75: Gareth

Gareth was as mesmerized by Finrod’s harp playing and singing as Alex was and sat in the library among the other Elves feeling very young, something he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time, not since the day he had watched a childhood friend die of old age surrounded by his children and grandchildren and he himself looked no different than he had forty years earlier. It was the first time that he truly understood how different he and his family were from everyone else around them and why they were constantly moving from one village to another, from one kingdom to another.

He had been living in Caerdyf when he received word from Arwyn ap Rhys that he was dying and wished to see him. Over the years, they had managed to keep in contact with infrequent letters but Gareth had never gone back to Llanfair in the Kingdom of Gwent. Gwyn and their parents had counseled against him going, but Gareth felt obligated to go, and yet he knew that he could not go as himself. He should have been as old as Arwyn by then, and he was, but he looked no different than he had when he turned twenty. And so, he traveled, not as Gareth ap Hywel, but as Gareth ap Ninian ap Gareth, his own grandson, pretending that ‘Grandfather Gareth’ had died unexpectedly the month before. It was the first (though not the last) time he had ever done such a thing, and he had not liked how it had made him feel.

Arwyn, though, knew the truth, and when they were alone together, they spent that precious hour speaking of their childhood in Llanfair. The meeting had been bittersweet but Gareth had never really regretted it. Over the ensuing centuries he had sat by the deathbeds of many a Mortal friend and each parting was as a nail slammed into his heart and he wondered that his parents, surviving through the millennia as they had, had not gone insane. Yet, somehow, they all managed to hold on to hope that there was a reason for them being there, watching the Mortals be born and die while they remained the same.

Now, looking around the library at these ancient beings, the youngest older than his parents by several millennia, he felt a sense of homecoming and wished he could remain there always. But Gwyn was waiting for him to return and he did have his own life, a good life, and he realized he was not ready to give it up, not yet, not entirely. It was enough to know that there were others of his kind and they were only a half a day’s drive away.

Yet, he still felt… young before these Elves. He could see the ancientness in their eyes. Glorfindel and Finrod and a few others had a light about them that was different from the others and Daeron had to explain that it was the memory of the Light of the Two Trees that he was seeing when he asked about it. He knew about the Two Trees and to be in the same room as those who had seen them with their own eyes was daunting. He still found it difficult to look them in the eyes, especially Finrod, his boyhood hero.

“So what do you think?”

Gareth blinked, suddenly realizing that the impromptu concert was over and people were milling about. Alex and Valandur, he saw were wishing people good-night. He looked over at Haldir, who had asked the question.

“Sorry?”

“Some of us are going to the Blue Petrel for a drink. We wondered if you wanted to join us.”

Gareth glanced around the room. Finrod and Glorfindel were speaking with Daeron, Vorondur and Amroth, while Ercassë and Nimrodel were visiting with Helyanwë and Melyanna. Others were leaving, including Prince Legolas and Beleg. Erestor and Lindorillë were helping to clear away the dessert dishes and coffee mugs along with Mithrellas and Serindë. The sons of Elrond had left some time ago for their shift at the hospital. Gareth realized Haldir was waiting for an answer and nodded.

“Sure, I’d love to,” he said, though in truth, what he wanted to do was to hang about with Finrod and Glorfindel, even if only on the periphery. He wanted to bask in their light, and that was just plain daft, as his father would say. He shook his head and stood up. “Just let me freshen up a bit and I’ll be right down.”

“Take your time,” Haldir said. “Gil and Conan have to warm up their cars. We’re going to drive over, rather than walk. It’ll be quicker. The bar will be closing in about four hours.”

Gareth nodded, took one more longing look at where Finrod and Glorfindel were standing side-by-side laughing at something Daeron had said, and then left. Five minutes later, he was joining several others, a mix of Wiseman and Valinórean Elves, as they set off for the bar. Gareth happened to be riding in Gilvegil’s car along with Haldir, Barahir and Eirien; Alphwen, Aldarion, Gilvagor and Thandir were riding with Cennanion. It did not take them long to reach the Blue Petrel and soon they were seated in a corner with their drinks. Gareth was reminded of the get-togethers with Gwyn and the fighters from the barony at Molly Malone’s back in Fairbanks and decided to enjoy the companionship of his fellow Elves and not wish he were sitting at the feet of Finrod or Glorfindel.

The conversation at the table was conducted in softly-spoken Sindarin, rather than English, which had been spoken at Edhellond. Finrod’s rule about only speaking English within the walls of Edhellond still stood, so the Elves perforce had to go outside its walls to speak in their own tongues. Gareth was abashed to realize that his command of Sindarin was not as fluent as he thought and he actually spoke in a dialect that was somewhat archaic-sounding to the others.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gilvegil told him kindly. “When this lot showed up,” he nodded to the Valinórean Elves, “we discovered that we spoke in a slightly different dialect of Sindarin and Quenya from them, due to having been isolated from our kind for so long. Even when we joined with Glorfindel and his crew, we discovered that we weren’t speaking quite the same language. Glorfindel and the others who came with him to Wiseman spoke almost pure Noldorin, the Sindarin dialect of Imladris, while we spoke a form that was closer to that spoken in Lothlórien.” He nodded to Cennanion, Alphwen, Eirien and Barahir.

“And those of us from Valinor were speaking what Valandur calls Beleriandaic, a dialect of Sindarin that is a blend of North Sindarin, spoken primarily by the Exiles, and Doriathrin,” Aldarion added. “And Legolas of Gondolin says that Glorfindel sometimes slips and speaks in the dialect that evolved in Gondolin, isolated as it was from the rest of Beleriand. Yet, we are all comprehensible to one another.”

“We are, to borrow a phrase, a people divided by a common language,” Alphwen quipped and everyone laughed.

“Nana and Ada were so shocked when we told them about you,” Gareth said with an impish grin that made him look even younger than he was. “You should have seen their faces when we introduced them to Amroth. I think it is the first time I ever saw Ada at a loss for words.”

The others grinned back.

“It was quite a shock for us when we discovered that there were other Elves living in Middle-earth,” Barahir said. “When we showed up at Edhellond and Glorfindel greeted us in Sindarin, we all just about burst into tears.” Cennanion, Alphwen, Eirien and Gilvegil all nodded.

“Do you think there are others out there?” Gareth asked.

“So we’ve been told by the Belain,” Gilvegil replied. “We have been told that we will find them when the time is right, just as, apparently, Elladan and Elrohir found you and your brother. There was a sizeable community of us living in the Zagros Mountains during and after the last ice age. We five left and wandered the world, others may have done the same rather than fading as so many had done over the long years.”

Gareth took a sip of his Guinness and pondered Gilvegil’s words. “My parents never speak of that time. Neither Gwyn nor I really know what they experienced or endured through the long years until they ended up in Wales and decided to remain there. We knew they originally came from the Zagros Mountains. When Gwyn and I went on Crusade, we traveled into that region hoping to find some trace of others of our kind but we never did. Frankly, I don’t think either of us really knew what signs to look for so the evidence could have been staring us in the face and we never knew.”

“Do not concern yourself, child,” Cennanion said kindly. “Any trace of our people would have disappeared millennia before you and your brother ever came there. I am not surprised you found no sign of them. But let us speak of the present rather than the past.” He switched to English. “How are we doing in finding a suitable location for our zombie hunter boot camp?”

The discussion that followed was lively and full of laughter and Gareth was pleased when one of the others asked him for his input, recognizing that Gareth, like the Wiseman Elves, had the necessary experience in dealing with Mortals that the Valinórean Elves still lacked. It did not surprise Gareth at all that their group was the last to leave the bar when it closed.

****

Gareth joined the other Elves in seeing Finlay and Sakari off when they left around six. They would be heading for Deadhorse where they would catch the plane to Barrow and then continue on to the village by dog sled, as there were no roads and the sea was still frozen, so they could not go by boat. Everyone wished them a safe journey and good luck. Finlay appeared more content about leaving civilization than he had even the day before and Gareth suspected it was because of Sakari and the coming baby. The Elves all laughingly assured Finlay that it was still too early in the pregnancy for them to determine the baby’s gender.

“Unless you bring Sakari back to Wiseman in a few months and have her take an ultrasound scan, you’ll just have to content yourself with picking out two names, one for each gender,” Glorfindel told the Mortal.

“You know, I just might do that,” Finlay said. “The conditions in that village are pretty poor and there is no doctor closer than Barrow, just Sakari’s dad and one of the aunties who acts as a midwife. I don’t like the idea of the baby being born in those conditions. You might well see us in the summer. I’d feel better knowing Sakari has the best of care.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Glorfindel said. “Just remember, those villagers have managed to survive and flourish for centuries. Sakari comes from strong stock. Now, you’d best be off. There’s the possibility of snow in the Atigun Pass later today so you want to get through the mountains before then.”

Finlay nodded and climbed into the jeep with Sakari, and then they were waving as they drove off. Gareth joined the others for breakfast and then later, with nothing else to do, he retired to the library with his laptop and opened up a chat with Gwyn who, by then, was on campus where he now worked in the bursar’s office, having gotten the position about five years ago. Gareth himself now worked as a paralegal in a Fairbanks law office run by one of their friends from the barony. He caught his brother up on the news in Wiseman and asked about how things were in Fairbanks.

“Much the same,” Gwyn told him. “When do you think you can get back?”

“Not sure. The Yukon is still running high but hopefully soon. I don’t have that much vacation time left and I’d been planning to go to Vancouver this summer, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure we can work something out,” Gwyn said. “What’s it like to be surrounded by your own kind?”

“Weird and great all at the same time. I can’t wait for Mam and Da to come over to meet them.”

“Working on it. I think I can convince them to come for the wedding. Oops! Have to run. I’ll chat with you later tonight, okay?”

“Yeah, say around eight, or no, there’s the arts and science meeting at the barony tonight, isn’t there? So, make it around ten then.”

“Ten it is. Bye for now, little brother. Don’t get into any trouble I can’t get you out of.”

“Same to you, brother mine.” Gareth closed the chat window and spent a couple of minutes checking his email and, finding nothing that he needed to deal with immediately, shut off the laptop and sat wondering what he was going to do next. He hated this enforced inactivity. Finally he decided to go out and take a walk, maybe wander around the town, stop at the bookstore to say hello to Finrod, maybe have some lunch at the café. Man, he was so bored.

The walk actually helped and by the time he reached the town square he was feeling more himself. Sudden shyness kept him standing outside the bookstore and he was about to turn around and leave when Finrod happened to come to the window to adjust the display and saw him. The Elf-lord smiled and gestured for him to come inside, so Gareth did.

“Why were you standing outside like that, child?” Finrod asked kindly as Gareth closed the door.

“I… I didn’t want to disturb you… my lord,” Gareth replied, not looking at Finrod directly.

“Gareth, look at me,” Finrod commanded gently.

Gareth raised his eyes to see Finrod smiling at him fondly. “I am being paid to be disturbed, in case you had forgotten why I work here.” Finrod made a gesture that encompassed the store and Gareth realized they were alone. “Also, I am grateful for the company. Nicholas is running errands at the moment and we haven’t had a customer all morning except for the person who brings our mail and Mike cannot stay long since he has other deliveries to make. Would you care for some coffee or tea?”

“Ah, oh, coffee sounds grand,” Gareth said. “Here, I can get it, my lord.”

“No you will not,” Finrod said firmly, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “That is my job. You go sit before the fire and get warm, and stop calling me ‘my lord’. It’s Finrod, or if you prefer, Quinn.”

“Yes sir,” Gareth said quietly and did as he’d been told, taking one of the overstuffed chairs.

“How do you like your coffee?” Finrod asked as he headed for the back room.

“Cream, no sugar, please,” Gareth answered.

In a moment, Finrod returned with two mugs, handing one to Gareth, who thanked him. Finrod sat in the rocking chair facing him.

“You are bored,” the Elf-lord said.

Gareth nearly choked on the coffee he was drinking, not expecting Finrod to say what he had. “Is it that obvious?” he asked with some chagrin. He felt even younger than before.

“To me,” Finrod responded with a smile. “I doubt any Mortal would notice. You do not comport yourself as Elves generally do.”

“And how would I know?” Gareth shot back with more anger than he had intended. “Except for Gwyn and our parents, I’ve never known any other Elves. I’ve lived my entire life among Mortals. My playmates as a child were all Mortals. I’ve worked and fought beside Mortals. Until a few weeks ago, I probably even thought like a Mortal. I certainly haven’t had any experience in how Elves think or feel or anything.” There was a trace of bitterness in his words.

For a moment, Finrod sat there contemplating the younger ellon. Gareth busied himself with drinking his coffee and staring at the electric fire, wishing he were back in Fairbanks among his friends, his Mortal friends. He sighed slightly, wondering if, having lived among Mortals all his life, he were truly an Elf in anything except in name.

“You have no need to apologize, Gareth,” Finrod said quietly.

Gareth looked up to see nothing but compassion in the Elf-lord’s eyes and felt even more abashed. “Diheno nîn, hir nîn,” he said softly.

“There is nothing to forgive, child,” Finrod said kindly, “and I thought I told you to drop the ‘my lord’.

“It just doesn’t seem… right, though,” Gareth said plaintively. “If my Mam knew I was being anything less than respectful to someone like you, she would have my guts for garters.”

Finrod laughed, giving him a merry look. “And my mother would do the same to me if she thought I was so arrogant as to lord it over others just because my name is Findaráto Arafinwion, haryon to the Noldóran.” He shook his head, leaning forward in a confidential manner.

“There are too few of us here to bother with such formalities, Gareth. In the eyes of Mortals we are all equals, at least in status, if not in experience. My son, Findalaurë, for instance, has less experience in living than you do, even if he is several millennia older. In many ways, you and your family are far superior to me and the others who came with me, for you have a breadth of knowledge in living among Mortals than even I, for all that I lived with Bëor and his people for an entire year of the Sun. Indeed, I think you and Gwyn are even superior to Glorfindel and the other Wiseman Elves in that regard, because, while they lived among Mortals, they rarely interacted with them to the degree that you and Gwyn seem to have.”

“We had only each other,” Gareth said. “That makes for a lonely life when I only speak to my brother and my brother only speaks to God, to borrow a phrase about certain families in Boston.”

Finrod grinned. “I can imagine and I do not fault you or your brother. You have done well, but I think that you have adopted the… time sense of Mortals, knowing no better.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Gareth admitted, giving Finrod a puzzled look.

“We Elves, being immortal, have a different sense of time, or a different sense of the passing of time, than Mortals. For us, the days go so swiftly and we count, not in years, but in centuries. Indeed, in the Days of the Trees, a single year in Aman was the equivalent of nine-and-a-half years of the Sun, when you do the calculations. My betrothal to Amarië, for instance, was one year — one Amanian year, well the first time, at least.”

“Sorry?”

Finrod gave him a merry look. “We were betrothed twice. The first time, though, I left just before the wedding was to take place. When I returned from Mandos and we renewed our betrothal, for reasons that are not germane to this discussion, we delayed the actual wedding for another twelve years of the sun.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Gareth could think to say.

“Even after the creation of the Sun and Moon, we of Aman still thought in terms of longer periods of time than a single sun-round. We adopted the calendar used in Middle-earth by the Mortals back in the Second Age out of convenience because those living on Tol Eressëa used it with their dealings with the Númenóreans, but even so, we rarely keep time by it. It is just too short a period. When you have ages and ages to look forward to, what is a year, after all?”

Gareth nodded. “Yet, it is all I know, all I’ve ever known. Even today Gwyn and I still refer to the days using the old Roman calendar, so for instance, today is the twenty-third of February of the present calendar, but Gwyn and I would just as likely refer to it as Octo Kalendas Martii or the eighth day before the Kalends of March, the Kalends being the first day of the month. I’m afraid we’re too… Mortal to be Elves anymore.”

“Nonsense. You are Elves whether you think yourselves as such or not,” Finrod countered. “And I would not discount your experiences. You have lived among the Mortals, shared their lives as far as possible, befriended them and treated them as your equals and that is all to the good. We of Valinor need your example if we are to succeed in our mission. You and your brother will lead the way, along with the Wiseman Elves. Frankly, I envy you and them.”

“Why?” Gareth gave him a surprised look.

Finrod smiled almost wistfully. “Because you have been having adventures while I have been… residing in paradise.”

“I think most of us would prefer paradise,” Gareth said with a faint smile.

Finrod shook his head and in all seriousness said, “No, child, you would not. After a time you would be bored even more so than you are now. I was bored. When Lord Manwë summoned me and asked me to lead the expedition back to Middle-earth, I couldn’t board Vingilot fast enough. You and Gwyn and Glorfindel and the others who remained here and lived here will teach the rest of us how not to be bored.”

“But I am bored,” Gareth insisted.

“Only because you are thinking in Mortal terms. Think in Elven terms and you will see that you have no reason to feel bored.”

“Yet, how do I do that?”

Finrod grinned. “Oh, that is easy. Just imagine where you would be and what you would be doing fifty years or a hundred years or even five hundred years from now, knowing that, short of the Dagor Dagorath commencing, you will still be here or certainly somewhere in Middle-earth doing something. When you allow yourself that perspective on time, it makes getting through the tedious hours of the day less a chore.”

Before Gareth could reply, the door opened and a couple of people stepped in.

“Ah, customers,” Finrod said with a smile as he stood. “Stay as long as you wish.” He stepped down to greet the new arrivals and Gareth watched as he interacted with the Mortals, helping them to find the books they wanted. He stayed by the fire for a few more minutes, then drained his mug and stood, deciding he would go back to Edhellond and see if anyone needed help with something. Maybe he could help with dinner preparations. He headed for the door, calling out his farewell.

Finrod waved to him. “I will see you later tonight,” he said and Gareth nodded as he opened the door and stepped outside.

****

Later that evening, when he was talking to Gwyn, he told him about his conversation with Finrod.

“Seems odd to think that we have anything to teach them,” Gwyn said when Gareth had finished his narrative. “I’ve been mentally drawing up a list of questions I want to ask them, imagining sitting at their feet, at least metaphorically, and learning things Mam and Da have refused to speak about.”

“I know what you mean,” Gareth allowed. “Well, no reason why we can’t do both, is there?” He gave his brother an impish grin.

“No, no reason at all.” Gwyn grinned back.

The next couple of days passed with less tedium for Gareth as he interacted with the other Elves, joining them in the woods and learning from them, answering their own questions about his life without feeling he had to apologize for it. That made things easier for him. Sunday, he accompanied Finrod to the Hickory Street New Jerusalem Gospel Church, for Finrod wished to speak with the pastor, Josiah Makepeace, on some matter after the services. Gareth, remembering some of the church services he and Gwyn had attended over the centuries, whether Catholic, Lutheran or Wesleyan, felt quite comfortable sitting there with the Mortals, joining in the singing, having recognized most of the hymns, and enjoying Pastor Makepeace’s sermon. The Man reminded him of a minister he had known back in the eighteen hundreds, kind and sympathetic and full of compassion for the foibles of his fellow humans, but still nobody’s fool and quite capable of calling anybody on the carpet, be he master or servant.

Afterwards, while Finrod and Makepeace retired to the pastor’s office, Gareth sat with members of the congregation enjoying coffee and cinnamon rolls in the downstairs gathering room, describing his life in Fairbanks and comparing it with life in Wiseman.

When they returned to Edhellond and entered the library, it was to find that Finrod’s son and his gwedyr had come over from the college to join them for Sunday dinner, as was their custom. Finrod greeted his son warmly, asking how his classes were going and then introduced him and the other two ellyn to Gareth. They exchanged pleasantries with the four of them comparing notes on college life, while Finrod stood by with a fond smile on his lips.

As they were speaking, the door opened and an elleth entered. Finrod looked up and his smile became more brilliant as he held out his hands and the elleth went to him, allowing him to embrace her. Gareth looked on with interest. Finrod turned to him.

“Let me make you known to my niece, Nielluin, daughter of my sister, Galadriel, and her lord, Celeborn,” Finrod said. “Nielluin, this is Gareth ap Hywel of whom I have spoken.”

“Just call me Nell,” she said, holding out her hand for Gareth to shake.

“I am pleased to meet you, Nell,” Gareth said and took her hand. Almost at once, as he actually gazed into her eyes, he felt a slight electric shock pass between them. Nell gasped in surprise as they stood there staring at one another. Gareth blinked, not sure what was happening. He felt slightly dizzy and yet it was as if some part of him that had been missing was suddenly found and he felt a sense of wholeness that he had never experienced before. He gazed into the elleth’s eyes with wonder, sensing that somehow she felt the same and then before either had time to think about the consequences, indeed, having forgotten that they were not alone, they practically fell into each other’s arms and then they were exchanging not-so-chaste kisses, totally ignoring the gasps of shock from the onlookers.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted:

Nana: Hypocoristic form of naneth: Mother.

Ada: Hypcoristic form of adar: Father.

Belain: Plural of Balan: Vala.

Diheno nîn: ‘Forgive me’. This form is apparently used by an inferior to a superior. Gohena- is the form used between equals.

Haryon: (Quenya) Throne-prince, heir apparent.

Noldóran: (Quenya) King of the Noldor.

Note: Caerdyf is the earlier Welsh form of Caerdydd, the modern Welsh form of Cardiff, now the capital of Wales.