2: Away in a Manger

The next morning found Finrod sitting in the sunroom alone, looking out and thinking. The place was eerily quiet with most everyone out. Glorfindel and Daeron had some Academy business to attend to and had left early. Others had gone their separate ways: Elrohir and Serindë were apartment hunting and Elladan had gone with them. Amroth and Nimrodel were out taking a walk, a daily ritual. Most of the healers were either at St. Luke’s or the college clinic. He had no idea where his son and his gwedyr had disappeared to, or Nielluin…

He paused in his ruminations. Nell had surprised him when she had asked Glorfindel about enrolling in the Northern Lights College’s Child Care program, a certificate program for people interested in working in daycare centers caring for young children while their parents were at work, or so his gwador had said. It was a complete turn-around and while he approved her decision, he was not sure he accepted her transformation as being entirely genuine. She was, after all, his sister’s daughter. Artanis had been willful as an elflling and that hadn’t changed even if her name had.

Oh well… He would have to wait and see. He had noticed that his niece had been less eager to voice her opinions about things mortal and that was an improvement. He was tired of having to come up with suitable punishments for her or anyone else for that matter. Amarië kept insisting he should write a book to keep track of the types of punishments he meted out.

“Then you can refer to it when you run out of ideas,” she had said with a laugh and he had laughed with her.

He chuckled now at the memory and then looked about, listening carefully, for he could hear music coming from somewhere. He stood and wandered out, making his way downstairs where the music was louder. He followed the sound until he came to the room which only a week ago he had used as a bedroom until he was strong enough to manage the stairs. Now the room had been transformed back to its original purpose and he belatedly remembered Glorfindel calling it the ‘music room’.

The door was partly open and he quietly came to it, peeking in. He saw Vorondur sitting before a strange looking instrument, running his fingers over it, pressing down on white and black keys, which created the music. He forgot what the instrument was called and this was the first time he had ever heard anyone playing it. He stood there, mesmerized, wondering if the music had been composed by a Mortal. It sounded too Elvish, but he was unsure.

“Well, my lord, would you like to come all the way in?”

Finrod started and then tried not to blush as he opened the door and entered. Vorondur looked up with a smile, never stopping his playing.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you,” Finrod said apologetically.

“You are not disturbing me.”

“What are you playing?”

“‘Claire de Lune’. It means ‘Moonlight’ in French. Composed by a Mortal named Debussy.”

“Moonlight. Yes, I can almost see it rippling across water. I did not think Mortals could create something so….”

“Elvish?” Vorondur supplied with a twinkle in his eyes as he came to the final chords of the music and then sat quietly as the music faded away. “Mortals are as capable of creating sublime beauty as we.”

“And equally capable of creating horrors unimagined,” Finrod retorted.

Vorondur gave him a considering look. “And we are not?” he asked. “You know better than most how untrue that is. Alqualondë, Doriath, the Havens of Sirion. We’ve had our own share of madness.”

“True,” Finrod said with a sigh.

“You are depressed,” Vorondur said and Finrod gave him an arch look. Vorondur grinned. “It’s not a dirty word, your Highness. Depression is a common ailment among Mortals, especially this time of year. When I was in private practice, this was often my busiest time.”

“I am not depressed nor am I Mortal,” Finrod retorted.

“Depression is not an exclusively Mortal malady, Finrod,” Vorondur said, his expression more… clinical and Finrod belatedly remembered that the ellon was as much a healer as Laurendil and Vardamir and the twin sons of Elrond. “You suffered a grave injury and are only recently recovered, physically, at least. How are your nightmares?”

“I have not had any lately,” Finrod replied without thinking.

“But you have had them,” Vorondur insisted, “and they most likely center around being shot, do they not?”

Finrod stared at him in surprise. “How….?”

“You forget, my lord, I’ve had millennia to observe Mortals and their coping mechanisms. Elves are not that much different and they can be as psychologically burdened as any. Your own uncle is proof of that.” He shook his head. “If either Freud or Jung had met Fëanor they would have had a field day, as the saying goes.”

“And who are these Men you mention?” Finrod asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from him. Vorondur sounded uncannily like Lord Irmo at his best, or worst.

“Hmm? Oh, they were Mortals who lived not long ago who are considered the founders of modern-day psychoanalysis. I met them both and it was actually Jung who encouraged me to attend medical school and earn my degree as a psychiatrist. Before that, I had spent much of my time wandering the globe and observing Mortals and how they acted and interacted as a way of understanding my own motivations. I was an anthropologist and sociologist, long before those terms were ever invented. But enough about me. We were talking about you.”

Finrod sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am not depressed,” he insisted. “I am just….” But he did not have the words for what he was feeling at the moment. “I remember at times feeling this way when I was newly reborn.”

Vorondur nodded. “Yes, Loren has told me much about that and it is understandable why you would feel depressed on occasion then, just as it is understandable why you feel depressed now. If you were Mortal, I would prescribe medication, but they would not work on you or rather they would but we probably wouldn’t enjoy the results, nor would you. What did they do in Lórien when any of you Reborn were in a depressed mood?”

“Usually had us painting,” Finrod replied with a snort of amusement. “I hated that class.”

Vorondur chuckled as he stood up from the piano. “So Loren said. Well, unfortunately our time is up for I promised Holly I would join her, Amroth and Della for lunch and then we’re going to look at some houses. Will you be all right here?”

“Yes, of course,” Finrod said. “I will be fine. Have no concerns for me. I may take a walk in the woods.”

“An excellent idea,” Vorondur said. “You know how to reach Loren if you need to or Darren?”

Finrod nodded and he followed Vorondur to the front hall. “Enjoy your lunch and good luck with the house hunting,” he said as the other ellon set off, having decided to walk into town. Finrod closed the door and sighed, wondering how he was going to make it through the rest of the day.

****

In the end, he grabbed his cloak and set off, not for the woods behind the house but for the college and the woods there. Glorfindel had, of course, introduced him to them soon after they had come to Wiseman but he had not had an opportunity to actually explore them. He knew the route to take from Edhellond to the college and took his time, refusing to rush, admiring the scenery. The mountains of the Brooks Range rose above him to the west and he was reminded of the Pelóri, though these were not nearly as tall or sheer. But they were beautiful and the grandeur of them nearly left him breathless.

There were few pedestrians and even fewer vehicles, for he knew that the children were still in school and most people were at work, but the one or two people he met along the way gave him cheery smiles and often wished him a Merry Christmas, which sentiment he returned. Eventually, he reached the college bounds and headed straight for the woods. Almost as soon as he entered them, he felt his spirits rise and tension he hadn’t realized he was feeling melted away, leaving him feeling lightheaded. He leaned against one of the trees and breathed in the clean pine scent that filled the air, closing his eyes. It was some time before he stirred and when he opened his eyes…

“My Lord Fionwë,” he said in surprise, giving the Maia a bow.

Fionwë smiled at the erstwhile King of Nargothrond. “Greetings, Findaráto. I understand you’re feeling depressed.”

Finrod sighed and rolled his eyes. “I am not depressed, I am just…” But he still could not put a name to the feelings and he ended up shrugging, grimacing at the tightness of his left shoulder. He gave the Maia a shrewd look. “I suppose you are here to tell me to cheer up?”

“Furthest thing from my mind,” Fionwë said with a laugh. “As much as I would like to, I cannot order you to be happy, no one can. No, I am here for a different purpose.”

“And what is that?”

Instead of answering, the Maia gestured. “Walk with me, Findaráto.”

Finrod fell into step with the Maia, who led him back out of the woods and along one of the walkways that intersected the various college buildings. Young Mortals hurried about, no doubt heading for classes. None of them gave him or Fionwë a glance and he suspected that the Maia was preventing any of the Mortals from seeing them. He forebore to ask where the Maia was taking him, knowing that he would most likely not get an answer that was at all informative.

They finally reached their destination, a low single-story log building with stained-glass windows. There was a sign which declared that this was the Interfaith Chapel. Finrod gave Fionwë a puzzled look.

“A place of prayer and meditation as well as for worshiping the One,” the Maia said, opening the door. “This chapel is open to all regardless of their particular faith tradition.”

“And why are we here?”

“That should be obvious, Child,” Fionwë said. “Come.”

Finrod entered the chapel and stopped to look about. It was not overly large and he thought it might not hold even a hundred people. The walls were whitewashed and there was a light, airy feel to the place. The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows created miniature rainbows. Long benches on either side of a central aisle took up the bulk of the space. On a dais opposite the entry was a stone table adorned simply with a low vase of flowers between two unlit white candles. On the wall behind the table was a mosaic that showed no particular scene but was full of light and color in a pattern that was pleasing and restful to the eyes. But it was what stood in front of the table that drew Finrod’s eyes, for it seemed totally out of place. It appeared to be a replica of a straw-strewn cave with a trough set in the center. There was a ceramic donkey nestled in the midst of the straw.

“It is a stable,” Fionwë said, answering his unasked question.

“A stable? It looks like a cave.”

“Yes. In some churches you will find a replica of a wooden structure instead, but in all cases they are called The Stable.”

“You make it sound as if it were special.”

Fionwë gave him a brilliant smile. “It is, for in this stable came this world’s greatest gift.”

“It’s empty, except for the donkey,” Finrod couldn’t help pointing out, giving the Maia a grin. “I hope you’re not saying the world’s greatest gift was a donkey.”

Fionwë laughed. “No. As the days towards Christmas advance, other figures will be placed in and around this stable. The Gift will be revealed on Christmas Eve.”

“And what exactly is this gift?”

“Ah, you’ll just have to wait and see,” Fionwë answered. “In the meantime, I challenge you, Findaráto, to discover what the Gift is and what it means to this world. Perhaps, in seeking for the Gift, you will find an answer to your own malady.”

“What malady?” Finrod demanded, feeling confused. “I am not ill, my lord.”

“No. You are simply depressed and you are not sure why. You look about you and you see the excitement of the Mortals, even the excitement of the Wiseman Elves, as I believe young Alex likes to call them, and you are not sure why they are so excited. You see the lights and you hear the carols but you do not totally understand what they are all about. I am giving you a challenge, to discover for yourself the meaning of Christmas.”

“Do you not think I know what it means? Glorfindel has explained…”

“He has explained the outer reasons for this holiday, but it is for you to learn the deeper meaning. It is not really something anyone can relate to another, it is something that you must come to realize for yourself. By all means, pester your gwador and others for information, but keep your eyes and your heart open for what cannot be taught through words. Now, it is nearly time for the noon meal. I will escort you to the Academy where you will find your gwador and the loremaster. They will be surprised and pleased to see you, for they have been worried about you.”

“Why? I am fine,” Finrod protested.

“No, Child, you are not, but you will be in time,” Fionwë said gently. “Shall we go?”

Finrod nodded and they left the chapel, making their way across the campus to the Academy. At the front door, Fionwë stopped and gave Finrod a smile. “And here I leave you, but know that I am not far away.” With that, he turned and walked away, fading into the fabric of the universe. None of the Mortals who were walking about even noticed.

Finrod went inside and walked down the corridor to Glorfindel’s office where he saw his gwador and Daeron standing outside talking. They looked up and gave him surprised smiles.

“What are you doing here?” Glorfindel asked.

“I was in the woods and decided to hunt you up,” Finrod answered, deciding not to mention a certain Maia.

“We were about to go to lunch,” Daeron said. “Perhaps you would like to join us.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Well, give me your cloak and I’ll put it in the office,” Glorfindel said and soon they were heading upstairs to the cafeteria. It was the first time Finrod had been there and he looked about with deep interest.

“It is almost like how they served us in Lórien,” he observed and Glorfindel nodded as he pointed out the various dishes, identifying them so Finrod could make his selections. Soon the three were seated at a table.

“So what are your plans for the day?” Glorfindel asked Finrod.

“I have none. I have been wandering about rather aimlessly today. Everyone seems to have a purpose but me.”

“And what purpose would you like to have?” Daeron asked.

Finrod gave them a sour look. “Anything that doesn’t involve sitting around… moping.”

“You could go Christmas shopping,” Glorfindel suggested. “That should cheer you up.”

“I do not need cheering up, I need something to do.”

“Comes to the same thing, actually,” Daeron said with a slight smile. “Hmm… Christmas shopping. You know, with so many of us now that might be a problem.”

“We don’t have to give gifts,” Glorfindel said. “This is, after all, a Mortal holiday.”

“True, but you know the Twins,” Daeron replied with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You would think they were ten the way they carry on about presents under the tree. And our Valinórean friends are probably feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the hoopla.”

“I know I am,” Finrod said without thinking and then blushed when both Glorfindel and Daeron gave him considering looks.

“Hey, why don’t you play Secret Santa?”

The three ellyn looked up to see a Woman standing there. Both Glorfindel and Daeron gave her warm smiles.

“What do you mean, Grace?” Glorfindel asked.

“You never played Secret Santa?” she asked in surprise and when they shook their heads, she gave a snort of contempt. Finrod forced himself not to smile. “Well, it works well with large groups. You draw names out of a hat and you are the person’s Secret Santa. You leave up to four clues as to your identity, maybe with small trinkets, like a candy cane or an ornament, making sure that others do not catch you at it. In the meantime you buy a gift and you put the person’s name on it but not your own. Then, when you all gather together, you show your clues and you get up to three tries to guess who was your Secret Santa before you’re allowed to open your gift.”

“What happens if you guess incorrectly?” Finrod couldn’t help asking. “Do you forfeit the gift?”

Grace gave him a disbelieving look. “It’s Christmas, my lord! Gifts are never forfeited. The guessing game is just for fun.”

Finrod sat back, mulling over Grace’s words, ignoring Glorfindel and Daeron discussing doing Secret Santa as Grace drifted away. Gifts are never forfeited. He could almost hear Another’s Voice in those words.

“What do you think?”

Finrod blinked, aware that Glorfindel had asked him something. “About what?”

“About doing the Secret Santa. It would assure that everyone will receive at least one gift at Christmas, though we’re an odd number, so someone would be left out.”

“Someone has to act as the coordinator,” Daeron pointed out with a shrug. “I don’t mind doing that.”

“Unless someone acts as a Secret Santa for two people,” Finrod suggested.

Glorfindel and Daeron exchanged considering looks. “That might work,” Glorfindel finally said. “Why don’t we discuss it with the others tonight and if everyone is agreeable we’ll do it. Tomorrow is St. Nicholas’ Day. That would be an appropriate time to begin. Grace said up to four clues, so let us say the final clue has to be given by the twenty-third and we will have a party on Christmas Eve where we can guess who our Secret Santa is.”

“What about the ceremony for the swords? Will that not interfere? And I know some of us are already buying gifts,” Finrod pointed out.

“That will be for Christmas Day when we invite some of our Mortal friends over,” Glorfindel explained. “We’ll reserve Christmas Eve just for us. Most of the Mortals will be in their various churches that night celebrating anyway.”

“Then let us play Secret Santa,” Daeron said with a grin. “If people wish to give additional gifts to friends or family, they may do so, but at least this way everyone is assured at least one gift.”

“Then we will discuss it with the others after dinner,” Glorfindel said. “Do you want to let everyone know?” he asked Daeron, who nodded. Then he turned to Finrod. “In the meantime, why don’t you and I spend the rest of the afternoon in Wiseman?”

“Doing what?” Finrod asked.

“Doing what comes naturally,” Glorfindel replied with a mischievous grin. “Getting into trouble.”

Daeron rolled his eyes and Finrod laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said and they spent a few more minutes finishing up their lunch before setting off for Wiseman.

****

Ellon: (Eldarin) Male Elf. The plural is ellyn.