14: Into the Wilderness

“The lottery was a great idea, amigo,” said ‘Celeborn’ to Glorfindel as he and the other students helped to clean up after the party. “You have great imaginations, not just in coming up with these names but also coming up with meanings for them. Silvertree. How cool is that?”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like your new name and enjoyed the party,” Glorfindel said and smiled, wondering what the real Celeborn would say if he knew that his name had been given to a five-eight Hispanic hailing from Chicago named Jésus who sported a tattoo of Our Lady of Guadalupe on his right bicep. He had the feeling the Sindarin lord would not find it at all amusing though perhaps Galadriel would see the humor in it.

Grace came over to Glorfindel just then with a trolley to pick up dirty dishes. “So, any names left over?” she asked somewhat diffidently.

Glorfindel gave her a surprised look but then went over to the table where Daeron had been sitting and took a blank slip of paper, writing on it and then going back to Grace. She took the slip and looked at it, then at Glorfindel.

“Eruanna?” she asked, giving it a decidedly American pronunciation.

“Air-oo-AH-nah,” Glorfindel corrected. “It means ‘Grace’.”

“Really?” the cook asked, giving him a pleased smile as he nodded. She went away, silently mouthing the name and Glorfindel couldn’t help grinning. It didn’t surprise him a bit when the other kitchen staff sauntered over to see if there were any names for them. Luckily, there were enough slips left over in both boxes so they just reached in and took one. They all went away with smiles on their faces.

“Guess everyone wants to be an Elf,” Elrohir quipped, having noticed the exchange, and Glorfindel chuckled.

****

The next morning, coming back from the showers, Glorfindel found Zach standing before the mirror.

“Greetings, fair guests,” he heard the young man say into the mirror. “I am your Elf Guide, er, Finrod.” He had to glance down at the slip of paper he was holding.

“Hello, Finrod.” Glorfindel canted his voice in the sing-song of a group of people greeting someone.

Zach turned around, looking embarrassed, as Glorfindel smiled, hanging up his wet towel and putting his shower paraphernalia away.

“Just practicing,” Zach explained.

“So I see,” Glorfindel said, sitting on his bed. “You’ll need to be more convincing about your name though.”

Zach chuckled. “Still not used to it.” He glanced down at the slip of paper and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Glorfindel asked.

Zach shrugged. “It’s not very fancy compared to other names people got, like Jud getting ‘Gil-galad’ and your name, Glor-something.”

“Glorfindel,” the ellon corrected. He stood up and put his hands on the young Mortal’s shoulders. “Finrod is an honorable name,” he said in all seriousness. “The name of a great king and warrior among the Elves. Counted among the Wise. A friend to Mortals and beloved by all.”

Zach gave him a jaundiced look. “Oh?”

Glorfindel laughed. “Well, why not?” he retorted. “Give your name a history. Make it as grandiose as you like. There might be one or two children who will ask you about your name and you can tell them something like what I just said about Finrod.”

“I guess,” Zach said a little dubiously, then tilted his head to one side, giving Glorfindel a considering look. “A king, huh? Any particular kingdom?”

“Nargothrond,” Glorfindel said without hesitation.

Zach’s eyebrows went up. “You want to repeat that, slowly?”

Glorfindel grinned and complied with the request, helping Zach with the pronunciation.

“Nargothrond,” Zach said musingly. “I am Finrod, King of Nargothrond.” He gave Glorfindel a grin. “Cool,” he said and then went to his desk and started hunting around it.

“What are you doing?” Glorfindel asked.

“Looking for a pin,” Zach answered. “Some of us were talking last night and we thought it would be a good idea to wear these as name tags.” He held up the slip of paper with ‘Finrod’ on it. “At least until our real ones are made. We thought we should start getting used to calling each other by our elvish names so that when we’re working together we just automatically address one another by them rather than by our real names. Keep in persona, you know?”

Glorfindel nodded. “I think that’s an excellent idea. I have some pins here.” He went to his own desk and fished out a handful of safety pins and Zach took one, pinning the piece of paper on his shirt. Glorfindel did the same with his. Then he smiled at the Mortal and gave him a brief bow. “So, my Lord Finrod, allow me to introduce myself. I am Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.”

“Oh?” Zach said. “You’re not a king, too?”

Glorfindel laughed. “Oh no. Far from it. I am just a humble lord of the realm.” He gave him another bow, placing his right hand over his heart.

Zach snorted. “You, humble? Hah!”

Glorfindel just smiled. “Let’s go get some breakfast... Finrod.”

Zach gave him a bow, sweeping his hand out. “After you... Glorfindel.”

****

When they reached the cafeteria, they found that just about everyone else was wearing name tags, addressing one another by their elvish names, though there were a few stumbles over pronunciation, causing much laughter. The other Elves found the entire thing amusing but readily got into the spirit of it, wearing their own name tags because their roommates were. Elladan, when he and Elrohir saw the others wearing name tags, rushed back to their room to retrieve theirs.

“After being ‘Misty’ for so long,” Mithrellas said to the other Elves as they were standing in line for breakfast, “it feels weird to hear someone calling me Mithrellas.” The other Elves agreed, but it made things easier for them and they were able to relax their guard just a little.

****

By the last week of October, Glorfindel’s class was ready to do a field trip, combining the Winter Survival and Nature Studies classes together. Arrangements had been made for the students to be bused to the Gates of the Arctic National Park and Reserve directly after breakfast on Wednesday where Ranger Pettingill and the seven other rangers helping him met them in the Park’s Welcome Center, a wooden structure with a large central foyer. The rangers were spread out around the room.

“We’ll split up into the same groups we had for the CPR and First Aid classes,” Pettingill announced when everyone was gathered together. “So find your ranger and we’ll get started. If you can’t remember who your CPR instructor was, come to me. I have the master list.”

As the students began making their way to whichever group they belonged, Glorfindel held the Twins back to speak to them. “No nonsense from either of you,” he said sternly. “Remember, you’re supposed to be Mortals. Try to act accordingly.”

“But we should not ignore our own training,” Elrohir protested.

“No. To do that would be foolish,” Glorfindel averred, “but try not to overdo it. If anyone asks, just tell them you used to be Boy Scouts.”

The Twins grinned as one. “We were never boys,” Elladan said.

“But we were scouts,” Elrohir added.

Glorfindel nodded and let them go, walking over to where Ranger Pettingill was waiting with the rest of their group. He gave Glorfindel a knowing look. “I gather that they are something of a handful,” he said. “I’ve noticed how you often take them aside to speak to them.”

“Their father left me to look after them when he had to go overseas,” Glorfindel replied.

“They’re a little too old to be ‘looked after’, I would think,” Pettingill said, “and you don’t look much older than they.”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I’m older than I look, older than they, at least. Their father never returned,” he said truthfully, leaving the ranger to draw his own conclusions. “They look to me for guidance.”

Pettingill raised an eyebrow. “Well, this is beside the point,” he said and then turned to the rest of the group. “Okay. Here’s the plan. We’re going to take one of the trails. You all have pens and a notebook. Your assignment is to record as much information as you can about the environment around you. If you see animal tracks draw a sketch of them and try to identify them. You may have to consult your guidebook later. Notice the types of trees and other plants as we walk. What birds do you see or can you identify them from their calls? Are there any other signs of wildlife that you notice? Anything and everything is to go into the notebook. Later, you will write up a description based on your notes to be handed in. Now, don’t fret about grading. Everyone should do the best they can. We don’t expect any of you to be sudden experts about arctic wildlife. If you simply tell us that you know what kinds of trees there are and such, that’s a start. Feel free to help each other out but try to do as much as you can on your own. Any questions? No? Then, let’s go.”

They headed out, starting out on the blue trail, though soon they veered off onto the green trail. Glorfindel could see another group further ahead on their trail as well as a group that had continued on the blue trail and knew that there was another group behind them. Apparently the rangers were timing when their groups would start so as not to interfere with other groups using the same trail. When asked, Pettingill told them that only the blue and green trails were being used as they were the easiest trails to walk.

“It doesn’t matter which trail we use,” he said, “both trails have something of interest to them. When you write up your report, though, make sure that you indicate that you were on the green trail.”

As they continued along, Glorfindel looked about him, breathing deeply, feeling the peace of the place seep into his soul. The day was pristine with newly fallen snow and the sky was clear. The other students walked more or less in silence, though occasionally there would be whispered conversations between some of them, commenting on what they saw.

“You’re not recording anything in your notebook, Mr. DelaFiore.”

Glorfindel turned his head to see the ranger walking beside him. Glorfindel gave him an amused look. “I really don’t need to,” he said, pointing a finger at his temple. “I have a very good memory.”

“Oh?” the man said in disbelief. “So, what have you noticed so far?”

Now Glorfindel smiled more broadly. “Do you want that chronologically or alphabetically?” he asked with a sly grin and Pettingill snorted, shaking his head. “All right, to answer your question: five elk came along this trail two hours ago coming from the northwest and heading east. Let’s see, what else?” he asked rhetorically, ignoring the ranger’s expression of surprise. “Ah... there’s a family of arctic hare somewhere around here.”

“How do you know that?” Pettingill demanded.

Glorfindel pointed to where there was evidence of rabbit tracks, very faint and overlaid with new snow, but there nonetheless. Pettingill just stared at him in disbelief, shaking his head.

“Should I go on?” Glorfindel asked with amusement. “There are two snowy owls in that tree over there.” He pointed towards one of the firs, “and I believe I heard a raven call just a while ago.” He could have listed every variety of tree and shrub along the trail, and had sensed much of the small wildlife, unseen by the Mortals, that lived just feet away from the trail, such as the colony of arctic ground squirrels getting ready to hibernate in their den or the arctic fox that was trailing them behind a screen of bushes, but he refrained from doing so as there was no outward evidence of their existence and Pettingill would think he was making it up.

The ranger shook his head. “At least pretend you are recording something for appearance’s sake,” he muttered as he trudged forward to see how the other students were doing with the assignment. Glorfindel watched him walk on, a slight scowl on his face. He had let his guard down far enough to forget the very advice he’d given the Twins. Sighing in disgust at his own stupidity, he whipped out the notebook and started writing down everything he’d noticed so far.

“Hey, Glorfindel!” Shane called from ahead. “You’re getting left behind.”

“Sorry, Arwen,” he called back. “Just writing something down.” He closed the notebook and sprinted forward to join the rest of the group, giving Shane a grin.

****

They continued along for a time. Some of the students noticed things others did not, pointing something out so that they were all scribbling away in their notebooks. Glorfindel did the same, even going so far as to pretend he didn’t recognize a set of animal tracks, though he knew full well what they were. He noticed Pettingill giving him a strange look, but ignored it. He was more interested in the tracks. They were those of grey wolves, at least two, possibly three. It was rare to see them and he wondered why they had come so far down from the mountains. He looked about and saw the ranger speaking to a couple of the female students about something and caught his eye. Pettingill excused himself and sauntered over.

“Grey wolves,” Glorfindel said without preamble, kneeling to examine the spoors more closely.

“I thought you didn’t know what these tracks were?” Pettingill said as he knelt beside him.

“You said to pretend, so that’s what I’m doing,” Glorfindel retorted, almost snarling.“You don’t seem particularly upset,” he said, casting the Mortal a suspicious look.

Pettingill gave him a sardonic smile. “Do you think all these tracks just happened to be here all at the same time?”

Glorfindel stared at the paw prints. Now that it was mentioned, there did seem to be more animal tracks than would usually be found. He gave the ranger a considering look. “This has all been set up.”

Pettingill nodded. “To some extent, but not everything. We’re giving you all an opportunity to practice what you’ve been taught so when you are in the field for real with your clients you will have the confidence of being able to describe what is actually there.”

“I see,” Glorfindel said, sitting back on his heels.

“Let’s keep it our secret, shall we?” the ranger asked.

Glorfindel smiled. “Now one thing I’m good at, Ranger Pettingill, is keeping secrets.”

“Call me Paul,” Pettingill said as he stood up and Glorfindel followed.

“Loren,” the ellon said, “or if you wish, Glorfindel.” He smiled, pointing at his name tag. Everyone had pinned theirs to their coats, determined to wear them from now on so as to learn everyone else’s elvish name.

Pettingill gave a snort of amusement, looking down the trail. “Well, we’d best move along. The others are getting ahead of us and there’s another group coming behind us.”

Glorfindel nodded and together Elf and Mortal walked along the snow-covered path in companionable silence, having come to an understanding.

****

They were about halfway along the trail, which now wound back on itself, though angling in a more southerly direction. The green trail actually crossed the blue trail at one point, thus permitting walkers the choice of either continuing on whichever trail they had originally taken or to take part of the other trail instead. Pettingill informed them that they should remain on the green trail. They had passed the junction and were heading downhill, the students chattering softly as they looked about them, when Glorfindel suddenly stopped, his senses alert.

“What is it, Lor... I mean, Glorfindel?” one of the students asked.

Glorfindel idly noticed that the Mortal’s name tag read ‘Aragorn’. He was wishing he had the real Aragorn with him at that moment, for the Dúnadan Ranger-turned-King would have been very helpful just then. He held up a hand to still any additional questions, for he saw that Pettingill was making his way back to him. He closed his eyes, straining his senses to the fullest.

“Why are the wolves running?” he muttered, frowning as he opened his eyes and looked back in the direction they had been walking.

“What do you mean?” Pettingill demanded. “The wolves generally don’t come down this far into the habitable areas. They tend to remain further into the mountains away from people.”

“But we saw those tracks,” said ‘Aragorn’, pointing back along the trail. “Those were wolf tracks... weren’t they?” he cast a dubious look at the ranger, who was concentrating his attention on Glorfindel who was still staring back along the trail, ignoring everyone else.

Then, with a muttered oath, he turned to the ranger. “Paul, get everyone moving double time back to the park entrance.”

“What’s going on?” Pettingill demanded. “What do you know that I don’t?”

Glorfindel’s expression was one that none of the Mortals had ever seen before and even Pettingill took a step back in surprise. “There’s no time to explain,” the Elf-lord said. “Trust me. You need to get everyone back to the buses now.”

“What about the other groups?” Pettingill asked.

Glorfindel nodded towards the ranger’s belt. “You have a walkie-talkie. Contact the other rangers. Tell them to get the students back as quickly as possible.”

“And just where are you going?” Pettingill demanded.

Now Glorfindel’s expression became positively feral. “To run with the wolves,” he whispered hoarsely, and before anyone could comment, he was sprinting away, his feet barely touching the ground.

He did not know which trail the other Elves were on and was not sure he could reach them even through ósanwë. It was not a skill that Daeron or the ellith had ever fully developed and even the Twins were less proficient in it than he would have liked. He had attempted to teach them all how to send their thoughts at need, and there had been one or two occasions where it had actually worked, but it was a strain on all of them except Glorfindel. He missed the easy communication he had experienced with Elrond and Erestor and before them, Finrod.

He reached the junction between the two trails. There had been a group behind them and he had expected to see them by now. Staring at the bootprints that crisscrossed the two trails he noticed that the prints coming from his right were less distinct than those on his left and when he found a bootprint facing towards the direction of the park entrance he surmised that the group trailing his had gone that way back along the blue trail. Perhaps the rangers were mixing up the groups to make it a little harder for the students to simply copy each others notes as to what was seen on which trail. He didn’t know and didn’t care.

He stilled himself, calling out with his mind in an attempt to reach one of the Twins, Elrohir perhaps, for the ellon’s mind seemed to be less closed than his twin for the most part. He was frustrated in his attempt, for nowhere could he sense—

There was the howl of a wolf in the distance, followed by a second and then a third. Without thinking, Glorfindel ran to his left along the blue trail as it meandered its way back towards the park entrance. The trail climbed along a gentle ridge that bent toward the south, paralleling the green trail but at a higher elevation. He suspected that at some point the two trails would meet again. The howling of the wolves sounded closer as he ran swiftly on top of the snow now that he was out of sight of the Mortals.

His view was blocked by trees, but then the forest opened up and he found himself in a clearing. In the summer it would be an alpine meadow, but now it was simply a snow field through which the trail passed. Near the other side of the field he spied a group of students huddled together, expressions of fright on their faces. He recognized the ranger, Francine Doran, a thirtyish woman with a no-nonsense attitude towards life, though she had a dry sense of humor that often took others by surprise. She was speaking very quietly into her walkie-talkie. Very quietly indeed, for facing them was a pack of grey wolves who eyed the students warily as they milled about in front of the group. Evidently one group had surprised the other, for wolves were usually afraid of people and avoided them when possible.

Glorfindel slowed to a walk. He had hoped that one of the other Elves would be in this group, but they were not. Ranger Doran looked up as he approached, frantically signaling him to stop even as she continued speaking into the walkie-talkie.

“....he’s here,” He heard her hiss into the walkie-talkie, presumably to Pettingill. “What’s he doing here?”

“Listen to me,” Glorfindel said, speaking confidently to the frightened students, ignoring Doran altogether. A few of them turned their attention away from the wolves to look at Glorfindel. “The wolves will not harm you,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully, his tone nonthreatening. “Something has driven them out of the mountains. I want all of you to stay exactly as you are. Ranger Doran, turn that thing off. You’re creating an unnecessary disturbance.” His tone sharpened to that of a command and such was the force of his utterance that the ranger complied, though she looked decidedly unhappy about it.

Glorfindel, meanwhile walked up to the wolves who were no longer milling about in a threatening manner, though they were still acting wary and several of the younger males were growling. He heard several gasps and Doran was hissing at him, her voice full of anger. “Are you insane? What are you doing? Get away from them.”

Glorfindel ignored her, removing his gloves and holding out his hands towards the wolves so they could smell him. “Mae govannen, henair-na-chelf nîn,” he said softly.

The wolves went still almost as one at the sound of him speaking Sindarin.

“That’s it,” he continued in the same language. “Be calm.” He kept still, not meeting any of the wolves’ gazes directly, knowing it would be taken as a threat. He identified the one that had to be the alpha male and addressed his words to him. “Come and let us be friends,” he said and held out his left hand a little further.

The wolf came directly up to Glorfindel and sniffed delicately at his fingers for a couple of minutes and then sat on his haunches and gave the Elf’s hand a lick. Glorfindel reached out carefully with his right hand and began stroking the wolf's chin. There were gasps from behind but no other sound. When the wolf did nothing threatening, Glorfindel stroked his fur again.

“I am Glorfindel of Gondolin,” he said formally to the wolf, still speaking Sindarin. “What brings you so far from your home, my brother?”

He did not expect any sort of answer, and yet one came nonetheless: an image, very brief and distorted, of flames and a sense of heat. Then it was gone and Glorfindel found himself staring almost directly into the wolf’s eyes and hastily averted his gaze, though the wolf did not growl or make any threatening move.

“Fire,” he said in English, more to himself than anyone else. “Is that it, my brother? You flee a fire?”

He heard Ranger Doran give a hiss of dismay and then she was speaking quietly but urgently into the walkie-talkie. There was a pause and then she spoke more loudly. “A report just came in of smoke being sighted further in the reserve.” Glorfindel slowly turned to face the ranger who nodded. “Not sure what the cause might be,” she said. “Can’t have been lightning as there’s been no storms and it’s the wrong time of year.”

“Campers?” someone suggested.

Doran nodded, giving a grimace. “Possibly. We do have people camping out even during the early winter months when the temperatures aren’t so frigid as they will be later on. Won’t know for sure until it’s been investigated.” She grimaced. “Probably someone careless with a propane cookstove.”

Glorfindel turned back to the wolves. “It is dangerous for you here, my brother,” he said, speaking again in Sindarin. “Go. Find what you seek to the west.” He pointed with his left hand. For a long moment, the wolves did not move. Then the alpha male threw back his head and gave a brief couple of yips and he and the other wolves loped silently away into the trees, rapidly disappearing from sight.

Glorfindel watched them go, a wistful expression on his face, unaware that the Mortals were staring at him with various degrees of awe and surprise. Slowly, he turned to face the students. “Let’s get back to the buses,” he said authoritatively, and no one, not even the ranger, was willing to argue.

****

When they were back at the park entrance, they found most of the students milling around, looking anxiously to the north where a column of dark smoke rose in the sky. Glorfindel saw the other Elves huddled together, speaking softly. He joined them; all of them giving him considering looks.

“What is wrong?” Daeron asked solicitously, for Glorfindel was looking back along the trail, his expression still wistful.

“Wolves,” Glorfindel answered shortly. “I met some wolves fleeing the fire.”

“Ah.... and you wanted to run with them,” Daeron stated knowingly. The other Elves gave Glorfindel sympathetic looks, aware of his fascination with these particular creatures.

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, I did,” he replied. Then he gave himself a shake and looked at his friends. “But I did not,” he stated the obvious, knowing the other Elves would understand what he meant.

“We are glad you did not, mellon nîn,” Daeron said, speaking for the others, who nodded. He took Glorfindel’s arm. “Come. I see they want us to get into the buses. Let’s find our seats and compare notes.”

“Most of those tracks were set up on purpose,” Elrohir said in disgust as they waited their turn to enter the bus.

“Not all,” Glorfindel said distractedly. “Not all.” He turned his gaze to the mountains and wondered if the wolves had found a safe haven. He hoped they had and sent a silent prayer to Lord Oromë to that effect. He felt something brush against his mind just then, a feeling of well-being infusing him, though he could not have said where such a feeling originated. Yet, he took it as a sign that the Vala had heard his prayer and was reassuring him. It was all he had to go on and so he accepted it for what it was worth.

“Are you coming, Glorfindel, or have you decided to put down roots?” Elladan called to him.

He gave himself a shake and turned away from the mountains. “I’m coming.”

****

Ósanwë: (Quenya) Interchange of thought, i.e. telepathy.

Mae govannen, henair-na-chelf nín: (Sindarin) ‘Well met, my brothers-with-fur’.