13: Culture Shock of a Dark Nature

“So how did it go? Any problems?” Vorondur asked Max and Sunshine the next morning when he stopped by their office for a chat.

“No, it went pretty well,” Max answered. “Had to do a lot of explaining, of course, probably more so than I would’ve done in a room full of hu… I mean Mortals. Sorry, old habits.” He blushed slightly.

“It’s fine, Max,” Vorondur assured him with a knowing smile. “Speciesism is a relatively new concept among you Mortals.”

“And it generally refers to animal rights, not Elves,” Sunshine put in with a chuckle.

“How did your meeting go?” Vorondur asked her.

“Oh, it went great,” she said with much enthusiasm. “I think I even impressed some of them with my superior knowledge.” She gave them an arch look which she managed to hold for about five seconds and then she crossed her eyes, gave them a funny expression and started laughing. Max and Vorondur smiled at her antics.

“I’m glad,” Vorondur said after a moment. “Remember, if there’s any trouble, defer to either Prince Legolas, Sunny, or Amroth, Max, let them handle it. It’s why I purposely assigned them to your respective groups. Elves, especially the Valinóreans, are very hierarchical and they recognize and respect authority. Amroth was once a king, and still is in the minds of most, and Legolas is not only a prince, but a hero. Each of them is the highest-ranking Elf in your group. I’ve already spoken to them both, explaining why I assigned them as I have and they both agreed to act as ‘head boy’, as Amroth put it.”

Max and Sunshine both raised eyebrows at that.

“Well, it’s nice to know,” Max said after a moment, “though, personally, I hope I never have to call on Ryan to keep order. If that happens, I fear my own authority will be called into question, especially being the only Mortal in the group.”

“I realize that and so do they. Legolas is somewhat unique among the Elves for having befriended Mortals. Indeed his closest friends at one time were a Man and a Dwarf and he was also friends with a few Halflings as well, so he’s very used to dealing with interspecies dynamics.”

“Halflings?” Sunshine asked, looking puzzled.

“A branch of Men who were small in stature, usually not much taller than three or four feet. You might call them pygmies these days. They apparently went extinct a long time ago. Certainly in all my travels, I’ve not come across them. No matter. The point I am making is that both Amroth and Legolas will keep an eye on things and help you out if needed, but they understand that you are the facilitators of your groups and you need to keep that in mind as well.”

“Well, we’ll see how it all goes,” Max said with a sigh. “I’m curious to know who will show up at the next meeting and who will decide not to bother. I hope someone shows up. It’ll be rather embarrassing if no one does, or if only a couple do.”

Vorondur flashed them a smile. “Oh, I think you will be surprised how many will show up. When I left Edhellond last night, they were all running around asking what each other’s type was and sharing profiles. I imagine that it was the main topic of discussion this morning as they were breakfasting. It certainly was in my household. Holly, of course, is quite familiar with the Myers-Briggs, and Amroth, too, but Della was all agog at how accurately everyone typed and could speak of nothing else.” He chuckled. “She even started wondering what the twins will be like personality-wise and was happily taking Amroth’s ISTP and her ENFJ and trying to mix them up like it’s a genetic code.”

He pitched his voice so they knew he was mimicking Nimrodel. “Oh, how about INTJ or ESTP or perhaps they’ll be ENTP. Is there an ENTP?”

Max and Sunshine both laughed and Vorondur grinned.

“Too bad we can’t know what our kid’s personalities are like before they’re born,” Max said when they had calmed down a bit. “It would save a whole world of trouble.”

“Amen,” Sunshine said.

Vorondur stood. “Well, let me know if you have any problems, but I’m sure you’ll both do fine. You’re very good at what you do, both of you, and I have every confidence in your success.”

“Thanks, Ron, we appreciate your vote of confidence,” Max said.

“See ya, Ron,” Sunshine said, “and—”

“I know, Sunny,” Vorondur interrupted with a grin. “Have a splendiferous day yourself, the both of you.” And with that, he left.

****

“So how did your first anger management class go?” Nick asked Finrod as the two were setting about opening up the bookstore. Nick was turning on the stove while Finrod was sorting through a shipment of new books, cataloguing them into the system before placing them on a cart. Later he would be putting the books on the shelves.

“We took a test, something called the Myers-Briggs. It turns out that I am an ENFJ,” Finrod answered, giving him a shrug. “We spent the time discussing our various personality types. Vorondur thought it would be a good way to learn more about each other and what makes us… um… tick, I think is the word he used.”

Nick nodded. “Makes sense. Know thyself and all that. I took that test back in college. I’m an INFJ, which is why owning a bookstore is the ideal job for me. Of course, being a librarian would also be a good choice since we like quiet… or a hermit.”

Finrod grinned. “A hermit?”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah. I always thought the greatest job in the world would be being a lighthouse keeper.” He shrugged, looking suddenly shy.

“Well, I, for one, am glad you decided to be a bookstore owner instead,” Finrod said, giving him a warm smile. “Now, under which genre should these books be labeled? I cannot decide if they are romance or horror.”

“Let me take a look. Oh, yeah, they’re a bit of both. It’s a new genre called paranormal romance. They’re mostly about women who become romantically involved with a vampire or a werewolf or whatever and… hey, are you all right?”

Finrod stood staring at nothing in particular, ignoring Nick, his focus inward, going deep and far into the past. He had fought both creatures of the dark in the wars in Beleriand and his last moments of life had been spent battling one such creature to save Beren’s life. And now, hearing that Mortals contemplated coupling with these creatures even if only in their imaginations made him feel physically ill. Waves of nausea rose within him and he blindly stumbled into the back room, desperate to reach the bathroom, only just making it as his entire body seemed to heave and he lost his breakfast and half his insides, or so it felt.

How long it lasted, he was not sure. Certainly only a few minutes, though it felt like hours to him. He was dimly aware of someone placing a cold cloth on his neck and rubbing his back and that seemed to help ease the spasms. Finally the heaving stopped and he wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked up to see Lord Námo in his Nate disguise, standing there, looking grave. Behind him stood Nick, his expression one of concern.

“Rinse out your mouth,” Námo said, helping him to his feet while reaching over to flush the toilet. “Nicholas, perhaps some tea would be in order.”

“Huh? Oh yeah. Tea… tea… I’ll just go make some tea, shall I?”

His attempt at sounding nonchalant was amusing but Finrod did not have the strength to smile. He turned on the tap and rinsed his mouth, splashing water on his face. Námo handed him some paper towels to dry himself off with.

Glancing into the mirror above the sink, he could see how pale he still looked. Námo stood behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders. The gesture comforted him and he took a deep breath. “Sorry. I…”

“There is no need to apologize. Let’s go see if the tea is ready.”

“I think I need something stronger than tea,” Finrod countered as the two left the bathroom and made their way to the front.

“But it’s not even noon yet,” Námo said with a smile. “And you’re working. It wouldn’t do to greet your customers reeking of wine, now would it?”

“To hell with the customers,” Nick said with great feeling as he handed Finrod a mug of hot black tea. He had one for himself as well, but when he offered another mug to Námo, the Vala gracefully declined. “I’m tempted to close up shop and spend the day at the Grey Whaler drinking Cam Delaney’s best single malt. You really gave me a fright.”

Finrod gave him a wan smile. “For which I apologize. I am afraid the shock was too much.”

“Yeah, what was that all about, anyway? I’ve heard of people turning white as a sheet, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone actually do it.”

Finrod sighed, busying himself with drinking the tea, not sure how to answer the young Man. He appreciated Nick’s concern, but he did not feel he could give any sort of explanation that would make sense. He glanced at Námo, standing there in serene indifference.

“Were you just in the neighborhood?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Námo replied and his tone alerted the former king of Nargothrond that he would not receive a better or different answer from the Lord of Mandos. Lord Námo was a law unto himself and his comings and goings were his concern alone.

“Well, I’m glad you happened by,” Nick said fervently. “Saved me from having to call Loren.”

Finrod stared at the Mortal in consternation. “Call Loren? Why would you do that?”

“Because you were freaking me out,” Nick retorted. “I had no idea why you were suddenly not there and then you were getting sick all over and I was scared. I was in the middle of calling Loren when… um… Nate walked in.” He gave the Vala a look that Finrod could not easily interpret. “Still can’t get used to seeing an angel in a black duster. Shouldn’t it be white?”

“Camouflage,” Námo said with a smile. Then he turned to Finrod, his expression sobering. “Do not let it fret you. The Mortals have forgotten what horrors such creatures truly are, preferring to romanticize them to satisfy their own dark desires. These books are all about lust and the craving for danger and excitement, nothing more.”

“It’s just that I cannot imagine anyone wanting to… I died at the hands of a werewolf, my body rent by its teeth and claws.” He gave an involuntary shiver.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nick said gently. “Look, go home. I’ll handle things here. You’re in no shape to work today.”

“No. I will be fine, I just need….”

“No. I insist,” Nick said, picking up the phone on the counter and punching in numbers. After a few seconds he spoke. “Yeah, Loren, this is Nick Greene at the bookstore. Look, could you send someone over to pick up Quinn? I’m sending him home but I don’t want him to go alone… No, he’s okay now, but he had a bit of a… a psychic meltdown I guess you would call it. Nate’s here, if that means anything to you…. Yeah… Okay…Thanks… Bye.” He hung up. “Loren’s sending someone over. They’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

“I really am fine,” Finrod protested. “There is no need to bother.”

“Yeah, well as your boss, I’m telling you to go home and spend the time with your friends and family. You can come back tomorrow. Don’t worry about the damn books. I’ll shelve them.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow, some of his humor returning. “Yes, my lord. Anything you say, my lord.

Nick smiled shyly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to—”

“It is quite all right,” Finrod assured him. “You are indeed my boss and you have the right to dictate my coming and going where this shop is concerned.” He drained the mug of tea and placed it on the counter. “I will go get my cloak.”

“I’ll stick around until your ride comes,” Nate said and Finrod knew that the Vala was saying that more for Nick’s sake than for his own.

A few minutes later, as Nick and Finrod were talking of inconsequential matters while Námo looked on, the door opened and Vorondur stepped inside. “Someone called for a cab?” he said with a smile, giving Námo a courteous bow.

“That would be me,” Finrod said, throwing his cloak around his shoulders. “Thank you,” he said to Námo, giving him a bow, then turned to Nick. “I will return in the morning.”

The Mortal just nodded and then Vorondur was opening up the door, allowing Finrod to exit first, leaving Nick alone with Nate. For a long moment Mortal and Vala stood silently watching the two Elves saunter off across the square and then Námo turned to Nick with a faint smile.

“While I’m here, I might as well pick up a few books.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Er… anything in particular?”

“Actually a couple of those paranormal romances that Finrod freaked out over.”

“You’re kidding!” Nick exclaimed and then, seeing the Vala’s expression, shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not kidding. Why?”

“Oh, not for me, for my wife.”

Nick’s eyes fairly goggled. “Your wife? Your wife reads romances?”

“Paranormal romances,” Námo corrected, his amaranthine eyes twinkling with humor. “She thinks they’re hysterical. You should hear her laughing as she’s reading. Likes to quote out loud certain passages to her maidens while they’re weaving. They all think it’s too funny.”

Nick could just stand there staring at the Vala, shaking his head, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of Valier enjoying reading what he considered garbage. He knew the genre was immensely popular, especially among teenage girls, so he put up with it, but he didn’t care for it himself.

“Yeah, well, feel free,” he said and he would have said more but then the door opened and a couple of people walked in and asked if he had any books on owning one’s own business. He excused himself to Námo and directed the customers to the correct aisle, spending a moment to point out certain titles for their consideration. When he returned to the front, the Lord of Mandos was gone, but on the counter was a pile of bills and a note that was signed ‘Nate’ stating that he had taken three books. The money on the counter turned out to be exact change, including tax.

“Will wonders never cease,” Nick said to himself as he opened the register to deposit the bills. “Never thought owning a bookstore would be this exciting. Who woulda thunk it?”

****

“You want to talk about it?” Vorondur asked as he pulled his car out of the Safeway parking lot and headed toward Kodiak.

“It was silly, actually,” Finrod answered, now feeling embarrassed. “I was cataloguing a new shipment of books and there were some that I was unsure which genre they were. Nick explained that they were paranormal romances and then he went on to describe what the typical story was about.” He closed his eyes and leaned back into the seat. “To think that anyone would want to mate with a vampire or werewolf… it sickened me, literally. I remember Thuringwethil and Draugluin. I fought against them both and died by one of Draugluin’s get.”

“Loren said that Nick told him you had a psychic meltdown,” Vorondur offered neutrally.

“I am not sure what that means,” Finrod replied opening his eyes. “I found myself being thoroughly sick. I have never had that experience before. I do not care for it.”

Vorondur chuckled. “No one does.” He pulled onto Sycamore and then he turned into the drive, stopping the engine and giving Finrod a searching look as they continued to sit in the car. “I think it’s affected you more than you know. You’re still looking white. I suggest you spend the day quietly. Sleep if you can.”

“It’s all too silly,” Finrod protested, looking embarrassed.

“Not if it truly affects you this way,” Vorondur countered, giving him a grave, though sympathetic, look.

“The Mortals of this time are so different from what I remember,” Finrod said, closing his eyes again. “They make no sense sometimes.”

“Welcome to my world,” Vorondur said with a grin as he undid the seatbelt and opened his door, exiting the vehicle. Finrod followed suit and as they made for the front door it opened and Glorfindel was there looking concerned.

“You all right? What happened? Did you have another flashback?” he asked as he stepped aside to let the two in. Others were congregated in the hallway, apparently having learned about Finrod’s episode. Most of them were the Valinóreans who had not yet found employment or, like Laurendil and Manwen, were not on call at the hospital that day.

“Aranya?” Laurendil asked, giving him a clinical look.

“I am fine,” Finrod insisted as he doffed his cloak. “I had a shock. I will recover.”

“What kind of shock?” Glorfindel asked, stealing a look at Vorondur. “Ron?”

“Apparently he learned about those paranormal romances, you know the type, like Twilight.”

“Sure,” Glorfindel replied with a shrug. “Stupid books. What about them?”

“Mortals coupling with… with those creatures, with the get of Thuringwethil and Draugluin?” Finrod burst out, his disgust evident in his tone. “Are they insane? Have they all gone over to Morgoth’s side in truth?”

“Whoa, Finrod, slow down and take a deep breath,” Glorfindel said, looking at Ron. “Seriously, he freaked out over some book?”

Vorondur raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel’s tone. Finrod went rigid, as if in shock, his lips compressed, his eyes flashing. Laurendil and the others looking on glared at Glorfindel.

“You’re being very cold toward your gwador. Why are you not more sympathetic?” the warrior-turned-healer demanded, speaking in Sindarin. Up until then everyone had been speaking in English, something that Finrod had decreed so the Valinórean Elves would have practice in speaking the Mortal language. Speaking Sindarin or Quenya was actually forbidden within Edhellond unless absolutely necessary.

“Look, all I’m saying is that there’s a lot about Mortals and their society that will seem very strange, even disgusting,” Glorfindel countered. “It’s not that I’m not sympathetic, but really, getting upset over a book of fiction, something entirely made up and having no real connection with reality? I’m sorry, but get upset over the incessant wars that are being fought and the random acts of terror that beset this world, get upset over thousands of children dying of starvation every day or whole villages being wiped out by the AIDS plague, get upset over the President’s latest economic recovery schemes if you want, but a book? It’s time you all get a grip. Why did the Valar send you so unprepared to live in this society?”

“You’re being unfair, Loren,” Vorondur said. “No one can adequately prepare for culture shock. You and I and the other Wiseman Elves have the benefit of living among the Mortals and accepting their cultures even if we don’t necessarily approve of some aspects of them. The Amanians have not been here long enough to acquire that kind of distancing you and I have.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Glorfindel said, though he did not appear entirely convinced by Vorondur’s argument. He turned to Finrod, laying his hands on the ellon’s shoulders. “Look, gwador, I do sympathize, really, but try to keep some perspective here. It’s just a book, nothing more. The people who read that kind of stuff are indulging in forbidden passions in a safe manner. Frankly, if any of them actually did meet such creatures for real, believe me, they’d be totally turned off by the idea, but for now, it’s just a fantasy, nothing more.”

Finrod just nodded, then turned to Vorondur. “I think I will lie down for a while. Thank you for coming for me.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, just let me know,” Vorondur said. “Loren, a word of advice, and this goes for all of you: back off and give Finrod some room to breathe and time to adjust.” He nodded to them all and then saw himself out, leaving Finrod alone with the others.

****

Aranya: (Quenya) My king.

Ellon: (Eldarin) Male Elf.