113: Election Day

“So how did it go with Dar and Cani?” Glorfindel asked Finrod as they headed back to Edhellond with Finrod again driving.

“Very well,” Finrod answered, not taking his eyes off the road. “I think they will fit in very easily, more so than the rest of us. Until their deaths, they knew nothing about Elvish culture and were used to living among Mortals. They have not forgotten that and I think they are even a little jealous of Finda and his gwedyr attending the college.” He flashed Glorfindel a quick smile then returned his attention to the road.

“Well, I’m sure we can arrange for them to attend the college in the fall,” Glorfindel said. “Liam appears to be settling in as well as a police officer. Dave confided in me during the reception that he’s planning to allow him to carry a weapon soon, in fact, sooner than he was expecting to, but I pointed out to him that Legolas has been handling weapons of one sort or another since he was an elfling of thirty. It stands to reason that he would pick up on modern-day weapons easily enough and adapt to them without too much trouble.”

“Having him on the police force should help us,” Finrod said as he turned onto Sycamore. He pulled into the drive and parked, turning off the engine. Vardamir and Elrond made to get out and Glorfindel started to, but Finrod put a hand out to stay him.

“Are you coming?” Vardamir asked.

“In a moment,” Finrod said and Vardamir apparently realized that the Noldorin prince wished to speak privately with his gwador and nodded, closing the door.

For a moment, neither Finrod nor Glorfindel spoke, the two watching Vardamir and Elrond entering the mansion. “So, what did you want to talk about?” Glorfindel finally asked.

“You did not arrange to speak with Ron,” Finrod said.

“There was no time and we were all concerned about Amroth and… What?” Glorfindel scowled at him.

“Nothing,” Finrod said, leaning back in his seat. “You were never one to make excuses before.”

“Oh for the love of the Valar!” Glorfindel muttered something that might have been a curse as he twisted his torso so he could reach into a pocket and pull out his phone, speed-dialing a number as he glared at Finrod who merely gave him an amused look. “Yeah, hi, Ron, it’s Loren. Look, I’m sitting in the van in front of the mansion with Finrod who’s nagging me without actually nagging to get me to set up an appointment to speak with you… Yeah, I appreciate it… Okay, hang on.” He handed the phone to Finrod. “Ron wants to speak with you.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow as he took the phone. “Yes, Ron?”

Glorfindel watched as his gwador’s expression transmuted into something akin to mirth. “I would like you to come over here and say that to my face...” He suddenly laughed. “Does your wife know you speak like that?... Yes, fine… here you go.” He handed the phone back to Glorfindel.

“Told him off, did you?” Glorfindel said into the phone, giving Finrod a wink. “Good for you… Yeah, after the election is fine. In fact, can we make it after Ingwë and the others return to Valinor? There’s just too much going on… According to Ingwë they are due to leave a week from this Thursday… You’re kidding? Well that is certainly apropos. Yeah… thanks… Monday the twenty-first at ten? That sounds okay with me. I’ll check my calendar but I don’t think I have anything scheduled for that day. If I do, I’ll let you know. Yep. Talk with you later. Bye.” He turned off the phone, shoving it back into his pocket. “Ron’s set up an appointment with me two weeks from today. Satisfied?”

“Yes. And what is apropos? That means appropriate, does it not?”

“Yes, it does. Ron was telling me that next Thursday when Ingwë and his people are supposed to be leaving is Ascension Thursday. I won’t try to explain that, but that’s what they will be doing: ascending into the heavens and returning to Valinor.”

“You will be glad to see them go,” Finrod said.

“And you will not?” Glorfindel retorted. “You know how dangerous it is for them to be here. How dangerous it is for all of us.”

“Yet, we need to remain in touch with one another,” Finrod pointed out. “Ingwë wants to set up strategy meetings with us and with the mortal leaders of Wiseman. I wish there were a better way to communicate with one another once he departs, but I do not think even having a palantír would work.”

“We should talk to the Valar about setting up a communications satellite relay between here and Valinor,” Glorfindel suggested with a grin, half jesting, as he opened the passenger door and climbed out. Finrod joined him and they headed inside.

“It would be interesting to see if it could be done,” Finrod allowed, giving his gwador a sly grin. “Do you think Ingwion and Sador would enjoy Skyping with us?”

Glorfindel laughed. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

****

Elrohir and Serindë returned from Chandalar early Tuesday morning while the rest of the Elves were still having breakfast. Everyone greeted them warmly, welcoming them back. Elladan gave them a searching look.

“So, no niece or nephew on the way, yet?” he asked seemingly in all seriousness.

His brother gave him a scathing look. “If you want playmates, Dan, go find a sandbox. I’m sure the kiddies will let you have the shovel.”

The others all sniggered at that and Elladan blushed. “So how was Chandalar?” he asked in apology.

“It was very romantic,” Serindë said with a glimmer in her eyes, “and all too short a honeymoon.”

“We wanted to get back early to vote,” Elrohir said as he and Serindë accepted cups of coffee, assuring them that they had already broken their fast, “which is why we left when we did, otherwise, we would’ve stayed there longer.”

“We’re planning to all go together once we finish with breakfast,” Glorfindel said.

“It is a pity that the rest of us cannot participate in this voting,” Erestor said. “Will we ever be able to?”

“Only if you willingly become US citizens as we did,” Glorfindel answered as he sipped his coffee. “That is not a step that should be taken lightly. At the moment, we have made it seem as if you were already US citizens but the people of Wiseman know differently and you would need to be a registered voter and that means showing actual proof of citizenship. You may eventually want to take that step, but understand it is irrevocable. By becoming a US citizen, for instance, I have given up all my titles and rights as a subject of the Noldóran. The same is true for the rest of us. It was easy enough for us to make the decision because for all intents and purposes we were never going to Sail. That cannot be said to be strictly true for the rest of you.” He paused, glancing at his watch. “Well, no time like the present. Why don’t we go and vote before we meet with Ingwë and the others?”

“Lindorillë and I will be at the store,” Erestor said. “We’re getting our first shipment of merchandize today.”

“Good luck with that,” Glorfindel said sincerely. “When do you hope to open?”

“We thought the holiday weekend would be appropriate,” Lindorillë answered. “Daeron explained to us the significance of this Memorial Day that is celebrated.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Glorfindel said as he stood. “Well, anyone planning to vote, we’ll meet outside in about five minutes, okay? I think the day is pleasant enough that I plan to walk into town, but the rest of you do as you please.”

“A walk would do us good,” Elladan said and several others nodded.

“I will accompany you,” Finrod said. “I wish to see how this system works and then I must continue on to the bookshop.” He turned to Amarië with a smile. “Perhaps, my love, you would like to join me.” She smiled and nodded.

Glorfindel raised no objections and soon people were congregated outside the mansion and heading for the voting place. Wiseman was large enough to be divided into districts for voting purposes. Edhellond, situated as it was to the southwest of the town, fell into District Three and voters from that district went to the Grange Hall to vote. As everyone made their way toward the gates, they were surprised to see Ingwë there with his fellow kings, Celeborn, Galadriel and Turgon. There were only two guards with them.

“Ingwë,” Glorfindel said somewhat warily. “What brings you out here so early? I thought we were meeting with you later.”

“I decided I wanted to see how this voting thing works,” Ingwë answered. “You do not mind, do you?”

“Why should I mind?” Glorfindel countered with a shrug. “It’s good that you want to see how the democratic system works. We’re walking to the Grange Hall where we will be voting.” He gestured to his right and they set off down the street.

“Where are Adar and Naneth?” Elladan asked his grandparents.

“They decided to remain at that encampment,” Celeborn answered. “Your naneth was feeling somewhat overwhelmed by things and Elrond felt it would be better for them to remain at the encampment and stay quiet.”

“Is Nana all right?” Elrohir asked worriedly.

Galadriel gave her grandson a reassuring smile. “She is fine, child. She just needs time to get used to the idea that her little ’Roh is all grown up and married.”

Elrohir actually blushed and Serindë gave him a peck on the cheek. “Which is why I’m glad my brothers are here to keep my parents occupied, especially Ada going on about his little girl all grown up.” She awarded them with a sour face and they all laughed.

“The hazard of being a parent,” Celeborn said with a knowing grin.

Up ahead, Glorfindel was explaining the voting process to the three kings. “Polls opened at six this morning and will close this evening at nine. That gives everyone who plans to vote the opportunity to do so. The votes will be counted and the winners announced, usually by midnight, but if the voting is close, they may hold off announcing winners until they are sure of the numbers.”

“And everyone will vote?” Arafinwë asked.

“Unlikely,” Glorfindel said. “Historically, the percentage of people who do vote is lower than the actual numbers who are eligible to do so. I suspect, though, that the turnout for this election will be heavier than normal simply because this is the first election since we revealed ourselves to the Mortals here and who becomes Mayor now will determine all our futures for good or for ill.”

As they reached the Grange Hall, they saw that the parking lot attached to it was perhaps half full and there were people either driving in or, as with the Elves, walking. Others were coming out of the Hall, apparently having cast their vote. One of them was Tom Peterson, who scowled at the sight of the Elves, blocking their path.

“So what are you doing here?” he demanded harshly. He was accompanied by his wife and a couple of his supporters. There was a TV news crew there as well and the camera was rolling. Glorfindel gave the Man a brittle smile.

“The same thing as you, Mr. Peterson. We’re here to vote.”

“And what makes you think you Elves have the right to vote?” Peterson demanded. “You’re not even human.”

“Mr. Peterson, I’ve voted in every presidential election since… um… let’s see… since Washington, actually.” Glorfindel gave him a bright smile, ignoring the startled looks of the Mortals listening to the confrontation. “Every. Single. One,” he added, spacing out the words for emphasis. “We all have, actually.”

“Well, actually no,” Barahir said with a grin. “My first presidential election was… ah… when Rutherford B. Hayes was elected. Some of us haven’t been living here since before the Revolution as you have, Loren. Gil, Conan, Daisy, Alfa and I came to the States when Ulysses S. Grant was president. We’ve only been citizens since eighteen-seventy-five.”

The Mortals listening just gaped at the casual mention of people that were only names out of history books for most of them while the camera continued to roll.

“I stand corrected,” Glorfindel said with a smile at Barahir. “At any rate, Mr. Peterson, some of us are indeed lawful citizens of the United States and duly registered voters, so if you will excuse us, we would like to exercise our civic duty. Good day to you, sir.” Before Peterson could offer a comment or protest, Glorfindel swept by him and the others followed. The news reporter attempted to get a statement from one of them but the Elves ignored him.

Inside, they found a crowd of people. Some were standing before a long table where they were signing the register before moving to stand in another line before the two voting booths. People turned to see who had come in and not a few eyebrows rose and soft comments were passed between neighbors, but no one importuned them. Glorfindel and those who were voting joined the line at the table while Finrod suggested that everyone else stand off to one side out of the way. They watched with interest as Glorfindel fished out his wallet when he reached the head of the line and showed the person there his ID before signing the book. He then went to the other line and eventually everyone else did as well. About fifteen minutes later, they had all gone into one of the booths and cast their votes before joining the kings and Finrod.

“It is completely anonymous?” Ingwë asked Glorfindel as the ellon joined him.

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes. In fact, it is considered the height of rudeness to even ask someone for whom they voted. People vote as their consciences dictate. Are we all set, then?” he asked as others joined them until they were all together again. When everyone nodded, he said, “Then, we’ve done our duty. Why don’t we get out of here? We won’t know anything definitive until later tonight or possibly tomorrow.”

He showed them a side exit and they left that way, neatly avoiding the news crew still at the main entrance taking exit polls. Finrod and Amarië left them to go on to the bookstore and Arafinwë decided to go with them, wishing to see his son at work. “I’m working until eight tonight,” Finrod told Glorfindel. “Nick is staying open late to accommodate people who are voting and are out and about later on. Could someone come for Amarië and Atar if they decide not to stay the entire day at the bookstore?”

“Not a problem,” Glorfindel assured him. “Give me a call and someone will come.”

With that they separated with everyone else following Glorfindel who decided to take an alternate route back to Edhellond to avoid other people. “That Man was not happy to see you,” Olwë said to Glorfindel as they walked together.

“Who? Tom Peterson?” Glorfindel shrugged. “Peterson has not been happy with us since we revealed ourselves. And while he might wish to prevent us from voting, he has no legal right to do so. The law, in this, is on our side. Did you notice the two police officers who were heading our way when Peterson confronted us?”

Olwë shook his head and Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, well, I know them and I know that if anyone had tried to prevent us from entering the Hall, those two would have stepped in and if necessary they would have arrested even Peterson for obstruction. That is how the system works, more or less. It hasn’t always run smoothly, but it does run and it works more often than not.”

“It does seem odd to allow common folk to decide who will rule them, though,” Galadriel offered.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Glorfindel said. “They’re the ones who pay the taxes and all. Seems only fair that they have a say in who gets to tax them. So, what is on the agenda for the day?”

“We still need to talk, you and I,” Turgon said almost belligerently.

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, we do. Fine. Let’s do that then. When we get back to Edhellond, you and I will go for a ride and we’ll talk.”

They continued on their way. Daeron invited the Valinóreans to remain in Edhellond. “Enjoy the garden or the woods,” he offered, then turned to Olwë, giving the Lindaran a sly smile. “You can watch all the TV you want.”

“You’re going to turn him into a junkie, Darren,” Elladan protested with a laugh and others joined him.

“What’s a junkie?” Olwë asked.

“Never mind,” Glorfindel countered as he fished out his keys from a pocket. “We’ll be back later. Come along, my lord. Let’s get this over with.” He went to his van, opening the passenger side door. Turgon hesitated for a second, looking uncertain. Ingwë gave him a gentle smile and pushed him slightly forward. He climbed into the van and Glorfindel shut the door, going to the driver’s side and climbing in.

“Here, you need to put on the seat belt, like this.” He showed him how it was done and after a couple of awkward attempts, Turgon managed to buckle himself in. Glorfindel started the engine and began pulling out, waving to those who were still standing about, watching them leave. Turgon turned white and grasped the door handle. “No, Turgon,” Glorfindel said, quickly pushing a button on his console to lock all the doors. “Here. Hang on to that.” He pointed to a strap above and Turgon complied. “It’s all right. There’s nothing to fear. Just breathe normally. See. It’s like riding a horse only more comfortable. If looking out the side window makes you nauseous, keep your eyes to the front and I’ll open the window so you get some fresh air.”

Turgon nodded, still looking a little green, and Glorfindel noted that the former king of Gondolin kept his gaze firmly in front of him. They traveled along several side streets as Glorfindel made his way through Wiseman, heading north.

“Where do we go?” Turgon asked in Sindarin after a while.

“I thought you would enjoy getting out of Wiseman a bit,” Glorfindel answered in the same language. “We’re heading north to Nolan. It’s a smaller community, only a few houses and such. We can stop at the tavern there once it opens.”

“Why not go to a tavern in Wiseman?” Turgon asked.

“They know us there,” Glorfindel said. “I’ve been through Nolan, but I’ve never actually stopped there so it’s unlikely we’ll meet anyone who knows me. So, just sit back and enjoy the ride. We’ll talk when we stop, all right?”

Turgon nodded and they fell into silence as Glorfindel wended his way across town and picked up the road to Nolan. In a short while he was pulling into a small parking lot in front of the Nolan Arms, a rather pretentious name for a two-bit bar, as far as Glorfindel was concerned. He showed Turgon how to undo the seat belt and they climbed out of the van. This early in the morning, the bar was not open so Glorfindel suggested that they simply wander about. “There’s a lovely green and you can see that the town is surrounded by forest,” Glorfindel commented as they walked up the street. Turgon took a moment to take it all in, watching the Mortals go about their lawful business, most of them seemingly ignoring the two strangers, though some cast suspicious looks their way.

“You actually enjoy living here?” Turgon asked.

“I’ve lived in worse places,” Glorfindel answered with a smile.

“But I mean, with Mortals? You actually enjoy consorting with them?”

“Turgon, I know you’ve had little exposure to Mortals outside of Huor, Húrin and Tuor, but you must at least recognize their worth. Húrin sacrificed himself for you and spent years as Morgoth’s prisoner being tormented. And Tuor won Idril’s heart. You know your daughter. She was wooed by every eligible ellon in Gondolin for centuries but Tuor stole her heart, or rather, she gave it to him freely and without regret. You have a wonderful grandson in Eärendil and your descendants still live, both in Aman and here in Ennorath.”

“Why did you leave Aman?”

“I left because the Belain asked me to, and frankly, I wished to. Aman was never truly my home; it was merely the place where I lived at one time.”

They had reached the village green and Glorfindel indicated a stone bench shaded by a couple of evergreens and they sat side-by-side.

“When I was re-embodied,” Turgon said quietly, not looking at Glorfindel, “it was some time before I remembered who I truly was. It took even longer to remember you.”

“It is the way of things with the Reborn,” Glorfindel said philosophically. “When I began to remember you and my life in Gondolin, I… I got into a lot of trouble.”

Turgon actually looked at Glorfindel and grinned. “So I was told. Did you really end up a slave to a jewel-smith?”

“I prefer to think of it as being involuntarily placed under cover to smoke out the dissidents,” Glorfindel retorted and Turgon laughed, though there was nothing malicious about it.

“Perhaps I should have done something similar instead of just exiling you to an outpost every time you did something… stupid,” Turgon said.

“Stupid, yes, that about covers it,” Glorfindel said with a nod. “I was stupid. I was also wrong. I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Turgon asked, looking confused. “You were right about Maeglin all along. It was I who refused to see the truth. It was my arrogance that destroyed Gondolin, not yours.”

“No, that part is true, but I was wrong to treat you as I did there at the end,” Glorfindel said. “It haunted me into my next life and half the trouble I got into was due to guilt at the way we left one another. I am sorry.”

“As am I,” Turgon said with a sigh. Silence hung between them for a time, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Turgon said, “Ecthelion misses you, you know.”

“And I miss him. I am sorry he did not come with you or with Finrod.”

“The Belain refused him, saying that he was needed in Aman, else I would have had him join us.”

“I suspect they are keeping us apart,” Glorfindel said. “He was not even reborn until after I left, or so Finrod informed me.”

“Probably just as well,” Turgon said, deadpan. “I don’t think Wiseman could handle the two of you together. I barely could and I have both your lives.”

Glorfindel smiled wistfully. “I suspect you’re right.”

“Oh, I know I’m right,” Turgon retorted more forcibly. “Do you know how many times I wished one of you had taken allegiance with Fingon or Finrod or, the Belain help me, with one of my cousins? You two were the bane of my existence.”

“We also kept you highly amused,” Glorfindel countered.

Turgon gave him a disbelieving look and then a smile cracked his face and he started laughing. Glorfindel joined him. “Yes, you did,” Turgon admitted. “You remember the time you kidnapped Idril? After I stopped being angry, I couldn’t help laughing. It was so ludicrous and Idril!” He laughed again. “She was all set to do some serious and… ah… permanent damage to your manhood after she knocked you out.”

“Ouch!” Glorfindel exclaimed with a wince, not so nonchalantly crossing his legs, which just set Turgon laughing again and it took a few minutes for him to calm down. Glorfindel gave him a wry look. “She forgave me eventually.”

“She’s her nana’s daughter that way,” Turgon said. “We are both aggrieved that her and Tuor’s ultimate fate is unknown to us. The Belain refuse to say, which really makes me angry.”

“Tell me about it,” Glorfindel said sympathetically. “It was the same with Sador. You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have. Gil-galad relies on him heavily and the islanders have the deepest respect for him. Even Ada treats him as if he were kin to the High King himself.”

“Sador is… special,” Glorfindel said with a nod. “Anyway, I learned a long time ago that the Belain will do as they please when they please to do it and all the ranting in the world won’t change their minds about it. I have every confidence that your daughter and son-in-law are safe and well and they will be there in the end.”

Neither spoke after that. Turgon gazed about him, watching the townspeople go about their business. He smiled wistfully at a young Woman going by pushing a stroller in which a toddler was fast asleep and watched with interest as an elderly couple came onto the green and settled themselves on a nearby bench, both of them with travel mugs in their hands. The Man was also carrying a newspaper, which he unfolded, handing one section of it to the Woman, the two of them quietly reading, ignoring everything and everyone else. Birds twittered in the trees and squirrels scampered about in play. The sun was warm and there was a slight breeze that ruffled their hair.

Glorfindel sat quietly, letting Turgon call the shots. He was quite content to sit there all day if necessary. They still hadn’t gotten to the heart of their problem, but that was fine with him. He did not think the situation would resolve itself immediately, but hopefully, by the time Turgon had to leave for Valinor, they would have come to an understanding. He checked his watch.

“The tavern should be open,” he said, breaking the silence between them. “Feel like getting an ale?”

Turgon nodded. “Yes, that sounds good.”

Glorfindel stood and Turgon joined him. Together they retraced their steps. “So, tell me all the dirt on Fingon,” Glorfindel said, giving Turgon a leer.

Turgon grinned, suddenly the younger brother happily snitching on an older brother, regaling Glorfindel with tales of Fingon’s foibles with great delight. When they got to the bar, Glorfindel ordered Guinesses for them both and then, because by now it was coming towards noon, decided to order lunch as well, for the Nolan Arms boasted a small kitchen where bar snacks and sandwiches could be had. They ended up having pastrami on rye and kosher dill pickles with their beers. Glorfindel continued to ask questions about certain people in Aman and Turgon was happy enough to supply answers.

They were just finishing eating when Glorfindel’s phone rang.

“Hello, Finrod,” he said into the phone, having checked the caller ID. “No, I’m in Nolan with Turgon. We’re just finishing lunch… Not a problem. We can be there shortly. I’ll call you when I get to the Safeway, okay?... Yes, as soon as I pay the bill.” He raised his hand to get the bartender’s attention as he spoke. “See you soon.” He closed down the phone and got out his wallet and soon they were leaving the bar.

As they climbed into the van and buckled up, Turgon put a hand on Glorfindel’s arm just as he was about to turn over the engine. Glorfindel gave him an enquiring look.

“Our conversation is not over,” Turgon said.

“I didn’t think it was,” Glorfindel averred, “but it was a start.”

“Yes, it was. I wish to thank you.”

Glorfindel gave him a surprised look. “Thank me for what?”

“For not dismissing me. For not treating me like a Reborn.”

“But you are a Reborn, Turgon, as am I,” Glorfindel countered with a chuckle. “And, we Reborn have to stick together, right?”

Turgon gave him a searching look, and realizing Glorfindel’s sincerity, nodded, letting go of his arm. Glorfindel turned the key and they were soon on their way back to Wiseman.

****

Note: Ulysses S. Grant, the eighteenth president, was in office from 1869 to 1877; Rutherford B. Hayes was the nineteenth president from 1877 to 1881.