42: Conversations with the Elves

By the end of the week all those who’d been sent to the clinic were released and returned to the Academy, so morale was even higher than before and the kitchen staff put on a special dinner on Friday to celebrate everyone surviving the ‘storm plague’, as someone put it. The movie that night was an old John Wayne movie, Donovan’s Reef, an action/comedy set in French Polynesia.

"And not a snowball in sight, thank God," someone was heard to mutter and there were noises of assent to that as they sat back to enjoy John Wayne and Lee Marvin having their traditional knock-down, drag-out birthday fight.

The Elves, however, continued patrolling the Academy during the night that week but nothing happened to disturb them. Classes were intensified somewhat to make up for lost time, so the students had little time for other pursuits than studying. Alex spent a little time telling Derek something of what he had learned about the Elves during his stay at Edhellond, as well as what the Agency knew about them. He showed him the background information he’d been given along with the photos and the two of them pored over them to see if there was anything in them that might prove detrimental to the Elves.

"These photos are amazing," Derek exclaimed as he looked over them, using Alex’s magnifying glass to get a closer look, "but since most people don’t believe in Elves or that there are immortal beings living among us, I don’t think they’ll make the connection. Certainly whoever put this together didn’t. It’s a poor example of analysis. I could’ve done better."

Alex grinned at his friend’s affronted expression. "Probably just as well that whoever did put this information together didn’t look too closely at it," he said as he stowed the photos back in the manila envelope. "Besides, I’m known for preferring to do my own analysis of the raw data that is collected. Used to drive the info-nerds crazy. ‘Let us do our job’ they would say. ‘It’s why they pay us the big bucks’."

Derek laughed. "I hear you. But, given the information you have here and if you didn’t know what you know now, could you have made any sense of it?"

"No," Alex admitted, shaking his head. "It made no sense whatsoever. These people existed but didn’t exist. Glorfindel told me he and the Twins, along with Darren, Della and Misty, have been in America since the mid-sixteenth century. They spent the first couple centuries exploring the land, living with the various Indian tribes. They only returned to so-called civilization around the time of the French and Indian Wars and settled in Boston and then later in Baltimore. They were there when the Civil War broke out and returned to Europe for a time. They’ve been back and forth ever since, but they’ve been living here in the States more or less permanently since the fifties."

Derek shook his head. "It’s hard to get one’s mind around that," he commented.

"Tell me about it. When I think of the history they’ve seen, or rather, lived, the people they’ve known who are just names and dates to us... it just boggles the mind."

"And it boggles the mind even more to think that when you and I are long gone to dust, they’ll still be here, in Wiseman or elsewhere." Derek shook his head. "I used to think being able to live forever would be a good thing, but looking at these people, knowing what they’ve had to endure, I’m not so sure anymore."

Alex nodded in agreement. "When Della went on about the Gift of Men, I pretty much sneered at that idea, but now... I look in their eyes and the depth of pain and sorrow is such, I wonder how anyone can bear it."

"And yet they do, and that’s the amazing thing about it all," Derek said. "I’m glad I’m just a lowly human, but I wouldn’t mind living long enough to learn to fight the way they did the other day. Some of those moves...."

Alex grinned. "Ryan was my self-defense instructor at the Agency. Now I know why I could never beat him."

Derek chuckled. "Do you think he can sword fight like that?"

"I have no idea," Alex replied with a shrug, "but I wouldn’t put it past him."

The scheduled camping trips were cancelled until further notice, much to the relief of many. Those who would’ve gone that weekend expressed gratitude that they would not be subjected to harsh winter conditions so soon after their ordeal. So, the weekend was spent by most in catching up with their studies, for the teachers had piled on the assignments. No one really minded and the halls on Saturday were quiet as people stayed in their rooms, only emerging for sustenance or to take a short break before plunging back into their books.

Daeron had sent a note to Alex and Derek during lunch, inviting them to join the Elves for dinner that evening. ‘Come around four and you can help with dinner’ the note ended and so around three-thirty, they closed their books and got themselves ready to go, taking Alex’s car. They were greeted at the door by Daeron, who gave them a brilliant smile.

"Right on time," he said as he ushered them inside and handed them hangers for their coats. "We’re all in the kitchen." The two Mortals followed the loremaster into the kitchen where they were greeted by the others. "Good, you’re here," Glorfindel said. "Alex, you want to help Amroth with cutting the potatoes again and Derek, why don’t you help chop the vegetables for the salad?"

The two Mortals complied with the request and soon they were happily engaged in their tasks. Alex gave Amroth an amused smile. "So why do you always end up peeling the potatoes, Cinderella?"

Amroth gave him an arch look while everyone else snickered. "Because we don’t trust him with sharp pointy things," Elrohir answered, giving the former king of Laurinand a wicked grin. "Not after the time he and Glorfindel were having an argument while Amroth was carving the turkey."

Alex watched in amusement as Amroth actually blushed while everyone else laughed out loud. There was nothing malicious about the laughter; it was obvious that this was an inside joke among them. Nimrodel came over and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and gave him a kiss on the top of his head before returning to her own task.

"So is that why you didn’t spar the other day?" Derek asked and there was genuine curiosity in his expression.

Amroth shook his head. "No. We take turns having the pleasure of getting beaten up by Glorfindel."

"Oh?" Alex said as he reached for another potato. "So, how do you choose?"

"We play paper, rock, scissors to see who gets to fight," Barahir said with a grin, "and the number of fighters depends on Glorfindel’s mood. Wednesday he was in a very bad mood, so he set the number to five, which is about as high as you’ve ever gone, isn’t it?" he asked Glorfindel, who nodded. "Anyway, the next time, Amroth and Cennanion will automatically be chosen to fight since they sat out this time," Barahir went on to explain.

Alex gave Glorfindel a puzzled look. "Do you normally fight against such odds?"

"I was trained by the Maiar," Glorfindel said with a shrug. "I’ve gone against them in sparring, and while I’ve never fought at their level, they still gave me a workout. Having five Elves fighting me at the same time is about how it is fighting with a single Maia."

Both Mortals raised eyebrows in surprise. Then Derek frowned even as he was transferring chopped up green peppers into the salad bowl. "Those hikers at the tarn... you said they were Maiar."

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes. Of course, they were in disguise, probably looking very human, though usually when they appear to any of us, they look more elven. Being pure spirits, they can assume any shape they want."

"So, really, you might never know if you were conversing with a Maia or not, would you?" Derek asked.

"I have known one who was particularly called upon by the Elder King to walk among our people, giving us fair visions and promptings of wisdom that we might awake from despair and put away the imaginations of darkness," Glorfindel said soberly. "I do not know if any have done so among Mortals, though I suspect they have. There are too many accounts of encounters with angels to be discredited and the author of the Letter to the Hebrews in your Bible mentions entertaining angels unawares."

Both Mortals nodded. Then, Amroth changed the subject. "There’s been no trace of those two unfortunates who tried to kidnap you. Have you heard from Farrell?"

"Unfortunates?" Derek repeated with a snort of contempt. "They were criminals and if Farrell didn’t off them, someone would’ve eventually."

Amroth gave him a stern look. "They were Children of Eru, no less than you, son, and for that reason alone, worthy of our respect and regret for their lives ending. Life is too precious a gift to deny it to another."

Derek had the grace to blush but did not offer a comment. Alex spoke instead. "And if Farrell did have them eliminated, he’s truly stepped out of bounds. He may have a license to kill, but there are limits to that. Enemy agents, terrorists and the like, those are fair game, but not garden-variety criminals. We leave those to the local authorities. If Ersck and Snyder are dead at Farrell’s hands, then Farrell is guilty of pre-meditated murder and I don’t think even the Agency will protect him if the police find him."

"What will you do if he contacts you?" Glorfindel asked.

"That depends. I told Maddy to recall him and his goons or I would take him out myself."

"You mean, kill him?" Derek asked, looking somewhat upset. "Wouldn’t you be guilty of murder then as well?"

Alex shook his head. "Not in the legal sense. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to take out an agent who’s been declared rogue, though I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that. I would just prefer to have the Agency deal with it, but if I have to, I will." He put down the paring knife and the potato he’d been slicing and raised his hands, palms out. "These hands are stained with blood, Derek, and I will never be able to wash them clean enough."

"I was in the Navy for six years but I never saw any real action," Derek said quietly, now looking more embarrassed than anything, as if not having spilled blood was somehow a failing on his part. "I might as well have been sitting in an office in downtown Burbank for all the action I didn’t see."

"Be grateful, child," Amroth said sincerely. "War is an ugly business, but espionage is even uglier. The fifty-odd years I was forced to engage in it, to teach others like Alex how to play the Game, to have to stand by and watch souls being destroyed by it... they were some of the darkest days of my long life, and that is saying a lot."

"But those days are over," Nimrodel said as she checked the pork roast, squirting drippings over it and checking the thermometer.

"So I thought," Amroth said with a sigh, giving Alex a glance.

"Well, I think we should put all that aside for now," Vorondur suggested, "and just enjoy this lovely dinner. We invited Alex and Derek so we could answer any of Derek’s questions concerning us. Why don’t we stick to that for now and worry about the rest later?"

Everyone nodded. Derek gave them a wry grin. "And now that you’ve given me permission to ask questions, my mind has gone mysteriously blank."

There were chuckles all around. "Why don’t we begin by properly introducing ourselves and then go on from there?" Glorfindel suggested.

Derek nodded and as they continued putting together the dinner, each Elf took a moment to introduce him- or herself to Derek, giving him a little background on who they were and where they’d come from originally. As they moved into the dining room to enjoy the meal, the Elves continued to regale the two Mortals about their lives and adventures, much to their delight, but at some point, Glorfindel asked them to speak about their own lives. Both Mortals demurred.

"Compared to your lives, my life is about as exciting as a pair of old socks with holes in them," Derek said.

"And much of mine cannot be told anyway," Alex added with a smile. "None of you except Amroth have that high a security clearance."

Glorfindel shook his head. "You need not disparage your lives. We would honestly like to know what it was like for you to grow up, the games you played, the subjects you learned in school, the dreams that you have. Your lives are so brief in comparison to ours, but you pack so much in that short amount of time. Please, tell us about yourselves."

"Besides, it’s only fair," Daeron pointed out, "seeing as how we’ve told you about our lives, or at least some of it."

Alex and Derek exchanged looks and Derek shrugged, turning back to the Elves. "Well, I grew up in Oakland," Derek began.

"What was your earliest memory?" Vorondur asked.

"Going to the amusement park with my mom and dad and getting cotton candy in my hair," Derek said with a grin. "Mom was really put out."

There were smiles all around. "How old were you?" Ercassë asked.

"Must’ve been about three or so," Derek said with a shrug. "I can still see myself standing in the dining room with my mom cutting the cotton candy out of my hair. I think it was a long time before she let me have anymore after that."

Now they were all laughing. "So what’s your earliest memory, Alex?" Elrohir asked.

"Hmm... it would have to be when I was maybe four? My mom took me to the zoo, don’t remember which one, and I was fascinated by the elephants and the Siberian tigers but cried at the monkeys. Don’t ask me why, but they scared me for some reason."

"Those flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz gave me nightmares," Derek said.

"Me, too," Alex admitted. "I’ve never liked monkeys after that."

There were knowing smiles among the Elves and then Serindë asked them about their school days and the conversation continued along those lines for some time. By the time Alex and Derek were ready to return to the Academy, they were both feeling relaxed and left in a good mood.

****

Sunday morning, as the Elves were finishing breakfast, they received a visitor. Gilvegil answered the doorbell to find Dave Michaelson standing there.

"David," the Elf said in greeting. "You look very cold. Come in and have some coffee. We’re all in the kitchen."

"This isn’t a social call, Gil," Michaelson said as he stamped the snow off his boots. "I’ve come to see Loren."

Gilvegil nodded. "Well, take off your coat and come have some coffee. Glorfindel won’t speak with you until you’re looking less frozen."

Michaelson snorted in agreement at that and did as the Elf bid and soon they were making their way into the kitchen where Michaelson found most of the Elves busy with cleaning up the breakfast dishes. Glorfindel was elbow deep in suds, washing a skillet. He turned his head to see Gilvegil enter with the Mortal.

"Good morning, Dave. What brings you out here on a Sunday?"

"Business," Michaelson said shortly. "You and I need to talk."

Glorfindel nodded. "Well, as you can see, we’re in the middle of things here. Grab some coffee and sit and get warm while we finish up."

"Stalling?" Michaelson asked with a slight smile on his face.

Glorfindel smiled back. "If I were stalling, Dave, you’d know it. I would suddenly start speaking in Quenya and insisting we have a sing-a-long and then second breakfast, followed by a nice long nap."

Michaelson chuckled and the Elves grinned. "And you would, too, and somehow I would find myself going along, including taking the nap. All right. You finish up your chores like a good little elfling and I’ll just sit here with my coffee until you’re ready to talk. And if I have to sit here all day, I will."

The veiled threat of that last statement was not lost on any of them. Glorfindel merely nodded and returned to washing the skillet and a few other pots and pans while the others bustled about, cleaning up the kitchen. No one spoke nor did they engage the Mortal in conversation, effectively ignoring him as they went about their various tasks. Michaelson, long used to their ways, was not offended, merely sitting back and enjoying the Jamaican roast, savoring its smooth flavor.

Another ten minutes passed before Glorfindel turned his attention to the Mortal. "All right, Dave. I’m all yours. Would you like to retire to the library? It’ll be a bit more comfortable, not to mention more private."

"Fine by me," Michaelson said as he stood up, "and if Daeron would deign to join us, I would appreciate it."

Daeron’s only response to that was a raised eyebrow.

"I think I’ll join you as well, if you don’t mind," Amroth said. "This concerns me."

"Oh? How?" Michaelson demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"Why don’t we go to the library and we’ll answer your questions, Dave," Glorfindel suggested, "but please understand that we will not betray any confidences entrusted to us by others, so you may not get all the information you’re hoping for."

"With you people, that’s a foregone conclusion," Michaelson said with a scowl as he followed Glorfindel, Daeron and Amroth to the library. "I resent having to beg for information like this."

None of the Elves commented on that. Once they were settled before the fire, Glorfindel gave Michaelson a sympathetic smile. "Tell us what you know."

"What I know is zilch," Michaelson exclaimed with frustration tinged with anger. "I spoke with Carl Graff and he’s obviously been taking lessons from you because he was as tightlipped as they come, said it was not in my jurisdiction and to keep my nose out of it."

"I’m sorry," Glorfindel said. "Carl shouldn’t have said that. Look, Dave, all I can truly tell you is that someone hired Burrill Ersck and Robert Snyder to enter the Academy and kidnap one of the students."

"Young Jack Whitman," Michaelson said.

"That is only our conclusion. We don’t know for sure. All we do know is that the attempt was foiled because Dan and Roy were there, keeping an eye on things and Jack Whitman was found unconscious in the middle of the hall."

"Why were the Twins there in the first place? Did they suspect anything?"

"No. We were taking turns patrolling the Academy during the night in case any of the students felt a sudden need to talk. Many of them have never experienced the kind of storm we had last week and the conditions here were not good with the power out and everyone huddled in the cafeteria. We thought that for some students the trauma would be such that they might wake in the middle of the night upset. So the Twins were there to assure them that all was well, nothing more. Whoever sent those men obviously was unaware of that fact."

For a moment Michaelson said nothing, merely staring into the fire. "Ersck and Snyder’s bodies were discovered early this morning," he finally said, not looking at anyone.

"Where?" Glorfindel demanded softly.

"Big Lake. In spite of the storm we had, it’s not cold enough yet for the lake to freeze over completely, though there was some ice on it. Some fishermen went out this morning to find that some of the ice had been broken open close to the shore. They’d been at the lake the day before, scouting out where they wanted to fish and that section had been completely iced over, so when they found it all broken up they were suspicious enough to investigate and discovered the bodies. Whoever dumped the bodies there probably thought the ice would reform, but it’s warmed up enough so it didn’t, otherwise we might never have found them until spring, if then."

"Big Lake is outside your jurisdiction," Daeron said. "How did you get involved?"

"Only by accident," Michaelson replied. "One of the fishermen is a friend of mine. He called me. Since Bobby Snyder used to reside in Wiseman and his folks still do, I did have a legal right to identify the body, so I went out there, but you’re right. If the murders took place outside Wiseman, I have no jurisdiction over the matter. That’s Carl’s bailiwick. Yet, this college is inside my jurisdiction and what happens in it is my concern, which is why I’m here."

"And we’ve told you all that we know or can tell," Glorfindel said. "Believe me, I wish we could tell you more, but there are things going on of which even Carl is unaware and for your own safety, it’s best you don’t get involved anymore than you are."

"Does any of this have to do with that Dagor Dagorath you Elves keep harping about?" Michaelson asked.

"To some extent," Amroth answered. "A war is coming and there are going to be casualties on both sides of the conflict. Ersck and Snyder are merely the first. They won’t be the last."

Michaelson shook his head, his expression plainly one of frustration. "Some days I rejoice in the fact that there truly are Elves in the world, but this is not one of those days."

"I am sorry, Dave, truly," Glorfindel said with grave sincerity. "I appreciate how frustrating all this is but there is little I or anyone can do to relieve you of that frustration. Trust me when I say that there are indeed some things it is best you do not know, for your own sake and that of your family. Now that we are aware of a possible threat from outside forces, we can and have taken steps to ensure that those in our care remain safe."

"Just promise me one thing," Michaelson said.

"If I can," Glorfindel answered.

"Promise me that if you ever learn the identity of the person or persons who dumped Ersck and Snyder into the lake, that you will let me know. Ersck was slime but Bobby was just a kid and whatever his crimes he didn’t deserve that kind of death."

"No one does," Glorfindel said.

"Well, thanks for not filling me in on what you know," Michaelson said with a sneer as he got up. "Don’t bother seeing me out; I know the way. Janna says ‘hi’ by the way, and I was to remind you that Kevin’s birthday is next week and you all are invited to the party."

"We’ll be there, never fear," Glorfindel assured him. "I truly am sorry, Dave."

"I know and I’m not really angry at you. It just... well, you know."

"Better than you think," Glorfindel said. "Now, I’ll see you out."

A couple of minutes later, Glorfindel returned to the library to find Daeron and Amroth still there, quietly conversing. When he walked in they looked up.

"What now?" Amroth asked him.

"We should inform Alex about this," Glorfindel replied. "He needs to know. Farrell needs to be found and dealt with sooner rather than later."

"I’ll go over and speak with him," Amroth volunteered and when Glorfindel nodded, he left.

"This is getting very dangerous," Daeron commented.

"Tell me about it," Glorfindel said with a sigh.