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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

65: Counseling Session

They arrived at Edhellond to find Vorondur waiting for them in the library. He took one look at Elladan and smiled. “You okay?”

“I’ll live,” the ellon replied with a shrug, “and if you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.”

Elrohir groaned, slapping his brother on the back of his head. “Considering that the ‘other guy’ is standing right here without a scratch on him, that’s pretty lame, Brother,” he said.

“It was worth a try,” Elladan retorted.

“We need to get to the bottom of this, Ron,” Glorfindel said, quelling the Twins with a grimace that clearly said, ‘Not now’. “Finrod thinks Alex was channeling Beren, but it might have been Bregdal.”

“Or it might have just been me,” Alex exclaimed hotly. “I might have simply lost it.”

“Except you were speaking Sindarin and apologizing to Finrod for failing to save him,” Glorfindel shot back.

“Alex became very agitated only when Dan and Roy began sparring with Finrod together,” Valandur explained to Vorondur. “Up until then, they had been taking turns. When they began attacking Finrod at the same time, Alex protested that it was unfair. I found it a rather childish remark on his part.”

“Hey! I’m right here,” Alex protested.

“Yes, you are,” Vorondur said. “The rest of you may leave.”

There was a hesitant moment on the part of the others, as if they were not sure they had heard him correctly.

“Ah… shouldn’t we stay and—” Glorfindel started to say but Vorondur shook his head.

“If I need you, I’ll call you. Off you go now. I want to speak with Alex alone.”

“We could’ve just brought him over to your place, then,” Glorfindel protested.

“Perhaps, but Alex is staying here for now and I thought he would prefer to be in more familiar surroundings.”

“Come, gwador,” Finrod said before Glorfindel could respond. “Let us go make some tea.” He turned to Vorondur, speaking in Quenya. “Alex seemed to be in a blood trance, but Glorfindel insists that no Mortal has ever suffered it.”

“Not the blood trance, no, but they have been known to suffer something similar to it,” Vorondur replied in the same language. “Thank you. Now out, all of you. Shoo!” He flicked his fingers at them and the Twins rolled their eyes. Glorfindel looked unconvinced, but Finrod took him by the arm and led him out with Valandur shooing the sons of Elrond in front of him so that he was the last to exit, giving Alex an encouraging smile before closing the door, leaving him alone with Vorondur.

For a long moment, Elf and Mortal stood staring at one another. “You couldn’t wait until our Friday session?” Vorondur asked with a smile.

Alex felt both embarrassed and angry. “It’s not like I planned it, for heaven’s sake!” he shot back. “And I don’t care what you say, Ron. I’m possessed or something and I want whoever the hell is inside me to go away. I’m not Beren or Bregdal or anyone else except me!”

“Calm down, Alex,” Vorondur said.

“I am calm!” Alex nearly shouted. “Trust me when I say that if I weren’t you’d know it.”

“Why don’t we sit and talk about it?” Vorondur suggested quietly.

“You want me on the couch? If you start asking me if I hate my mother or anything stupid—”

“Alex, why are you so hostile?”

“Who says I am?”

For a moment, Vorondur did not speak, merely gazing at the Mortal who stood there steaming, his fists clenched, his breathing shallow and somewhat ragged. “Sit wherever you please,” he finally said.

Alex remained standing for a moment and then simply plopped onto the floor, crossing his legs and giving the Elf a smug look. Vorondur simply nodded, as if it were the most natural thing to have a patient sitting on the floor. When he did not respond otherwise, Alex’s smug look faded. Vorondur went to the fireplace and poked the fire up a bit, adding another log as he spoke.

“Tell me what you were feeling before you attacked Dan,” he said, turning to face the Mortal, sitting on the hearth with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped before him with his thumbs under his chin. Alex shifted around to face him, his expression one of puzzlement.

“You’re not going to tell me I’m being childish and that I should grow up?”

“Well, since you just said it yourself, I don’t see the point,” Vorondur replied. “You may act any way you please. I am neither your mother nor your lover, so acting out in front of me is not going to get you the response you’re looking for. Val’s comment about sounding childish to him obviously upset you.”

“I wasn’t being childish and it was unfair, I don’t care what they say,” Alex retorted. “They were deliberately ganging up on Finrod, pushing him into a corner.”

“Have you ever been ganged up on?” Vorondur asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Alex, not having actually witnessed what happened, I may be assuming too much, but it sounds as if you were identifying with Finrod at that moment, that it was not he who was outnumbered, but you. Have you ever been outnumbered?”

“Every time I infiltrated a terrorist group I was automatically outnumbered,” Alex said with something of a sneer.

“That’s not what I mean,” Vorondur said with a shake of his head. “I’m speaking of being cornered. When was the last time you felt yourself being cornered?”

Alex went completely still and the blood rushed from his face. “Spain,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Alex shook his head. “Nothing to tell,” and he deliberately turned away, wrapping his arms around his knees, hiding his face.

Vorondur stood and went to Alex, kneeling behind him, his hands on the Mortal’s shoulders. “Alex, tell me what happened in Spain,” he said softly.

“No,” came the muffled reply.

“Tell me, please,” Vorondur pleaded.

“No!”

“Shh… tell me. Tell me what happened,” Vorondur whispered. “Artemus, a nyarë nin!”

Alex shuddered, but whether at the sound of his old name or at the commanding tone, Vorondur did not know. The Mortal gave a gasp and Vorondur held him closely, offering him his support. “What happened, child?” he whispered into Alex’s ear. “What happened in Spain?”

Alex started rocking back and forth, a sob escaping from him and his shoulders shook as he wept. Vorondur said nothing, just held him and let him have his own way. Eventually he began to calm down and Vorondur stood up, pulling the Mortal up with him. “Let’s come over here by the fire and sit,” he said solicitously and led an unprotesting Alex to the hearth, grabbing an oversize pillow for Alex to sit on. The warmth of the fire seemed to help and Alex sighed somewhat as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Vorondur went over to the desk and brought back a box of tissues for him and then he hunkered down before the Mortal, sitting on his haunches. His expression was both sympathetic and clinical.

“Tell me what happened in Spain,” he said.

Alex blew his nose and threw the tissue into the fireplace before turning to face Vorondur, though his eyes were somewhat unfocused, as if he were seeing something that was not there. “It was a few years after Amroth supposedly died. I’d had several overseas assignments in the meantime and had just been stationed in Madrid. I was part of a team that was cooperating with the Spanish government in trying to contain some of their more radical terrorist groups. This was a few years before 9/11, you have to understand, but even then there were signs that something big was going down. Everyone thought it would happen somewhere in Europe. No one in the intelligence community ever contemplated that the attack would occur in America.”

Vorondur nodded. “So you were in Madrid,” was his only comment, steering Alex back to the original topic.

“I was the new kid on the block,” Alex said with a nod, “and the youngest, both in age and in experience, but my language skills were highly sought after and my fluency in Spanish was what got me the post. For the first couple of months, I barely left the compound, though my boss at the time insisted I get out and mingle with the natives once in a while. He wouldn’t let me leave the city, though, not until I’d been there for about three-four months. Then he began encouraging me to take weekend trips to nearby towns, like Avila and Toledo. I was there maybe six months before I made it to Granada. I wanted to especially visit the Alhambra and the Generalife gardens.”

Vorondur nodded again. “A beautiful place. Holly, Sarah and I were living there in the thirteenth century, enjoying the hospitality of the Sultan of Granada.”

“Oh,” Alex said, looking somewhat nonplused.

Vorondur gave him a smile. “Go on.”

“Huh? Oh, ah, yeah, so anyway, as soon as I got the green light, I lit out for Granada. I had a three-day pass. Got there late on Friday and spent Saturday touring the city in the morning and then after the siesta I went to the Alhambra and eventually made my way into the gardens. Even though it was mid-December, I was walking around in shirtsleeves it was so warm.” He paused for a moment and chuckled slightly. “I remember thinking how back home in New Hampshire they were probably battling snow and ice and I felt… superior or something, like, those poor fools, you know?”

“Yes, I do, and you’re stalling,” Vorondur said, still in his crouch and he looked as if he could remain there for hours if necessary.

“Who’s telling this story?” Alex shot back, but there was nothing acrimonious about his tone. When Vorondur did not respond, he shrugged. “So I was wandering around the gardens. Got to the Riad, you know, the courtyard with all the fountains, and I was standing there admiring them when I realized that I wasn’t alone.”

“You were the only one in the gardens?”

“No, not really. I’d come across some elderly Americans and a gaggle of Japanese, but you know how huge those gardens are. I was essentially by myself, but then, I wasn’t, and I knew without knowing how I knew, that the three guys who were entering the Riad from three different directions were not there for the twenty peseta tour.”

He stopped for a moment, his eyes not seeing the library but someplace else, someplace distant in time and space. “I tried to ignore them, thinking that I was mistaken. Even so, I was mentally castigating myself for being so careless as to position myself so there was no way to move away. I had a fountain at my back and I certainly could have escaped that way but how would I explain it to the guards at the entrance, showing up all wet?”

“Who were the men, do you know?”

“Agents for someone, I never learned. They weren’t Russians. They looked Spanish. Could’ve been Basques. All I know is that they converged on me and one of them addressed me in English. His accent was clipped and it had British overtones so I think he either went to school in England or had lived there for a long time….

“So, the American spy come to admire our gardens,” one of the men said with a sneer.

“Lo siento, señor, pero no hablo iñgles,” Alex said, evincing an innocent look.

“Don’t play games with me, boy,” the man retorted. “Now, come with us and I promise we won’t hurt you… much.”

“And if I refuse?” Alex asked, switching to English, gauging his chances of escaping unscathed, but he was unarmed and there were three of them and he suspected that they were carrying concealed weapons.

“I don’t think that is an option, kid,” the man said, almost kindly, and then he nodded and all three of them came at Alex at once….

“I managed to throw the closest one to me into the fountain,” Alex explained. He shook his head. “Man, I was so scared. I was young enough and new enough to the Game that dying was something that still frightened me and all I could think of was my mom and how devastated she would be. For some reason, they never pulled their weapons. I don’t know why. All I do know is that when I left the gardens it was with one of them dead and the other two unconscious. I remember afterwards looking at the body of the one floating face down in the fountain and it was so unreal. It was the first time.” He gave Vorondur a piercing look. “Do you understand? It was… it was my first kill. When I realized what I had done, I got violently sick. And then, I calmly walked away, made my way back to the entrance, spoke to the guards on the beauty of the gardens, as if I hadn’t just killed another human being, and went back to my hotel, where I took a long, hot shower, which was really stupid, considering that the two who were still alive would probably come after me, but I felt so unclean, I couldn’t stand myself.”

He shrugged, pausing, but when Vorondur did not comment, he continued his tale. “Anyway, as soon as I’d taken my shower, I checked out. I’d driven down from Madrid, but I did not trust being alone on the road, so I left my car where it was, hailed a taxi and had it take me to the airport. I was able to get the next flight to Madrid and as soon as I got back I reported to my superiors. Two days later, I was back in the States.”

For several minutes, Vorondur did not speak, contemplating all that Alex had told him (and not told him). Alex continued sitting, though somewhat restlessly, drumming his hands on his knees. Finally, Vorondur gracefully moved out of his crouch and sat in one of the chairs facing Alex.

“Did you ever learn the reason for what happened?” he asked.

“No and I was so pissed. Somehow I’d been made and to this day I have no idea how or who. My work in Spain was clandestine but I was doing mostly analysis work. My boss hadn’t actually let me go into the field yet. I told you it was my language skills that got me the post, not my more, shall we say, James Bondian skills. That came later, much later.”

“What do you remember of your attacking Dan?” Vorondur asked.

Alex blinked at the sudden shifting of topics but answered readily enough. “We were sitting there and at first it was interesting to see them fighting Finrod one at a time and I was wondering how long Finrod could keep it up because I could see he was tiring. Loren even commented on it. I figured eventually he would call it quits, but then both Twins began fighting him at the same time and it just seemed so unfair. They knew he was still recovering and that he wasn’t at full strength, but they kept pushing him and not giving him a break.”

“Do you think Finrod would have called it quits if he thought he could not continue?”

“Don’t know. I certainly would have, or at least I would hope I had the sense God gave to jello to know my own limitations. Loren even told Finrod not to be a hero.”

“So, what happened next? Do you remember?”

“Not really,” Alex admitted. “All I remember feeling was… I don’t know… pissed off at the Twins for ganging up on Finrod?”

“You identified with Finrod?”

“I must’ve.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Only that I don’t really remember much after that. My next clear memory is finding myself on my back and staring up into Finrod’s eyes. I know I said something in Sindarin. Not sure what exactly, and then I passed out. When I came to again, I really had no idea what had happened. Ron, this has to stop. I can’t live this way. Whoever is possessing me I want him out of my life. I have enough baggage just from this lifetime alone without having to haul someone else’s baggage who died gazillion years ago.”

“I told you before that you are not possessed,” Vorondur said. “I think you are somehow tapping into some very deep genetic memories. There is a connection between you and Beren, I think, centered around Finrod.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because you pleaded for forgiveness from Finrod and the last two times you were tapping into memories of two who were also connected to Finrod at the time of his death.”

“Beren I could almost see, but why this Bregdal? Who was he?”

“The youngest of those who followed Finrod to their doom,” Vorondur said softly. “I tried to persuade him not to go, but he was adamant.”

“Did you turn away from Finrod, too?”

Vorondur gave him a grim smile. “I have done many things for which I am not proud, however, we are not here to discuss my foibles, but to learn why you are reacting as you do. Finrod, I think, is the key. Beren was to be the next victim of the werewolf. It is obvious, at least to me, that Sauron was saving Finrod for something worse than death, killing his companions one-by-one to bring him to a state of terror and despair. But Finrod foiled whatever plans Sauron had for him by sacrificing himself for Beren. I’m sure Beren felt much guilt over Finrod’s death, wishing he could have saved him.”

“But Finrod fighting against the Twins isn’t the same thing as confronting a werewolf,” Alex pointed out.

“No, but somehow you identified with Finrod at that point and your memories of what happened to you in Spain became mixed up with Beren’s sense of helplessness in watching Finrod fight against the werewolf, at which point you attacked Dan, obviously with the intention of saving Finrod,” Vorondur said.

“It still doesn’t compute,” Alex insisted. “The one has nothing to do with the other.”

“So you would think, and on the surface what you say is true, but I have a feeling you haven’t told me everything about what went down in Spain, have you?”

Alex went still, his expression haunted. “No, and I never will,” he whispered.

“Fair enough,” Vorondur said with a nod. “I cannot force you to tell me anything and I respect your right to keep some things to yourself, but I would remind you that doing so can cause you problems later on. Alex, that Agency screwed you up big time. They did their level best to destroy whatever goodness resides within you.”

Alex shrugged. “Goes with the territory.”

“Perhaps, but you have to admit that had you never joined them, your life would be much different than it is now. You would be a different person altogether. I am not saying that who you are now is a bad thing. We are all products of our past and in spite of all the horrors I’ve lived through, in spite of all the pain and hurt I’ve suffered, when I think back on my life and see who I was and who I have become, I cannot imagine being anyone or anything else. The same needs to be true for you, for all of us. You need to accept who and what you are if you hope to move forward.”

“Who am I then?” Alex demanded. “My mom still calls me Artemus. Everyone here calls me Alex, but then I’m apparently Beren or Bregdal or whoever. Am I suffering from a personality disorder or something?”

“No, Alex, you are not. You’ve played so many roles over the last fifteen or so years, many of them, from what you’ve bothered to tell me, not very nice people to know, and that has to affect you on some level. If you wallow in muck, it’s going to stick to you, and that’s what has happened with your soul or spirit or whatever you want to call it. You have been perilously close to going over to the dark side, to borrow a phrase. It is only by Eru’s good graces that you have not succumbed.”

“So what do I do? How do I control this zoning out? I can’t afford to get sucked into that kind of emotional black hole, not with Farrell out there stalking me.”

“Think of the different personalities as pieces in a puzzle that you have to put together to make whole. When you have learned to accept these different pieces of your life, then you can draw on their strengths when needed.”

“So there’s no chance of putting the genie back in the bottle, is there?”

“No. I’m afraid not. When you died, something happened. Perhaps it was planned, perhaps it was just an accident, but something, a racial memory, call it what you will, suddenly became accessible to you. You can look at it one of two ways: either as a curse or a blessing.”

“Right now it’s a damn curse,” Alex snarled.

“Then I think we need to work on turning it into a blessing if we can, but that is your decision. I cannot and will not dictate to you. I will help you all that I can, we all will, but you need to want to make the integration work. You’ve come far in these last few weeks, but there is still more to do, if you are willing to work at it. Think about it and you can let me know later.”

Alex sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Will I ever be able to control this… this zoning out or whatever it is?”

“Only time will tell,” Vorondur said. “Now, I think we’re done here, unless there is anything else you want to discuss.”

Alex shook his head. “No, I think I want to lie down for a bit. I’m feeling suddenly tired.”

“It’s been a very emotional couple of hours for you,” Vorondur said sympathetically, standing. Alex joined him. “Go take your nap. I’ll tell the others you’re not to be disturbed. If you need me, call me, otherwise, I’ll see you again on Friday at our usual time. You can tell me then your decision of how you want things to go from here on out.”

The two made their way out of the library. Vorondur watched the Mortal head up the hall and climb the stairs before heading in the opposite direction to the kitchen where he found Glorfindel, Finrod and Valandur.

“Alex?” Glorfindel asked.

“Gone to take a nap,” Vorondur answered. “What about Dan and Roy?”

“Dan’s in healing sleep,” Glorfindel replied. “Roy insisted. He and Sarah are up in the sunroom, I think.”

“We heard shouting and then it got very quiet,” Valandur said.

Vorondur shrugged, going to the counter to pour himself some coffee. “It happens. Patients do get upset sometimes.”

“And you’re not going to tell us what happened or anything, are you?” Glorfindel said with a knowing look.

Vorondur shook his head. “No. You know that I can’t. What I will tell you is that Alex is likely to become even more dangerous than he already is and we need to keep a close eye on him. We also need to deal with Farrell sooner rather than later. I have a feeling his stalking Alex is dredging up memories Alex would rather not face again. Things are slipping out, as it were. This afternoon’s incident is but one example.”

“I have half the Elves out there hunting down clues,” Glorfindel said with a scowl. “Every blessed tracker and hunter we have is out there. So far, nada.”

“Give it time,” Vorondur said. “Someone’s bound to find some clue as to Farrell’s whereabouts.”

“What about Alex?” Finrod asked. “Who was he at the end?”

“Who do you think he was?” Vorondur asked.

“I… I do not know,” Finrod replied hesitantly. “Bregdal was one of the first to die. In the darkness all we heard were screams. When it became quiet again, I would do a roll call to learn who had been the next victim.” He glanced over at Vorondur and seeing the stricken look on the ellon’s face, he rose and went to him, placing his hands on Vorondur’s shoulders. “Your nephew died bravely. None of them betrayed me. And now he lives again, whole and happy, surrounded by a loving family. His death was but a momentary interruption of his life, taking up only a few centuries. Keep that ever in your mind.”

Vorondur nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Finrod reached over and planted a kiss of benediction on Vorondur’s forehead before releasing him. Vorondur drained his mug and set it on the counter. “I’d better be going. If you need to, call me, but hopefully things will remain quiet. Alex will meet again with me on Friday.”

“What do we do in the meantime?” Glorfindel asked.

“Continue as you have. Is Finlay still here as well?”

“Yes. He seems reluctant to leave just yet and Sakari is such a sweet child, so wide-eyed and eager, that we love having her around, so we’re in no hurry to kick them out.” Glorfindel flashed him a bright smile.

“As if you would ever do anything so crass,” Vorondur said. “Okay, good. I do not know Edward well, but he appears to have been less corrupted by his work as an intelligence agent than most, I think, and perhaps his being here will help Alex come to terms with his darker nature.”

“So we tell him what happened?” Valandur asked.

“You might as well,” Vorondur answered. “He’ll hear about it anyway. Okay, I’m out of here. Call me if you need me, but I sincerely hope you don’t.”

“Amen to that, Ron,” Glorfindel said fervently. “I’ll see you out.” The others gave Vorondur their good-byes and then he and Glorfindel left. A few minutes later Glorfindel returned and the three resumed their conversation. They were still at it twenty minutes later (Glorfindel was busy putting together some chili for the night’s dinner) when they heard screaming.

“That was Alex!” Valandur exclaimed as they all rushed out of the kitchen together.

****

A nyarë nin!: (Quenya) ‘Tell me!’

Lo siento, señor, pero no hablo iñgles: (Spanish) ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t speak English’.





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