96: Surprises

Olórin led them along the street, refusing to answer any of their questions except to say, “Wait and see. All will be made clear soon.” With that, they had to be content, though Glorfindel was heard muttering about hating surprises and wishing a certain Maia would drop dead. Finrod smacked him upside his head and told him to behave, much to the shock of the ap Hywels and the amusement of the others.

“Thank you,” Daeron said to Finrod. “You saved me the trouble.”

Olórin, for his part, turned and smiled. “I understand your frustration, my friend, but I assure you I am not being deliberately mean. To tell you anything would spoil things for others. Ah, here we go.”

He motioned them to follow him as he turned down a narrow street several blocks shy of the campus that led south with the Brooks Mountains in the distance.

“Aren’t we going to the college?” Glorfindel asked, looking confused.

“No, or rather we are but not directly. It’s not too far now.”

“Olórin what happened while we were away?” Glorfindel insisted. “Why was Edhellond completely deserted? The front and back doors were locked but none of the security alarms were activated. I cannot believe that anyone would be that careless, given what’s been happening lately.”

“I assure you that Edhellond is being carefully guarded. No harm will come to it. Now, we need to head west again.” So saying, he led them down another narrow street.

“This is the back way to the athletic field,” Daeron commented to no one in particular. “Rather a round-about way of getting there.”

“That is because the more direct way has been cordoned off and the reason for that you will see presently,” Olórin answered.

Even as he was speaking, they found themselves entering a parking lot reserved for the townspeople that was normally empty except when there was an athletic event. On the far side of the parking lot was a steel-linked fence with a gate that was normally locked, though it was presently open and there was a police officer standing guard. Beyond the fence was the athletic field with bleachers blocking their view. Olórin nodded at the officer who stepped aside to let them through. Glorfindel stared hard at the officer and then his eyes widened in recognition.

“Mánatamir?”

The Maia grinned. “It has been a long time, has it not, my friend? You are looking well and prospering. I am glad.”

Olórin took Glorfindel by an elbow. “You two can visit later,” he said, his tone one of amusement. “Come along.”

Glorfindel allowed himself to be led forward and the others followed. Their view of the field was effectively blocked by the bleachers in front of them and Olórin turned right to go around them. When they had cleared the bleachers and saw the field, all the Elves stopped in shock at the sight of colorful pavilions dotting the area.

“Valar! Is that what I think it is?” Glorfindel exclaimed, pointing to a banner flapping in the slight spring breeze.

“Yes,” Olórin said with a gentle smile. “That is the High King’s banner. He and others have come for the wedding.”

“Others?” Glorfindel asked, still staring at the pavilions.

“Yes, of course,” Olórin said. “See you, there is Olwë’s banner over to the right and on this side of Ingwë—”

“Amarië!” Finrod cried out and, without waiting for the others, he began running. “Amarië! Amarië!” he called out again, running between some of the other pavilions and disappearing from their view.

Olórin gave them a sardonic smile. “As I was saying, that’s Arafinwë’s banner there and yes, Amarië is with them. Come along, then. They’re all waiting in Ingwë’s pavilion.” He continued on and the others followed. As they drew closer they saw several Elves in their finery standing before the entrances of some of the pavilions they passed, watching silently as Olórin led them further into the center.

“Great!” Tristan muttered. “I’m about to meet royalty dressed like a geek.”

The others did not bother to comment. Daeron noticed the almost grim expression on Glorfindel’s face and he saw the glitter in the ellon’s eyes that generally presaged trouble. He just hoped his friend did nothing rash, stupid or just plain dangerous. Any and all three reactions were likely. He was feeling a bit stunned himself and looking at those whom they passed, he felt woefully underdressed. Several of the people seemed to recognize Glorfindel and one or two even went so far as to start to greet him, then caught his expression and decided otherwise, exchanging worried looks with their neighbors.

“Stay calm, Loren,” Daeron whispered, “and for all our sakes, please do nothing we will regret.”

Glorfindel gave him a sideways look, but said nothing. As it was, they had reached the main pavilion, open on three sides. They could see all the others from Edhellond gathered around the newcomers. Finrod was there as well, his arms wrapped around a fair-haired elleth, the two kissing passionately and ignoring everyone else.

“Here they are,” Olórin called out, speaking Quenya.

Immediately, one of the ellyn came forward, tall and golden-haired, throwing his arms around Glorfindel before the Elf could utter a word.

“Ah, yonya, it is so good to see you again after all this time.”

For a moment, Glorfindel just stood there, letting the ellon hug him. Then, almost tentatively, he returned the hug. The ellon released him, giving him a concerned look.

“Your Majesty,” Glorfindel said softly in greeting.

“You used to call me Atar, yonya,” Arafinwë said gently.

“Sorry. I… I guess I’m still in shock,” Glorfindel said apologetically. “How—?”

“Time enough to trade tales later,” Arafinwë said. “There are others waiting to greet you and we should introduce ourselves to your friends.” He gave the ap Hywels and Daeron a warm smile. The ap Hywels just stood there, for none of them understood Quenya and were unsure who this person was, but they and Daeron, who understood all too well, felt abashed. Daeron refused to even look at Arafinwë. Helyanwë and Melyanna had already gone to greet their families.

“Mae govannen,” Arafinwë said, switching effortlessly to Sindarin. “Im estannen Finarfin, Aran Gódhellim. Ah le?”

Glorfindel actually rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him,” he said in English, speaking in a confidential manner. “He likes to think he’s just an ordinary bloke.”

Arafinwë raised an eyebrow. “But I am ordinary,” he said in heavily accented English. “Ingwë’s the one who is a royal snob.”

“Snob? I am no snob. Now Olwë is as snobbish as they come.”

They all turned to see two ellyn approaching. The one who had spoken was even taller than Arafinwë, his hair and neatly trimmed beard a rich gold, his eyes a startling blue. His companion was shorter, but not by much, and his hair was a gleaming silver, his eyes sea-blue, a rare combination among the Teleri. They were both smiling.

“Do not listen to them,” the Teler said, addressing himself to the ap Hywels and Daeron. “I am the least snobbish.”

“Oh great!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “You all speak English.”

“After a fashion,” Ingwë allowed, his accent lighter than Arafinwë’s. “We have been pestering the Valar to teach us since Findaráto left.” Then without another word he hugged Glorfindel, planting a kiss on the ellon’s forehead and speaking quietly to him in Quenya before allowing Olwë to greet him in a similar fashion. Arafinwë, meanwhile, was questioning the ap Hywels and Daeron, getting them to introduce themselves.

“Ah, Elu’s minstrel,” Arafinwë said. “I am very glad to meet you. Elu will be relieved to know you are faring well. Now come and meet the others.” With that, he offered his hand to Iseult, who hesitated for a moment before taking it and then she and her family, along with Daeron, were being introduced to Ingwë and Olwë.

During the introductions, Gareth kept looking about, trying to find Nielluin in the crowd of people, unwilling to call out her name and embarrass himself and his parents. Arafinwë noticed and gave him an understanding smile. “She is with her parents,” he said, startling Gareth. “You will meet them soon.” Gareth gulped, unsure if he liked that idea.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, was being passed on to others who had waited patiently to greet him. The first were Elrond and Celebrían, who greeted him warmly and with much love.

“You have done well, my friend,” the former lord of Imladris said in soft-spoken Sindarin. “Thank you for watching over our sons. I trust they behaved themselves.” This last was delivered with a slightly sardonic smile, his eyes bright with laughter.

Glorfindel just smiled. “Should I lie and tell you that they did, or would you like chapter and verse of all their sins?”

Both Elladan and Elrohir, who were standing on either side of Celebrían, as if warding her, rolled their eyes. “We’ve been very good, haven’t we, Dan?” Elrohir said in a voice pitched to sound like an affronted elfling.

“As goodest as we can be,” Elladan replied solemnly, sticking his tongue out at Glorfindel.

Elrond and Celebrían exchanged knowing looks and broke out laughing.

“Loren, come meet my sons.”

Glorfindel looked over to where Vorondur and Ercassë were standing with Serindë and two ellyn who must have been her brothers. Glorfindel went to them. Vorondur gestured to one of the ellyn, his hair a rich auburn, his eyes as gray as slate and his features similar to Vorondur’s.

“This is my oldest son, Findaráto.”

“Mae govannen. You must call me Dar. Everyone does.” The ellon smiled.

“And this is Findecáno.” Vorondur gestured to the other ellon, somewhat shorter than his brother, his hair a lighter brown, but his eyes were as gray as his brother’s.

“Cani, please. I will never forgive Ada and Nana for burdening me with such an illustrious name to which I could never live up.”

“From what I hear, you did well enough,” Glorfindel said with a grin. Then he turned to Vorondur, his expression more solemn and when he spoke, it was in French. “How long have they been here?”

Vorondur raised an eyebrow, but answered in the same language. “They arrived last night, but we did not know until only about an hour or so ago when Olórin came looking for us.”

“Why are there no townspeople or students here gawking?”

“Because they don’t know yet. From what I understand, the Maiar have thrown a shield around this field so no one is aware of any of this. That will not last, of course.”

“Olórin says they came for the wedding. How many—”

“Glorfindel, stop jabbering in a language we don’t understand,” Arafinwë said, speaking Quenya, as he came to them, followed by Ingwë and Olwë. “There is someone else you need to greet.” With that, he took Glorfindel by the arm and steered him away, moving further into the pavilion while everyone else stepped aside to give them room. Glorfindel idly noticed that Finrod had stopped kissing Amarië and was watching from the side, his arm around his wife, his expression unreadable. Before he could comment, he found himself facing another ellon, dark of hair and gray of eye like most of the Noldor, tall and imposing.

Glorfindel came to a sudden halt, his eyes widening.

“Mae govannen, hîr nîn Glorfindel,” the ellon said quietly. “It has been a long time, no?”

“Turgon!” Glorfindel whispered and then his expression became one of fury. “No!” he shouted in denial, stepping back. “No!”

“Glorfindel!” Arafinwë exclaimed, trying to hold him in place, but Glorfindel pulled himself out of the king’s hold.

“No!” he practically screamed and then he was running, pushing people aside as he fled the pavilion.

“Olórin! Don’t let him get away!” Finrod shouted in English. “Ron, with me. Everyone else, stay put.” With that, he and Vorondur ran after Glorfindel, but so did everyone else. They came out of the pavilion in time to see Olórin blocking Glorfindel’s path, attempting to hold him while Glorfindel continued screaming and thrashing.

“I’ll handle this,” Vorondur said to Finrod, who nodded, his expression one of deep concern. Vorondur reached where Glorfindel was still struggling in Olórin’s hold and grabbed him by the shoulder. Olórin released his hold and Glorfindel automatically swung around, but Vorondur anticipated the move and ducked, coming up underneath and giving Glorfindel an upper right cut on the jaw that sent him sprawling. At once, several people started to lunge at Vorondur, but Finrod forestalled them, holding up his arms in an imperious manner.

“Stop!” he commanded in Quenya. “Do not interfere.”

“He struck Lord Glorfindel!” someone called out in the same language.

“And if he had not, I would have,” Finrod retorted and several eyebrows went up at that revelation.

Vorondur, meanwhile, ignored the crowd, intent on Glorfindel who was lying on the ground, shaking his head and feeling his jaw. Vorondur crouched on his heels and waited calmly for the ellon to look at him.

“You hit me,” was all Glorfindel could say, looking somewhat stunned as he struggled to a half-sitting position. “Why did you hit me?”

“I left my hypodermic at home. No, stay put. I’ll hit you again if you try to get up before I tell you to,” Vorondur said conversationally. There were murmurs of surprise from many of those looking on.

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh. Loren, do you want to tell me why you are acting this way?”

Glorfindel looked about at everyone staring at him and Vorondur and his expression darkened. “What is he doing here?” he pointed at Turgon, who stood between Arafinwë and Ingwë, his expression unreadable. Vorondur turned his head to see where Glorfindel was pointing. Turgon, for his part, looked both troubled and annoyed.

“I imagine he’s here for the wedding like everyone else,” Vorondur said, turning back to Glorfindel, “though I suspect he has a more ulterior motive for being here, or rather, I would say the Valar do.”

“The Valar! Those damn interfering orc-lovers!” Glorfindel snarled.

Several people gasped at the swearing. Vorondur merely nodded. “No doubt,” was his only comment.

“I thought you would be pleased to see me, Glorfindel, I who am your king,” Turgon said suddenly.

Vorondur rose gracefully to address the ellon. “You are not a king, Turgon, not anymore, and you are certainly not Glorfindel’s.”

“You dare?” Turgon exclaimed angrily. Others looked equally upset, though Vorondur noticed that the three high kings seemed almost bored, as if this were an old argument.

“Yes, I dare,” Vorondur retorted. “You people waltz in here expecting the rest of us to bow to you because of who you are or once were, as if nothing has changed in all this time, but it has, we have.” He gestured to the others from Wiseman. “Glorfindel is not your subject any more than I am Findaráto’s. Those days are long gone.”

“I have his life,” Turgon retorted.

“I never liked the idea of the death-sworn,” Vorondur said. “It was too dangerous an oath, and now, after all this time, it is irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Turgon repeated. “That oath does not end even with death. How can it be irrelevant?”

“Er… Ron, do you think I can get up now?” Glorfindel asked, looking uncomfortable sitting on the grass with everyone towering over him. Vorondur looked down at him.

“If I allow you to get up, do you think you can act rationally and not be too abusive toward others? Screaming at everyone isn’t going to solve anything.”

For an answer, Glorfindel lay back on the ground, closing his eyes. “What’s happening to me, Ron? Even the Valar’s ring doesn’t seem to be working all that well anymore.”

“It seems to be working well enough,” Vorondur said gently. “You’re still here, are you not?”

Glorfindel opened his eyes. “You mean, I didn’t slip my leash.”

“For which we can be grateful,” Vorondur said. He paused, his expression contemplative. “Loren, believe it or not, I’ve seen great improvement in your ability to manage your anger and I was going to suggest that you might not need too many more sessions, but now I am rethinking that. Your reaction on seeing Turgon tells me that you still need help in controlling your emotions. Also, I saw the way you looked when you first came into the pavilion. You were ready to kill someone, I think.”

“Fourteen someones, actually,” Glorfindel admitted, giving him a sour grin. He sighed as he pushed himself back into a sitting position, running a hand through his hair. “I think I need a long vacation.”

“We all do,” Vorondur said, holding out a hand for Glorfindel, who took it, allowing himself to be pulled up. Vorondur gave Glorfindel a warm smile. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

“Yeah, but will we get through it with our sanity intact?” Glorfindel quipped. “I get the feeling before this week is out, I’m going to be singing that stupid song, you know the one.” And he pitched his voice to one of manic glee while his expression became one of feigned madness. ‘And they’re coming to take me away, ha haa, to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time…’”

Vorondur laughed, clapping Glorfindel on the back. “Trust me, my friend, if it ever gets to that point, I’ll prescribe Xanax for us all first.”

Some of the Wiseman Elves listening snorted in amusement. Daeron was heard muttering, “Along with a double dose of Zoloft for good measure.”

“Who are you?”

Vorondur and Glorfindel turned to see a seething Turgon. Arafinwë put a hand on the ellon’s shoulder.

“Easy now,” he said. “Remember what I told you.”

Turgon turned to Arafinwë with a snarled oath. “Who is he? He speaks to me as if I were a commoner. I am a prince and once I was a king of my own kingdom. How can you allow him to speak to me as he does?”

“Turgon, shut up.”

This was from Finrod, who rolled his eyes. Turgon gave him a hard stare. “And you, Findaráto? What do you have to say about all this?”

For an answer, Finrod fished out his phone, speed-dialing a number. Those newly come from Valinor watched him with unfeigned interest as he put the phone to his ear and spoke. “Hello, Nick, this is Quinn… Yes, I have returned… Something has come up, a family matter. I do not think I can be at the store until after the wedding… Thank you. I will see you soon. Bye.” He pressed ‘end’ and shoved the phone back into a pants pocket.

“Quinn?” Arafinwë asked.

“Store?” Turgon asked almost at the same time.

“My mortal name,” Finrod answered his atar first. “Quinn O’Brien is the name by which I am known here in Wiseman.”

“Why?” Arafinwë asked and he was not the only one looking confused.

“Because it is easier for the Mortals to relate to us when they can address us by names that are common among them,” Glorfindel answered before Finrod could speak. “I am no longer Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, at least not here. Everyone knows me as Loren DelaFiore. That is the name I have adopted, just as Vorondur here is known as Doctor Ron Brightman.”

“Doctor?” Ingwë asked.

“I am a psychiatric physician,” Vorondur replied. “That means I treat the illnesses of the mind that can often plague people, including Elves.”

“What did you mean about a store?” Turgon asked Finrod.

Finrod gave them a sardonic look. “I work in a bookstore owned by a Mortal. I was calling to let him know that I would not be coming in to work until after the wedding.”

“Work?” Olwë asked, his eyes widening in disbelief. “For a Mortal?”

Finrod shrugged. “I have to earn my keep the same as others,” he replied. “I am not a king or even a prince here. I am just… just another working stiff.” He grinned at that, winking at Glorfindel.

“Well, getting back to the matter at hand,” Vorondur said before anyone could comment on Finrod’s words, looking at Glorfindel, “we need to address your reaction upon seeing Turgon.”

“I think it was just shock,” Glorfindel allowed, looking ruefully at Turgon. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, any of you. You do not know how it was for me when I was first re-embodied, the guilt I felt that I had been unable to save you, that I died before I could see your family to safety, that my oaths still stood but I had no way to fulfill them. It was almost a relief when the Valar sent me back here and I befriended Elrond. Guarding him and his family gave me a purpose that I had been lacking before. Even now, I have been fulfilling my oaths to your family by staying with Elladan and Elrohir, little though they need my protection.”

“Yet, I think, over time, you have put aside those oaths because they no longer had any relevance to your life,” Vorondur commented quietly.

Glorfindel shrugged. “Possibly. Never really thought about it. The longer I stayed away, the less real Aman became in my mind. For all intents and purposes, I was never returning and so, whatever oaths I may have given would never be invoked, but now you’re here, Turgon, and I really have to wonder why.”

“He pestered me for weeks to accompany us,” Arafinwë said. “But then, so did everyone else. I allowed him to come because I believe there is unfinished business between you two that needs to be resolved before the End of Things. They could not be resolved if an ocean lay between you. I am sorry for the shock, yonya. I regret that there was no real way to soften it.”

“Well, my suggestion, for what it’s worth, is that we put this aside until after the wedding,” Vorondur said. “I will not have my daughter’s wedding overshadowed by others and their problems.”

“No, of course not,” Ingwë said. “I was not sanguine about letting Turucáno come, though I understood Arafinwë’s reasoning. There will be time after the wedding for this, as we will not be leaving immediately. In the meantime, let us simply rejoice in each other’s presence.” He turned to where the ap Hywels were standing with Daeron and others from Wiseman. “And I understand another wedding is in the offing.”

Gareth gulped and his parents both frowned. “So it would seem,” Tristan said. Gwyn put a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You do not approve?” Ingwë asked.

“We have yet to meet the young lady,” Tristan replied with a wry twist to his lips. “And we only found out about it ourselves two days ago. It has come rather as a shock.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be,” Ingwë allowed, then he turned back to Glorfindel, Finrod and Vorondur. “You must tell us about what a sycree… ah…”

“Psychiatric physician,” Vorondur corrected smoothly.

“Yes, thank you. You must tell us what you do and how you do it.” He gestured for Vorondur to join him as he made to return to the pavilion with everyone else following. “Do I understand you are treating Glorfindel? How very brave of you.” He flashed the ellon a bright smile and a conspiratorial wink.

Vorondur laughed. “Braver than you can know, Your Majesty. Glorfindel is not an easy patient.” He turned his head to give Glorfindel a knowing smile full of warmth and friendship and Glorfindel obliged him with a roll of his eyes, while Finrod just nodded, wrapping a loving arm around Amarië’s waist as they walked together.

“Just ask the nurses at the hospital,” he said. “You should have heard him when they set about to give him a bath.”

“Finrod!” Glorfindel shouted as several of the Wiseman Elves snickered. He gave him a sneer. “The pot calling the kettle black.”

“Hospital?” Amarië asked, giving her husband a concerned look.

“Long story,” Finrod said equably. Then he changed the subject. “How long will it be before the good people of Wiseman know you all are here and how do you think they will respond?”

Almost as if in answer, they heard the distant yet growing sound of sirens. Everyone stopped to listen, those newly from Valinor looking puzzled, unable to place or identify the sound. Glorfindel gave Finrod a sardonic look.

“I think we’re about to find out.”

****

Words are Sindarin:

Mae govannen. Im estannen Finarfin, Aran Gódhellim. Ah le?: ‘Well met. I am called Finarfin, King of the Noldor. And you?’ Gódhellim is the collective plural.

Hîr nîn: My lord.

Notes:

1. Mánatamir of the People of Manwë was Glorfindel’s Maiarin companion on his quest to find Eärendil. See Elf, Interrupted, Book 2.

2. Glorfindel quotes from the song, “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!’ sung by Napoleon XIV. As always, you can check it out on Youtube.