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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

5: Discussions

Valandur and Vorondur made their way downstairs and into the kitchen where they found people bustling around. Amroth was making coffee while Nimrodel was boiling water for tea. Mithrellas was putting some cinnamon rolls into the oven and Glorfindel was scrambling up some eggs while Finda and Nell were setting out plates and mugs and silver on the dining room buffet. Finrod oversaw it all from the breakfast nook where he sat with a goblet of wine. He looked up at their entrance and gestured them over to join him.

“Alex?” he asked.

“Asleep,” Valandur answered. “He was very… quiescent, almost as if he were bespelled. Never spoke and did not resist.”

“Lord Námo’s doing, I think,” Glorfindel said from the stove. “He’s pulled that trick on me often enough. He tells you to calm down and somehow you do, all the energy drained from you. You barely have enough to keep yourself upright. Being allowed to sleep is a relief.”

There was a brief silence as people digested that bit of news and for a time no one spoke about what had happened, concentrating on putting together the breakfast, though it was only about four in the morning.

“Which just means we can have second breakfast around ten,” Glorfindel said with a grin when the subject arose. “We’ll have Belgian waffles.”

As they were eating, some sitting at the table and others standing around, Vorondur spoke up, addressing Prince Legolas. “I noticed that when Alex showed up, you appeared very angry, even went so far as to reach for a weapon. Would you care to explain, your Highness?”

“You noticed that too, did you?” Valandur said before Legolas could answer. “He and several others all went for weapons.”

“Who?” Glorfindel asked in surprise.

“Interestingly enough, just those who once lived here in Middle-earth,” Vorondur answered. “Oh, not all. Beleg, for instance, just stood there grinning.”

“I thought it was humorous,” the former marchwarden of Doriath said with a grin. “You should have seen your faces. If Morgoth himself had shown up dressed in Melian’s best gown, I don’t think you would’ve been half as shocked as you were when the Mortals appeared.”

For a moment, they all stared at Beleg and then Mithlas shook his head. “Reborn,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Glorfindel protested and the others chuckled.

“Well, getting back to the original question,” Vorondur said once they had calmed down, “I am still interested in knowing why the anger, Prince Legolas. Going for a weapon, I can understand. It’s an automatic reflex in a potentially hostile situation, but the anger? That’s something else again.”

“Well, were we not all angry at the interruption?” Barahir asked. “I know I was. I’d been looking forward to it all week, knowing we weren’t going to have Mortals mucking the place up and then Frick and Frack show up and ruin everything.”

“Yet, your anger was momentary,” Vorondur pointed out. “You became intrigued by the question of why Alex had not succumbed to the sleep spell, did you not?”

Barahir shrugged. “I guess,” he admitted reluctantly.

“And that was true for most of the Wiseman Elves,” Valandur pointed out. “Whatever anger you felt at the interruption was replaced almost immediately by curiosity and perplexity. But we are still waiting to hear what Prince Legolas has to say, for I think your anger goes much deeper than being upset by the interruption.”

“You don’t have to answer, Legolas,” Glorfindel said when the former prince of Ithilien hesitated. “You’re not on trial here and if Ron and Val are concerned, they can speak with you privately.”

“It is something that concerns us all, though,” Finrod interjected. “Come, child. Tell us. I promise we are not here to judge, only to learn.”

Legolas sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing really. When Alex came into the clearing, I was suddenly reminded of when a certain band of Dwarves rudely interrupted our autumnal feast and what followed from that.”

“Ah yes,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “Bilbo told us all about it when he and Gandalf returned to Imladris. Remember, Erestor?”

“Yes,” the former administrator of Elrond’s realm said with a grin. “A good tale.”

“Especially the way Bilbo described it,” Elrohir chimed in and his twin nodded in agreement.

“But your anger went deeper than memory,” Vorondur persisted.

Now Legolas actually blushed. “Sorry. It is true I was angry at the intrusion, but it wasn’t Alex’s fault. To tell you the truth, my anger was directed more toward you, Glorfindel, you and Finrod both.”

“Oh?” both Glorfindel and Finrod said almost at the same time, both looking nonplused.

Legolas grinned. “My first thought upon seeing Alex was, ‘Stupid Noldor can’t even get a simple sleep spell right. My adar could have done it in his sleep without half trying. I could have done it in my sleep.’”

Now they were all laughing and the tension that had been there earlier lifted. When they had calmed down, Vorondur spoke. “Well, that aside, I am still a bit concerned about the reactions of others. Going for weapons might be a natural reflex, but it was unthinking and that could be dangerous. And it’s telling, I think, that only those who once resided here in Middle-earth did so.”

“Well, not all of us,” Erestor said with a grin. He now went by the name Eric. “I’m far too old to be jumping at shadows.”

Some of the others scowled at him, which he ignored. Vorondur nodded in acknowledgement. “Very true, but that’s just the point. We all should be too old to be jumping at shadows.”

“Yet, if we were under attack….” Mithlas, who now called himself Mick, started to say, but Valandur shook his head.

“It does not work that way,” he said. “Look, I know that things have not been easy for any of us. We all have had to make huge concessions. We who come from Valinor have given up much and we are still trying to adapt ourselves to this alien environment, but I think it must be even harder for you who once lived here, who are trying to reconcile your memories with reality and nothing fits, nothing is at all familiar. Most of you did not even interact with the Mortals of your time and now you have to deal with them constantly. When Alex and Derek inadvertently showed up, your anger was evident. The rest of us were more disappointed, I think, but not actually angry. Those of us who never lived here have no such… um…” He hesitated, as if groping for words.

“Baggage, ghosts,” Vorondur supplied and when Valandur nodded, he continued, “Yes, I can see that and it is something that should be addressed when we hold our anger management classes next week.”

There were many sighs but no one protested. Vorondur and Valandur exchanged knowing smiles.

“You would make a great psychologist,” Vorondur said.

“I suppose it’s part of my training,” Valandur offered. “I had to learn to read people very carefully when Ingwë made me his spymaster. I learned to be very observant of the small things.”

Vorondur nodded and then someone suggested that once they’d cleaned up the breakfast that they gather in the library and tell tales. To that everyone agreed and a half an hour later they were in the library trading songs and tales while the two Mortals continued to sleep on dreamlessly.

****

Alex woke disoriented, not recognizing his surroundings at first. A clock on the night table told him it was nine, though it was still dark out; the sun would not be seen for another hour or so and then only briefly. It took several precious seconds for memory to catch up with him and then he let out a groan and struggled out of bed, reaching for his clothes folded neatly on a nearby chair. Once dressed, he made his way down the hall to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and finger-comb his hair. Afterwards, he made his way downstairs where the smell of coffee lured him into the kitchen. Derek was there, along with Glorfindel, Finrod, Vorondur, Valandur and Amroth. Of the other Elves there was no sign.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Derek said with a grin.

“You should talk,” Alex shot back as he went to the counter to pour himself some coffee. “You okay?”

“Sure. Nothing wrong with me. Loren and Quinn were just filling me in on what happened. Woke about twenty minutes ago wondering how many glasses of champagne I’d had and then remembered I didn’t have any, which made my waking up in a strange bed with no memory of getting there rather like adding insult to injury. I don’t even have the joy of a hangover to remember last night by.”

Alex and the Elves grinned at Derek’s put upon expression.

“Sorry about that,” Glorfindel said. “Last thing we expected was having you two show up. We didn’t actually expect anyone to show up.”

“So why the barrier and the sleep spell?” Alex asked, leaning against the counter and taking an appreciative sip of the coffee, a Jamaican blend that was a favorite among the Elves.

“For the fun of it?” Glorfindel suggested with a shrug. The other Elves chuckled.

“Call it a precautionary measure, Alex,” Finrod said.

“But what was all that about getting teleported hither and yon, though?” Derek demanded.

“Not our doing,” Finrod explained. “That was all Fionwë’s doing. A practical joke, I think you would call it.”

“Fionwë! You mean that Maia?” Derek exclaimed. “Some joke, and then I get zapped by a sleep spell and miss all the excitement.” He shook his head in disgust. “Guess I’m just an ordinary human after all.”

“There is no such animal as an ordinary human, my friend,” Vorondur said with sincerity. “You are all amazing and brilliant and completely mad.”

“Thanks, I think,” Derek said.

Vorondur laughed. “Trust me, I meant it in a good way. You Mortals have a spark of something that seems lacking in most Elves, though lately I am revising my theories about that. With only one Reborn to study, I wasn’t sure, but with several more in our midst, I think I am beginning to see a pattern of behavior that is proving rather interesting to observe.”

“Well, we’ll leave you to it, then,” Alex said. “Derek and I need to get ourselves going if we’re to meet our parents in time for brunch.”

Glorfindel spoke up. “We were not sure how long either of you would sleep, so I had Dan run over to the Academy and bring back some changes of clothing and your toiletries. The bag is in the foyer. You’ll have to sort out what belongs to whom yourselves. We moved your car off the street, Alex. It’s in the drive. Keys are on the table in the foyer.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “You want to grab a shower first while I finish my coffee?” he asked Derek who nodded.

“Yeah, thanks. By the way, what happened after I fell asleep? You were just about to tell me when Alex came in.”

Glorfindel shrugged at Finrod, who answered. “When Alex told us about your two previous attempts to cross the barrier, we realized that it must have been a Maia who was involved, for we do not have that kind of power. The best we could have done was to set an avoidance spell that would make you not want to come near the glade without actually being aware that you were avoiding it for some reason. Then we knew it had to be Fionwë.”

“Because he signed the note with ‘F’,” Derek said with a nod of understanding.

“Yes,” Finrod said. “When we called to him, he appeared and admitted what he had done, claiming that it was merely a jest on his part.”

“And that is when Lord Námo showed up,” Glorfindel added with a malicious grin.

Derek’s eyebrows rose and then he gave them a sly look as he drained his mug. “Ah, so the dude got Námo’d, heh? I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

For a second they all stared at him. “Námo’d?” Alex finally said. “What—?”

“From what I’ve seen, that Vala is a verb waiting to happen, and not in a good way,” Derek explained.

Now they were all struggling not to laugh but failing miserably. Alex let out a whoop. “Námo’d! I love it,” he exclaimed. “I can just see it.” His expression sobered to one of concern and he stared at the space before him, as if seeing someone there. “You don’t look so good.” His expression altered again, looking more as if he were in pain, and his voice changed, obviously pretending to be someone else. “I just got Námo’d.” And then his expression changed again to his original persona. “Oh, that explains it.”

Now they were all laughing in earnest. “Ooh, I can certainly relate,” Glorfindel said in all sincerity when he had calmed down a bit. “I’ve been Námo’d often enough in the past.”

“We all have,” Finrod added with a grin, “at least those of us who are Reborn.”

“Actually, I think it’s fair to say that Fionwë got Alexed,” Amroth interjected, giving his former student a grin. “That’s the second time you’ve taken him down. I doubt he’s ever going to hear the end of it.”

Alex just smirked then turned to Derek. “You’d better go and grab that shower.”

“I’ll take the bag upstairs and pull out my stuff and then leave it outside in the hall for you,” Derek suggested and when Alex nodded his thanks, he got up and left. Alex poured himself some more coffee and took the seat Derek had vacated.

“About last night—” he started to say

“There is no need for apologies, Alex,” Glorfindel assured him. “You were as much a victim as we of Fionwë’s questionable humor.”

“And no harm done,” Finrod added.

“Yeah, but we ruined your party and I feel bad about that. I also noticed about half of you going for swords that weren’t there. Did you think the Enemy was attacking or something?”

“We were discussing the very thing earlier amongst us,” Vorondur said. “The matter will be addressed.”

“Good. See that it is,” Alex said and something in his voice seemed to grate on the Elves, for they all gave him scowls.

“You do not need to lecture us, Alex,” Valandur said stiffly.

“Don’t I?” Alex countered, scowling back. He looked at Amroth. “You remember what you told me about overreacting to a situation?”

“Don’t overreact,” Amroth answered.

“Right. Don’t overreact. It took me a while to figure out what you meant, because that’s all you said to me: don’t overreact. And you refused to elaborate, which really pissed me off at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that my own sense of frustration was making me overreact to that one simple statement. After that, things became clearer.” He turned his attention to Valandur. “Your people overreacted last night, reaching for weapons that weren’t there. Now, I will admit that’s a natural reflex, especially among warriors, but totally inappropriate to the circumstances. This is not the Middle-earth some of you remember.”

“We’re aware of that, Alex,” Vorondur said. “As Val said, you do not need to lecture us.”

“Maybe not,” Alex conceded, “but we’re in this together and I am not afraid to call you, any of you, on the carpet if necessary. Most of the residents of Wiseman might be in awe of you lot, but I’m not.”

“Fair enough,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll take your warning to heart.”

Alex nodded and then relented. “Sorry if I came on like that, but these are dangerous times and people are paranoid. Odd behaviors are noted and reported. You Elves are already in a precarious position here. Don’t make it more precarious with unthinking actions.”

“Point taken,” Vorondur said, and then he changed the subject. “Are you still okay about us revealing ourselves to your mother?”

“Yeah, sure. Derek and I have been talking about it and we both agree that it’s the safest course for us all.”

“Then, we’ll see you Friday around six?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yeah, it’s all set,” Alex assured them. He stood up and took his empty mug to the sink, rinsing it and placing it in the dishwasher. “I’d better go up and get in a shower.” With that he departed, leaving the Elves to themselves.

For a moment or two no one spoke. Then Amroth stirred, casting them a wry look. “It seems rather odd having a Mortal reprimand us, doesn’t it?”

“Is he wrong, though?” Vorondur asked.

“No, more’s the pity,” Amroth responded. “As you said earlier, some of us are jumping at shadows when we should not be.”

“I am thinking that my anger management course will need to be modified slightly to encompass symptoms of separation anxiety.”

“Excuse me?” Glorfindel retorted with a scowl. “We’re not children being led off our mother’s apron strings.”

“No, of course not and that’s not what I meant,” Vorondur replied. “But you have to admit that those from Valinor must be suffering some anxiety, even homesickness. I really don’t think the Valar prepared you for life lived in these times as fully as they might have. I’ve seen the shock on your faces even over something as innocuous as the manner in which we are greeted.”

“I admit that the degree of familiarity was initially disturbing to me,” Valandur said, “but I’ve learned to accept it.”

“And that’s just it,” Vorondur insisted. “You are learning to accept it, but you don’t agree with it or like it.”

“And you do?” Finrod asked.

Vorondur smiled. “Your Highness, I ceased to even think about it and I’m sure that’s true for Amroth and Glorfindel and the rest of the Wiseman Elves. We’ve lived among the Mortals for too long and have experienced too many different cultures to even comment on it. We are like chameleons, changing our color with the times, blending in as best we can. I admit it’s a bit more difficult now than it was a few hundred years ago when even so-called enlightened peoples believed in what they called Faerie and other-worldly beings, such as Elves, but the fact of the matter is we’ve adapted to the point where we don’t even think about it. That cannot be said for any of you from Valinor.”

“We’ve only just arrived, though,” Finrod said.

“And that’s something that needs to be considered,” Vorondur acknowledged. “You are still finding your way, some of you still having difficulty reconciling what you remember of Middle-earth to what you see around you. Therein lies the anxiety, the sense of being at sea and feeling out of your depth and even lost. It’s natural to feel that way, don’t get me wrong, but we need to address those feelings, put them into perspective. I suspect some of the anger some of you are feeling stems from your anxiety, trying to cope in a world that is totally alien to everything you know.”

“Ron is right,” Glorfindel said before either Finrod or Valandur could speak. “I’ve noticed it as well and the funny thing is, I think the youngsters have adapted more easily than the rest of you. They seem to have integrated themselves better.”

“They are reveling in the freedom of this society,” Vorondur said with an indulgent smile. “They are no longer bound by the strictures of Elven society as it is lived in Valinor, which I gather is more formal and what people today would call ‘medieval’.”

Finrod shrugged. “It is true that our society is still very much as it always has been. We’ve seen no reason to change it.”

“Whereas change is the watchword of the day among the Mortals,” Amroth interjected. “A society that doesn’t change, stagnates and eventually dies, although, a society that changes too much and too soon is in danger of dying more violently.”

He started to say more but just then Alex and Derek came in with Derek clutching a duffle bag. “We’re off,” Alex said. “Thanks for everything.”

“Not a problem,” Glorfindel said, standing. “Give your parents our wishes for a Happy New Year and we’ll see you on Friday.”

“Happy New Year,” Alex and Derek both said in farewell and then they were making their way outside. Glorfindel and Finrod saw them to the door.

“Well, how about we make those Belgian waffles?” Glorfindel asked as they watched the two Mortals drive off.

Finrod nodded. “Sounds good.”

Glorfindel shut the door and the two headed back to the kitchen.

****

Note: “I think Námo needs to be a verb because he is Someone who happens to people. ‘You don’t look so good.’ ‘I got Námo’d.’ ‘Oh that would do it.’”— Kevana, from a private conversation. My thanks to Kevana for allowing me to use this wonderful description of our favorite Vala.





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