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.