22: Revelation

Alex woke to darkness. He blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out what had happened. He was lying in a bed and realized as his eyes adjusted to the dark that he’d somehow returned to his room but had no memory of climbing the stairs. The last thing he could clearly remember was sitting in the library with the others and listening to the music.

He struggled to sit up, only realizing that he — or perhaps another — had removed his jeans and shoes but had left everything else on. Movement alerted him and a figure came out of the shadows. It was Ambrose.

"Wh-what happened?" Alex rasped, his mouth dry as dust.

Ambrose leaned over and switched on the table lamp, causing Alex to wince at the light. As he blinked rapidly to allow his eyes to adjust, Ambrose poured some water from a carafe into a glass and handed it to him. Alex accepted it gratefully and drank the entire glass in three gulps. All the while Ambrose never spoke but merely watched him. Placing the empty glass on the night table he asked again, "What happened? How long have I been out?"

"What do you remember?"

"Sitting next to Ron and Zach on the library floor to listen to the music and then...nothing." He stared at Ambrose, his blood freezing as he remembered the last time he’d blanked out. "Did... did I hurt anyone?" he asked meekly.

Ambrose did not answer immediately, merely staring at him in a solemn manner.

"Ambrose, for the love of God, did I hurt anyone?" Alex demanded.

"Get dressed and come downstairs to the library," Ambrose said, turning towards the door.

"Ambrose! What in....?"

"The library," Ambrose said, giving him a cold look. "Don’t dawdle."

Alex flung the bedclothes off him as he struggled out of bed. "Damn you! Why don’t you....?" But Ambrose was already out the door. Alex muttered several choice curses in more than one language as he pulled his jeans on, thrusting his feet into slippers rather than bothering with his shoes, stopping at the bathroom to throw some water on his face and comb his hair before heading downstairs. When he reached the library he found the door slightly ajar and could hear voices softly speaking but did not catch what was being said. He hesitated, not sure if he really wanted to go in.

"Well, Alex, are you going to stand out there all night?" he heard Loren say and there was a note of amusement in his voice that somehow relieved some of Alex’s anxiety. He swallowed and opened the door all the way, half expecting to find the library a mess with bodies strewn about, but the room was pristine and the occupants were standing or sitting by the fireplace. He saw that all the residents of the house were there, except, of course, for Gil who was camping, but no one else. He stopped just inside the doorway, not sure what kind of welcome he was about to receive. He couldn’t read the expressions on any of their faces.

"Did I hurt anyone?" he whispered, pleadingly.

There was a sigh that came from nowhere and everywhere and Loren moved toward him, his expression more sympathetic. He reached out and took Alex into his embrace and hugged him. "No, child, no one was harmed, I promise." Releasing him, he drew him further into the room. "Come sit. We need to talk."

Alex allowed himself to be led to the fireplace and sat in the chair Loren indicated. He refused to look at anyone, and, for the first time in a very long time, felt confused and at a loss. Ron knelt before him, giving him a ghost of a smile.

"You’re a very dangerous young man," he said and Alex blushed for some reason, still refusing to look up. "Artemus, look at me."

He looked up. "My friends call me Gordon," he whispered. "I hate Artemus."

There seemed to be a lightening of the mood around him and someone chuckled. Ron gave him a warmer smile. "Perhaps I’ll just continue calling you Alex, then, if you don’t mind." Alex shook his head. "Good. Now, I meant what I said: you’re very dangerous, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. We’re all of us dangerous in our own ways. You are in a room full of dangerous people, though you might not think so, except for Ryan or Ambrose, as you insist on calling him."

Alex frowned. "I’m not sure I understand."

"Do you remember anything after Darren and the others started playing?" Ron asked.

Alex shook his head. "Darren and Holly started singing and that’s the last thing I remember."

"Our music affects your people in different ways," Darren said then. "Some people hear our music and they find it very pleasant and they go away smiling." He gave them a grimace of disgust. "Frankly, I think those people are tone-deaf." Some of the others smiled at that. "Anyway, the vast majority of your people find themselves receiving images."

"Like when I heard you singing at the Blue Petrel," Alex interrupted.

Darren nodded. "And for most people it’s like watching a movie in 3-D. There are a very few rare individuals, though, who actually feel as if they are part of whatever action they see in the vision. They become part of the story itself." He paused and gave Alex a searching look. "It seems you’re that rare individual."

"But what happened?" Alex demanded. "I don’t remember anything."

"Do you know what Darren and Holly were singing?" Ron asked.

Alex shook his head. "I don’t remember enough except it was in Sindarin."

Ron nodded. "They were singing what is known as the ‘Lay of Leithian’. It is an ancient tale."

Alex gave him a blank look.

Della spoke up then. "You might recall the story of Beren and Lúthien in our history class."

"Oh, the dude with one hand," Alex replied with relief. It was the only part of the conversation that so far made any sense to him.

Several people smiled and Dan turned to Roy with a wicked grin. "I don’t think Great-great-grandfather was ever a ‘dude’, do you?"

Roy merely snickered. Alex looked on in confusion. Ron glared at the Twins and then returned to Alex, laying his hand on Alex’s arm to get his attention.

"Yes, that’s who I meant. The ‘Lay of Leithian’ is their story and that’s what Darren and Holly were singing." He paused, looking up at Loren and Alex noticed how everyone seemed to defer to him, as if he were their leader. Loren gave a single nod and Ron spoke again. "I didn’t realize what was happening at first until I heard you muttering in Sindarin, rather fluent Sindarin at that, and in a dialect I don’t think has been heard in ages, literally."

"Huh?"

"You were muttering the words of the lay, or rather, you seemed to be having a conversation with Finrod. It was as if you were Beren seeking an audience with the King of Nargothrond and that was about where Darren and Holly were in the song."

"How did I get to my room?" Alex asked. He wasn’t sure what Ron was talking about but he was curious as to how he’d gone from sitting on the library floor to lying in his bed with no memory of doing anything in between.

"We didn’t dare touch you," Loren said. "There was no way of knowing what would happen if you suddenly woke. Ron signaled for me and told me what he thought was happening to you. I told Darren not to stop singing. He and Holly continued the lay to the point where Beren dies and then you gave a gasp and simply collapsed into a faint. We got you upstairs and sent everyone else home. It was getting late anyway and the party would’ve broken up within the hour as it was, so no one really minded and everyone was sympathetic. They’re used to our music but they understand how overwhelming it can be for some people at first."

"I would like to know how he could be speaking an ancient dialect of Sindarin when he can barely speak the language as it is," Ambrose said before Alex could muster any sort of comment.

"Could he have been channeling Great-great-grandfather?" Roy asked in all seriousness.

"More like a racial memory," Ron replied, giving Alex a comforting smile. He glanced at Loren. "Do you know what happened to the Dúnedain?"

Loren shook his head. "When the ice came, the Twins and I were busy gathering as many of our people as we could find and leading them south, but we did not go through Gondor. After Eldarion died, relations between us and the Gondorians soured. We made our way into Rohan and took the Paths of the Dead until we reached Dol Amroth where we were given a warm welcome by its prince who remembered his heritage." He paused and gave Misty a brief smile before continuing. "We helped them build enough ships to take the populace into the deep south. We settled in what is today Saudi Arabia, though then it was not a desert."

"Holly and I had long left the lands of the West, traveling into the far east after Sauron’s defeat, for we were curious to find traces of our Avari kin and perhaps even Cuiviénen, which was only a legend for us. When the ice came we were living on a completely different continent where the stars are strange, though no less beautiful."

"At any rate," Loren continued, "we lost complete track of the Dúnedain. There was a small contingent of them who accompanied us from Arnor but they soon mingled with the people of Dol Amroth and they eventually mingled with the natives of that region. Their descendants still thrive, though they have forgotten their history completely."

"Do you think Alex could be a descendant of the Dúnedain, perhaps even descended from Arwen’s line?" Roy asked with a frown.

"It would explain what happened tonight," Ron said.

"Uh, do you guys think you could perhaps explain it a little more clearly to me?" Alex asked. "Or should I just leave the room while you continue your discussion?"

"I’m sorry, Alex," Loren said solemnly. "We’re not ignoring you. We’re just trying to understand what is happening to you and why."

"You keep saying things like ‘our music’ and ‘your people’ as if we’re different somehow," Alex countered, "and Roy and Dan keep talking about their great-great-grandfather, though why they would speak of him as if he were this Beren dude who’s just a character in a made up history, I don’t know."

Silence settled over the room for a time. Ron stood up from where he’d been kneeling before Alex and looked at Loren. "It’s your call," he said.

Loren nodded, his expression still solemn as he took Ron’s place to kneel in front of Alex. "There is a reason why," he said quietly, "and there’s no easy way to explain except to say that you are correct. You and we are not of the same race. You keep insisting that Sindarin is an invented language and that the history of the Elves which you’ve been learning is entirely fictitious, but it’s not, we’re not." With that, he reached up and pulled back his hair to reveal his leaf-shaped ears and even as he did so, everyone else did the same.

Alex stared at him for a shocked moment, then glanced around at the others, his gaze landing on Ambrose. "Is this a joke?" he finally asked. "Because if it is, it’s in very poor taste."

"No, Alex, this is no joke," Loren assured him. "We are the Eldar, what you call Elves. We’re the Firstborn, even as you are of the Secondborn. Everything you’ve been learning here is true. There are indeed such things as Elves and we’re living proof of that."

"No," Alex whispered, shaking his head in denial. "No. That’s not possible. You’re making it up. You have to be. You can’t be..." He stared at Ambrose and the man he thought he knew was suddenly a stranger to his eyes, alien and unearthly, and he felt panic rising in him, a panic born, not so much from fear, as from something deeper, more primitive. This was completely outside his worldview and in a moment of extreme clarity he realized he had no idea how to react. The part of him that was Artemus Gordon Meriwether was coldly dictating a mental report on what he’d just learned and formulating several contingency plans for taking these people down while at the same time the Alex Grant part of him was quietly freaking out.

And it was Artemus Gordon Meriwether who won out.

He rose from his seat, forcing Loren to move back. His eyes narrowed as he analyzed the situation, ignoring the tense looks the others gave him as he centered his gaze on Ambrose. "That’s what Bradford found out, isn’t it? That was the secret and that’s why you killed him."

Ambrose just nodded.

"And is that what you plan to do with me?" Alex demanded coldly. "Bradford was an old man. I doubt he gave you much of a fight. I may be a different proposition. And how will you explain my disappearance? Farrell’s a fool, but he’s not that much of a fool. He’ll have the Feds on you so fast you won’t know what hit you."

"We have no intention of killing you, Alex," Loren said softly. "We’re hoping to gain your trust and your cooperation."

"Become a part of your little conspiracy, you mean," Alex retorted as he faced Loren. "I don’t think so."

"There is no conspiracy," Loren assured him, "not in the way you mean. We have no intention of taking over the government or ruling the world or anything like that. As far as we know, we in this room are the last of our kind."

"What do you mean?" And it was more ‘Alex’ asking the question than ‘Artemus’. His entire stance had become less defensive and the others seemed to sense it.

"Why don’t you sit down and we’ll tell you," Loren suggested kindly. "I promise, no harm will come to you. You’re free to leave here at any time."

"You’ll let me go, just like that, knowing what I know?" Alex asked, giving them a look of disbelief.

"We’re not killers, Alex," Loren said, "or at least, most of us are not." He stole a glance at Ambrose who met his gaze with cold equanimity. "At any rate, we’re putting ourselves in your hands and betting on your sense of honor and fairness to at least hear us out before making any decisions."

"There is nothing honorable about being a spy," Alex said.

"Intelligence officer," Loren retorted with a smile and Alex couldn’t help smiling back, nodding in acknowledgment of Loren having scored a point against him. He leaned back in his chair and waited. "Perhaps we can start by introducing ourselves," Loren continued, then, to Alex’s surprise, gave him a short bow. "My name is Glorfindel of...."

"Of the House of the Golden Flower," Alex supplied, frowning.

"Ah, you remember," Loren said, smiling in approval. Then, before Alex could respond he turned to Darren. "And this is Daeron, once of Doriath, and next to him is Vorondur and his wife Ercassë and...."

He went around the room, naming each person, who gave Alex a bow or nod of their head, ending with Ambrose, and Alex wondered if that was deliberate on his part. "I’ll let you introduce yourself," Loren — or rather, Glorfindel — said and Ambrose stepped forward to stand in front of Alex, forcing him to look up. "My name is Amroth," he said quietly, "and once I was King of Laurinand, which you probably know as Lothlórien."

Alex blinked. King? Images came to his mind of Ambrose — no, Amroth — teaching him the finer arts of espionage, sitting in a bar in Alexandria as the two of them downed peppermint schnapps and listened to a bluegrass band playing, holding him as he cried after completing his first real mission, and more recently of the two of them sitting out in the garden grilling salmon and making potato salad.

Amroth gave him a sympathetic smile, as if he knew what was going through his mind. "So, what do I call you?" he finally asked.

Amroth shrugged. "Whatever makes you comfortable. We’ve had so many names, taken on so many different identities as we’ve struggled to blend into your societies, that we don’t mind what people call us."

"Except late for dinner," Roy, or rather Elrohir, quipped, and even Alex was able to scare up a ghost of a smile at that.

"And Gil?"

Loren nodded. "His real name is Gilvegil."

"Star-sword," Alex whispered, translating the name.

"Very good," Loren said, smiling in approval.

Alex glanced around at the people standing there, seeing them in a far different light, trying to assimilate what he thought he knew about them with this new reality that had been thrust upon him and had the feeling it was going to take some time to get used to. He mentally catalogued their names as Glorfindel had given them. Some of the names sounded very familiar.

Alex glanced at the Twins. "You weren’t kidding when you spoke of Beren as being your great-great-grandfather, were you?"

"No," Elladan answered.

Then he looked at Daeron. "Are you the same Daeron who betrayed Lúthien twice?"

"Yes," Daeron whispered, going pale.

He glanced at the Twins again. "And you let him live?" he asked in all seriousness.

Daeron paled even more and Amroth frowned at him in disapproval. The others looked on, their expressions harder to read. It was Elrohir who answered.

"And what would that have accomplished, child?" he asked coldly. "It was ancient history even to us, for Elladan and I were born two ages later, and when we finally met Daeron...." He glanced at the loremaster and smiled briefly before turning his attention back to Alex, "we forgave him a long time ago and he’s paid for what he did in ways you can never comprehend. I would not be so quick to judge any of us, child. You have no idea what any of us has had to endure throughout the long ages."

"I wish you’d stop calling me ‘child’," Alex groused and there was genuine laughter among the others.

"You will always be a child to us, Alex," Loren said, "and that goes for all Mortals. The oldest of you are as babes in arms to us who have seen more years than can be counted. Even Serindë, the youngest of us, was born in the early years of western civilization."

Alex shook his head, trying to reconcile the image of the young woman standing there with the fact that she was thousands of years old yet not looking a day over twenty-five. Instead, he gave Glorfindel a shrewd look. "So what happens now?"

"That is up to you," Glorfindel replied. "My advice, though, is for you to go to bed. I can see you’re exhausted and it’s nearly two in the morning. Get some rest and we’ll discuss this later today."

"I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep after this," Alex said, even as he stifled a yawn.

"Oh, we can help you there," Glorfindel said with a knowing smile and to Alex’s utter amazement, he began singing what sounded like a lullaby. Before he could muster a response, he started yawning in earnest and struggled to keep his eyes open, but it was a losing proposition and he was soon deep asleep. He never felt Amroth gently lift him in his arms and carry him upstairs to his room.