13: We Three Kings

Finrod woke around nine feeling refreshed and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. Most of the Elves were gone, save for Laurendil and Valandur, waiting for Alex and Derek, who were due to come over around eleven to discuss the ceremony that had been created between them for the Presentation of the Swords, as Derek called it. Findalaurë, Calandil and Elennen were back at the skating rink with Nielluin, for she had stated that she, too, wished to learn to skate, so they were conveniently out of the way.

Alex and Derek showed up on time. Derek’s father, Andy, was with them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Derek said to Valandur when the ellon answered the door. “Dad was curious to see the place.”

Valandur smiled. “He is more than welcome. Hello, my name is Val. We met briefly at the Christmas Ball.” He held out his hand and Andy shook it.

“Oh, yeah,” Andy said. “I sort of remember meeting a whole bunch of you people, but I don’t remember all the names. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“We’re in the library,” Valandur said. “Coffee, tea or hot cocoa?”

“Coffee for me,” Alex said as he hung his coat in the closet. Derek opted for hot cocoa and Andy asked for water.

“I drink one cup of caffeine in the morning to wake me up and then I drink water the rest of the day,” he explained.

“You two know the way,” Valandur said. “I’ll be right along.”

“C’mon, Dad, we’ll give you the five-cent tour later,” Derek said. The three Mortals made their way to the library while Valandur continued down the hall to the kitchen. In the library, they saw Laurendil hunched over a laptop carefully keying something in. He looked up and smiled, standing, giving them a greeting. Derek let Laurendil introduce himself, giving the name ‘Randall’.

 “What are you doing?” Alex asked with a smile once the introductions were over.

“Working my way through something called Gray’s Anatomy,” Laurendil replied. “Gregory is insisting we healers all become acquainted with it and so we’re taking an online course. He actually tests us on what we’ve read.” He shook his head in bemusement. “He’s worse than Lord Irmo.”

“Well, I’ve met Dr. Harrison, but not Lord Irmo, so I can’t say if you’re estimation of the good doctor is accurate,” Alex said with a laugh.

“Who’s this Lord Irmo you’re talking about?” Andy asked, clearly puzzled.

“Oh… er… just someone who’s… um….” Derek was saved from trying to explain things to his father by the entrance of Valandur with a tray and then Finrod came right behind him and in the confusion of greetings and making sure everyone had their beverage of choice in hand, Lord Irmo’s name did not come up again.

“So, what did you come up with?” Alex asked once they had settled near the fireplace. Laurendil saved his work on the laptop and closed it down before joining the others.

“We want to keep it simple, of course,” Finrod said. “Loren has assured me that there will be a way to disguise the swords so they are not recognized for what they are before we present them.”

Valandur spoke then. “We are having two gatherings, one on Christmas Eve and the other on Christmas Day. The one on Christmas Eve is primarily for us; we are reserving Christmas Day for our friends. By the way, you are invited to the Christmas Day gathering. Your mother will be here by then, I understand.” He turned to Alex who nodded.

“She comes on the twenty-third. Do you want the ceremony to occur on Christmas or Christmas Eve? Derek and I can certainly come over Christmas Eve before we head off to church. I think we’ve agreed to attend the midnight services at St. Andrew’s.”

“I think Christmas Eve would be more appropriate,” Finrod said, “given that this is a private thing between us and none of the other Mor… um… I mean none of our other friends are even aware of it.”

“Well, we wouldn’t need to leave to pick up your mom and my dad until maybe ten-thirty or so if we want to find a parking place,” Derek said, “so that should be plenty of time.”

“Why do you not just bring them with you?” Finrod suggested. “I would like to meet your mother sooner rather than later.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked with a frown, stealing a glance at Derek and Andy, the latter looking on with a slight expression of puzzlement on his face. “I mean…”

“Togo hýn. iLû tôl a pheded pith o hEdhil. Boe achýn istad ammen,” Finrod said and there was authority in his voice and both Alex and Derek straightened and nodded.

“Be iest lîn, hîr nîn,” Alex said softly.

There was a short silence and then Laurendil cleared his throat. “So, this is what we thought we would do.” He then laid out the ceremony he and Valandur had devised. Finrod offered one or two suggestions for improvement, while Alex and Derek carefully practiced the words that they would speak while presenting the swords to the ellyn.

“And my wife, Maneula, along with Helena and Anna,” — giving the Mortal names for Manwen, Helyanwë and Melyanna — “have agreed to strap the swords on.”

“Er… excuse me for putting my oar in where it’s not wanted, but… um… swords?” Andy asked, giving them all a pained look. “Why would you give anyone weapons on a holiday dedicated to peace?”

“These are symbols, Dad,” Derek replied before anyone else could. “Quinn and his people are very… um… traditional. The presenting of swords is something that’s been passed down in their family for… um… ages. It’s sort of like getting your driver’s license, y’know?”

“Something I still haven’t gotten,” Finrod couldn’t help saying, giving them a sly smile. “At any rate, Mr. Lowell, the ceremony is something very special and more so because my son and his friends do not know of it. It will be a complete surprise.”

“So why are you two involved?” Andy asked Derek and Alex.

“Oh… um… that’s because…”

“Because Lawrence, Cal and Alan are our friends,” Alex said smoothly when Derek seemed incapable of answering his father’s question. “Quinn, Val and Randall asked us to help because they know how close we are to the… um… boys.” He gave the three Elves an apologetic look, but none of them took any offense and merely smiled.

“Okay. Whatever,” Andy said with a shrug. “Not my business anyway.”

“And what is your business?” Finrod asked in curiosity.

“I sell and repair computers, laptops, and other electronic devices. It’s nothing grand or anything, but I own my own business and do well enough. Started out repairing typewriters. Yeah, I know, you kids have no clue about typewriters, but we of an older generation still remember them.” Alex and Derek both grinned. “Anyway, when computers became popular I went back to school to learn all I could about them, how they worked, how to repair them, and so forth.”

“A very handy skill to have in these days, I think,” Finrod said. “Well, if we are finished here, I will leave you. I believe Loren is planning dinner Christmas Eve for about seven. Please consider yourselves invited. We will do the ceremony afterwards and then you can go on from there.”

“Sounds good to me and thanks,” Alex said. They all rose and shook hands with Finrod. Valandur offered to give Andy a brief tour of the mansion, starting with the library; Laurendil followed Finrod out and down the hall to the front door.

“I do not question your wisdom, Aranya,” Laurendil said, “but is it wise to reveal ourselves to Andrew and Alex’s mother so soon?”

“Wise? No. Probably not wise,” Finrod answered as he grabbed his cloak from the front closet. “Indeed, it might well be dangerous, but I deem it necessary, especially for Alex’s sake.”

“Dangerous? Then why…?”

Finrod gave his friend a sad look. “Sometimes, my friend, against all wisdom, one must do something that is dangerous. It is a lesson I learned as a king. I could not always make safe decisions. Indeed, I often did not have that luxury, as you well know, nor, I suspect, did you.”

Laurendil nodded, still looking troubled. Then he sighed. “Does Glorfindel know?”

Finrod shook his head, giving him a rueful look. “Why do you think I said ‘dangerous’?”

Laurendil raised an eyebrow at the implications of Finrod’s words and then they were both chuckling. “Where are you off to?” Laurendil asked as Finrod opened the door and stepped outside.

“Amroth invited me to lunch with him at the café and then he wishes to show me the new house. What about you?”

“I am due to be at the college clinic in an hour to relieve Elrohir and Elladan.”

“I am glad that they are reclaiming their heritage as healers. I know Elrond would be grieved to learn that they had given up their craft for so long.”

“They are excellent healers. Elrond taught them well. Enjoy your lunch.”

Finrod nodded and set off at a brisk pace. The sun was already setting so he walked in twilight, the sky to the west a blazing banner of red, gold and pink, while to the east the first stars were beginning to peep out. Dark clouds were beginning to pile up over the Brooks Mountain Range to the northwest and he could smell snow in the air. He found himself humming a wordless tune, feeling lighthearted, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the spirit of the season was helping him. He recalled St. Nicholas (if that was who he was) telling him his fears were groundless and he had no reason to feel as he did. Easy to say, hard to accept. Yet, it was true. Finda lived and, more than that, seemed to be thriving, as were Calandil and Elennen. He wondered briefly if Amarië would approve of the changes in their youngest child.

The thought of Amarië temporarily drove away his sense of well-being and he sighed as he realized that he missed his wife more than he thought he would. They had not been together for a very long time, for Amarië had duties at the Academy in Vanyamar and Finrod was often away, traveling throughout Valinor, visiting the various kingdoms that had sprung up over the ages on behalf of the Valar and in his role as a Fëanturindo.

As he came into the town square, though, his mood lifted somewhat when he spied Amroth through the café window sitting in a booth and waving at him. He smiled and waved back as he headed inside the Emporium and made his way into the restaurant. Amroth rose to greet him.

“Everything set for the ceremony?” he asked as Finrod took off his cloak and slid into the empty booth.

“Yes. We invited Alex and Derek and their parents to dinner and we will hold the ceremony afterwards before they leave for church. The services do not begin until midnight, so they will have plenty of time. I told Alex that it was time for us to reveal ourselves to their parents.”

Amroth started to comment but the waitress, a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked brown hair and warm brown eyes and whose nametag read ‘Kathy’, came over just then with menus and asked for drink orders. Amroth ordered coffee and Finrod opted for tea. The waitress nodded and left.

“It’s a bit risky, don’t you think?” Amroth asked, resuming their conversation. “We barely know Derek’s father and, though I know Anne from what Alex has told me about her, I’ve never met her. Should we not wait a while?”

“I agree about the risk, but I deem it would be more dangerous for them if we wait. If they are told the truth they will be in a better position to protect themselves. Indeed, I would like to see them both moving to Wiseman where they can receive that protection.”

“What of the Maiar that were promised?”

“Oh, I have no doubt that they would be quite able to offer protection, but my main concern is with Alex and Derek. No matter how many assurances they receive and by whom, even if it were from Lord Manwë himself, they will be constantly worried about them, Alex especially, knowing as he does that the Agency could retaliate against him through his mother. No. I think the sooner we can convince the two to move here, the better for all concerned. Also, I get the feeling that Alex feels regret for the years when he was not there for his mother, the holidays and anniversaries that they missed celebrating together. I would like to relieve him of that guilt. He has suffered enough for his past; there is no sense in making him suffer more.”

“I know and I feel the same way. When he first joined the Agency, he suffered much guilt the first time he could not be home for Christmas or to celebrate Anne’s birthday. Anne understood, I’m sure, but Alex was just young enough to feel that he was somehow letting his mother down by not being there at certain times. By the time I left, though, he had come to accept it as part of who he was.”

“At any rate, I think the sooner we tell them about us, the better for us all, but for Alex and Derek especially.”

“Here you are.” They looked up to see the waitress placing their tea and coffee on the table. “Are you ready to order?”

The two Elves quickly scanned the menu with Finrod ordering the clam chowder and something called a taco salad that both the waitress and Amroth assured him was quite good; Amroth settled for a tuna melt with French fries. When the waitress left with the menus, Amroth spoke.

“I want to apologize.”

Finrod gave him a considering look. “For what?”

“For my stupidity and bravado that nearly got you killed. I never intended….”

Finrod held up his hand to forestall him. “I know and I understand. I do not blame you, Amroth. I blame Farrell and his obsession over you. But, as it was pointed out to me just recently, I am alive. Finda is alive. We’re all alive and none of us are giving Lord Námo grief.”

Amroth grinned but his expression sobered somewhat and he looked more rueful. “Believe it or not, I am finding it hard to wrap my mind around the idea that I’m sitting in a café in Wiseman, Alaska, having lunch with the great Finrod Felagund, of whom even we Elves of Laurinand had heard. We both lost our kingdoms. I for love of Nimrodel and you for an oath given to a Mortal. I think of the two of us, yours was the greater loss.”

“But your kingdom survived after you, whereas mine did not.”

Amroth gave Finrod a sardonic look. “Well, you can thank your sister for that. Even when she and Celeborn were just my advisors and my adar’s before me, I knew she was plotting and scheming to take over.”

“But at least she had the courtesy to wait until you were dead or presumed so,” Finrod said with a thin smile. “My cousins did not even bother to wait that long.”

Amroth nodded and then chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. “I still remember the day Galadriel and Celeborn showed up at my adar’s court acting as Gil-galad’s envoys. Ada took one look at your sister and rolled his eyes and then looked at Celeborn and said, ‘And I thought you Sindar had better taste.’”

“Oho, I bet that got Celeborn’s hackles up,” Finrod said with a grin.

Amroth nodded, clearly enjoying telling the tale. “Yes. He gave us that smile, you know the one I mean?”

“Oh yes,” Finrod said with some feeling. “We Noldor learned early on to dread that smile of his, it usually meant trouble and not in a good way.”

“Yes. Anyway, Celeborn smiled and said, ‘And I thought you Silvani had better manners, but I guess we’re both wrong.’”

Finrod snorted. “That’s Celeborn all right. And Galadriel, what did she do?”

“Oh, she just stood there with that smile of hers that says, ‘I’ve got your number and I take no prisoners.’”

Finrod laughed out loud. “That’s Galadriel. I cannot tell you how many times she smiled that way toward certain members of my adar’s court when she returned to Aman. They learned to their sorrow that they were not dealing with the daughter of Arafinwë but with the Lady of the Golden Wood. And when Celeborn finally arrived… well, they are a force to be reckoned with.”

“They always were,” Amroth said in a fond tone. “As much as I was wary of her, I am glad she and Celeborn were there for my people when I could not be. For that, I will be forever grateful.”

They subsided into silence as they both reminisced, their reveries broken by the arrival of the waitress bringing them their lunch. For a while they concentrated on eating, but finally Amroth spoke.

“At any rate, I did want to apologize for what happened,” he said softly. “I guess I was tired of others being hurt on my account. I figured if I gave myself up to Farrell the rest of you would be safe. I was wrong.”

“May I join you?”

Both ellyn looked up in surprise to see someone standing there smiling at them. Finrod started to rise. “M-my Lord Manwë, forgive us…”

“None of that, Findaráto,” Manwë said. “It is I who should ask forgiveness for intruding on your private conversation.”

Finrod just nodded, noticing that Amroth had gone completely still. “Please, sit, my lord,” Finrod said and Manwë borrowed a chair from another table. Like Námo in his Nate disguise, Manwë wore a duster, but this one was brown suede and he wore no hat. Underneath he wore blue jeans and a blue turtleneck with a white V-neck wool sweater with a small appliquéd eagle on the left breast. Cowboy boots graced his feet.

Amroth came out of his shock enough to raise an eyebrow. “What is it with Valar and dusters? I half expect someone to suddenly pull out a sword and intone, ‘There can be only one’.”

Manwë threw back his head and laughed and the café seemed to brighten considerably, though Finrod had no idea what was so humorous. “Blame it on Námo,” he said when he’d calmed down a bit. “He showed up in Ilmarin one day in his Nate disguise and now everyone wants a duster.”

“You want anything, Manny?”

Finrod turned to see another waitress with a nametag that said ‘Esther’ standing there, grinning. Manwë grimaced slightly then smoothed his expression to one of politeness. “Earl Grey, my dear.”

“Coming right up.” She gave Finrod and Amroth a wink as she sauntered off.

“Manny?” Finrod dared to ask.

Manwë actually scowled and Finrod thought he heard thunder in the distance. “Blame that on Glorfindel. I prefer Manuel, myself, but Varda thinks it’s too pretentious.”

“Manuel?” Amroth asked, giving Manwë an amused look. “You’d have to change your looks. I don’t know any Manuels with blue eyes.”

Manwë gave him a cool look but Finrod detected amusement in the Elder King’s eyes. “Is there something we can do for you, my lord?” he asked, knowing that the Vala had not dropped in on a whim. Before Manwë could answer, Esther returned with a teapot of Earl Grey and a mug. “Holler if you need anything. You two all set? Would you care for some dessert? Apple pie? It’s just come out of the oven.”

Neither Amroth nor Finrod opted for the pie, but both asked for refills on their drinks. Esther gathered up their plates and left, promising to return shortly. In the silence that followed her departure, Finrod studied the Elder King sitting there and sipping his tea, wondering what Manwë wanted from them.

“I do not wish anything from you, Findaráto,” the Elder King said, putting his mug down. “I am pleased that you accepted Amroth’s invitation.”

“Why would I not?” Finrod asked in surprise.

Manwë did not answer, but turned to Amroth, his gaze warm and sympathetic, but piercing. “You were surprised that Findaráto agreed to meet you for lunch, were you not, my son? Indeed, you were ready to accept his rejection as painful as it would have been.”

Amroth just nodded, looking down at the table. Finrod reached out and put his hand on Amroth’s arm. When the former king of Laurinand glanced up, Finrod gave him a searching look. “This is not about showing me your new home, is it?”

“Oh, I would like to show it to you and if you’re still interested I’ll take you there,” Amroth replied, “but I wanted to take the opportunity to speak with you alone, away from the others, and apologize for….”

“And I said apologies were not necessary,” Finrod retorted, squeezing Amroth’s arm. “What happened was unfortunate. Had I had a better understanding of guns and how they work I may well have been able to react in time to avoid being shot.” He shrugged, then grimaced at the tightness in his left shoulder and began rubbing it. Amroth’s expression was pained.

“You are feeling guilty,” Manwë said, looking at Amroth and then turning to Finrod, “as are you.”

Amroth shot a puzzled look Finrod’s way. “What do you have to feel guilty about?”

Finrod sighed, closing his eyes briefly. Before he could speak, Esther returned with the refills. She said nothing as she put a thermos of coffee down along with another pot of chamomile before leaving them alone again.

“I should never have brought Finda or Nielluin here,” Finrod said as he poured his tea. “This place is too dangerous for them.”

“I would dispute that,” Manwë said. “Middle-earth is no more dangerous now than it was when you were holding the Leaguer against Melkor. It’s just that this time around, you have children to consider. Oh, yes, I know, neither of them are children in any sense of the word. They are both adults and well able to make their own decisions, but in your heart of hearts they remain elflings in need of protection and that is where your sense of guilt lies, does it not?”

Finrod nodded, not willing to speak. Manwë turned to Amroth. “And, of course, you feel guilty for inadvertently putting Findaráto’s life at risk as well as choosing this time to bring forth children against all custom of the Eldar who do not marry or bear children in uncertain times, especially in times of war.” The Elder King paused, giving both ellyn a piercing look and then sighing, setting off a light breeze that fluttered through the room, ruffling people’s hair.

“Let me tell you a story,” he finally said, speaking softly so that only the two Elves could hear. “And what I am about to tell you is not to go beyond the three of us.” He waited for Finrod and Amroth to nod their understanding. “Guilt is something that is not limited to you mirroanwi. Every time I look at Námo, I feel guilty.”

“What…?” Finrod started to say then stopped, unsure how to even phrase the question.

Manwë gave him a nod. “In the days before Days, when Arda itself had not yet been brought into existence, there was war in the universe, a war for supremacy between us and Melkor. At one point, Vairë, not yet Námo’s spouse, was betrayed by one of her Maiar and fell into Melkor’s hands. Námo and Irmo went to rescue her and another of her maidens who had also been kidnapped. The rescue attempt was both successful and disastrous. Vairë and Therindë were rescued, but we lost Námo.”

“Lost? How?” Finrod whispered, feeling a sense of shock, though he was unsure of its source, and he saw that Amroth looked equally nonplused.

“Námo was taken. He had become incarnate in order to free Vairë and was overwhelmed. You have to understand that at the time, I was not there. Oromë and I were elsewhere in the universe and when the attack came, Námo went after Vairë. By the time Oromë and I returned, it was too late: Námo had been captured.”

“And you feel guilty about that,” Amroth ventured.

“About that, no,” Manwë said. “Námo knew the risks involved and chose them freely. That choice would have been his whether I was there or not. No, it was what followed.” He hesitated slightly before continuing, his voice low and toneless. “Melkor had discovered a way to keep any of the Ainur in incarnate form and in that form Námo was tortured.”

Finrod blinked and stared at Amroth who had gone pale, the horror he must be feeling at hearing Manwë’s tale evident in his eyes. Finrod felt physically ill and found that his hands were shaking as he tried to pick up his tea mug. The hot drink, smelling of apples, steadied him.

“So, you feel guilty because of that,” Amroth managed to say and Finrod marveled that his fellow king-that-was could speak in a reasonable tone, as if discussing the latest political debate.

“No,” Manwë replied, “or rather, not just for that. It was what came after.”

Finrod leaned back, giving Manwë a considering look. “And what did come after?”

Manwë quirked his lips into a half-smile. “Many things, not the least being, we lost Námo a second time, but that was Ilúvatar’s doing and not Melkor’s. It was a long time even by our standards before we figured out where Eru had hidden Námo, allowing him time to heal without the rest of us interfering.”

“Something tells me that there’s more to this story than you let on… Manny,” Amroth said, giving the Elder King a cool look.

Finrod mentally cringed and waited for the lightning bolt to incinerate them both, but Manwë just chuckled, giving them both a fond look.

“The story is the story and I will speak no more of it. My point is that Námo suffered terribly while Melkor’s captive and had I been there when Vairë was kidnapped, I might have been able to prevent it, yet, at the same time, I see what that experience did for Námo, how it shaped him into the person he is and I cannot imagine him being any other way. So, my guilt, while legitimate, is ultimately groundless. Events played out as they did and as terrible as they were, good came of it, good that was unforeseen and unlooked-for.”

“Yet you say you still feel guilty,” Finrod commented.

Manwë nodded. “My burden to bear as Elder King. Amroth, you have every right to feel guilty for what happened, but do not let that guilt destroy you. You did well to reach out to Findaráto, accepting the possibility that he might reject your attempt to apologize, but as you can see, Findaráto has not and indeed has never blamed you for what happened.”

“That is true, mellon nîn,” Finrod said. “Farrell and my own ignorance are to blame.”

“And what about you?” Amroth countered.

“I am not sure,” Finrod replied. “A part of me understands what Lord Manwë is saying: that ultimately I cannot protect Finda or Nielluin or anyone against the dangers that will assail us. Middle-earth is indeed dangerous, more dangerous than I had anticipated, yet Valinor holds its own dangers and with the War coming, I do not think even that land will be safe.”

“And you would be correct in so thinking,” Manwë said with a nod. “The universe is a dangerous place, Melkor saw to that, and even we Valar are not exempt from suffering because of it. We three who are kings know the burden of ruling and the guilt that comes of it when we are forced to put those in our trust in situations of danger. You may regret bringing your son and niece here, Findaráto, but I will tell you that they are here because their destiny lies here and not in Aman, just as yours did when we allowed you to leave the first time, though we grieved at your going. And Amroth, others may condemn your and Nimrodel’s decision to bring children into this world, but I do not, nor do any of the Valar. We rejoice that you have found the courage to break from the customs of your people and offer them renewed hope.”

“I don’t understand,” Amroth said.

But it was Finrod who answered him. “Amroth, the last child born in Aman was born before the last ice age ended. There have been no more elflings since.”

“Why?”

Finrod shrugged. “I do not know. It is something that has been a concern, but my sense is that we Eldar have fallen into a trap of our own devising. Our philosophers and loremasters have long debated our ultimate fate. If our lives are tied to that of Arda, then when Arda ends, so do we, and we have no assurances of anything beyond that. I think people began to lose hope in Eru’s benevolence and decided that there was no point bringing any more children into the world if ultimately they would cease to exist at some future point in time. Trust me when I say that when I learned that Nimrodel was pregnant, I rejoiced, for your children are a sign of hope for us all.”

“It was not an easy decision to make,” Amroth pointed out.

“No, I do not imagine that it was, but do you see what I am saying? The Eldar of Aman have begun to lose any sense of estel as the ages draw nearer to the end. I look at the Mortals and their world. Terrible things happen to them every day, but they do not give up, they still speak with estel in their hearts, and they have less cause than we to have estel. That you let the Mortals dictate your decision to have children tells me that we Eldar can learn much from them, more than we would like to admit, for are we not the Firstborn and therefore the elder race and are they not our younger siblings to be taught by us?”

“Well, that was the original plan,” Manwë said with a twinkle in his eyes, “but, as they say, plans change. What you have said, my son, is very true and that is why I took the liberty of announcing the impending birth of Amroth and Nimrodel’s children to the Eldar in Aman. The most charitable response to the news was something along the lines of you being a bloody fool, Amroth, and obviously corrupted by the Secondborn and we all know how strange and uncouth they are.”

For a moment, both Finrod and Amroth just stared at Manwë in disbelief, then Finrod happened to catch Amroth’s eyes and before they knew it they were both laughing. Manwë awarded them with a satisfied smirk. “Well, this has been most enjoyable,” he said, rising. “We must do it again some time.” And with that he simply wasn’t there and no one in the café seemed to notice.

For a moment, the two Elves sat there in contemplation, then Amroth stirred. “Still interested in seeing the house?”

Finrod nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Let’s get the check and get out of here then.”

And that is what they did.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted:

Togo hýn. iLû tôl a pheded pith o hEdhil. Boe achýn istad ammen: ‘Bring them. The time comes for speaking words concerning Elves. It is necessary for them to have knowledge of us’.

Be iest lîn, hîr nîn: ‘According to your wish, my lord’.

Fëanturindo: (Quenya), ‘Friend (male) of the Fëanturi, i.e. Námo and Irmo. The Fëanturindi were originally an Order dedicated to the healing of Aman after the destruction of the Two Trees. In later times, their duties changed somewhat and they are now considered Guardians of the Peace of the Valar, or Tirnor iSérëo Valaina in Quenya, ensuring that the earlier unrest caused by Melkor’s evil remains contained.

Mirroanwi: (Quenya) Plural of mirroanwë: Incarnate, i.e. Elves, Men, Hobbits, etc.