9: I Wonder as I Wander

Finrod could not get the idea of someday seeking to become Mayor of Wiseman out of his mind. It was a ludicrous idea. He had no intention of abdicating and giving up his titles, nor did he have any desire to apply for citizenship. Yet, the idea would not leave him as he continued to help Glorfindel out at the Academy while Glorfindel was busy acting as an Elf Guide. He would find himself stopping every now and then to gaze out the window, thinking about the mayoral race that would begin after the New Year as soon as Harry Whitman made his announcement and what the elections might mean for the Elves. The length of the term of office was, in his opinion, much too short and if one had to stop every four years to seek re-election that effectively cut into one’s time to actually act in a mayoral manner. And then only to be able to run for three terms before letting another become mayor?

Even when Sador was Cáno of Tol Eressëa, the council members who were not permanent members suffered re-election only every yén and there were no term limits. Some of them were still on the council, although it was now Gil-galad’s privy council. Sador had gratefully given up his office, insisting he had only been a steward until the right king had come along. It had not surprised Finrod at all when Gil-galad had insisted that Sador remain as his Steward in truth and even elevated him to the status of a prince. No one had objected.

At which point in his ruminations he would sigh, turn away from the window and return to the task at hand, but he still couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of becoming mayor.

On Friday morning, Finrod encountered Vorondur sitting at the breakfast nook drinking a cup of coffee and reading the Wiseman Gazette, a weekly newspaper. Finrod had been fascinated by the concept of a newspaper, though he had questioned the timeliness of the news. Daeron had explained that the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, which covered state, national and international news, was shipped to Wiseman every day and that up-to-the-minute news could now be accessed via the internet. The Wiseman Gazette, on the other hand, dealt with local events and so came out once a week on Fridays.

“Anything interesting happening in Wiseman this week?” Finrod asked as he poured some coffee for himself, liberally lacing it with cream. He glanced out the window over the kitchen sink. Even though it was nearly eight in the morning, it was still dark out and there was only the faintest hint of the sky lightening in the east.

“Oh, the usual,” Vorondur said, folding the paper and shoving it to one side as he leaned back in his seat. “Personally, they should rename this rag the Wiseman Gossip Sheet.”

Finrod snickered. “But even gossip has its uses. My sire always insists that his bards tell him the juiciest gossip first before getting on to what he refers to as ‘boring news’ whenever they report to him.”

Vorondur smiled. “Did you follow the same practice when you were king?”

“Oh yes. I found that gossip often was more interesting than the actual news of what was happening in Beleriand. Gossip often sheds light on the mindset of the people; it is a truer barometer of public sentiment than anything else.”

Vorondur nodded. “Which is why I read every article in the Gazette with particular care. What the editors of the newspaper choose to publish or not can be quite illuminating and helps me to gauge the pulse of the people, to anticipate where there might be trouble.”

Finrod gave him a considering look. “That is something that Valandur does for my uncle, the High King.”

Vorondur nodded. “He and I have had a series of discussions for he wished to understand the mindset and motivations of the Mortals with whom we must deal. He has never had the experience that even you had in interacting with Mortals on any level, yet he cannot do his job effectively unless he has a handle on things, as we say.”

“I know so little of what any of you endured over the ages. I know you and your family lived in Nargothrond, but nothing else about you.”

For a long moment, Vorondur did not respond, his eyes darkening with memory. “There were times when I felt that those who had died when Nargothrond was destroyed were the lucky ones. I survived the sacking to become a slave. That’s how I met Holly. She was a slave as well, having been captured after the North was overwhelmed by Morgoth’s forces at the Dagor Bragollach. I’m not sure how long we toiled in the mines, but a time came when some of us planned our escape. Holly and I managed to make it as far south as Nargothrond where we met up with Laurendil and his people. We stayed with them until the War of Wrath when we joined with Gil-galad’s army. Afterwards, neither of us wished to Sail. We lived in Lindon for a time and then eventually followed Elrond to Imladris. After the War of the Ring, when so many of our people chose to Sail, I still did not wish to. In fact, I conceived the idea of seeking our roots, to find Cuiviénen, and so Holly and I set out to the East now that it was free of Sauron’s influence.”

“Did you find it?”

“No, but that didn’t matter. It was the exploring that was important to me.” He gave Finrod a rueful look. “I suffered from wanderlust, as they call it now. I could never stay long in any one place. We might remain in an area for a century or so then move on, always further east and then south when we came to the end of the lands. Eventually we made our way to another continent, what we now call Australia. We were there through much of the last ice age before returning to what we now call the Middle East. That was where Serindë and her younger brother were born.”

“Your son?” Finrod gave him a surprised look. “But…”

“We were blessed with three children, two sons and a daughter. Our oldest, Findaráto — yes, we named him after you, just as his brother was named Findecáno, after your cousin — was born when we were in the far east. We lived among people who plied the oceans trading. Findaráto loved the ocean and sailing and eventually became captain of his own ship. That area of the world suffers typhoons. One came up suddenly when my son was out on the ocean. His ship sank with all hands.”

“Oh, mellon nîn, I am so sorry,” Finrod said.

“We left Australia soon afterwards and made our way westward,” Vorondur said, not acknowledging Finrod’s expression of sympathy. “Serindë was born in Persepolis and her brother was born in Athens. We were there at the time when Persia invaded Greece twice. My son and I fought in both wars. Findecáno was an excellent warrior, but even the best warrior cannot avoid an arrow in the back.” He paused and the pain in his eyes was nearly overwhelming. Finrod did not speak, merely reached over and put his hand on one of Vorondur’s and gave it a squeeze in sympathy. Vorondur still did not acknowledge Finrod’s presence. His gaze was distant and he spoke in a monotone.

“Losing Findaráto was bad enough but when Findecáno died as he did… I went insane. I did things….” He shook his head, his eyes becoming more present, looking directly at Finrod. “It was only the love of my wife and daughter that kept me from fading and it was the wisdom of a single Mortal, a Man named Socrates, which helped me to reclaim my sanity. His practice of asking very pointed questions forced me to really examine myself and my own motivations. I suppose it was then that I became a psychologist even though there was no term for it then. I’d always been fascinated by the Mortals, studying their ways of life and seeking to understand their motivations, but it was always from the outside looking in. Now, however….” He shrugged, giving Finrod a rueful look. “I have to admit I was somewhat disappointed that neither of my sons came with you, assuming they have been reborn.”

“Oh, my friend, you have no idea how many people clamored for the honor to join me in returning to Middle-earth. We would have needed a hundred Vingilots for that.” Finrod chuckled. “I am sure your sons will come eventually. The Valar assured me that those who once dealt with Mortals and respected them would be allowed to return. They will not allow those who had no dealings with Mortals or who are not very sympathetic toward them. Many of those who asked to come were people who only wished to satisfy their own curiosity with no genuine concern for what is happening here. Those people will remain in Aman. Now, not to change the subject, but I will anyway, with your permission, I would like to look at the… psych profiles, I believe you called them, of the Academy students to whom we’ve revealed ourselves.”

“Is there any particular reason why you wish to see them? Even Loren has not asked to see them, unless he has an interest in a particular student.”

“I am not so much interested in any one student as I am in seeing what common characteristics these students have that lead us to reveal ourselves to them, those who are not originally from Wiseman or the surrounding area. I am seeking to understand what type of people they are and why the Valar have chosen them, for I have no doubt that these particular students were inspired to come here in one fashion or another by the Valar.”

“That is certainly true,” Vorondur said. “If you will allow me some time, I will produce an analysis of the criteria we look for. I prefer to keep the files themselves confidential, for there is information on the students that falls under doctor-patient confidentiality and I have neither the legal nor moral right to let others, even you, see them without the student’s permission.”

“And gaining that permission from all the students would be counterproductive,” Finrod said with a nod. “The analysis would be acceptable, so long as it is complete.”

“It will be, I promise.”

“Thank you for your time,” Finrod said, rising and going to the sink to rinse out his mug before placing it in the dishwasher. “It has been most informative. Now, I leave you as I wish to go into town and do some shopping. If anyone is looking for me, tell them I will return around noon or perhaps a little after and if it is very important, they may call me. I have the cell phone Glorfindel gave me.”

“And how important is important?” Vorondur asked with a knowing smile.

Finrod smiled back. “Trust me, my people know the definition of ‘important’ where I am concerned.”

Vorondur’s smile widened. “Have fun.”

Finrod went to the front closet and withdrew his cloak and headed out. He spent the time as he walked into town contemplating what Vorondur had told him about himself. There was a groundedness, a wisdom, in the ellon that was deeper than any he had ever encountered among the Eldar. Valandur had mentioned it to him once, stating that speaking with Vorondur sometimes felt as if he were speaking with one of the Valar or at least with one of the more powerful of the Maiar, someone like Eönwë, who had almost Valarin-like status in the eyes of many of the Elves.

As he came to the town center, he paused to look about, wondering which shop might suit his purpose and what he might be able to find as gifts for all those at Edhellond. While he knew that it was not entirely necessary to buy any gifts other than one for Cennanion, he knew that others were planning on gifting him, and he wished to reciprocate. Back home, that would not have been a problem, but here, with no means of support other than what Glorfindel deigned to give him, his options were few. He hoped to find something inexpensive yet meaningful, a token of his esteem for them all, especially those of Wiseman who had made it possible for him to return to Middle-earth at all, though he had once vowed never to go any further than Tol Eressëa unless bade by the Valar otherwise.

He thought perhaps there might be something he could buy at the small book and stationery shop and made his way across the square, past the Christmas tree. The bookstore was nestled between a bakery on the left and a clothing store on the right. Delectable smells of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls wafted into the air whenever the bakery door opened. Finrod decided he would stop there afterwards and buy a sticky bun for himself.

As he reached the bookstore he noticed a small Help Wanted sign in the window. Going inside, he stood at the threshold to look about. It was not a particularly large shop, but it was pleasantly appointed. The walls were covered with shelves and there were free-standing shelves as well, all crammed with books. To his immediate right was a counter and further along he saw a more open area where one could find stationery supplies. Further into the shop were a set of comfortable looking chairs and small tables placed before a small wood-burning stove. There was a colorful woven rug on the floor before the stove, giving the area a cozy look. Christmas decorations were evident and there was a pleasant smell of cinnamon, cloves and oranges.

“May I help you?”

Finrod looked to his left where a young Man with reddish-brown hair and beard and brown eyes came around one of the stacks. He stopped and stared at Finrod, his eyes widening.

“Oh, you’re one of them… I mean… you’re the Elf with the crown… that is….”

Finrod cocked his head to the right, giving the Mortal an amused look. “If you mean, I am Finrod, you are correct. I take it that you were present at my Court?”

“Oh… um… yeah… I mean, yes sir… er… your Majesty. Sheesh. Do I bow or what?” The Man looked so confused and mortified that Finrod could not help but laugh, the sound of it light and joyful and he saw the Man relax a bit and grin sheepishly.

“Much better,” he said. “My Mortal name is Quinn and I would be pleased if you would call me by that name as I must get used to it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Anything you say… um… Quinn. I’m Nick. Nicholas Greene. And my question still stands. May I help you?”

“Actually, I thought to help you.”

“Sorry?”

“Your sign. You are looking for assistance?”

“Oh, yes.” Nick gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you standing here telling me you’re looking for work?”

Finrod nodded. “Is that not surprising? I wish to make my own way rather than be beholden on those from Edhellond, all of whom work in one fashion or another. That will be true of those who came with me. Indeed, several have already found employment or are in the process of doing so by taking necessary courses at the college.”

Nick gave him a dubious look as he walked around to the other side of the counter, pulling out a sheet of paper from a drawer and grabbing a pen. “Well, it is true, I do need help. You wouldn’t think so, considering the place is empty of customers, but I’ve noticed an influx of new residents over the last couple of years, some of them originally from out of state. They come in here thinking this is a Barnes and Noble but it’s just a small bookstore and stationery shop. Still, I’m getting more customers and I need to expand my hours. That’s why I need someone to help out. It’s just a part-time position, you have to understand, and I can’t pay more than minimum wage.”

“That would be acceptable,” Finrod said. “I did bring means to support myself and my people, but they are in the form of gemstones, as well as gold and silver. The gemstones are presently being evaluated and your bank is handling the gold and silver, but all of that has to be done discreetly and over time so as not to flood the market or raise questions that cannot be answered.”

“Yeah, I can appreciate that,” Nick said, stroking his neatly trimmed beard in thought, then glancing at Finrod, giving him a sly smile. “Well, I do need the help. That sign’s been up there for over a week and no one else has applied. I’ll need to have you fill out this application and give me the required documents to prove that you’re able to work. Hmm… will that be a problem, I mean, you just arriving and all?”

“No. We secured the necessary documents. As far as your government is concerned, I am, or rather Quinn O’Brien is a citizen of this country.” He gave Nick a sly look. “Of course, the documents are forged, but I doubt we need to trouble your government with that little detail.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Okay. That works for me. What Uncle Sam doesn’t know, won’t hurt him, right?”

“Uncle Sam?”

“Er… the U.S. Government… It’s often referred to as Uncle Sam. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know.”

“Fair enough. So, what exactly will I be doing?”

“Oh… um… pretty much not a lot. Cash out purchases, direct customers to a particular shelf if they are looking for a particular book or author, help me with inventory, dust.” Nick shrugged. “You know, the usual stuff.”

Finrod grinned. “I am sure I can manage. When would you like me to start?”

“Oh, well, why don’t we do this… um… legally and have you fill out this application. If you can bring it back on Monday with the necessary ID, then I can officially hire you. We can decide then what your hours will be and all that and I can show you what you’ll be doing.”

“That sounds fine,” Finrod said, taking the sheet of paper and folding it, shoving it into a pocket. “Now, I actually did come here for a purpose other than to ask for work.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. So what do you need?”

“I wish to purchase some small gifts for my people. Nothing expensive, more a token gift, if you understand what I mean. I actually have little in the way of coin on me.”

“Well, you’re in a bookstore,” Nick said, glancing about. “Bookmarks make nice gifts; every time someone uses theirs they will remember who gave it to them.”

“I suppose that might work if these bookmarks are unique enough,” Finrod said, sounding dubious.

“Yeah, you don’t want to give them just any old bookmark,” Nick averred still looking about the shop. “Hey, here’s an idea.” He came away from the counter and headed to a small table where there was what Finrod saw were pins and earrings and other pieces of small jewelry, none of it expensive looking, but they were lovely pieces. “Friend of mine over in Nolan makes these and I sell them for him. He usually makes only a few pieces, each one unique, which is why they sell well, but for some odd reason he made a whole bunch of these star pins this time.”

He picked up a pin and showed it to Finrod. It was small, perhaps an inch and a half across, made of a silvery metal shaped like an eight-pointed star so reminiscent of Varda’s emblem. Embedded in the center was a sapphire-colored crystal.

“How many do you have?” Finrod asked.

“Hmm… something like fifty, which is really strange because the most of any one kind of jewelry he’s ever given me to sell has been maybe ten. Normally, these pins are worn by women, but I figure Elves might see things differently and your name for yourself — Eldar? — that means People of the Stars, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. Is the crystal the same color for all of them?”

“And that’s the really weird part,” Nick said. “I have forty that are this blue color, the rest have different colors.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that, finding the coincidence rather hard to believe and suspecting more was behind these pins than even Nick knew. “These, I think, will do very well. I will take thirty-nine of the blue pins. How much do they cost?”

“Corey, my friend over in Nolan, when he brought these to me, told me he had no idea why he made so many of the one color because it’s not his style. He said to sell them at a discount. Normally a single pin costs five dollars, but I’m willing to sell you them at half price.”

“Even so, I do not have that kind of money on hand,” Finrod said, putting the pin back on the table.

“No problem. You pay me what you can now and then I’ll deduct the balance from the first couple of paychecks once you start working here.”

“That will be acceptable.” He gave the Mortal a considering look. “You realize, of course, that it is no coincidence that your friend made forty of these blue crystal pins, for there are now thirty-nine Elves living in Edhellond, including myself.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that,” Nick said, looking nervous. “Why?”

Finrod shrugged. “Someone anticipated my need and inspired your friend to make these.”

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” Nick asked.

Finrod chuckled. “No, for which I am grateful, yet I cannot deny the fact that such anticipation comes in handy at times.”

“I can see that, but how….?”

“The Valar are able to see a little ways into the future but they are careful in how they act for, as they are constantly reminding me, the future is not set in stone but is constantly in flux, yet some events have a higher probability of happening than others. Someone anticipated my need before I was even aware of it myself and knew how best to address it, inspiring your friend to make these.”

Nick shook his head. “My dad’s a minister of a church in Richardson, that’s just south of Fairbanks. If he knew I was talking to an Elf about angels and archangels….”

Finrod gave the Man a sympathetic smile. “It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”

“You got that right, sir.”

“Actually, I should be calling you sir, since you are now my employer.” Finrod gave Nick a sly grin.

“Which is really too weird a concept to wrap my mind around at the moment. Why don’t you just call me Nick?”

“And I am Quinn.” Recalling the Mortal custom, Finrod held out his hand and after a second’s hesitation, Nick shook it. “I will come by on Monday then.”

“Great. I’ll be here between ten and four, so anytime.”

“As for the pins….”

“I’ll get them all boxed for you and you can pick them up on Monday.”

“Thank you. Until then.” Finrod gave the Mortal a slight bow and was amused at Nick awkwardly copying him. Then he stepped outside, taking a deep breath and looking about the square. He noticed Nick removing the Help Wanted sign from the store window and waved. Nick waved back and Finrod, remembering he wished to buy a sticky bun, turned right and entered the bakery. A few minutes later he was outside again, munching on a bun and clutching a bag with a second bun and wandered around the square, wondering how the others would take the news of him working at the Aurora Borealis Book and Stationery Shop.

****

Words are Quenya:

Cáno: Governor [see Elf Interrupted for further details on Sador].

Yén: An elvish century equal to 144 solar years.

Notes:

1. Findecáno is the Quenya version of Fingon.

2. Vorondur is speaking of the Second Persian invasion of Greece (480-479 BCE) by Xerxes. Socrates was born in 470 BCE.