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Christmas at Edhellond: An Elf Academy Tale  by Fiondil

8: Give Me No Splendour, Gold or Pomp

Wednesday evening was when the Wiseman town council had its monthly meeting. Finrod was not sure what he, Glorfindel and Daeron would be doing there, other than listening. None of them had any standing with the town council, who were elected officials, as was the mayor, but he figured it was merely a courtesy on Harry Whitman’s part to invite them. Glorfindel had told Finrod earlier that this was the first time any of the Elves had been invited to sit in at a council meeting.

“The meetings are open to the public,” he had explained, “but we did not feel comfortable going. We felt it would be intrusive and might cause resentment among certain people who already fear us and our intentions.”

“But now that we’ve been invited, you are hoping that such attitudes will change?” Finrod had asked. Glorfindel just shrugged and the matter was dropped.

The meeting was scheduled to begin at seven at the town hall, which was on a side street off the main square. The three Elves arrived in good time and were warmly greeted by the mayor and introduced to the members of the council of which there were six, two of them women. Finrod noted that there were few people in the visitors’ section of the council chamber and commented on it.

“Most people find these meetings too dull for words,” Harry Whitman said with a deprecating grin. “Frankly, so do I, but since I’m the mayor, I have no choice.”

Finrod grinned at that, recalling his own experiences in presiding over his privy council and took the seat offered him. He watched with interest in the procedures which were taken: the mayor declaring that the session was now open, someone whom Glorfindel said was the Recording Secretary reading the minutes of the last meeting, the asking of approval of those minutes and if there were any changes or additions to be made. It was so different from how he himself had conducted his own council. Once the minutes were read and approved, Whitman then asked if there was any old business, at which point a councilwoman spoke up and there was a discussion about something called zoning. Finrod got the impression from what was being discussed that certain parts of the town were set aside for certain activities but he was unclear about why. He would have to ask Glorfindel or Daeron about it later.

That discussion lasted close to twenty minutes and in the end the council voted against changing the zoning and they moved on to new business, which apparently had to do with taxes. That, Finrod understood all too well and he listened closely to the discussion about raising the local sales tax a half of a percent to help increase town revenues which had fallen slightly due to the ongoing economic slump. Certain councilmembers pointed out that raising the sales tax would cause resentment from those struggling to make ends meet and it might be better to trim the budget a bit more. Others felt that cutting back on essential services would cause more harm than good to the community. After almost an hour of debating the issue, it was decided to do a needs analysis to determine what would have the least negative impact on the community: raising the sales tax or cutting back on certain services.

Then there was a brief (thankfully) discussion about an ongoing construction project concerning rebuilding certain bridges in the town that did not meet particular safety specifications which had been mandated by the State three years earlier. The deadline for compliance was coming up it seemed and there was a concern that the town might not be able to meet the deadline.

“We’ve still got two bridges that we haven’t gotten to,” a councilmember pointed out. “With winter upon us, we’re not going to be able to get to them until late spring and the engineers estimate that the bridge over on Sandhill Road will take most of a year to rebuild.”

“Should it matter that it’s not done before the State’s deadline, though, if we can show that we are in the process of complying?” someone asked.

“You know the State and those guys at the compliance office,” the mayor said with a grunt. “They’ll find any excuse they can to stick us with penalties. I swear they set the deadline on purpose knowing that some communities won’t be able to make it and so have to pay some rather stiff penalties. That’s how they earn their vacations to Aruba, I imagine.”

There were snorts of laughter at that.

“What about applying for an extension?” another councilmember asked. “If we can show that we are in the process of rebuilding and show them the engineers’ report on how long it will take, they have to accept that we are in good faith in complying with the mandate.”

“It won’t hurt to try,” Whitman said with a nod. “Mark and I will talk with the engineers and get their report and then write up something for the boys in Juneau.” He looked at one of the councilmembers, a graying, portly man who nodded.

“I’ll check with Hank Robertson tomorrow,” the Man said. “I’ll also contact Fairbanks and see if they’ll send up one of their people to take a look. If we can get Fairbanks to agree that we need the extension that might help. Juneau is going to listen to Fairbanks before they listen to us.”

There were nods all around and then the motion was made and seconded to apply for an extension of time to meet the bridge safety compliance and that seemed to be the end of the meeting, for when Whitman asked if there was any other business, the answer was in the negative. By now it was just after nine and Finrod could tell that people were anxious to leave. The people who had been sitting in the visitors’ area had already left some time ago so that only the members of the town council and the Elves were present. The mayor officially closed the meeting and people started to get up.

“There is one other thing,” Harry said and everyone looked at him expectantly. “I did not want what I have to say to go into the minutes, which is why I’ve waited until after the official business was over with to make this announcement. Elections are coming up next year and I have decided not to run again.”

There were exclamations of surprise and even consternation. Finrod glanced at Glorfindel and Daeron to judge their reactions. Both ellyn looked as surprised as the Mortals and Daeron even grimaced.

“But Harry, you’re the best mayor we’ve had, way better than Cliff Hayward,” one of the councilwomen exclaimed, giving a shudder, and one or two others nodded.

“That may be true, Sylvia,” Harry said equably, “but I’ve already served as mayor for two terms. Eight years is enough and I need to be doing something else, anything else. No, my decision is final. I will not be making a formal announcement until after the New Year, but I wanted you to know now. Three of you are also up for re-election, don’t forget. This will be the first time there’s been an election since our Elven friends made themselves known.” He nodded to the three Elves sitting nearby and everyone glanced their way.

“And you think that is significant?” Daeron dared to ask.

“And you do not?” Harry countered. “This council passed a resolution welcoming your kind here. We’ve provided you with the mansion where you live and pretty much allowed you free access to just about everything else. I have to tell you that the debate on that was long and loud and people stopped talking to one another for several months.” He gave them a grimace. “I don’t think you appreciate the shock we all felt when you revealed yourselves. It’s taken these last two years for there to be any real acceptance, and you know that in some quarters you are still looked upon with suspicion if not downright hatred. I guarantee you that when the elections come up, you will be at the heart of any debate that will be generated by the candidates. You are going to be the sticking point and people’s political careers are going to rise or fall over you.”

“Do you think that if the wrong person is elected then we will be in trouble?” Glorfindel asked.

“I’m saying that whoever is elected is going to have to deal with you and your bosses,” Harry replied, jerking his head in an upward direction.

“Your bosses, too,” Glorfindel retorted with a grin. “They speak for the One. I wonder how many people really grasp that little detail?”

An uncomfortable silence followed and the Mortals gave each other uneasy, even frightened, looks. Finrod took pity on them and stood. All eyes fell upon him. “You need not be afraid. The Valar will not dictate to you how you will govern yourselves, but they will take a dim view of any who threaten us and our mission. For better or for worse, Wiseman has been chosen as the training ground for the coming Battle.”

“And that’s what really gets me,” one of the councilmen said with some anger. “We were chosen. No one asked us.”

“And a good thing,” Harry said with a snort. “If they had asked us, I guarantee we’d still be debating the issue, insisting on forming a committee to look into the matter and then stalling on it. No, the Valar are smarter than that. They beat us at our own game simply by luring the Elves here and then sitting back and watching events unfold themselves naturally.” He sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. “Let’s face it folks. We were summarily drafted into the good Lord’s Army whether we wished to be or not. Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t have preferred a little advance warning but the cold reality of all this is that we are smack in the middle of things. The Elves aren’t going to disappear and neither are the Valar. This upcoming election is going to be critical, because the Opposition is going to do what it can to get its guys elected.”

“And by ‘opposition’ you don’t mean the other political party,” Daeron said.

“No, I do not,” Whitman said firmly. “I’m a God-fearing man and I’ve seen enough evil in this world to know that the events that have occurred recently in Wiseman, and right under our noses, too, are not isolated instances but part of a long-term strategy and not necessarily that of the Valar.”

“In that you are correct, Mister Mayor,” Finrod said. “The Enemy is preparing for the Battle just as we are. It is one reason, though not the only reason, why I insisted on holding my Court as I did, to make your people more fully aware of what is at stake here. I will admit that I was taken aback by Lord Námo revealing himself as he did. Up to now the Valar have been very circumspect, revealing themselves only to a chosen few. That Lord Námo showed himself to the citizens of Wiseman as he did should send a message to all. Whether people will accept what they have learned is another matter and only time will tell, but I suspect that battle lines are being drawn across Wiseman even now.”

“And that is very troubling,” Harry said. “It is one reason I have decided not to run again, even though our bylaws allow me three consecutive terms. I feel inadequate to the task and I think someone younger will be better at handling things.”

“You are a good man, Harry,” Glorfindel said sincerely. “I regret that you do not feel up to this, but I understand, more than you know. I hope that in the meantime we will continue having your support and the support of this council. The elections are not until May, am I correct?”

“Yes. We elect our officials in May rather than in November,” Harry replied. “We find we get a better voter turnout when people don’t have to struggle through snowdrifts to get to the polling stations.”

There were chuckles among the Mortals at that and several nods.

“Do you have any ideas who might decide to run?” Daeron asked.

“No, and until I make the formal announcement, there won’t be any takers from my party, for everyone is assuming I will run for a third term. Once the announcement is made, we’ll have to see. And I’m asking each and every one of you not to speak of this.”

There were nods all around. Harry stood and that seemed to be the end of the evening’s meeting. As they filed out of the council chamber, Finrod walked next to Whitman. “What are the criteria for becoming mayor? I am not sure I understand this about elections.”

“Hmm… well, being involved in politics in some manner would help but it isn’t necessary. Legally speaking, to be mayor of Wiseman there are only three requirements,” Harry said. “You have to be of legal age, which means at least twenty-one, you have to be a U.S. citizen and you have to be a permanent resident of the town.” He gave Finrod a shrewd look. “I suppose you meet the first requirement and you could easily meet the third, but as for the second….”

Finrod gave him a surprised look. “Do you think I wish to become mayor?” He started laughing and everyone stopped just shy of the doors leading outside and stared at him.

“What’s so funny?” Glorfindel asked.

It took a minute for Finrod to stifle his mirth enough to speak. “I was just thinking that if I were to become mayor, I will have fallen even further from the heights than I already have.”

The Mortals had puzzled looks on their faces, but both Glorfindel and Daeron only nodded. “I’m not sure….” Harry started to say but Finrod shook his head.

“It is of no consequence, my friend,” he said gently. “You are correct that not being a citizen of your country, I could not become mayor, so the question of my seeking election is moot.”

“Not necessarily,” Daeron said. “The law only says that you have to be a U.S. citizen, but it doesn’t specify that you have to be native-born, which is the requirement for becoming president. That means that if you are a naturalized citizen, you would qualify.”

“But that would mean he would have to give up all his titles,” Glorfindel pointed out. “He would no longer be Prince Finrod and he could not be Finarfin’s heir.”

“Besides which, who would vote for him?” Sylvia asked. “Meaning no offense, sir, but even if you meet all the legal requirements for becoming mayor, you’re an outsider, you don’t even belong to a political party, you don’t vote or pay taxes. You are an unknown and in these troubling times people prefer to cling to what they know even if it’s not in their best interest to do so.”

“And that is another reason why the idea of my becoming mayor is ludicrous,” Finrod said, “though admittedly, the idea is intriguing.” He paused for a moment before looking at Daeron. “You said something about becoming a naturalized citizen. How does one go about doing that?”

“You usually take courses in American history and government and I believe you have to have been in the States for at least five years. Since the next election after this will be just as you reach your fifth year as a resident, you would have to wait for the election after that one before you could think of running. That wouldn’t be a bad idea. In the meantime, you would have developed a presence here in Wiseman.”

“Too bad we can’t somehow speed up the process,” Glorfindel said with a wink to Finrod. “We could easily secure you with the necessary documents to prove you are a U.S. citizen, but there’s bound to be someone who will contest it, especially the residency requirements. You just haven’t been here long enough.”

“Well, as I said, it is a moot point,” Finrod said with a smile. “I really only asked the question because I wished to understand how the process worked and what criteria are looked for in a person who is seeking to become mayor. I wish to be able to analyze the… um… candidates, I believe you called them, and determine what makes them suitable to become mayor, especially mayor of Wiseman.”

“Which is probably more than most people do when it comes to choosing the most likely candidate,” Whitman said as he pushed open the doors and they all stepped outside. “Still, I think the idea of one of you Elves running for mayor would be… um… interesting to watch from the sidelines.” He gave them a wry look and everyone chuckled.

The Mortals bade the Elves goodnight as everyone headed for their vehicles. Finrod climbed into the front seat of Glorfindel’s van while Daeron took a back seat. “A very interesting evening,” Finrod said as Glorfindel started up the van and pulled out of the parking space.

“Boring actually,” Daeron retorted with a chuckle. “Very much as I remember the interminable council meetings Thingol forced me to attend.”

Glorfindel barked a laugh. “I think any council meeting by definition has to be boring. Though I usually was able to liven up Turgon’s council meetings every once in a while.”

“I just bet you did,” Finrod said, giving his gwador a merry look, well remembering the times when Glorfindel had livened up some of Arafinwë’s council meetings with his antics.

“So are you interested in becoming a U.S. citizen and running for mayor?” Daeron asked somewhat diffidently.

Finrod turned around to face him. “It is not something I would do lightly. Also, even if I wished to do so, I might not be allowed by the Valar if they have other plans for me.”

“Who would become Finarfin’s heir if you abdicate?” Daeron asked.

“My oldest son, Lórindol, and he is more than capable. Indeed, he presently rules over Vanyalondë, a kingdom in southern Valinor. He could turn the crown over to my grandson, Artafindë, and return to Tirion, though he much prefers Vinyalondë.”

“It was just a small city when I left,” Glorfindel said as he turned onto their street. “When did it become a kingdom?”

“Hmm… probably sometime in the Third Age as time is measured in Middle-earth.”

“So, should we take Harry’s suggestion about one of us running for mayor seriously?” Daeron asked as Glorfindel turned into the mansion’s drive.

“Are any of you actual U.S. citizens?” Finrod countered as they climbed out of the van and headed inside.

“Technically, the Wiseman Elves are all citizens,” Glorfindel said. “Darren, Dan, Roy, Della, Misty and I were here during the American Revolution. When the Colonies achieved independence from England and became the United States, everyone who was living here automatically became citizens, which is why a large number of people who had sided with England against the Colonies migrated north into Canada, as they wished to remain subjects to the English Crown. All we had to do was to register ourselves at the town hall in Boston where we were living. We decided to do so because it gave us legitimacy at that time that did not require us forging documents.”

“What about the others?”

“Barry, Gil, Conan, Daisy and Alfa came to the States after the Civil War and have been here ever since,” Daeron answered. “They actually applied for citizenship and were granted it. Ron, Holly and Sarah came just before the Second World War, fleeing Austria where they were living when it was annexed by Nazi Germany. They also became naturalized citizens. All of us have legal papers that prove we are U.S. citizens and all of us carry U.S. passports.”

“So any of you could conceivably run for mayor,” Finrod stated as they divested themselves of coats and cloaks and headed toward the library.

“Yes, of course, and we certainly have all the legal documents to prove it and no one could dispute them, but which of us would be that daft?” Glorfindel retorted with a grin as he opened the library door and they stepped inside. “Running Elf Academy is a headache, running an entire town would be worse.”

“Still, Harry may have a point,” Daeron said.

“What point is that?”

The three ellyn looked to see Vorondur sitting at the desk, his laptop open with folders piled up around him.

“Oh, sorry. You’re working,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll go up to the sunroom.”

“I can certainly take a break,” Vorondur said with a smile. “These evaluations can wait. How did it go?”

“Where is everyone?” Glorfindel asked. “This place is way too quiet.”

“Hmm… a group of carolers came by just after you left. It consisted of young children with a single parent herding them along. I don’t think the oldest child was more than nine or ten. They were from one of the nearby neighborhoods rather than a church choral group and I doubt any two of them were singing in the same key.”

He gave them a grin and they all grinned back. “I’m not sure who suggested they all go caroling with the children, probably Finda or perhaps Nell, but before I knew it, Holly was kissing me goodbye and the house emptied out. Hmm… they should have been back by now, I would have thought,” he said, glancing at his computer screen to check the time. Then he shrugged and gave them a smile. “I wouldn’t have minded going myself, but these psych evaluations of those students to whom we’ve decided to reveal ourselves don’t get done by themselves, and in truth, I welcomed the silence. I was able to get through most of them.” He gestured to where the folders were piled higher on one side of the desk than on the other. “I’ll finish up the rest later.”

“You really should let us help you with this,” Daeron said. “It’s unfair to lay the burden on you.”

“Well, just as soon as one of you produces papers showing that you’re a bona fide member of the American Psychological Association, I would be glad for the help,” Vorondur said with a laugh. “Trust me, I don’t mind. It’s what I do and have been doing for the last century. So, what did Harry say that has you three all excited?”

“I’m going to make some hot chocolate if anyone is interested,” Daeron suggested.

“We’ll join you,” Vorondur said, standing. “I need to get away from the computer for a while.”

They all headed for the kitchen and while Daeron made the hot chocolate, Glorfindel filled Vorondur in on what had been said at the council meeting. “… and then, Harry suggested that one of us who is a citizen could run for mayor.”

For a moment, there was silence. Finrod sipped his hot chocolate and munched on a molasses cookie. Vorondur looked at him. “Would you want to become mayor, assuming you go through the process of becoming naturalized?”

“I would not entertain the idea lightly,” Finrod answered. “As it is, I think Harry Whitman is correct: this next election will be critical. If I have to wait eight or nine years to run, that may be too late for us unless we are assured that the right person becomes mayor in the meantime. There is no guarantee of that and not even the Valar have the right to manipulate matters to our benefit, even if they have the power to do so. They can inspire, they can even threaten, but they cannot alter the votes.”

“No, of course not,” Vorondur said, “and that’s not my question. My question is, would you be willing to give up your titles, all of them, to become a U.S. citizen and run for mayor of Wiseman when you are legally able to do so? Are you ready to leave Finrod Felagund behind and become Quinn O’Brien in truth and for all time or at least for the foreseeable future?”

“I do not know,” Finrod said. “I am beginning to think that how we came here was not the best method for doing so. We should have come quietly, showing up in ones and twos over a period of time, arranged to have legal documents proving that we were already U.S. citizens and that we had been living elsewhere in the country before coming here. But everyone knows we just arrived from Valinor and so our ability to blend into this society is somewhat hampered.”

“To say the least,” Glorfindel said. “Alex was certainly right about that, but the damage is done and we have to live with the consequences. I don’t think, however, that any of us are really qualified to be mayor. None of us have the experience of ruling a kingdom except Amroth and I know he has no desire to involve himself in mortal politics. I once was the lord of my House and a member of Turgon’s council, but that is not necessarily the same as being a king or even a mayor. Of all of us, you, Finrod, are the most qualified to be mayor, at least as far as being a leader is concerned. The legal questions are easily addressed, or can be.”

“So the question is, do we get involved in promoting someone among the Mortals to replace Harry who is sympathetic to us and our purpose here or do we sit back and allow events to occur as they will, knowing that whoever becomes mayor may well not be on our side?” Daeron asked.

“A weighty question to be sure,” Vorondur said, pursing his lips. “It may be something that should be discussed by all of us. At least we have been warned in advance of what is coming. I suspect Harry will make his announcement at the next council meeting, which gives us a month to develop our own response.”

The others all nodded and they lapsed into silence. The silence was broken a few minutes later by the sound of the front door opening and they heard laughter and several voices. The four ellyn grinned at one another and Daeron stood. “I’ll make some more hot chocolate.”

****

Note: The title is a translation of the Finnish Christmas Carol, En etsi valtaa, loistoa [Giv mig ej glans, ej guld, ej prakt].





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