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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

2: Conversations

Glorfindel looked up from the menu he’d been perusing to see Finrod approaching. The ellon slipped off his cloak and sidled into the booth across from him.

“How did it go?” he asked Finrod, speaking Quenya, hoping he did not sound too anxious. His otorno would never know how much he truly worried for him. He knew that Finrod was having some difficulty adjusting to his new environment, more so than the others, it seemed. But then, he reflected, the others had not been shot and nearly died. However much Finrod was healed physically, Glorfindel knew from experience that he was far from healed emotionally and psychologically.

Finrod smiled and replied in the same language. “It went very well. Nicholas is quite pleased with me.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad,” Glorfindel said with some relief. He started to say something else but the waitress came over to take Finrod’s drink order. Glorfindel assured her that they just needed a few minutes more to look over the menus. She left and they both spent a moment or two deciding on what they would have.

“So you think you will enjoy working at the bookstore?” Glorfindel asked after he had decided on a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and some chili.

Finrod nodded. “Oh yes. I haven’t had this much fun since… hmm… can’t remember, actually.”

Glorfindel grinned. “More fun than working in the royal kitchens?” he asked slyly.

Finrod chuckled. “Definitely. There’s no bossy Maia about telling me what to do.” He gave Glorfindel a knowing grin and Glorfindel laughed lightly in agreement.

The waitress returned just then with Finrod’s tea and they gave her their orders with Finrod having decided on chili as well, but eschewing a sandwich to go with it.

“So, what are your plans for this week?” Finrod asked. “The Academy is still running, is it not?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered with a nod as he took a sip of his own tea. “The students will remain here until the New Year. Most of them head home a day or two later and those who have been hired permanently by one of the tour companies or resorts will have found accommodations in Wiseman or Bettles or even Chandalar. The Academy officially closes on the seventh. Everyone has to be out by then and then we send in the cleaning crew to scour the place.”

“It seems odd that the building remains empty for, what, eight months? Rather a waste,” Finrod commented.

“Oh, it still is used,” Glorfindel assured him even as the waitress was returning with their lunches. She put their plates down and they thanked her. “The administration still continues as we start accepting applications for the next class and we’re constantly holding meetings to plan the syllabus, deciding what didn’t work and what did, that sort of thing. The dormitories are let out to various groups who come to Wiseman for one convention or another during the summer months, as well as tourists, backpackers mostly, who are hiking their way north to Deadhorse or Barrow. It’s cheaper than a hotel and the Goldmine Inn is not all that large.”

“I see,” Finrod said. “I am glad. It just seemed an awful waste to leave the building empty for so much of the year.”

Conversation lagged at that point while they spent the next few minutes concentrating on their lunches, but then Finrod put down his soup spoon and began rubbing his shoulder, wincing slightly. Glorfindel gave him a concerned look.

“Shoulder still bothering you?” he asked softly.

“A little,” Finrod replied. “I’m afraid our little tussle didn’t help matters much.”

“Sorry,” Glorfindel said with all sincerity. “That was really stupid of me.”

“It was as much my fault as yours, hanno,” Finrod assured him. He sighed, closing his eyes.

“You’re still feeling depressed,” Glorfindel said, making it more a statement than a question.

Finrod opened his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he said, then chuckled when Glorfindel gave him a disbelieving look. “Does it surprise you that I finally admit to depression? Everyone from Lady Varda on down has commented on it this past month and as much as I tried to deny it, I knew it for the truth. I have been depressed, but I think working at the bookstore will help. Until now, I have felt as if I had no real purpose here.”

“And working at the bookstore gives you that purpose?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yes. Oh, not by being a… a working stiff, as I think you called me” — he had to resort to the English term, as Quenya had no equivalent phrase — “but in meeting with the people, becoming a part of their world and their lives, even if it’s only from behind the counter ringing up sales. The people who walked into the bookstore this morning are the people the Valar chose to form their Army of Light, the ones we have been commissioned to train for the coming War. I need to know who they are, what they hope for, what they fear. I need to understand the Mortals of this time so that I can help them to heal, to become whole.”

“You are acting as a Fëanturnildo, then,” Glorfindel stated.

“Yes. I never have stopped acting as one. Even after you left us, I still continued working to bring healing to our people, to the land itself. That never stopped, though as time went on, my duties necessarily changed. When Lord Manwë asked if I would come here, he told me specifically that my task was to act as a Fëanturnildo to the Mortals of Wiseman, to heal their fëar, to help prepare them for what is to come.”

“The war will most likely not happen in their lifetime, though,” Glorfindel pointed out.

“No, probably not, but we have to start now if we are to train them properly. Your task is to recruit the Mortals through Elf Academy; mine is to assure that these people are spiritually ready for what will come.”

“Well, I don’t envy you,” Glorfindel said sincerely. “Dealing with Elf Academy is headache enough.”

“I do not intend to do it alone, hanno,” Finrod said. “The others who came with me will help, each in his or her own way. That relieves you of the burden so you and the other Wiseman Elves can concentrate on the Academy.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Wiseman Elves. Valinórean Gang. I hope someday we will simply be seen by the Mortals as the Eldar, with no differentiation.”

Finrod chuckled. “Well, it’s not likely to happen anytime soon. I suppose that as more of our people return to Middle-earth, we who are here now will be referred to as Wiseman Elves to differentiate us from the newcomers.”

“You’re probably right,” Glorfindel allowed.

The waitress came by just then to clear away their empty plates, asking if they were interested in dessert, but they both declined and after finishing their tea, they paid the bill and left, heading for Glorfindel’s van to return to Edhellond.

****

Later that evening, as they were having dinner, everyone who was at Edhellond congratulated Finrod on his first day of work.

Eärnur, who now went by the Mortal name Ernest, though most of the Wiseman Elves tended to call him Ernie much to his dismay, gave him a wicked look. “Never thought I would see the day when the great Findaráto would be counted among the common folk, working for a living.”

Finrod gave his friend a disdainful sniff. “I’ve worked all my life, mostly in government, though I had a short stint overseeing the butteries when Fëanáro was sent into exile and my Uncle Nolofinwë needed everyone’s help to keep Tirion running smoothly.”

“And don’t forget the royal kitchens,” Glorfindel put in with a fond smile. “I’m sure they still speak of the time the two of us ruled there.”

“Oh yes,” Finrod said with a laugh. “You were quite firm with Marilliën, weren’t you?”

“No more than you,” Glorfindel retorted with a smirk.

“So, do you really intend to spend the rest of the ages until the War working at the bookstore?” Vorondur asked, giving Finrod a shrewd look.

“No, of course not,” Finrod replied. “But it is a start, is it not? I have to start somewhere in integrating myself into this society.”

“Yes, it is a start, and a very good one,” Vorondur said with a nod. “In fact, I think it was very brave of you to seek out employment on your own.”

Several eyebrows went up. Finrod’s son, Findalaurë, gave Vorondur a scowl. “Atto is no coward.”

“Hush, Finda,” Finrod said softly. “I am quite capable of defending myself, and that is not what Vorondur meant.”

“What did you mean, Ron?” Amroth asked. “What is so brave about asking for a job?”

Vorondur glanced about the dining room, apparently gauging the mood of his listeners, then addressed himself directly to Amroth. “You and I and the rest of us who have lived in Middle-earth these long ages do not think twice about applying for work. We’ve done it often enough when we’ve not gone into business for ourselves. And perhaps, for some of you from Valinor, that must also be true.”

“Oh sure,” Thandir said, entering into the conversation. He now went by the name Thaddeus or Thad. “I was not a lord when I lived here before, still am not, though my family is high in the Noldóran’s government. I gave up my titles when I fled Aman and never reclaimed them when I returned there, so in any case, I needed to find work to support myself and my family.” He gave them a rueful look. “You should have seen the fur flying the day my atar came to Tol Eressëa, demanding that I return to the family estate and take up my duties as his heir. I refused, of course. I had just been hired by the Hyarnarië Trading Company as one of their factomen and was about to leave for Vinyalondë. Competition for the position was fierce and I considered myself fortunate beyond words to have been hired.”

Vorondur nodded. “Yes, I am sure you were, but you see my point? You had to apply for the position and you probably did not think it strange to do so, and so it is with the rest of us, but Finrod, I am sure, has never had to apply for anything, he has simply been offered the work or has taken it up on his own, his status as a prince of Eldamar ensuring that whatever task he put his hand to no one would gainsay him. For him to walk into that bookstore and ask for a job, even if it wasn’t his original intent in going there in the first place, took tremendous courage on his part. He had to ask, not demand.”

“It was not all that hard,” Finrod insisted with a slight smile.

Vorondur just shrugged, not interested in pursuing the matter further. For a time, the conversation lagged until Helyanwë, who now went by the name Helena, said, “I understand that the Mortals celebrate the New Year soon.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, New Year’s Eve is Saturday.”

“Are there parties?” Nielluin asked, sounding rather excited. Her cousin Findalaurë and his two otornor, Calandil and Elennen, looked equally excited by the prospect of attending parties. The older Elves gave them indulgent looks.

“Well, people generally congregate in the town square to welcome in the New Year and then make their way to private parties,” Glorfindel explained. “Last year we hosted one such but not this year. People usually take turns hosting.”

“So what will we be doing then?” Helyanwë asked.

“Well, Daeron and I took it upon ourselves to let our friends know that we would not be accepting any invitations,” Glorfindel answered. “We’ll go to the square like everyone else, but I thought it would be nice to just celebrate on our own in the clearing in the woods behind the mansion. It promises to be a clear night.”

“Will not the Mortals think we are being rude by not joining in with their festivities?” Finrod asked.

“Our friends are aware of the fact that there are times when we Elves need to be alone without dealing with Mortals,” Glorfindel replied. “They may be disappointed but they won’t be offended.”

“And the reverse is true, as well,” Daeron added. “The Mortals occasionally need a respite from our presence. All of us together can be overwhelming to most of the good people of Wiseman, even those who know us well, or think they do.”

“Well, what should we plan to do, then?” Nimrodel asked.

“Why, have a cookout of course,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “What else would we be doing in the middle of the woods with the temperature well below freezing in the wee hours of the New Year?”

Everyone laughed and they spent some time deciding on a menu while they finished with dinner and began cleaning up. At one point, Prince Legolas, now going by the name Liam, commented, “Let us hope that no Mortal decides to blunder into the woods while we are celebrating. I do not think any of us have the power now to put them to sleep or to move the party elsewhere as we had to do once in Mirkwood when a pack of Dwarves came wandering through the Forest.”

“If any Mortal is stupid enough to be trekking through the woods in the middle of the night on New Year’s Eve, they’ll find themselves unable to find us,” Glorfindel stated. “I intend to raise a barrier around the woods, or a small portion of it, similar to the one Melian raised to protect Doriath. Animals will be able to pass through but the Mortals will simply find themselves unable to reach us even if they can see or hear us.”

“Can you raise that much power?” Legolas of Gondolin asked in surprise. He now went by the name Lance. “I have heard of Melian’s Girdle. I did not think any Elf had that kind of power.”

“My adar did,” Prince Legolas said categorically.

“And so do I, or rather, I will have with Finrod’s help,” Glorfindel said, giving his gwador a significant look.

Finrod nodded. “It should be easy enough to do. I once asked Melian how she created the Girdle and she explained the mechanics of raising that much power. I wonder though if any of the Mortals will sense it.”

“Or if the Enemy will,” Valandur added. He now went by Val. When they all gave him puzzled looks, he shook his head in disbelief. “Children, children,” he admonished them, “were you not listening to Lord Námo when he spoke at Findaráto’s Court? The Enemy has already made a move against us with its attempt to infiltrate that spy agency to which Alex Grant belonged. You heard Lord Eönwë tell Madison Washburn that he has been fighting on her behalf against the machinations of the Enemy. What did you think he was saying?”

“Even if that’s true, so what?” Glorfindel asked. “The Enemy knows we’re here, probably has known from the beginning. We haven’t hid ourselves away.”

“But neither have you done anything that would alert the Enemy as to the extent of your powers,” Valandur pointed out. “You have been very circumspect and rightly so. If you start raising the kind of power you’re talking about, the Enemy might assume you are planning battle and respond in kind.”

“So you’re saying we should not use our powers at all,” Laurendil, now called Randall, said.

“No. That would be foolish,” Valandur admitted, “but we should think carefully on how we use them. While I am sure most of the Mortals residing in Wiseman are on our side, I am not so naïve as to believe that all of them are. Some will hate us for who we are and have already joined with the Enemy and are its eyes and ears. It is only prudent to ensure that little about us is known to these people, for we cannot know yet just who they may be.”

There was a sober silence that lasted for several minutes as everyone contemplated Valandur’s words. Finally, Glorfindel shrugged. “Well, I suppose we can forget the barrier, then, and take our chances.”

“But really, what Mortal in his or her right mind would bother to go blundering in the woods on New Year’s Eve of all nights?” Cennanion asked with a dismissive sniff.

“From your lips to the Valar’s ears, my friend,” Amroth said and they all chuckled at that.

****

Words are Quenya unless otherwise noted:

Ellon: (Eldarin) Male Elf.

Otorno: Sworn brother. The plural is otornor.

Fëar: Plural of fëa: Spirit, soul.

Noldóran: High King of the Noldor, Arafinwë’s title.

Hyarnarië: Southern Crown, the name of a constellation.

Adar: (Sindarin) Father.





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