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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

31: Vorondur Loses His Cool

Vorondur woke, wondering what had pulled him out of the Path of Dreams. It was still dark out, though the clock by the bed told him it was almost eight. Ercassë was still sleeping and he was tempted to go back to sleep himself, but he had a nagging feeling that something had woken him, so, instead, he eased out of the bed and threw on his robe, stuffing his feet into slippers as he padded into the adjoining bathroom to splash some water on his face before he slipped out of the bedroom and headed downstairs. No one else was up so he assumed that Amroth and Nimrodel were still sleeping. Certainly Nimrodel was. She had reached the stage in her pregnancy where she needed lots of rest and Amroth was rarely away from her side for any length of time.

Downstairs, he checked the front door and saw that the newspaper had been delivered. He retrieved it from the porch and headed for the kitchen, glancing at the headlines as he went. Coffee was the first order of business and he quickly put it together, all the while reading the paper as he stood there by the counter, glancing at the various headlines on the front page. Thus, it wasn’t until the coffee was done and he had poured himself a cup and was sitting down at the breakfast table that he saw the note addressed to him and Ercassë. He recognized Serindë’s hand and wondered if his daughter had come and gone and that was what had woken him. Now that he thought about it, he thought perhaps it had been the sound of a door shutting and a car pulling out of the drive that had brought him awake.

Picking up the note, he opened it and began reading.

It took him three tries to get past the first sentence: Loren almost died.

He felt himself growing angry as he continued reading. It was a cold, calculating anger, an anger that had consumed him once a very long time ago after his beloved son had died in his arms. The grief had never left him, but he had sublimated it, turning to more positive ventures than vengeance against those who had killed his son. He had not felt that kind of anger for so long that its sudden appearance almost frightened him and he forced himself to breathe deeply, trying to regain his equilibrium. Drinking the scalding hot coffee helped.

Making a decision, he went back to the bedroom, and quietly, so as not to wake Ercassë, got dressed, grabbing his cell phone and wallet on the way out. He went back into the kitchen and picked up the note where he had left it on the table and re-read it. It was frustrating that his daughter had failed (deliberately, he had no doubt) to tell them where she and Elrohir were going. He didn’t think they would go too far. Perhaps Elladan might know where they were. He was tempted to call the elder twin, but was unsure of the ellon’s schedule and if he might quite likely still be fast asleep. Well, he would deal with that later. Right now, though, he needed to find out what Glorfindel’s condition was and he needed to speak with Finrod.

He shoved the note into a pocket and opened his phone, punching in numbers even as he went into the mud room that connected the kitchen to the garage and pulled on his coat, grabbing for his car keys hanging on a hook beside the garage door.

“Yes, this is Dr. Ron Brightman,” he said to the person at the other end as he headed into the garage, pressing the button to open its door and then climbing into his car, turning it on. “I am enquiring about the status of Loren DelaFiore… Yes, he should still be in ICU… Thank you.” He shut down the phone, feeling some relief, knowing that Loren was resting comfortably. He would need to contact Kyle later to find out what Loren’s actual condition was. Suffering from acute lung injury was a serious matter and if what Serindë said in her note was true, then the ellon was not out of the woods yet.

He pushed all that aside as he speed-dialed another number. At the second ring he heard Finrod’s voice.

“Quinn O’Brien.”

Vorondur almost smiled at the way Finrod was imitating Loren’s method of answering a phone. “Quinn, this is Ron. Have you left for work yet?”

“I am already there, though I have not yet opened the shop,” Finrod replied. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m heading your way. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“I will see you then,” Finrod said, hanging up, and Vorondur was grateful for the fact that the Elf-prince had asked no questions.

He shut down the phone, put the car in reverse and pulled out of the drive. He took side streets to avoid what passed as morning rush-hour traffic in Wiseman, taking the turns perhaps a little faster than was prudent or legal. About two blocks from the Safeway he was forced to stop altogether for a school bus picking up three children who, he thought, were taking their bloody sweet time climbing into the vehicle.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered impatiently as the last child entered the bus, his fingers drumming the steering wheel. “How long does it take to find a seat?”

It seemed forever, though it could not have been more than a minute, before the bus’s attached stop sign folded up and the blinking red warning lights on the roof switched off.

“Finally!” he breathed and continued on, forcing himself to go the speed limit now that he was closer to the town. He parked in the Safeway parking lot and reached the bookstore shortly thereafter. Finrod was at the door letting him in. The Elf-prince took one look at him and said, “Go warm yourself up. I’ll bring some coffee.”

With that he went into the back while Vorondur removed his coat and went to where the electric stove was burning brightly, giving off a cheerful glow. He wasn’t cold, at least not from the temperature, but his fëa felt frozen and he welcomed the warmth, however artificial it might be. He turned as Finrod came up the steps carrying a couple mugs and handing one to him. He sat in a chair and Vorondur did the same.

“Tell me,” Finrod ordered.

“What have you heard about Loren?” Vorondur asked.

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. I checked on him earlier before coming here. He was still in healing sleep. Why? Has something happened? I left instructions that I was to be informed if anything happened.”

For an answer, Vorondur fished out the note from Serindë and handed it to Finrod. The Elf-prince took the note and quickly scanned it and Vorondur was unsurprised to see the blood rush from Finrod’s face as the shock hit him.

“Deep breaths,” he said automatically and was faintly amused to see his orders being followed.

Finrod looked up from the note, his eyes dark with something nearing fury and if Vorondur had been standing, he would have taken a step or two back as if hoping to avoid a blow. As it was, he went completely still the way a rabbit might when it felt a predator was nearby.

“Explain what this acute lung injury is,” Finrod said softly, and for some reason the very softness of his tone frightened Vorondur even more than if the ellon had started shouting. He remembered the terrible day when most of Nargothrond had turned their backs on this ellon sitting in front of him in his black corduroys and pale green shirt. He wore a teal-green silk tie with the shirt and a pullover cashmere sweater. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he would not have looked out of place lecturing at the college. His expression was the same now as then, though, cold and remote, as if carved in stone, his voice whisper-soft, but his eyes told a different story. Vorondur remembered that fury directed, not toward his subjects, but toward his cousins who had stood there smirking. And in a moment of absolute clarity, he wondered if this ellon and those same cousins were on speaking terms again after they had all been reborn.

He swallowed nervously, not even daring to pretend indifference, not before this particular Elf, and explained as succinctly as possible what a transfusion-related acute lung injury was and why it was so dangerous and then he had to explain what a delayed hemolytic reaction was and why Vardamir and Eärnur would have thought that was the reason for Glorfindel’s distress and why they had disagreed with the Twins.

“I can only speculate as to the last,” he said when Finrod asked him about that, speaking carefully. “I would not like to say that Mir and Ernest did what they did out of spite, either toward Loren or the Twins. I don’t think their professionalism would let them do that, but I have gotten the impression that they see Dan and Roy as somewhat… less in their eyes because they have not received the same training as healers as they.”

“Elrond all over again,” Finrod muttered and Vorondur forced himself not to ask what he so dearly wanted to know. Instead, he just sat there, waiting. It was a new sensation for him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to waiting. As a psychiatrist, he had often waited patiently while the person he was counseling thought about whatever had been revealed in the session, coming to terms with the new information, but that waiting had in many ways been on his own terms, for he had instigated it, but this was different. Here, he was waiting upon another who literally had the power of life and death over him. In ways that he did not understand and was not willing to analyze, he recognized that in coming to Finrod he was unconsciously accepting the ellon’s suzerainty over him, as if he were his liege lord. That realization was both comforting and appalling and he hated the way it made him feel. It had been too long since he had been anyone’s vassal.

Finrod looked up at him with a grim smile, almost as if he could read his thoughts or at least sense his ambivalence toward him. “Do you have any idea where your daughter has gone?”

Vorondur shook his head. “I was going to see if Dan knew. I thought I would check the Goldmine Inn to see if they registered there. I would think they would want to stay close for Loren’s sake.”

“Why do you not do that while I track down Vardamir and Eärnur? I wish to get to the bottom of this. Call Elladan as well and I would like to speak with Dr. Stoner.”

“Kyle’s probably sleeping the sleep of the just if he’s not on duty at the hospital. I can call and find out for you.”

“Do that and if you speak with him, ask him of his courtesy to attend Us here.”

Vorondur raised an eyebrow. “Finrod, this isn’t Aman. You don’t have the authority….”

“I am making it my authority,” Finrod said, standing. “Please do not argue with me about this, Ron.”

Vorondur blinked at the use of his Mortal name on Finrod’s lips. The ellon had been reluctant to use anyone’s Mortal name when addressing them or referring to them. For Finrod to call him ‘Ron’ was significant, but he was not sure to what extent. Resisting a sigh, he simply nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise anything. Kyle Stoner may not come here. You may have to go to him.”

“If that is what it takes, so be it,” Finrod said as he pulled out his phone and consulted the address book, looking for someone’s number. He went to the front of the store and Vorondur saw him switching the store sign from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’, even as he began speaking in Quenya to whoever was on the other end.

Vorondur got up and went to the counter, checking for the phone book so he could look up the number for the Goldmine Inn. He was reluctant to simply call his daughter, respecting her privacy. It took only a moment to consult the Yellow Pages and then he was speaking to the front desk.

“Yes, this is Ron Brightman. I wonder if you have Sarah Brightman or Roy Ronaldson registered as guests… You don’t… hmm…. No one registered early this morning?.... No, that’s okay… Thank you.” He closed the phone to find Finrod staring at him.

“Vardamir and Eärnur are on their way. There is no sign of Elladan. Your daughter and Elrohir are not at the Inn?”

“No, no one’s registered there in the last few hours,” Vorondur replied. He opened his phone again and speed-dialed a number and waited.

“C’mon, Sarah, pick up,” he muttered, but she didn’t. Stifling an oath, he tried another number and then a third with the same results. “They’re not answering their phones. I’m not even being transferred to voicemail, so they’ve turned off their phones completely.”

“You believe Elladan is with them?” Finrod asked.

“I don’t know. I hope so.” He would have said more but the store door opened and a lone Mortal stepped in, looking a bit uncertain.

Finrod turned to the middle-aged man and smiled. “Good morning. May I help you?”

“I’m picking up a book?” the Man said somewhat hesitantly. “I got the email last night.”

“Yes, your name?” Finrod asked, going behind the counter. Vorondur stepped out of his way as he checked the shelves where the books on order were kept.

“Anderson.”

“Here you are,” Finrod said, handing him the book. “Is this what you ordered?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Shall I ring it up for you or do you wish to browse?” Finrod asked.

“No, no. I’m on my way to work.”

Finrod nodded and in a matter of minutes he had the sale rung up and the Man was on his way, happily clutching the bag and Vorondur could see the light of anticipation in the Mortal’s eyes at the thought of diving into the pages of his new book at the first opportune moment. He almost smiled at that sight, temporarily forgetting the reason for his being there.

“You appeared quite comfortable interacting with the Man,” he commented. “How do you feel about it?”

“I am not on your couch, Ron,” Finrod said with a glint of humor. “I was interacting with Mortals before you were born, as I recall, and after nearly a month working here, I should hope I am comfortable with what I do.”

“My apologies,” Vorondur said in all sincerity. “I’ll see if Kyle is available.” With that, he opened his phone again, punching in a number from memory. “Dr. Brightman for Dr. Stoner,” he said when someone picked up on the other end. “Yes, I’ll hold.” He rolled his eyes at Finrod and whispered, “I once heard a Mortal claim that he wouldn’t be surprised if when he got to heaven he found himself on hold at the pearly … Yes, Kyle, it’s Ron. I hear there was some excitement earlier…What?... Well, Finrod’s calling a conference with Mir and Ernest here at the bookstore… Aurora Borealis, that’s right. He would like you to be in on it… Okay, I’ll tell him.” He looked at Finrod. “He’s due to be off duty in about twenty minutes, but he’ll leave now and be here as soon as he can.”

“Tell him we will wait for him to arrive,” Finrod said.

“Kyle, Finrod says we’ll wait for you… Yeah, I know… Oh, have you seen either Dan or Roy?... No, not important. We’ll see you soon. Bye.” He shut down the phone, giving Finrod a concerned look. “Kyle says he spoke with the Twins outside Loren’s room and told them to stay put while he dealt with the crisis but when he came back out, they were gone and no one knows where they went.”

“We cannot worry about them now,” Finrod said philosophically. “I am sure they will contact us in due time, once they have reached their destination, wherever that might be. I would prefer to hear from them what happened but we must be content with getting their side second-hand.”

The door opened just then and Vardamir and Eärnur stepped in, looking wary. Finrod nodded to them. "I have asked Kyle Stoner to join us. He will be here shortly. There is coffee or tea in the back if you desire some, otherwise, please find a seat near the stove. We will talk there.”

Neither ellon spoke as they complied to Finrod’s command, eschewing the invitation for coffee and making their way to the upper reading area, settling in a couple of chairs, looking for all the world as if they were waiting for doom to fall upon them. Vorondur remained silent as well, the cold anger he had pushed away rising at the sight of these two. He had great respect for them as healers and as individuals, but the thought that Loren could easily have died due to their arrogance or perhaps just ignorance about the dangers of transfusions left him feeling torn between wanting to strangle them and offering them his professional services as a counselor. He looked at Finrod to gauge the ellon’s state and was surprised to see him smiling at him.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

“And why are you grinding your teeth?” Finrod retorted.

Vorondur blinked. Had he been grinding his teeth? He felt his jaw muscles relax and realized with some chagrin that he had. It was a bad sign with him. Ercassë always called him on it whenever he did it. It usually meant that he was feeling frustrated from being unable to follow through on an action, usually of a violent nature. It was an old habit from earlier times that he thought he had grown out of, but apparently not.

“Sorry,” he said contritely. “I haven’t felt this way in a long time. If Loren had died….” But he couldn’t complete the thought and was saved from having to even in his own mind by the door opening and Kyle Stoner walking in.

“Damn, it’s cold out!” He said in greeting, stomping his feet and pounding his gloved hands to get back circulation. “I really should’ve taken that job in Alabama, but no, I’m a sucker for punishment. Any chance of some coffee or a one-way ticket to Tahiti?”

Both Vorondur and Finrod grinned. “Coffee we can give you,” Finrod said, nodding to Vorondur, who accepted the silent command with equanimity.

“How do you like it?” he asked, as Kyle unbuttoned his jacket.

“Black, please.” Kyle answered and then turned to Finrod. “Okay, why have you asked me here? If you’re going to complain about no one calling you, one, there was no time and two, you couldn’t have done anything anyway.”

“But I still would like to understand what happened and why,” Finrod replied. “Ron’s daughter left him a note but it does not explain all.”

“A note? Why would she leave a note?” Kyle asked as Vorondur returned with the coffee.

“She and Roy and we think possibly Dan left, we don’t know where and none of them are answering their phones,” Vorondur explained.

“I told them to stay where they were,” Kyle said as he followed the two Elves to the upper reading area, “but they were gone when the crisis with Loren was over. I was going to try and get ahold of them later.”

“In the meantime, I wish to learn what happened and why,” Finrod said.

“Tell me what you know already,” Kyle said.

“Only what Sarah says in her note and it wasn’t too coherent as she has no medical background. Here, you can read it yourself.” Vorondur pulled the note out of his pocket and handed it to the Mortal.

Kyle glanced at it quickly and nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, sighing in relief as it warmed him, handing the note back to Vorondur. “Essentially true. Loren went into distress. Dan and Roy were already there keeping watch and….”

He described what he knew of what had transpired, rattling off medical jargon to Vorondur, who nodded in understanding and then restated Kyle’s description in layman’s terms for Finrod whenever Kyle took a breath. As he listened to Kyle’s explanation of what happened, Vorondur felt himself go cold all over again. When the Mortal finished, the silence was palpable. Finrod turned to Vardamir and Eärnur.

“Did I not warn you of this?” he asked softly, looking at the Teler. “Why did you ignore what Kyle says were obvious symptoms of this acute lung injury?”

“Because we were not convinced that that was what it was, not at the time,” Vardamir replied. “Finrod, I admit we were in the wrong and Elladan and Erohir were correct in their diagnosis, but at the time, Loren was also exhibiting some of the symptoms for DHR… ah… delayed hemolytic reaction.”

“Some, but not all, and not the most telling,” Kyle interjected. “And prescribing a diuretic when a patient is hypotensive is just plain wrong. If he’d been hypertensive, I could almost see it, but with indications of lung injury, even then, I would’ve hesitated using one. Corticosteroids are the way to go.”

“Look, we made a mistake and we apologize, all right?” Eärnur said with a scowl, though to Vorondur’s mind neither he nor Vardamir appeared particularly repentant. “Kyle has already reprimanded us, as is his right, but we do not need to be reprimanded by you, Finrod.”

“You dare!” Vorondur shouted, leaping from his chair and taking two strides to where Eärnur was sitting, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him up with one hand, shaking him while Eärnur struggled against him, gurgling and turning blue as his windpipe was being crushed. Both Finrod and Vardamir grabbed at Vorondur with Finrod shouting at him to put Eärnur down, but Vorondur was too incensed to listen and he ignored them as he continued screaming at Eärnur, all his worry and fear for Sarah and Loren pouring out of him. What Kyle was doing he had no idea and didn’t care. His focus was totally on the Teler struggling to breathe. “Loren almost died because of your arrogance, yours and Mir’s. You dismissed Dan and Roy as if they were elflings underfoot. You ignored all the signs. And even worse than that, you drove my daughter away!”

He started squeezing harder, not caring that he was killing one of his own. The cold anger that had allowed him to hunt down and destroy the Mortals who had been responsible for the death of his son consumed him as it had consumed him so long ago, and the sick, dark exaltation of killing was like a sweet drug and he wanted it so badly. He—

There was a sharp pain in his shoulder that startled him enough that he loosened his grasp on Eärnur so that the ellon collapsed before him gasping for breath. Vorondur turned around to see what had struck him only to find Kyle calmly holding up a hypodermic. Before he could speak, whatever drug had been administered took effect and Vorondur tumbled into darkness, the madness that had taken him gone. His final thought was that Holly would be totally pissed when she found out.





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