6: Finrod on His Own

Finrod reported for work on Monday to find Nick in a state of distress. “My mom called yesterday. My dad fell and broke his leg. I guess it’s a pretty bad break and he’s still in hospital. I need to leave and give her a hand for when he comes home. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, maybe a week or so.”

“That is a shame,” Finrod said sincerely. “Go. Be with your parents. I can handle things here. It is a good thing we completed the inventory before this.”

“Are you sure?” Nick asked doubtfully. “You’ve only just started and I probably haven’t shown you everything you need to know.”

“If I need assistance, I will have Amroth come and help. He worked in a bookstore years ago.”

“You can also call me if you’re really stuck. Here is my cell phone number. And you might not get as many customers as we saw last week. Kids will be back in school now that the holidays are over. Don’t think you have to stay open as long as we had planned. You can even put up a sign saying ‘Closed for a family emergency’.”

“But you will lose money that way. I have no problem working the entire day. I will have to close early on Friday because of dinner plans, but otherwise, I will keep to the hours you have posted on the door. Now, go. Be with your family. I will manage.”

“Are you sure?” Nick still gave him a dubious look, which Finrod found more amusing than annoying.

“Child, I ran an entire kingdom for over three hundred years. I think I can manage one bookstore for a week or so.”

Nick blushed, uttering an apology and then he was out the door, intent on getting on the road as soon as possible. Finrod closed the door and looked about the small shop, shrugged and went to make some coffee and then called Glorfindel to explain the change of plans.

“If you get lonely, holler and I’ll send someone over to keep you company, though most of us I think will be helping Ron, Amroth and the ellith move into their new house today,” Glorfindel said.

“I have an entire store of friends just waiting to introduce themselves to me,” Finrod replied, looking over at the shelves of books as he spoke, smiling in anticipation. “I will be home around seven.”

As predicted, he received few customers, though he did have some and when he explained about Nick they all expressed their condolences. Mid-morning, a woman came in with a small waxed paper bag in her hand.

“Hi, I’m Sarah Locke,” she introduced herself, looking a bit flustered, a typical reaction of most Mortals — past and present— when first meeting him. “I… um… own the bakery next door? Mrs. Gorman told me about you… ah… helping Nick out while he’s away. I thought you would… you know… like some fresh donuts. Nick usually comes over about this time if there aren’t any customers and buys something. Here.”

She thrust the bag at him. It was warm to the touch and a delicious smell of baked goods wafted from it. When he opened it, he found it contained a couple of different kinds of pastries. “Thank you,” he said with a smile. “I appreciate your kindness. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” Sarah replied. “It’s on the house. Enjoy.” And before he could respond, she was out the door.

And so the day continued. He wandered about the store, straightening the shelves, looking at titles and reading blurbs. In a section devoted to myths and legends, he found a book about King Arthur and, keeping in mind the calendar he’d been given, he pulled the book out. He read the title: The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights. It was by someone named John Steinbeck. Taking the book back to the counter, he poured himself some coffee and pulled out one of the pastries Sarah had given him to eat and began reading.

Customers came and went. Around three-thirty, five older children — teenagers if he recalled the term correctly — came inside. The group consisted of three boys and two girls and he thought they were about fifteen or so. They gave him surprised greetings — they obviously had not expected to see him and he realized that normally Nick would have been there instead. They made their way to the upper reading room, huddling around the stove, whispering and giggling and casting furtive looks his way. He pretended to ignore them, but all the while he could hear every word of their conversation, which seemed to center around what he thought might be a game, but he was not entirely sure. It could easily be a mischief they were plotting.

He idly wandered through the store, returning the Steinbeck book he had finished reading and pretending to be straightening the shelves, all the while keeping a weather eye on the children even as they kept an eye on his movement without seeming to. He hid a smile at their clumsy attempts at being nonchalant and finally decided to end the cat-and-mouse game by climbing the steps to the reading area to face them. All conversation stopped and the children gave him nervous looks.

“Now you are either planning some mischief to perpetrate against someone or you are discussing a game,” he said without preamble. “Do you need any assistance?”

The five young Mortals just gaped at him in astonishment and he could not help but grin. “You remind me of five elflings, they were a bit younger than you, who plotted to sneak into my encampment one night on a dare and ended up serving me for a year.”

“Er… serving you?” One of the boys echoed. He had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. “You mean, like, they were your slaves?”

“Hardly,” Finrod said, grabbing a straight-back chair and sitting down. “They were my pages. Do you know what a page is?”

“Sure,” one of the girls said. She wore her strawberry blond hair in braids and had bright blue eyes. “That’s, like, in the old days, if you wanted to be a knight, you had to start out as a page and then later on you got to be a squire and you had to serve the knight, clean his armor and look after his horse and all that, and he taught you how to do, you know, knightly things.”

She stopped to take a breath and Finrod nodded. “Yes, that is it exactly.”

“So you were like punishing them?” another boy asked. His features were different from his fellows, his skin a rich chocolate, his hair in tight corkscrews rather than straight.

“And why do you think that?”

“Well, you said they sneaked into your… um… encampment and then they ended up serving you for a year, so it sounds like they were being punished.”

Finrod smiled. “You are correct. They were being punished. What they did was both dangerous and wrong.”

“Dangerous how?” the other girl asked. Her hair, which fell to her shoulders, was black with reddish streaks and her eyes were brown.

“They attempted to sneak into an armed encampment at night,” Finrod explained.

“Why were you armed?” the third boy demanded. He was heavy-set and had Inuit features.

“It was a tournament. Do you know what a tournament is?”

The boy with hazel eyes answered, “Yeah, that’s when a bunch of knights get together and beat the shi… I mean they… ah…do… um like you know, serious damage to their armor.” He gave Finrod a sheepish look.

The other children snickered and Finrod raised an eyebrow in amusement at the child’s near social blunder.

“Yes, that is what a tournament is and these particular children were very naughty sneaking out at night the way they did. So, I punished them by making them my pages, though I assure you that when I returned them to their parents at the end neither they nor I thought they had been punished.” His expression turned wistful and in his mind’s eye his present surroundings disappeared to be replaced by a scene from long ago as he remembered the day he had had to return the elflings to their family.

“So what happened to them, the kids that were your pages?” the blond girl suddenly asked, intruding on his memories.

Finrod blinked a few times, returning to the present, and saw that, in spite of themselves, these children were intrigued and wanted to know more. “They all grew up, as children do, and became productive, responsible adults.”

“That’s, like, so boring,” the Inuit boy said with a sneer.

“A fate that awaits you all,” Finrod shot back with a knowing grin. “Now, if you are indeed planning mischief, I would appreciate it if you would plan it elsewhere. I will not be complicit to your dastardly deeds even indirectly.”

All five children groaned. “Honest, we’re not plotting to overthrow society or anything,” the blond girl insisted. “We’re just gonna have some fun.”

“And will your victim appreciate the fun you are having at his or her expense?”

They exchanged guilty looks and Finrod nodded. “Well, I do not have the authority to stop you, but I will give you warning that whatever you are planning may well go wrong and someone might get hurt. You had better think long and hard on the consequences of your actions. The children of whom I spoke failed to do so and in the end they were separated from their parents and their friends for an entire year.”

He saw the dawning looks of comprehension on their faces. The elflings, of course, had not really thought the time away from their families all that long, but these Mortal children would have a different sense of time and the thought of not seeing their parents for that length of time would be daunting to them. He stood and gazed down at them, smiling slightly.

“Do take the time to think on my words and feel free to check out our new books. You might find something of interest, assuming you do read.”

“Of course we read,” the boy with hazel eyes retorted, rolling his eyes. “We’re not stupid.”

“I never said you were,” Finrod said.

Just then the door opened and Finrod turned to see a couple of women entering. Giving the teenagers a nod, he went to greet the new arrivals and then he was helping them to find a book on baby names, for it turned out that one of the women was pregnant with her first child. While he was helping them, he continued to keep an eye on the teenagers, who now had split up to wander among the shelves. In the end, the two girls each bought a book and one of the boys bought a magazine that apparently the other two were eager to read as well. They made their purchases and left. The two women also found what they were looking for and once they were gone Finrod was alone once more or so he thought.

He looked up from the register after making sure the last sale was securely in the system to find himself face-to-face with Lord Manwë dressed in the leather duster he had last seen him wearing, now sporting a bright red scarf around his neck and a wide brimmed hat, similar to the one Námo liked to wear when in his Nate disguise.

“Lord Manwë!”

“Happy New Year, Findaráto,” the Vala replied with a smile.

“Er… um… Happy New Year,” Finrod returned. “Um… were you looking to buy a book, sir?” he asked, not sure what else to say.

Manwë chuckled. “No, son, I came to see you. Shall we sit and be comfortable?” He removed his hat, pulled off his scarf and unbuttoned his coat. Finrod saw that the Vala was wearing a pair of black corduroy slacks, a blue pinstripe shirt and a dark blue tie painted with eagles. His feet were covered by black leather boots. Manwë sauntered over to the upper reading area, throwing his hat and scarf casually onto a chair before sitting in one of the rocking chairs by the stove. Finrod, after a moment’s hesitation, joined him, sitting in an overstuffed chair opposite him.

Manwë was looking around and nodding to himself. “Very cozy,” he commented. “Young Nicholas has done a good job of making this a welcoming place for all.”

“Yes, he has,” Finrod acknowledged. “I felt it the first time I entered the shop. Of course, having a bakery next door helps,” he added, keeping his expression deadpan.

Manwë burst out laughing. “Indeed,” he said, “and as they say, ‘location, location, location’. Now, let me come to the point of my visit.”

Finrod nodded and gave the Vala his complete attention, surprised to see Manwë’s expression sober and grow a bit grim.

“These are dark times,” the Elder King said softly.

Finrod could not help glancing across the store to the front window and the square beyond where it was dark out and had been for most of the day, for, this far north, darkness ruled the winter months.

“I meant metaphorically,” Manwë added wryly.

Finrod returned his attention to the Vala, giving him a sheepish look. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“Physical darkness is one thing, spiritual darkness something else entirely.”

“I am not unfamiliar with either type,” Finrod retorted.

“No, you are not and that can be said for most of you of Valinor, but not all.”

“You mean Finda.”

“And Nielluin, Calandil, Elennen, Melyanna Helyanwë, Lindorillë and even Aldarion,” Manwë added with a nod. “They have known nothing but our Peace. For them, the Rebellion of the Noldor is but a rumor spoken in whispers; Melkor is not even that anymore.”

“You do not include Eärnur in your list or Vardamir,” Finrod stated.

“Vardamir is of the First Generation, those who made the Great Journey. He was also your atar’s battle surgeon during the War of Wrath, and while he never rebelled against us, he is quite familiar with the darkness that resides within us all. As for Eärnur, his time in Númenor sets him apart from his kin.”

“So you have come here to warn me to be vigilant where the children and those born after the Troubles that plagued us in the Second Age are concerned?”

“No. I have come to warn you about the darkness which lies within you all.” The Elder King sighed and a gentle breeze wafted through the store, ruffling Finrod’s hair. “I fear we Valar sent you into a dangerous situation without ensuring adequate safeguards.”

“I do not understand,” Finrod said, frowning. “I know that we little understood how different life here is compared to Valinor and we are still coping with the… the… culture shock, I think is the term Vorondur used, but what safeguards do we need?”

“Safeguards against your own history,” Manwë replied, “especially where the Noldor are concerned. They have ever been restless, more so than the other clans. Once we opened the southern reaches of the continent, many of the early explorers were Noldor.”

“And Teleri and Sindar,” Finrod pointed out. “Do not forget it was Olwë’s son, Falmarion, who spearheaded the exploration and many of the Sindar who followed Círdan, joined him.”

“Yes, but compared to the number of Noldor who crossed the mountains and mapped the interior, they are not so many. The point is, child, the Noldor have a long history of restlessness, and of the thirty-nine Elves presently residing in Wiseman, nearly half are Noldor. Even those of mixed blood, like Erestor, appear to associate themselves with their Noldorin kin rather than with their kin from other clans.”

“And because of this, you feel we are in danger.”

“Námo once warned young Derek Lowell that the enemy within is oft times more dangerous than the enemy without. It is harder to recognize, for which of us likes peering into the darkness of our own souls? Also, it takes many forms and not all of them are easy to discern.”

Finrod frowned, not liking the tenor of the conversation. “You are referring to my feeling depressed.”

“Oh, that’s just a small part of it,” Manwë said. “And as you have finally admitted to it, it can be addressed. I think you working here will help you.” He pointed at the shelves. “There are books on depression and how to deal with it and you can always consult Vorondur.”

“He is very wise, wiser than I, I think,” Finrod averred with humility. “He could be a loremaster if he so wished. He is certainly a great healer, though he heals the minds and spirits of Mortals.”

“And that is no small accomplishment, considering that he is not one himself and cannot know what it truly means to be Mortal.”

Finrod canted his head to the left, giving the Elder King a considering look. “Do you?”

“No, I do not. None of us do. We observe them and make many assumptions as to their motives, but they are a true mystery and wonder to us, even as you Eldar are. Námo, I think, is the only one who really understands them, given his role, but even he cannot safely predict their actions, no more than he has ever been able to safely predict yours.”

Silence fell between them and only the muted sounds of people passing the store could be heard. Finrod sat there, thinking over what he and Lord Manwë had said and what had not been said. Manwë gave him a slight, sympathetic smile.

“I will leave you now,” he said, standing and retrieving his hat and scarf, though he did not put them on. Finrod rose as well. “You have much to think about.”

“Should I speak of this to the others?” Finrod asked.

“If you feel you must,” Manwë answered and before Finrod could formulate a reply to that, the Elder King of Arda was gone in a flash of multicolored lights, leaving Finrod temporarily blinded.

When his vision cleared, he sighed and glanced at the clock over the counter. He still had two more hours before he could close the shop. He was almost tempted to close early and seek out Glorfindel, needing to speak to his gwador, but he did not. Instead, he took advantage of the fact that there were no customers to slip next door to the bakery. He returned five minutes later loaded down with a warm cherry turnover. He quickly boiled some water for tea — Earl Grey — and then he sat by the stove, enjoying his little snack, hoping that no one would come in and disturb him, for he had much to think about.

His hope was realized and for the next two hours he sat quietly in contemplation. When he heard the town clock strike the half hour, he looked up and saw it was six-thirty. He set out to close up shop, switching off the stove, cleaning up the dishes and going over the day’s receipts as Nick had shown him. As the town clock struck the hour, he threw on his cloak, turned off the lights and locked the door behind him before heading home in the dark.

****

Notes:

1. John Steinbeck, author of East of Eden and The Grapes of Wrath, among other classics of modern literature, actually wrote The Acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights, his only book of fantasy.

2. Eärnur’s visit to Númenor and what happened to him there is referenced in The Last Messenger: A Tale of Númenor.

3. The Troubles are the events chronicled in Elf, Interrupted.