23: Further Conversations

“So did you see anything interesting during your walk?” Glorfindel asked Finrod as the two settled in the sunroom. The snow was falling more heavily and there was little to see outside.

“I stepped into a couple of the churches during their services,” Finrod answered. “I was curious about them.”

“Which churches?” Glorfindel asked, looking concerned.

“St. Mary’s and New Jerusalem. You need not fear. I was welcomed at both. In fact, I had a very interesting conversation with Josiah Makepeace afterwards.”

“Josiah is a good Man,” Glorfindel allowed, “and smart. Adele, his wife, is a force to be reckoned with and in an earlier age she would have been a queen, I think.”

“I had the same impression,” Finrod admitted with a smile.

“Why those particular churches?” Glorfindel asked after taking a sip of his tea. “I was unaware that you knew about Josiah’s church.”

“I did not. I was lead to it by Fionwë.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh. I was displeased by the notion once I learned of it, but Fionwë set me straight on the matter afterwards. I fear we have all been purblind fools and arrogant beyond measure.”

“A rather harsh assessment,” Glorfindel said with a frown. “These last few months haven’t been easy on any of us, especially those of you from Valinor. Too much culture shock, I think.”

“It does not excuse us, though, not entirely,” Finrod retorted.

“Perhaps not, but it does mitigate things a bit.”

“I could never understand why you did not return,” Finrod said, seemingly changing the subject. “I still do not see the attraction you must have had to remain here among the Mortals.” Left unsaid was, and not return to me, the other half of your soul, though he suspected Glorfindel knew it.

“Attraction? There was no attraction, Finrod. Every time I broached the subject of Sailing, the Twins adamantly refused to consider it and my oaths to both Eärendil and Elrond precluded me from leaving them. I stayed because they did. End of story.”

“So you say.” Finrod eyed his gwador with unveiled skepticism.

“So I say,” Glorfindel retorted, opening his book and studiously began reading, clearly stating that the conversation was over with.

Finrod let it go, not wishing to fight with his heart-brother. Instead, he leaned back into his chair and watched the snow fall, the dark sky darkening even more as the sun, hidden behind the storm, set, though it was only early afternoon. The silence that lay between the two of them was broken only by the moaning of the wind outside and the whispering of pages being turned.

Eventually, he fell asleep.

****

Finrod woke to find a blanket had been wrapped around him. It was full night now, the storm long passed, and stars shone serenely down while a crescent moon rode the sky. A single lamp was lit, casting a warm glow around the room and he was alone. He stood up and stretched, automatically folding the blanket. Laurendil walked in just then.

“Thought you might still be sleeping, Aranya,” he said. “I was sent to call you to dinner.”

“I just woke up,” Finrod said, feeling embarrassed. “I had not meant to sleep, and to sleep so long.”

“You wouldn’t have if you hadn’t needed it,” Laurendil said with a sympathetic look. “Trust your body.”

“I do not understand why it is taking me so long to heal from my wound. The physical wound is closed and yet there are times….”

“Your body suffered extreme trauma, something you have not experienced since your death. This body has never suffered any real wounds such as you got in the wars we fought in. And the manner of your injury I think shocked you even more than expected. Sword or arrow wounds you understand and can accept, but bullet wounds… that’s a whole other ballgame, as Kyle Stoner would say.”

Finrod grinned at his friend. “You are picking up the idioms better than I am.”

Laurendil shrugged. “When you are spending hours with Mortals, it rubs off on you.”

“I have not had the opportunity to do so,” Finrod said with a sigh. “The bookstore is not overrun by customers, not since my first few days there.”

“The novelty has worn off,” Laurendil said with a grin. “Why don’t you go wash up? I’ll let them know you’re coming down.”

Finrod nodded and Laurendil gave him a slight bow and turned to leave. Finrod stayed where he was for a few seconds, staring out into the night, thinking of what Laurendil had said, then he shook his head and made his way to the door, turning off the light as he went.

A few minutes later, having washed the sleep from his eyes, he was downstairs where people were bustling about putting food on the table and chatting about their day. Everyone looked up when he entered the dining room.

“Roasted chicken,” he said, sniffing the air. “Whose turn was it to cook?”

“Yours actually,” Glorfindel said with a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he placed a bowl of French green beans and slivered almonds on the table, “but you were otherwise occupied, so Daeron took over.”

“You should have woken me,” Finrod said with a scowl. “I really hate being treated like an invalid.”

“Fine,” Glorfindel said with a shrug, looking unconcerned. “Next time, I won’t be so solicitous of your health. You can help with the dishes afterwards if it’ll make you feel better.”

Finrod bit back a retort, taking a deep, centering breath. Everyone else had gone still and he realized they were waiting for a confrontation to erupt. He caught Glorfindel’s eye and in spite of the ellon’s seeming indifference, Finrod could see the actual worry in his gwador’s eyes. He gave him a sly look. “At least you threw a blanket over me instead of a bowl of cold water, for which I thank you.”

Glorfindel gave him a startled look and then burst out laughing. “It was Sador’s idea,” he said. “I was but the instrument of his thoughts. And you looked pretty ridiculous chasing me around the garden naked and dripping wet.”

Finrod noticed his son and niece goggling at him while others grinned at the image Glorfindel’s words evoked.

“I never did get my revenge,” Finrod said. “I was happily plotting it out when you left.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “One of us has lousy timing.” Now people were laughing and the atmosphere lightened considerably. He and Glorfindel exchanged knowing smiles.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Daeron said. “Shall we?”

“Yes, by all means, let us enjoy this lovely feast. Thank you, Daeron,” Finrod said, giving the ellon a gracious nod of his head.

As they began passing dishes, Finrod listened to the conversations around him. Laurendil, Manwen, Vardamir and the Twins were apparently discussing something to do with their medical studies. He knew that Gregory Harris and Kyle Stoner were pushing the healers through a crash course in medicine and medical techniques with the intention of having them take the medical boards later in the year so they could be certified to practice medicine in Alaska. Daeron was apparently helping by creating false records of university transcripts. It sounded rather complicated and he had asked Gregory Harris one time if it wouldn’t be simpler for the healers to attend university and achieve their credentials in the usual way. It might take nearly ten years, but that was nothing to the Elves.

“Dan and Roy are talking about doing just that as they have shown an interest in being surgeons which takes special training and I applaud their decision,” Harris had explained, “but the others are too new to these shores to safely pass as humans. They do not have even the basic knowledge of our culture that any recent immigrant would have from watching American TV shows and movies. Kyle and I are attempting to provide them with the necessary background so they can pass the boards. Afterwards, if any of them want to pursue more specialized branches of medicine, we’ll see about them getting the necessary education.”

Aldarion and Gilvagor, along with Eirien and Alphwen, were apparently discussing something called Etsy, with the ellith explaining its purpose and why it would be a good place to start in setting up the Elves’ crafts-selling ventures. Aldarion made a slightly disparaging remark about the quality of the workmanship of some of the crafts they had seen made by Mortals in local shops.

“Which is why we will not be competing with the people of Wiseman,” Finrod interjected firmly. “Their craftsmanship may not be up to our standards, but it is skillfully done and done with pride. Do not look down upon them, Aldarion. Arrogance on our part will only lead to hard feelings among the Mortals and that will defeat the very purpose of our being here. You are free to offer your assistance and knowledge, to teach them different techniques, but do not do so out of arrogance and a sense of superiority. Do it out of humility, knowing that you have as much to learn from them as they have from you. And that goes for everyone here.”

The room went still at Finrod’s reprimand. Aldarion looked abashed and would not meet anyone’s gaze. Glorfindel, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Finrod, lifted his wine glass in salute. “Hear, hear.”

Deciding to change the subject, Finrod glanced at Elladan and Elrohir. “Glorfindel tells me that he tried to convince you two to Sail but you refused. Is that true? What kept you from joining your family?”

The Twins stole glances at Glorfindel, who seemingly ignored them, concentrating on the food on his plate. Elladan turned his attention to Finrod. “Is that what he told you?” At Finrod’s nod, both twins sighed almost as one.

“Did he lie?” Finrod asked.

“No, not really,” Elrohir answered. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. There was Arwen and Estel to consider and their children and descendants. We felt obligated to watch over them, at least for a time. We promised our sister and our brother that we would. We always meant to Sail, sometime, but as the years and centuries passed, it just didn’t seem important anymore.”

“This world is the only one we knew,” Elladan put in. “It was our home and frankly I couldn’t see us living anywhere else. Yes, we missed our parents and our friends who had left, either by ship or by grave, and we would’ve enjoyed seeing them again, but then what?”

“What do you mean?” Finrod asked.

“We often talked about it,” Elrohir answered. “We wondered what we would do if we Sailed. What would our lives be like? From what we’d been told by Glorfindel, Valinor seems to be a rather idyllic place where little of import happens. Frankly, it sounds boring, and we don’t do boring. Never have and never will.”

“I can attest to that,” Daeron said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“As can I,” Glorfindel added.

“And I dread to think what would have happened to me had you Sailed,” Serindë said softly, standing next to Elrohir. “We would never have met and fallen in love.” Elrohir gave her a gentle smile and bent down to kiss her tenderly on the temple.

“What about the rest of you?” Finrod asked, looking about at the other Wiseman Elves. “What reasons did you have for not Sailing, other than the fact that you feared boredom to be your lot in life once you reached Valinor.”

Barahir, Gilvegil, Cennanion, Eirien and Alphwen all looked at each other and it was Gilvegil who spoke. “Well, beyond the fact that we’re all Sindar, though Daisy has Silvan blood in her as well, none of us fell victim to the Sea-longing and so we had no desire to Sail.”

“We talked about it, of course,” Alphwen put in, “but for some reason, we just never followed through with it.”

“You remember Denethor Mablungion?” Barahir asked, looking at Gilvegil and Cennanion. The two ellyn nodded. Barahir turned to the others. “It was near the end of the last ice age. We were all to the south, hiding in the Zagros Mountains, which are on the border between Iraq and Iran, in a region known today as Lorestan. Denethor came to us one day stating he had had a dream or a vision which he was convinced had been sent to him by the Belain, asking him to go in search of another, someone called the Exiled One. He tried to convince the rest of us to join him in his search. Some of us did, but the rest of us remained behind. We never did find out if they were successful in their search or not.”

“They were,” Finrod said. “They went in search of my cousin, Maglor, and rescued him. Eventually, they found their way to Valinor when the Straight Road opened once again at the end of the ice age.”

The Wiseman Elves all gave him startled looks. “You’ll have to tell us about it some time,” Glorfindel said and Finrod nodded.

“Well, I always felt guilty after they left,” Barahir said. “I felt… cowardly, hiding in the mountains. Around that time, Gil conceived the idea of leaving the mountains in search of adventure, as he put it. Conan, Daisy, Alfa and I joined him. We traveled far and wide and indeed had many adventures.”

“I had similar feelings of guilt after Denethor left,” Gilvegil explained. “One of the ellith who joined him in his expedition, her name was Glóredhel, well, she wanted me to go with her, but I didn’t.” He gave them an embarrassed look. “I have always regretted not going with her. You say she reached Valinor by ship?”

Finrod nodded, giving him a warm smile. “She is happily married to Maglor and they have been blessed with three beautiful children.” There were exclamations of surprise from the Wiseman Elves.

“Oh, I am so happy for her,” Gilvegil said with great feeling, tears running down his cheeks. “She deserved to be happy. I fear I could not give her what she wished.” Brethorn, who was next to him, reached over and gave him a hug in comfort.

“Do not be distraught, my friend,” Finrod said kindly. “She is well and happy, and I think I am beginning to see a pattern. You all talked about Sailing but in the end something kept you from following through. I think perhaps you were inspired by the Valar to remain here, to live among the Mortals until such time as you were able to come together here in Wiseman.”

“Do you think so?” Daeron asked. “Could the Valar have been so far-sighted as to plan for all of this that long ago? I find it hard to believe.”

“I cannot say,” Finrod admitted. “I do know that they often make contingency plans, as they put it. In speaking with the Valar, I sometimes have the feeling that some of those plans have been in the making since the creation of Eä, others are more spur-of-the-moment. At any rate, it seems to me that you remained behind because it was what Eru wished and that is all that matters, I think.”

“It does feel as if we’re being manipulated though,” Glorfindel said. “I really tire of it.”

“I know, but, as Fionwë pointed out to me just today, Eru Ilúvatar moves us as He wills across the cosmic chessboard, for He is the chess master, not us. That is a direct quote, by the way.”

“What else did he have to say?” Glorfindel asked. “You never really gave me any details.”

“He reminded me that there was a spiritual facet to this war and that he and his fellow Maiar are attempting to win the souls of the Mortals to our cause. All that they do is for that purpose and we have no right to object to what they do to secure that allegiance even if we feel we are being coerced into certain kinds of actions or situations, like my feeling of being driven to go to St. Mary’s and then afterward to stop at the Hickory Street New Jerusalem Gospel Church, where I met Josiah Makepeace.”

“I like Josiah,” Cennanion said. “He’s a good Man with a great sense of humor, and his son, Marcus, is a chip off the old block.”

“Josiah’s sermon was about loving one’s enemies and praying for them,” Finrod said carefully, not looking at anyone in particular. “He declared me an enemy and then told the people that that meant that they had to love me and pray for me and in doing so, they would find that I was not an enemy after all, but a friend.” He glanced up, giving Glorfindel a wicked look. “I told him afterwards that it was a good thing it was I who was there. If it had been you, the church would no longer be standing.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, in my younger days, that might have been true. These days, I simply wouldn’t have put anything into the collection plate.”

The other Wiseman Elves all laughed at that, well aware of Glorfindel’s many charitable contributions to the local community. When one of the Valinórean Elves asked what a collection plate was, Daeron gave a quick explanation and then the conversation drifted into other areas of interest and concern among the Elves as they continued eating, the atmosphere relaxed.

****

Aranya: (Quenya): My king; Laurendil’s usual form of address to Finrod.

Belain: (Sindarin) Plural of Balan: Vala.