105: Finrod Gives a Tour

Elladan and Elrohir reached Edhellond to find people still lingering over breakfast. Glorfindel and Finrod were sitting at the dining room table along with Daeron, Valandur, Celeborn, Galadriel, Amarië and the ap Hywels. As soon as the Twins walked in they were immediately accosted with demands for information concerning Alex.

“What happened?” Glorfindel demanded.

“We’re not sure,” Elladan replied. “He was muttering in Russian when we got there. Luckily, Amroth happened to come with Ron, so he was able to speak to Alex in that language, bring him out of his fugue. From what Derek told us it sounds as if he’d had a nightmare. He woke screaming and actually attacked Derek.”

“Derek! Is he—?”

“He’s fine,” Elrohir assured them. “A couple of cracked ribs, some bruises. He’s resting comfortably at home. Roy and I took him to the hospital for X-rays. He’s not going to be moving fast anytime soon, but he’ll recover. He was concerned about not being able to make it to the wedding, but I told him as long as he doesn’t do anything foolish and just sits quietly, he should be okay.”

“Do you know what the nightmare was about?” Valandur asked.

“Something to do with that Ilyivitch character Alex mentioned yesterday, but beyond that, no,” Elladan said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m for a shower.”

“Me, too,” Elrohir chimed in. “Save some breakfast for us. We’ll be down in a while.”

“I’ll whip up some more Belgian waffles for you,” Daeron said, rising to go to the kitchen, and the Twins thanked him before leaving.

For a moment, no one commented. Glorfindel looked troubled, as did Finrod and Valandur. Celeborn exchanged glances with Galadriel, who merely raised a delicate eyebrow, some swift communication passing between them.

“You worry for him,” Galadriel said, speaking more to Finrod than to Glorfindel, but they both nodded.

It was Glorfindel who answered her, though. “Alex is… Alex. He’s gone through hell and he’s still picking up the pieces of his life. Ron’s been helping him there, but just as it seems as if he’s getting it together, something like this comes up. It’s almost like two steps forward and three steps back for him.”

“It must be very frustrating for him, then,” Celeborn commented.

“And for us,” Finrod said. “Alex is very dangerous, more than you realize, for all you have seen is a personable young Man with an easy smile, but until he came to Wiseman, and he came here hunting Amroth, he was a government assassin.”

“Assassin?” Celeborn narrowed his eyes.

“Well, technically, he was an intelligence officer, a spy, but there were times when he was sent out specifically to assassinate someone, usually someone who had turned traitor,” Glorfindel explained. “This Ilyivitch person sounds like a special case. At any rate, he spent the last few years infiltrating various terrorist groups and bringing them down. Alex is no one to fool with. He’s deadly. He’s taken Fionwë down twice. Even I cannot claim that honor.”

“And now he is a teacher at this… college?” Galadriel asked.

“He’s left his former life, but the echoes of that life have not yet left him,” Finrod responded, “which is why Vorondur is counseling him, helping him to adjust to more normal living.”

“Alex is essentially a good person who’s been forced to do what most would consider evil acts, though sanctioned by his government,” Glorfindel said. “In spite of or perhaps because of this, he was lured here by the Valar specifically to join with us. The Valar deem him important to the cause and the Enemy appears to be aware of this because he has either tried to recruit Alex through his own agents or have him destroyed. Also, he’s met Atar.”

The others at the table all looked confused. “He’s only just met Atto,” Galadriel said, frowning. “How is that significant?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Glorfindel said but he declined to elaborate.

It was Finrod who answered. “He means Eru Ilúvatar. Alex died briefly some months ago and during that time he met with Atar as the Valar call Him.”

“He met Eru,” Celeborn said slowly. “Yet, how?”

“The same way I did. The same way Ingwion did, though perhaps you never heard that story,” Glorfindel replied. “With us, it was more like a dream or a vision. I really don’t know. With Alex, though, he actually had to die, however briefly, in order to meet with Eru, and then he was sent back.”

“Like Beren?” Celeborn asked.

“Something like that,” Glorfindel said with a shrug. “The point is, he’s very important, but then, in Eru’s eyes and in the eyes of the Valar, we’re all important, so that’s probably not saying much, but he certainly is special. He has talents we will need.”

“Yes,” Valandur said, entering the conversation for the first time. “Alex has been trained in a harsh school but he’s learned his lessons well and he is a vital asset to our cause. I have worked with him and respect him and his talents.”

“Well, enough about that,” Glorfindel said briskly, rising from the table. “I need to get ready for my meeting, but I can spare a little time giving you and anyone else a tour of Wiseman.”

“Why don’t you concentrate on your meeting?” Finrod said. “I can show them around.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, of course,” Finrod assured him. “How long do you think you will be?”

“Dealing with Mortals? I have no idea. I’ll call you when we’re done and perhaps meet you back at the encampment.”

Finrod nodded and Glorfindel left. Elladan and Elrohir arrived just about then and Daeron served them their waffles before excusing himself as well. For a time, they all sat in silence watching the Twins eat, but finally Finrod turned to Celeborn and Galadriel and asked, “Was there anything specific you wished to see on our tour?”

“I would like to see where you work,” Galadriel answered. “I find it difficult to believe that you actually allow yourself to be dictated to by a Mortal.”

To her surprise, her grandsons and the ap Hywels all snorted in either amusement or derision. Gwyn and Gareth exchanged grins. “Yes, massa, anything yuh say, massa,” Gwyn quipped, adopting a southern drawl. Gareth just laughed.

“Enough you two,” Tristan said with a growl and his sons subsided, looking suitably chastened. Tristan gave them an apologetic shrug, as if to say, “Children! What can you do?”

The Twins grinned and Elrohir spoke, “We are no longer lords of all we survey, Daernaneth, and we have not amassed great wealth to live like kings. Most of our lives we have had to earn our bread, just like everyone else on this planet. Oh, there were times and places where we actually did rule, or Loren did, at least, and our lives were closer to what we had in Imladris, but on the whole, we worked, and that’s true for all of us, even for Uncle Finrod.”

“And I enjoy doing so,” Finrod said. “It gives me the opportunity to meet Mortals on a more intimate basis. When they are hunting for books, we often strike up a conversation and they tell me something of their hopes and dreams and even their fears. I have learned much about them in doing so.”

“You were always enamored of them, right from the beginning,” Galadriel said with a disdainful sniff.

“And with good reason, Sister,” Finrod replied gravely. “They are Eruhíni, same as we, our younger brothers and sisters, not our servants or slaves. Try to remember that, both of you.”

Both Galadriel and Celeborn raised eyebrows at his tone but before anyone could comment, Glorfindel returned, sipping from a mug, for he had stopped in the kitchen to pour himself more coffee. The Elves from Valinor, though not the Twins or the ap Hywels, sat there gaping at him.

“What?” he asked when he noticed them staring.

Finrod was the one to answer. “I have never seen you dressed like that in all this time.”

Glorfindel looked down at his attire. He was wearing a dark blue three-piece pinstripe suit with a powder blue dress shirt, a blue and white striped silk tie and black patent leather dress shoes. He looked up and shrugged. “Business meeting. What should I be wearing?”

Before anyone could respond to what was a rhetorical question, Daeron walked in, dressed in a brown pinstripe without a vest, his shirt a light cream color and his tie striped in shades of blue and brown. He wore brown leather dress shoes. Glorfindel turned to him. “All set? Got the papers?”

“Right here,” Daeron answered, lifting the briefcase he was carrying.

“Okay, we’ll see you all later.” Glorfindel drained his mug and placed it on the table. “Enjoy your tour and don’t get into any trouble I can’t pull you out of.” Then the two were gone.

“Well, Dan and I have things to do,” Roy said, standing to take his and his brother’s plates into the kitchen. “We’ll see you all later as well.”

“You do not join us?” Celeborn asked.

“Sorry, Daeradar,” Elladan said, “but we have things we need to do for tomorrow night. Before you came, we’d already scheduled our day. Too late to change it now. We’ll see all of you at the encampment later. There will be a brief rehearsal at six so everyone knows where they should stand and what they should do, then we’ll be free to visit.”

“No bachelor’s party, huh?” Gwyn asked with a knowing grin.

“Not my style,” Elrohir said with a shrug. Then the two were gone.

“Well, why don’t we clean up and head for the encampment and see who else wishes to join the tour?” Finrod suggested.

“Do you think we should lend everyone proper clothes?” Iseult asked. “Right now, the way people are dressed, they’re going to stand out like sore thumbs and I’m not sure we want that kind of attention from what you’ve been telling us.”

“I do not think we should worry about it,” Finrod answered. “The Mortals will just have to live with it.”

Twenty minutes later, Finrod was leading his sister and brother-in-law and the ap Hywels down the street with Amarië on his arm, making their way to the encampment. Valandur was not with them. Instead, he had decided to go see Alex and Derek.

“I wish to see how they are both doing. Alex and I need to talk,” was all he said. Finrod nodded in understanding.

“Please express my good wishes for Derek’s speedy recovery and I will see them both tomorrow at the wedding.”

When Finrod and his party reached the gate leading to the athletic field they were greeted by Mánatamir who let them inside. At the pavilion, they found the three kings, along with Elrond, Celebrían and Turgon waiting for them, all of them dressed in formal robes glittering in jewels.

“Where is Glorfindel?” Ingwë asked.

“He and Daeron are at their meeting,” Finrod answered. “I told them I would give you the tour.”

“You?” Turgon demanded in surprise.

Finrod smiled at his cousin. “Why not? I have lived here these many months. I am fairly familiar with the town and its residents. My sister wishes to see where I work. Do you have any thoughts of what you would like to see?”

“Perhaps we will just let you choose, yonya,” Arafinwë said, “since you are the tour guide.”

Finrod nodded. “Well, why do we not go into town by way of the college? I will show you where Elf Academy is, though I do not have a key so we may not be able to go inside if the building is locked.”

“That will be fine,” Ingwë said. “Perhaps later Glorfindel can give us a tour of the building.”

“I still say we should give them regular clothes so they blend in more,” Iseult said. “I feel uneasy about them walking around Wiseman dressed as they are.”

“You’re just not used to seeing people dressed like this, Mam,” Gwyn said. “Not for centuries, at least. But I would ditch the jewels and certainly the swords, and no guards.”

“We do not go anywhere without them, yonya,” Ingwë said gently.

“No, Uncle,” Finrod said, “Gwyn is correct. No guards, or if you must have them, they are to leave all weapons behind.”

“That’s absurd!” Turgon exclaimed.

“It is what it is,” Finrod said coldly. “This is an unarmed society. The only people who may legitimately carry weapons are the police.”

The Valinóreans looked doubtful but finally Ingwë nodded. “We will abide by your decision, yonya. I do not wish to delay our tour to change into these strange clothes you wear, but I agree that all signs of rank should be removed. The Mortals do not need to know that we are royalty. Give us a few minutes to divest ourselves of our regalia.” He turned to the captain of the guards. “Sérener. No weapons.”

Sérener kept his expression neutral as he bowed to the High King and then turned to speak quietly to his men, all of them looking uncomfortable.

Finrod smiled at his uncle. “I will call ahead to warn Nicholas of our imminent invasion. He will appreciate the head’s up, as they say here.”

Ingwë wasn’t the only one who raised an eyebrow at those words. “We will be back soon,” With that, he left with the others, leaving Finrod and the ap Hywels alone.

Finrod fished out his phone and was soon speaking with Nick, informing him of his plans. “Besides the town square, do you have any suggestions as to where I can take them?” he asked and then listened for a moment. “Thank you. I will do that. We will see you shortly, perhaps in the next half hour or so as we will be walking.” He ended the call and was shoving the phone back into a pocket when the others showed up, now divested of all their jewels and weapons.

The six guards that were to accompany them looked decidedly unhappy not to be carrying weapons and Finrod overheard one of them say to his fellows, “I feel almost naked. How do we defend our lords if there is trouble?”

His fellows just scowled, shaking their heads, not having an answer. Finrod prayed silently that nothing would happen that would require anyone to defend anyone from anything. He meant what he said: this was an unarmed society and that had to be respected.

Ignoring the guards Finrod smiled at his family. “All set, then? First stop in our tour is Elf Academy.” He led the way out of the pavilion and headed across the field to the main gate, which opened of itself. As the Elves filed through, they were unaware of Olórin joining them.

“Where’s Nell?” Gareth asked no one in particular, speaking English for Ingwë had insisted that everyone speak the mortal language rather than any of the elvish tongues. “We all need the practice,” he told them and they all agreed.

Celebrían answered him. “She has returned to... to where she now lives…”

“The dorm,” Gareth supplied. “It’s short for dormitory, which just means a place for sleeping.”

“Yes, thank you. The dorm. She said she has to study for… finals?”

Gareth nodded. “Final exams,” he said. “Well, I’ll see her later anyway, but thanks for letting me know.”

“She told us about her studies,” Galadriel said. “I do not know if I approve.”

“Well, Sister, since you were not here, your approval or disapproval is of no consequence,” Finrod said in a brittle tone. “I approved of her decision and am very pleased with her progress.”

“She lives alone with mortal females, I am told,” Galadriel said.

Before Finrod could reply, Gareth turned to Gwyn. “Do you not find it strange that they treat Nell as if she’s six and too young to be on her own when she’s older than Mam?”

Gwyn gave his brother a grin. “Different times and cultures, Bro. You remember how it was even a hundred years ago.”

“Well, sure, but that was then and this is now and Nell is living with three mortal girls who are, what, eighteen, nineteen? Their parents probably couldn’t wait to get them out of the house and on their own, but Nell practically has to actually ask permission from her uncle to cross the street, never mind be on her own like she’s a real grown up or something.”

Even Finrod frowned at the implied slur against him, while both Celeborn and Galadriel huffed in annoyance, though neither Elrond nor Celebrían seemed upset and the kings just looked amused. Turgon was already bored.

“Gareth, you forget yourself, son,” Tristan reprimanded him gently. “And it’s different with daughters than it is with sons or so I’ve been told by any number of mortal fathers with daughters.” He turned to the others with an apologetic look. “Sorry about that.”

“Nielluin is being well watched, Artanis,” Finrod said, deciding to ignore the young ellon’s words. Gareth was not being deliberately rude, he realized; he was simply expressing the mores of the day, which he had apparently adopted for himself, and why shouldn’t he? Wiseman, or even Fairbanks, was not Aman, he had to remind himself. “She is only two doors down from Finda and his gwedyr and I see her once a week. She is adapting very well to this world and we are all proud of her. You have no cause for worry where she is concerned.”

All this time, they had been walking along, passing various buildings. While most of the students were either in classes or perhaps in their rooms studying, the place was not entirely deserted and there were still people walking about, all of whom stopped to gape at the Elves walking by, the said Elves too intent on their own conversation to pay much attention.

That is, until someone called out, “Hey, Lawrence! Isn’t that your dad?”

Finrod, recognizing his son’s Mortal name, stopped and looked around, smiling when he saw Findalaurë standing with his gwedyr and a few Mortals whom Finrod recognized as having come to Edhellond in support of his son when he and the other two ellyn had been attacked. Findalaurë’s expression was somewhat ambivalent and Finrod understood how he must be feeling. Automatically he held out his arms in welcome, and just as automatically, his son came to him and allowed him to embrace him, giving him a kiss of benediction upon his forehead before releasing him, allowing Amarië to also greet their son with a kiss. Findalaurë then gave the royals his obeisance, which Calandil and Elennen copied while the Mortals just stared, obviously unsure how to act.

“And should you not be in class, my son?” Finrod asked mildly, well aware that Findalaurë’s mortal friends would be embarrassed on Finda’s behalf if he were seen to be reprimanding him in public.

“We are finished with our classes, Atto,” Finda said quietly, looking almost, but not quite, resentful. “We’re on our way to the student center for a snack and then we will go to the library to study for our exams which are on Monday.”

“Well, I hope they are not as strenuous as the ones I went through at the Academy and under Lord Aulë’s tutelage.” He gave them a convincing shudder and a couple of the Mortals gave him appraising looks. “Talk about being put in the hot seat,” he added, remembering the expression he had heard a Mortal use once, and some of the Mortals smiled.

“And he means that literally,” Calandil said with a grin. “I’ve suffered Lord Aulë’s final exams, too, and they were hell on wheels, as you guys like to say.” The Mortals actually looked impressed.

Finrod smiled. “We will not keep you, then. You will join us for dinner later, will you not?”

Findalaurë nodded. “Yes. We’re looking forward to visiting with everyone again. If it weren’t for these stupid exams…”

“Stupid, are they?” Iseult couldn’t help asking with a knowing smile. “Yes, I suppose, ultimately they are, for who cares what answer you gave to a hypothetical question ten years down the road when you are dealing with reality and the pat little answers you gave your instructors never factor into it?”

“At the same time,” Tristan added with his own knowing smile, “such exams force you to focus on what is important to know about a particular subject. What are you taking, anyway?”

“Psych 101 and Sociology,” Elennen answered. “The sociology class has been dealing with cultural paradigms that show that so-called primitive cultures are no less complex, if not more so, than so-called civilized cultures. It has been most informative and we have enjoyed discussing between us how the various elven societies in Valinor match up with which paradigms.”

The ap Hywels all nodded while the Valinórean Elves looked on with interest, though Finrod noticed Turgon getting glassy-eyed, always a bad sign with a Reborn. “Well, I am glad you are putting your studies to good use. You should go. Remember, if you do well with your exams, Glorfindel and I have promised you a trip to Fairbanks next month.”

“Ooh, a bribe,” one of the Mortals said with a grin. “A trip to Fairbanks, is it? Now, if it’d been me, I’d have held out for a trip to Paris.” She laughed and the other Mortals joined her. Findalaurë and his gwedyr looked embarrassed and the young Woman relented. “But hey! A free trip anywhere is cool and Fairbanks is very lovely this time of year. C’mon, let’s go and I’ll tell you about all the cool nightclubs and bars you can go to when you’re there, assuming you can sneak out of the hotel room without any of your elders being the wiser.” She gave Finrod an impish grin and a wink, which caused a number of elven eyebrows to rise precipitously.

“Yeah, that’s always the trick,” one of the young Men said. Then he pitched his voice slightly. “Just stepping out for a breath of fresh air before heading for bed, Mom. Be back shortly.” He paused, his grin widening. “Three hours later….”

All the young Mortals laughed and, without even a by-your-leave, they sauntered off, the young Woman who had spoken wrapping an arm around Findalaurë’s left elbow and dragging him along, talking a mile a minute, apparently describing something called the Big Eye. Elennen and Calandil gave the royals hasty bows and joined their friends.

For the longest time, the Elves simply stood there staring after the young people as they made their way up the steps of a nearby building, disappearing into it. Gwyn and Gareth exchanged grins and their parents chuckled to themselves.

Finrod was smiling fondly after his son. Amarië’s expression was thoughtful. “He is not the same as before,” she finally ventured.

Finrod shook his head. “No. He is not. He is much nicer than he was. Not so arrogant. Alex put him in his place very neatly.”

“Alex again,” Turgon sneered. “You hold great store in this… this Mortal.”

“One of your descendants, my cousin, through your grandson and both of his two sons.” Finrod nodded to Elrond. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes, let us continue,” Ingwë said. “I found the easy manners of those young Mortals most interesting and even refreshing.”

“They do not seem to understand good manners, though,” Galadriel said.

“Oh, they were respectful in their own way,” Iseult said. “I deal with their counterparts at Cardiff where I teach and believe me, these children were quite politely behaved… for Americans.”

Gwyn and Gareth laughed. “Shame on you, Mam. Your prejudice is showing,” Gwyn said.

“Snob, thy name is Iseult,” Tristan said with a grin, hugging his wife and tenderly kissing her on the cheek.

“Geek,” Iseult fired back, though there was no rancor in her tone.

“And proud of it,” Tristan shot back, laughing. Their sons rolled their eyes at one another while everyone exchanged amused looks.

“Do the Daughters of Men all dress so provocatively?” Celebrían asked.

Iseult was the one to answer. “My dear, if you think what that child was wearing was provocative, we should plan a trip to Los Angeles while you’re here. Trust me, none of those young women were being provocative, though mind you, a hundred years ago, they would have caused a minor riot in any city in the world dressed as they are, but times and fashions change and one just goes with the flow, as they like to say.”

“Yeah, if you think jeans and T-shirts are provocative, stick around for the summer and see them all in bikinis,” Gareth said with a grin.

“And what are they?” Celeborn asked.

“Swimwear that leaves nothing to the imagination,” Gwyn supplied. “Do you think Nell would look good in one?” he asked Gareth with an innocent air.

“Nell would look good in a flour sack,” Gareth retorted with great conviction, “but she’ll look spectacular in a bikini for sure.”

“Now, here is Elf Academy.” Finrod stopped before the building, glad to be able to divert everyone’s attention away from Mortal fashion. He had seen images of Women wearing these bikinis and had been absolutely appalled, while Glorfindel had merely commented that females of a particular body shape should not be wearing them where anyone could see, but otherwise had not raised an eyebrow over them.

The others broke off their discussion and gathered around him as he described what they were seeing. “The two side wings are separate sleeping chambers for men and women and the back wing contains classrooms and offices. There is a cafeteria on the third floor where one can obtain meals. Glorfindel and Daeron are meeting with some people to negotiate for additional dormitory space because we are receiving more applicants than we actually have room for.”

“So this meeting is for the benefit of Elf Academy,” Arafinwë said and Finrod nodded.

“And what benefits Elf Academy benefits us all,” he said. “Shall we continue?” They all nodded and Finrod led them toward the front entrance to the college.

“It’s a lovely campus,” Iseult felt inclined to comment while everyone remained quiet.

They passed through the main gate and the security guard goggled at them as they filed past. Finrod took them along Aurora, warning them to take care to walk on the sidewalk and not on the road. This part of Aurora was a tree-lined avenue with some houses on either side, but as they moved closer to the town center, the houses made way for businesses and traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, increased. The Valinóreans stopped and stared at the cars and other vehicles either being driven or parked along the street. It took Finrod a couple of minutes to chivvy them along and as they headed up the street, cars slowed and pedestrians stayed their course, gaping at the group passing.

The guards became increasingly nervous, pressing around the royals in an attempt to form a protective perimeter, but that meant taking up the entire sidewalk and part of the street. Finrod had to reprimand them.

“Keep back and stay off the street,” he ordered. “You do not comprehend your peril.”

Almost as he was speaking, a horrendous noise shattered the air. It was faint at first but it appeared to be coming closer. The Valinóreans looked around in surprise and growing panic.

“What is that?” one of the guards shouted.

Sérener had no idea, but he knew a threat when he saw one or heard it. “Protect Their Majesties!” he shouted in Quenya, automatically fumbling for a sword that was not there, cursing violently at the stupidity of princes in denying him and his men any means of protecting their charges. The other guards immediately began to form up, pushing some of the nearby Mortals away, the Mortals protesting with anger, while Finrod attempted to keep them all calm and the three kings attempted to issue their own orders, primarily ones that would have the ellith in the center and the ellyn ringing them.

Celeborn tried to push Galadriel into the center, and she, just as firmly, was pushing him back, declaring, “I want to see.”

“Me, too,” Celebrían exclaimed. “Elrond, stop trying to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

Elrond shook his head. “No, Celebrían, not this time.” He motioned to Calandil, Arafinwë’s chief guard. “Keep her safe,” he ordered, thrusting his protesting wife toward the ellon, who nodded grimly as he took hold of her. Unarmed, he was not sure how he could protect the lady, but she was his king’s granddaughter and he would do all in his power to keep her safe at the cost of his own life.

“There is no need for panic,” Finrod cried out, also speaking in Quenya, deciding that would make more of an impact. “Stay calm. It is nothing.”

“I will decide if it’s nothing,” Sérener snarled at Finrod, quite forgetting to whom he was speaking and then shouted to his men, “Get our people out of here and back to the encampment.”

“No, no,” Finrod exclaimed. “Atto! I tell you there is no need for fear. Look, look at the Mortals. Do you see them panicking? Look at the ap Hywels.”

The three kings all looked at the ap Hywels. Tristan just shook his head, speaking loudly over the noise. “It’s just a siren, probably police. You’re getting upset over nothing.”

“Actually, I think it’s a fire,” Gwyn said calmly. “The sirens don’t sound the same here as in Wales.”

All the while the sound got louder and then they saw flashing red lights and a bright red vehicle barreling toward them at high speed. Drivers, who had already slowed down to get a look at the Elves, calmly pulled over on both sides of the street not sure which way the truck would go.

“Lhûg! Tôl lhûg!” Turgon suddenly screamed, looking both terrified and determined at the same time and now most of the Elves were looking grim. Turgon continued shouting, looking about frantically. “Glorfindel!” He grabbed Finrod — being the closest — by the arm and demanded, “Ecthelion, where is Glorfindel? He needs to get my grandson to safety. Where is Glorfindel?”

“Oh for the love of the Valar!” Finrod exclaimed in exasperation. “Turgon! It is not a dragon. It is just a fire truck. Look! The Mortals around you are not frightened.”

“Mommy, why are the Elfs being silly?”

The said Elves all stopped, even Turgon, and stared in awe and wonderment at a child, perhaps four or so, clinging to his mother’s hand, looking at them with wide eyes and a toothsome grin.

“Eärendil,” Turgon whispered and burst into tears. Arafinwë took him and held him, all the while staring at the child.

In the meanwhile, the mother lifted the boy into her arms and pointed up the street.

“What is that?” she asked calmly.

“Fiweh twuck. Siwen,” the child lisped. “Ooorrrr.” He made a strange noise and the Elves realized the boy was attempting to imitate the sound of the siren.

By now, the fire truck had reached the intersection, the sound of the siren changing somewhat and most of the Elves cringed, clasping their ears in pain. Then they watched as the truck turned a corner and went racing away, the sound of the siren fading away. Vehicles began moving again and it became quiet or at least quieter.

“Silly Elfs,” the boy giggled, leaning off his mother’s arms so he was practically hanging upside down. The mother put him on his feet and took his hand, casting an apologetic look at the Elves, though she did not reprimand the boy as she walked away, the boy grinning and waving at them.

For a long moment, no one else moved or said anything. Finrod looked furious, which surprised most of them. Amarië, who had remained quiet all this while, trusting her husband, held his left hand, rubbing it to help calm him, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. The Mortals around them all looked amused and none of them appeared sympathetic. A few were even seen shaking their heads and making comments to their neighbors, which caused them to laugh as they went on about their business.

Sérener was mortified, realizing what had happened. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize or fall on his sword, though, since he no longer had his sword, that would be a neat trick, he decided sourly, and stood there waiting for the reprimand that was due. His men looked equally nervous and embarrassed. Arafinwë was busy comforting a distraught Turgon who kept going on about dragons and Eärendil and it took a few minutes for Arafinwë to calm him down.

Meanwhile, Galadriel was quietly remonstrating with Celeborn about not needing anyone’s protection, but the others remained silent, taking their cue from Ingwë, who was looking between a still fuming Finrod, the ap Hywels who were calmly waiting, though Gwyn and Gareth were rolling their eyes at each other, and the Mortals who were all smiling, obviously amused by the Elves’ discomfort.

Ingwë glanced at Olwë and Arafinwë, giving them an enquiring look, but they both shook their heads, apparently willing to let him make the final decision as to what to do next. He looked at Finrod. “Shall we continue with the tour?” he said quietly.

Finrod took a deep, centering breath, and nodded. “Yes. Let us continue.”

****

Lhûg! Tôl lhûg!: (Sindarin) ‘A dragon! A dragon comes!’