. In the front was a statue of a Woman and he had to assume it was this Mary after whom the church was named. As he stood there, a Man came out the front door of the church and headed to a smaller stone building next to it, clearly a residence. Even bundled up against the cold, Finrod recognized him as the Man who had spoken at his Court, refuting Tom Peterson. He had been dressed strangely in black, Finrod recalled, and afterwards Finrod had asked Glorfindel about him. 

On a sudden impulse, he crossed the street with the intention of intercepting the Man. “Excuse me, sir,” he said politely, giving the Man a slight bow, “might I have a word with you?” 

The Man stopped in his tracks and gave Finrod a friendly look. “Ah, yes. You’re the king.” 

“Once, a long time ago,” Finrod replied, shaking his head, giving him a rueful look. “I am not a king any longer. I gave up my crown.” 

“I’m Father Waverly, but everyone calls me Father Charlie.” The priest held out his hand and Finrod shook it. 

“Father?” 

“It’s a title of respect. If you’re uncomfortable with it just call me Charlie. But what can I do for you, your Highness?” 

“Finrod, please. Or Quinn, if you prefer. That’s my Mortal name, Quinn O’Brien. I left my titles behind in Aman, for I knew before I came here that they would mean nothing to any of you.” 

“But that doesn’t sit well with you, does it?” 

Finrod looked at the priest in surprise. “How did….?” 

Waverly smiled faintly. “As pleasant as the day may be, it’s much too cold to be standing out here jawing. Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me what is troubling you, for I can see that you are troubled.” 

Finrod hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Yes. I would like that. Thank you.” He followed the priest to his residence and soon found himself sitting in an overstuffed chair beside a cozy wood-burning stove sipping on some peppermint tea. Father Waverly settled in a rocking chair with his own cup while a black and white tabby — “That’s Nimrod, for he is a mighty hunter before the Lord” — lay curled up on the rug before them fast asleep. 

For several minutes neither spoke. Finrod gazed contentedly into the fire, sipping on his tea. Father Waverly rocked gently. Finally, Finrod turned to him. “You live alone?” 

The priest nodded. “Oh, during the week this place is a hive of activity, this being the rectory. Offices are in the back part of the house. I have a housekeeper, Mrs. Burnstein. She’s Jewish.” He gave Finrod a grin that he could not interpret. The priest, apparently realizing Finrod did not understand his amusement, shrugged. “Anyway, she goes home to her husband every evening. She generally has the weekends off, though she comes in on Sunday morning while I’m busy at the church to put together my dinner. I just have to heat it up when I’m ready to eat. But we are not here to discuss my domestic arrangements, are we?” 

“No.” 

“You obviously wished something from me,” Waverly said. “You said you gave up your titles and your crown when you came here, knowing that in America they would do you no good. Yet, I sense that you are not happy about that.” 

“Perhaps, but it is something I must get used to and actually there is a type of freedom of not having everyone bowing to you, literally and figuratively. I wished to speak with you on another matter entirely.” 

At Waverly’s nod of encouragement, he continued. “I have been challenged to learn the true meaning of Christmas. None of the Elves who have lived in Middle-earth all these millennia are able or willing to tell me about Christmas other than that it is a season of gift-giving and charity. I asked a couple of Mortals whom I know about it, but they insisted that they were not qualified to explain. In fact, I was told that I would need to know the last six thousand years of history before I could begin to understand.” 

“Well, not exactly,” Waverly said, “but close enough. What you need to know is a certain kind of history about a certain group of people, the Jews.” He paused, frowning slightly in thought, then he glanced at Finrod. “It might be better to show you than to tell you, if you’re up to a short walk.” 

“Where do we go?” 

“Just to the church.” 

Finrod nodded and in a few minutes, they were crossing over to the church and entering. It was larger than the Interfaith Chapel Fionwë had taken him to. They climbed the steps and entered a foyer where a large stone-carved font stood in the center filled with water. Doors along one side opened up into the sanctuary and when Waverly turned on the lights, Finrod saw a raised dais at the other end with a large table, much like in the chapel, before which were four fat candles surrounded by greenery. Three of the candles were a deep blue but one was pink. On the wall behind it hung a larger-than-life statue of a man in a flowing robe with his arms outstretched in a welcoming manner and, unlike the chapel, the stained-glass windows showed actual scenes. There were also a couple of statues in niches on either side of the doors, one of a young Woman holding a flower — a lily, Finrod realized — while the other statue was of a Man holding what appeared to be a carpenter’s plane. 

Finrod pointed to the statue behind the altar. “Who is that?” 

“Ah… well, we’ll get to him eventually,” Waverly said. “Let’s start with these windows first.” He gestured to the left and the two walked over to one of the stained-glass windows. “This church was built in the early twenties, not long after the town was founded. These windows were a gift from a very wealthy patron who commissioned the scenes. He was very particular about which scenes from the Bible were to be illuminated.” 

“What exactly is this bible? I remember it being mentioned at my Court but I failed to ask about it.” 

“Ah, I’ll show you when we return to the rectory, but it’s essentially our holy book which narrates the history of the Jewish people and their relationship with God.” 

“Eru, we call him, the One.” 

Waverly nodded. “In the Jewish religion, they have a prayer called the Shema.” He then spoke in a language unknown to Finrod. “Sh’ma, Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad. Hear, O Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One. Now, this window here tells a very well-known story in biblical history. The older man is Abraham and that’s his son, Isaac.” 

“It looks as if he’s about to sacrifice his own son,” Finrod said, scowling in disgust. “I understand sacrificing children to Morgoth was a common practice among the Easterlings.” 

“Yes, and common in certain cultures six thousand years ago,” Waverly said. 

“But Eru would never….” 

“Ah… and that’s the point. See that figure in the upper corner?” 

“That ridiculous looking person with wings?” 

Waverly chuckled. “That ridiculous looking person with wings is an Angel of the Lord.” 

Finrod gave the priest a surprised look. “No self-respecting Maia would ever be caught wearing wings!” 

Laughter echoed through the church and both Finrod and Waverly looked about, trying to identify the source. Finrod had a pretty good idea who it might be but the priest looked somewhat flustered, even afraid. Finrod gave him a sympathetic grin and called out. “Would you care to join us, my Lord Fionwë?” 

There was the mingled scent of apples and mint and then a shape formed itself in the center aisle and Fionwë appeared…with wings. They were the wings of a golden eagle and their feathers swept the floor. The Maia wore a smirk. Finrod rolled his eyes. Waverly just gaped in open astonishment. 

“You forget, Findaráto, as pure spirit, I can assume any shape I wish,” Fionwë said, making his way down the aisle to join them. 

“I still say they look ridiculous,” Finrod retorted with a sniff and Fionwë laughed again, his form shifting so that he was now in his ‘Finn’ disguise, complete with blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. The Maia gave them a merry look. 

“Be at peace, Charles,” he said warmly to the priest, who looked a bit shocked. “You have naught to fear. I am Fionwë of the People of Manwë, though you may call me Finn.” 

“Ah… er… welcome… um….” 

“It is well, my friend,” Finrod said sympathetically, patting the priest on the arm. “Now, you were telling me the story behind this window.” 

Waverly visibly pulled himself together and nodded. “Yes, the window. There are many interpretations about this event. Child sacrifice was common and Abraham originally came from a culture where such did occur. As you can see, the…er… angel is clearly telling Abraham not to sacrifice his son and the Jews used animals as sacrifices instead.” 

“Why sacrifice at all?” Finrod asked, puzzled. “Did they think Eru needed them to kill innocent children or even animals for Him? He never required us to do so, nor did the Edain who lived among us. I am told that Sauron instituted the practice among the Númenóreans when they fell under his dominion.” 

“It is part of what we call Salvation History,” Waverly explained. “You have to understand that our conception of God has changed over time. Six thousand years ago, indeed just two thousand years ago, sacrificing to God or the gods, as the pagans did, was a common practice, believing that in doing so, God was appeased.” 

“Appeased?” Finrod turned to Fionwë with a frown. 

The Maia shook his head. “The Jews believed that Men had fallen from Eru’s grace, turning away from Him and that sacrificing goats or lambs was an outward sign of their remorse for their sins.” 

“It’s a very complicated socio-religious dynamic,” Waverly said, “but Christianity, which grew out of Judaism, came to a particular conclusion as to the purpose of sacrifice.” 

“And what conclusion was that?” Finrod asked. 

“We’ll get to that soon enough, but I want to show you a few of these other windows first. This one, for instance.” The three moved up the side aisle, skipping the next window, which showed a Man apparently wrestling with a winged person — Finrod refused to think of it as a Maia — and stopping in front of a window where an old Man held two stone tablets. “His name is Moses the Lawgiver,” Waverly said. “A time came when the Hebrews, the ancestors of today’s Jews, were enslaved by the Egyptians, at that time the most powerful nation in the world. God delivered the Hebrews out of slavery through Moses, who codified the laws by which the people would live, laws which were handed down to them by God. We know them today as the Ten Commandments.” 

“We call such laws axani,” Finrod commented, “laws that primarily proceed from Eru rather than from ourselves.” 

Waverly nodded. “At any rate, God, through Moses, led the Israelites, as they called themselves, to their former homeland and eventually after many centuries, the twelve tribes formed a kingdom under this man.” They had moved further up the aisle to where Finrod saw a young Man playing on something that looked like a harp. “This is David, the second king of Israel.” 

“The second? Who was the first?” 

“Ah, well, we don’t speak of him too much,” Waverly said with a sly grin. “Didn’t work out.” 

Finrod stole a glance at Fionwë who grinned knowingly, then returned his attention to the window, while Waverly explained it. “David was no paragon of virtue, believe me, but he had one saving grace. When he messed up and was called on it, he repented and tried to make amends. God promised David that his House would never fail and from his House would come the Messiah — the word means, ‘the Anointed One’ — who would establish God’s kingdom here on Earth.” 

“And did he?” Finrod asked. 

“There is the controversy. The Jews say ‘no, not yet’, and the Christians say ‘yes, sort of’. But keep in mind these three figures, Abraham, Moses and David. They are the pillars of Jewish history. Abraham came from a pagan culture, one that worshiped a multitude of gods, but God called him out of Ur and he and his descendants worshiped only the one true God… usually. The Israelites tended to slide back into paganism every once in a while, but for the most part they were the only people who were monotheists. Anyway, Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt and brought them the laws by which they lived, by which many of us still live, and David established a kingdom. It did not last, but the promise was there that one day the Davidic kingdom would be reestablished. So, let’s move over to the other side.” 

They crossed over, Waverly stopping long enough to genuflect when they reached the center aisle before going to the other side and then travel down until he stood before a particular window. “I’ve skipped a lot of history. About three thousand years separate Abraham from David and then there is another thousand years, more or less, after David that I didn’t cover but during that time the fortunes of the Jews fell afoul of larger, more aggressive nations. The end result was that two thousand years ago, they were subjugated by the Romans who pretty much took over a good portion of Europe, Africa and Asia. Their empire stretched from Spain to India. The Jews longed for the Messiah, who they believed would come as a warrior-king, throw the Romans out of Palestine, the name of their country at the time, and reestablish David’s kingdom, ultimately to rule the world.” 

“Obviously that hasn’t happened,” Finrod couldn’t help saying, raising an eyebrow. 

“Depends on your definition,” Waverly said with a slight grin. “So, that’s where matters stood two thousand years ago when, according to the Christians, something remarkable happened.” 

“What?” 

Waverly nodded at the window which showed a young Woman dressed in blue and before her was one of those winged beings. “That’s Mary.” 

“The one after whom this church is named?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the angel?” 

“Gabriel.” 

“Actually her name was Melyanna,” Fionwë said, grinning hugely. 

“Melian?!” Finrod exclaimed, then he narrowed his eyes. “Wait! She disappeared for a number of years. No one knew where and the Valar wouldn’t say. Even Elu Thingol had no idea where she went. And when she finally returned, she refused to speak of it.” 

“Er… who’s this Melian?” Waverly asked, looking confused. 

Fionwë nodded toward the window. “Gabriel. That’s the name your ancestors gave her since I don’t think she bothered to name herself to Miriam.” 

“Miriam? I thought her name was Mary.” Now it was Finrod’s turn to be confused and to his amusement both Waverly and Fionwë sighed. It was Fionwë who supplied an answer. “Mary is how Miriam was rendered in English. The Mortals who recorded the events that Charles has told you about gave names to those of us who were sent by the Valar and Eru to deal with them, for we did not reveal our own names.” He paused, chuckling. “Manveru and Erunáro, for instance, are known to the Mortals as Michael and Uriel.” 

Waverly gaped at the Maia. Finrod simply raised an eyebrow. “So, Melian came to Mary,” he said. “Why?” 

Fionwë and Waverly exchanged looks and when the Maia nodded, Waverly spoke. “Basically, the angel had a proposition for Mary. She was to bear the Messiah, if she was willing. She said yes.” 

“I get the feeling there’s more to it than that,” Finrod said. 

“Much more, but this is where it gets a bit complicated,” the priest said. “Mary was still a virgin, although legally married to this man over here, whose name was Joseph.” He pointed to his left where Finrod saw a Man with an obviously pregnant Mary. “According to the Christians, Mary bore a son, but not by Joseph.” 

“Who then?” 

“God.” 

Finrod glanced at Fionwë whose expression was now unreadable to him, then looked at Waverly. “I… I am not sure I understand.” 

“According to the Christians, God entered into human history two thousand years ago in the person we know as Jesus of Nazareth.” He nodded to the statue behind the altar. “That’s him there. Gabriel came to Mary and asked if she would agree to bear God’s own Son. She said yes and the rest, as they say, is history.” 

Finrod stared at the statue for a long moment, then turned his attention back to the window before which they stood, trying to grasp the enormity of what the Man was saying. He felt Fionwë place a hand on his shoulder. “What did Andreth say to thee on that spring morning so long ago, Child? Dost thou remember?” 

“The Old Hope,” Finrod whispered still staring at the window. He turned to look at Fionwë. “Even then?” The Maia gave him an enquiring look. “Eru… even then he was planning this? Yet, you say, this happened a mere two thousand years ago. Why did He wait so long?” 

Fionwë laughed. “Eru’s timing is always perfect, Findaráto. He came when he did and not earlier or later because that was the proper time for Him to do so.” 

“But, there is no kingdom.” 

“Not in the sense that you mean,” Fionwë said. “You know, you and He have something in common.” 

“What do you mean?” Finrod asked in surprise. 

“You’re not the only one to have given up his crown for a Mortal.”