25: Delving into the Past

The ride to Edhellond was done in silence and lunch was a strained affair, at least for Alex, who barely ate, though Glorfindel insisted he at least have the minestrone soup Gil had made for them. As they ate, Glorfindel informed the others who were there that the library would be used as a consultation room for Vorondur and Alex and their privacy was to be respected. Alex was thankful that none of the others peppered him with questions, though he could not help but notice the occasional raised eyebrow or the concerned looks cast his way. He sat in stony silence, staring at the table, refusing to participate in the quiet conversation around him. Once lunch was over, Elladan and Elrohir left to teach archery and the others attended to their own affairs, leaving Alex alone with Vorondur and Glorfindel.

"Amroth should be along soon," Glorfindel said as the three were cleaning up the kitchen. "Why don’t you two go to the library and I’ll make some tea or coffee. I need to start the roast anyway if we’re to have any dinner at a reasonable hour tonight."

Vorondur nodded. "I think tea would be appropriate. Coffee I think is the last thing Alex needs right now."

Alex grimaced. "I was looking forward to some, but I guess I can live without it for a bit. Never really got into tea, though Lord knows I drank my share of it when I was working in the Middle East. I think it was months before I could get the taste of cardamon out of my mouth."

The other two grinned and Alex dutifully followed Ron to the library. They met Amroth coming down the hall carrying the blue booklet and a sheaf of legal size papers. "Glorfindel is making tea," Vorondur said by way of greeting.

Amroth nodded, handing the papers to him. "I’m going to go freshen up a bit. Don’t start without me."

Vorondur chuckled and Alex grimaced as Amroth headed for the lavatory. Inside the library, Ron asked Alex to make himself comfortable while he put a log on the fire. "Can I read the translation?" he asked the Elf, but Vorondur just shook his head.

"Why don’t we wait until everyone is here and then we’ll read it together."

Alex sighed and leaned back in his chair closing his eyes. "I really hate this," he said without opening his eyes. "I wish I’d never come here. I should’ve told Maddy to take a flying leap and find someone else. Maybe they were right to suspect my feelings towards Ambrose. I’m not sure I could have pulled the trigger."

"I would have stopped you, anyway," he heard Amroth say as the former king of Laurinand entered the library. "You forget, I knew the failsafe word to incapacitate you."

Alex opened his eyes to look at Amroth standing over him. "And would you have killed me like you did Bradford?" he asked and his tone was not confrontational but more curious, speaking as one agent to another about techniques of espionage.

"As to that, I honestly don’t know," Amroth admitted after a moment. "I think I would have found some way to convince you not to kill me first, but in the end, who can say? I haven’t survived this long without becoming just a little bit ruthless."

Alex nodded, perhaps the only person in the room to appreciate what Amroth was saying. Before he could think of something to say, Glorfindel entered carrying a tray. "Ah, good, you’re here," he said to Amroth, giving him a nod in greeting. "Why don’t we get ourselves settled and find out what this is all about? I see you brought the translation."

"Very interesting reading," Amroth said. "Della and I were both impressed and shocked and if she didn’t already have plans for the afternoon, I’m sure she would’ve insisted on joining us."

"And I would have denied her that," Vorondur said solemnly. "You are here only because Alex specifically asked for you and Glorfindel is here because I doubt he would leave even if given a direct order from Lord Manwë himself."

Glorfindel smirked. "True, but, Alex, if you would feel more comfortable without my presence, please say so. I won’t be offended and I won’t demand to know what is said between you and Vorondur and Amroth afterwards unless you give them permission to discuss it with me. It’s your call."

"Thanks," Alex said gratefully. "Actually, I don’t mind you being here. I think ultimately you’d need to know anyway and this way we’re not wasting time."

"Fair enough," Glorfindel said as he brought another chair over by the fireplace. "Ron, I’ll let you take the lead on this. Amroth and I are here more as witnesses and to give Alex moral support."

"Why don’t we begin with this essay then?" Vorondur suggested. "Glorfindel and I only took a quick glance at it, so I think only Amroth knows every detail. Do you want me to read the translation, Alex, or would you like to?"

Alex shook his head. "Frankly, I’m scared at what I might have written. I’m not even sure I’m ready to hear it."

"But you need to hear it anyway," Vorondur said gently. "We’ll take it slow. There’s no rush. If at anytime you feel at all overwhelmed, call out. We’ll take this at your pace, all right?"

Alex nodded. Glorfindel poured some peppermint tea into a cup and handed it to him. "This should help," he offered and Alex accepted the cup and took a sip or two. When it appeared that he was calmer, Vorondur, who had been scanning the pages of translation, said, "I see Della left in the Sindarin that Alex used in the beginning when he was still writing in English."

Amroth nodded. "She thought it important to show the progression between English and Sindarin and marked where the text becomes completely Sindarin." He gave Alex a sly grin. "By the way, Della says you passed the course with flying colors."

Alex simply closed his eyes, stifling a groan or perhaps it was a growl; even he wasn’t sure which it was. Loren patted his arm. "It’s all right, Alex. Ron, read the essay." Alex kept his eyes closed as Vorondur started reading:

"‘Mae govannen. My name is Alex and I was born in the hidden city of Nargothrond to a Noldorin warrior named Ambrose who married a Sindarin weaver named Anne. My adar was attached to Aran Finrod’s household and my first memories are of playing in the fountain before the king’s courtyard and hearing Aran Finrod laugh over some jest offered by one of the courtiers. I remember the sound of my naneth’s loom as she wove bright tapestries, some of which hung in the king’s own hall, a great honor. There was light and laughter and always there was singing. We lived in caves, but you would not have known it.’"

Vorondur stopped, and Alex opened his eyes, giving him a puzzled look. "At this point according to Della, the text becomes completely Sindarin," the Elf said. "She made a note. It reads, ‘The person writing this is not Alex or even Artemus’."

"What does she mean by that?" Alex demanded. "If I wasn’t writing it, who was? You said I wasn’t possessed."

"Nor were you," Vorondur assured him. "Alex, tell me what you intended to write. Who were you pretending to be?"

"When Della described the assignment, I decided I would be an Elf from Nargothrond who fought in the Nirnaeth and survived, but did not return to Nargothrond. Instead, I found myself retreating with the remnant of Fingon’s army attached to Turgon and thus came to Gondolin where I was taken into Lord Glorfindel’s household." He paused, giving them a shy smile.

Glorfindel gave him an amused look. "And I would have gladly accepted so puissant a warrior into my household."

"Go on," Vorondur said. "What happened next?"

Alex shrugged. "Well, when Gondolin fell I fled to the Mouths of Sirion with the Lady Idril and Lord Tuor and then fought against the Fëanoreans when they attacked us. Eventually, I joined in the War of Wrath and afterwards settled in Lindon where I became attached to Gil-galad’s household as his captain of guards."

"A very exciting life," Amroth said with a grin.

"It... it’s the first time I ever got a chance to create someone who wasn’t a bad guy," Alex said softly, not looking at anyone. "I... I was having fun, but now...."

"Should I go on?" Vorondur asked sympathetically and after a moment’s hesitation, Alex nodded. "Keep in mind what Alex intended to write as I read this," the Elf said to the others. "And Alex, to set your mind at ease, the person you actually wrote about was a good guy, too. So, here we go: ‘A time came when I was old enough to assume my place among the warriors of Nargothrond. For a time I patrolled the highlands of Dorthonion under Captain Glorendil of the Gwaith Orod-nuin-Elenath’... That means the Mountain-under-the-Stars Company, Alex, in case you’re wondering. Della left it in the Sindarin. She apparently felt it significant."

"It is," Glorfindel said, "but let’s hear the rest first before we start analyzing it."

"Wait!" Alex exclaimed and the Elves gave him their attention. "I dreamt of Glorendil last night. Didn’t Gil tell you?"

"Yes, he did. He said you were Beren but the storyline seemed skewed to you."

"Sort of. I’m not sure where we were, an island, I think, and I... I mean Beren only had one hand. Then Glorendil came from somewhere and... frankly, I’m not really sure what happened after that. Do you think my dreaming of Beren and Glorendil influenced what I wrote?"

"Perhaps," Glorfindel said. "Ron is the expert on that sort of thing. Why don’t we hear what exactly you did write before we jump to any kind of conclusions. Ron?"

Vorondur nodded, glancing back at the text and started reading again. "‘We patrolled the highlands under orders from King Finrod’s brothers but when the Battle of Sudden Flame fell upon us we were driven from Dorthonion. My adar died during the retreat trying to save Lord Angrod and I was wounded myself and was carried from the field by Captain Glorendil. We eventually made our way back to Nargothrond. For thirty years of the sun we lived in peace, licking our wounds from the terrible defeat and remained hidden within the fastness of Nargothrond. Then a day came when the Mortal Beren son of Barahir of the House of Bëor appeared before our gates and he was brought before the king.’"

"Beren again," Glorfindel said.

Amroth nodded. "Everything seems to center around Beren."

"And we can discuss the ramifications of that later, as well, but let me finish this. There’s not much more of the essay to read." When everyone else nodded, he continued. "So, let’s see... ‘brought before the king. What was said between them I do not know, but when Aran Finrod announced to the populace that he would join the Mortal in a quest to retrieve one of the silmarils from Morgoth’s Iron Crown, asking who would join him, I felt a stirring in my heart and a dread and remained silent, for I was but a lowly warrior, not even death-sworn to the king."

"Whoa!" Alex exclaimed. "Death-sworn? What the hell does that mean?"

"I’ll explain later," Glorfindel said. "Why don’t we let Ron finish first. I have a feeling I know where this is going."

Alex nodded. "Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Vorondur assured him. "And there is little more. Let me just summarize. You recall what happened when Finrod called for volunteers to join him and Beren, don’t you?"

"Yeah, he got a vote of no-confidence from his subjects, but then a bunch of warriors led by...um... sorry, can’t remember, anyway, ten guys joined up and they went on the quest but they were captured and thrown into Sauron’s dungeon and all but Finrod and Beren died, eaten by...." He paused, blanching as certain things became clearer. He suddenly found it hard to breathe and the room seemed to darken. "Eyes... eyes in the dark. Edrahil, no! NO!!" The last was screamed. He felt someone grab him and fought, unsure what was happening, tears blinding him as he wept, lost in the horror of a blood-splattered dungeon and eyes glowing in the dark.

"ALEX! Alex!"

"Artemus, stop!"

"Valar, he’s going to... Fionwë!"

There was a blinding light and the air became redolent with the scent of apples and mint. Arms wrapped themselves around him and though he fought and screamed he could not escape. Eventually, he collapsed, too weak and heart-sore to continue. He vaguely heard voices and thought he recognized Ron’s but he was too lost in uncaring at that point and paid little heed. The person holding him brought him to the sofa and he found himself lying down, a quilt thrown over him and then someone touched his forehead and he heard singing. It was the last thing he remembered for a time.

****

Alex opened his eyes, blinking at the library ceiling, wondering why he was lying down, trying to put his memory into some sort of order. They were reading the essay he’d written and then.... He frowned, unable to recall anything. He must have made some kind of movement or sound, for there was Ron standing over him, giving him a concerned look.

"How do you feel?"

"What happened?" Alex asked. "Did... did I do something stupid?"

Ron smiled, holding out a hand which Alex took, throwing the quilt off him to stand. "You freaked out, as they say. It took us a bit to calm you down."

"How long have I been out?"

"About an hour. Glorfindel is warming up the tea, but I think you could stand for something a bit stronger. We have some sherry if you’d like."

"Yeah, I think I could use some."

"Then sit by the fire and I’ll get you a glass." He made his way to a cabinet on the other side of the room and pulled out a decanter and a small snifter.

"Where’s Amroth?" Alex asked, realizing the two were alone.

"He stepped out for a bit. He’ll be back soon. Do you remember what we were talking about before you... um... had your episode?"

"Is that what you’re calling it? We were reading my essay. I think I died." He nodded his thanks as Vorondur handed him the glass and took a grateful sip, letting the liqueur do its work. "You said I wasn’t possessed and I’m not a reincarnation of anyone else, so what am I? Who was writing that essay?"

"You were, but you were unconsciously tapping into a racial memory. The fact that you aren’t accessing only one person’s memories, but are shifting back and forth between people tells me that it’s not reincarnation, otherwise you would only have the memories of that one person."

"And how can I have the memories of some dead Elf, assuming he actually lived and I didn’t just make him up."

"That is something of a mystery," Vorondur acknowledged, "but my theory is that you are somehow tapping into memories that may have been shared with Beren. Everything seems to center around him. You are either him or you are someone close to him. It’s possible that Beren and this particular Elf formed a close friendship in the short time that they knew one another. I really don’t know. This is all theoretical."

Alex was about to comment when the door opened and Glorfindel came in with a pot of tea. Amroth was right behind him. "Ah, awake at last," Glorfindel said with a smile. "And I see Ron’s supplied you with something a little stronger than peppermint tea."

"I think I needed a little drink," Alex said with a slight grin. "Actually, I think I need a lot of little drinks."

The Elves chuckled. "That won’t do," Amroth said. "We don’t want you returning to the Academy drunk."

"I’m not sure I want to stay sober any longer," Alex retorted with a sigh, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, letting the fire and the sherry warm him inside and out.

"We were discussing the reason why Alex seems to be tapping into both Mortal and Elvish memories," he heard Vorondur explain. "Frankly, I’m at a loss. In all my days, I’ve never come across this phenomenon."

"What I want to know is how can I control the memories, if that’s what they are, so I don’t freak out every time someone mentions Beren’s name or something," Alex said, his eyes still closed. "I can’t afford this distraction. Too much is at stake and people, innocent people, can be harmed by this." Then he opened his eyes and glared at them. "And who the hell is Finway?"

For a moment the three Elves stared at him blankly and then Glorfindel threw back his head and started laughing, the sound of it like bells gaily singing and Alex couldn’t help smiling in return. The other two Elves also started laughing.

"It’s Fionwë," Glorfindel finally said, enunciating the name clearly, giving Alex a merry look. "Perhaps you’ll meet him some time, but not today. Look, Alex, I know this is very troubling, and I wish we could snap our fingers and make it all better, but that’s not going to happen. I think Ron is correct that when you died, however briefly it may have been, certain barriers of time and space were eroded. If you truly are a descendant of Beren and Lúthien, then you do indeed have both Elvish and Maiarin blood within you, though it is so diluted as to be of little consequence. Yet, apparently, it’s just enough for you to somehow tap into this racial memory. My advice, for what it’s worth, is not to fret too much over it. Concentrate on the reason you are here. The present is what matters, not the past."

"Easier said than done," Alex retorted with a shrug.

"I know," Glorfindel admitted, "but the thing to remember is that you’re not alone. We’re here to help you. You can call upon any of us. With your permission, Ron will explain it to the others so they are aware of what’s going on. So, continue attending your classes."

"And if you still want to get together with me on a semi-formal basis to talk things out, I’m always available, night or day," Vorondur said. "You have my number. Don’t hesitate to call me, whatever the hour."

Alex nodded. "It’s getting late. I should head back."

"Before you leave, though, I think we need to hear the rest of this story, don’t you?" Glorfindel commented.

"I guess," Alex said with a sigh.

Vorondur picked up the papers and, looking through them until he’d found where he’d left off, started reading again: "‘No one came forward and the Fëanoreans spoke long and loudly, turning the hearts of the people from their king. Then, Finrod threw down his crown and Edrahil, his first captain, stooped and retrieved it, stating that he would go with him and asked that the king appoint a regent. One-by-one, eight others also came forward and I saw that they were the death-sworn. I looked to Captain Glorendil, believing that he, too, would step forward and join his fellow warriors on the quest, but he did not. Indeed, when the king looked his way, the captain shook his head and left the hall. Shame filled me that the captain would dishonor his oath and therefore bring dishonor to our Company and before I knew what I was doing I stepped forward, announcing my intention to join in the Quest.’"

Vorondur stopped, his expression distant. "I remember that day, the day Nargothrond fell, though we did not know it at the time. Finrod was right and we paid for our treachery against him."

"You were....?!" Alex started to say then stopped, his eyes widening in shock at the import of the Elf’s words. "Did... did you know this... Elf?"

Vorondur did not answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the flames of the fire, lost in memory. Then he sighed and turned back to face Alex. "His name was Bregdal, and rightly named, for he was swift of foot. He was very young." There was a sadness in the Elf’s voice and eyes that spoke of sorrows unimagined. "He was my brother’s son."

"Your.... we’re related?!" was all Alex could think to say.

Vorondur laughed, the dark mood lifting. "No, Alex, we’re not related, at least I don’t think we are."

"I’m sorry. I wish I’d never written that stupid essay."

"I am not. I am grateful to have something of my nephew even in this manner. I would like to keep the booklet if I may."

Alex nodded, then turned to Glorfindel. "What’s all this about being death-sworn and why did this Glorendil refuse to go on the Quest? Was he that much of a coward?"

"No, Alex, Laurendil is anything but," Glorfindel replied. "He did not go on the Quest because it was not his destiny to do so, death-sworn or no, and Finrod told him that when they met again in Aman a thousand years later." He paused for a moment his expression turning almost as dark as Vorondur’s had been. "A custom arose among the Exiles wherein a warrior could offer Blood Oath to his lord and if it was accepted then he pretty much gave the lord the right to determine the hour of his death. It was not an oath that was lightly given or received. Finrod admitted that he even refused to accept the oath from some of his people. I remember Turgon doing so once."

"So did any of you...?"

"Turgon has my life," Glorfindel said with a nod.

"Uh... Turgon’s dead, isn’t he?"

"Yes, but you fail to appreciate the power of the oath," Glorfindel said with a slight smile. "It is the one oath that is not dissolved at death. Turgon has my life and when he is finally released from Mandos, if he hasn’t already been, that oath will still exist between us." He turned to Vorondur. "How much more of the essay is there?"

"Very little. Bregdal goes on to say how they left Nargothrond and headed north. It stops about there, which is when I suspect Alex stopped to read over what he’d written."

"Yeah, I looked up to see I had about twenty more minutes left, so I started to re-read the essay to determine how I should end it. I thought I was writing about... well, you know."

The Elves nodded. "Well, now that we’ve heard what you did write, we’ll have to think about its ramifications. In the meantime, if you think you’re steady enough, I’ll have Amroth drive you back to the college. It’s almost time for dinner and I did promise to get you back by then."

"Thanks. I don’t think I want to walk back anyway."

"Especially as it’s snowing," Amroth said with a grin.

"You’re kidding! Really?" Alex practically leapt from his chair to move to one of the windows, pulling back a drape to see snowflakes gently falling, already covering the ground in a blanket of white. "Wow! I’ve never seen snow this early before."

"It is a bit earlier than usual," Glorfindel said. "It won’t last. The temperatures will rise tomorrow into the forties and it’ll all be gone before noon."

"I’ll go warm up the car," Amroth said, rising from his chair.

"Let me just use the bathroom and I’ll be right out," Alex said, turning from the window.

"Take your time," Amroth said as he headed for the door.

Alex stopped at the bathroom for a moment then headed for the front door where Vorondur and Glorfindel waited for him. Vorondur held out the sheets of paper on which the translation was written. "You might want to have this."

"I guess," Alex said reluctantly, then gave them a sly look. "You know, of course, that I have no intention of becoming a Christmas elf so I won’t be using this to build my persona."

Glorfindel lifted an eyebrow. "We know no such thing, Alex Grant, and I think the story as you originally planned is fine. Use that to develop your Elf Guide persona, but I also think you should take the translation and read it on your own. You might learn something about yourself that you didn’t know before."

Alex simply nodded, taking the sheets of paper and folding them, shoving them into one the pockets of his jeans. "I better get going. Amroth is waiting for me."

"Remember," Glorfindel said, "you’re not alone."

"Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. And... um... thanks for putting up with me. I know I haven’t made it easy for you guys."

Both Glorfindel and Vorondur smiled. "You’re more than welcome, Alex," Glorfindel said, opening the door for him. "We’ll see you later."

Alex nodded and ran out, dodging the snowflakes as he headed for where Amroth was waiting with the car.

****

Words are Sindarin:

Mae govannen: ‘Well met’.

Adar: Father.

Aran: King.

Naneth: Mother.