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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

44: A Baronial Feast

As they walked the corridors, Finrod couldn’t help thinking of the palace in Tirion with its upper gallery where his amillë would often walk with her own retinue, especially on days when the weather was inclement. Anastasia strode along with regal calm, her skirts swishing softly as she walked.

“I hope you enjoyed our little demonstration,” she said. “And you must forgive us for the lack of pomp. We had little time to prepare. Usually no one bothers to come in garb for fight practice.”

“You need not apologize, madam,” Finrod said graciously. “It is we who should apologize for importuning you in this manner. Indeed, I would have been just as happy to have met you in your other guise.”

“But it would not have made as great an impact, Uncle,” Elrohir pointed out, “and this way you get a sense of what can be done. Forming our own SCA group will make training easier and if we have the Mortals run it, then our enemies in Wiseman can’t accuse us of ungodly behavior.”

“It would be ironic if some of our naysayers actually joined,” Elladan chimed in.

“Very ironic, but beside the point,” Vorondur said. “If we are to do this we must do it with the understanding that anyone who joins is under no obligation to do so for our sake. They must be allowed to join for their own sakes. We may think of the SCA as a vehicle for training our troops for the Dagor Dagorath, but we must not make it the sole purpose of the group or it will fail as a group. If we do this we are obligated to play the game, which means attending events here in Fairbanks or elsewhere, holding our own events and encouraging all to participate in recreating medieval times.”

“That, I imagine, will take up a fair amount of people’s time,” Finrod said, looking at Anastasia for confirmation.

She nodded. “But not any more time than most other hobbies, although some people take it to the extreme and we try to discourage that. Why, someone I know from the Barony of Eskalya — that’s Anchorage by the way — actually got fired from his mundane job because he was, and I quote, Prince of Oertha and didn’t have to do what his boss wanted him to do, unquote.” She cast them a wry look. “Some people just cannot separate fantasy from reality, and Morgan is a real jerk anyway.”

The others chuckled and Finrod gave her a merry look. “Well, I do not think I will suffer from that brand of arrogance. I was once King of Nargothrond in my own right and am heir to my father’s throne, but as you Mortals would say, that and a quarter will not get me a cup of coffee on Main Street.”

Now everyone was laughing. “We’re all working stiffs to one degree or another,” Glorfindel said to Anastasia. “Ron, here, is a psychiatric physician and Darren and I run Elf Academy.”

“I read about that,” Anastasia said as they rounded a corner to walk down another corridor. “You must tell me more about it and its purpose. I understand it was originally created to train people for the tourist trade.”

“And we still do so,” Glorfindel said. “Most of our students, once they have done their studies with us and have been an Elf Guide for a season, go on to either work for one of the tour companies or resorts in the area or pursue other employment in the tourism industry elsewhere. A select few are brought into the secret of our existence and join us. Alex and Derek, for instance, are two such from our most recent class.” He nodded to the two Mortals and Anastasia glanced back to smile at them.

“I remember when Gwyn and Gareth told me who and what they really were,” she said, slowing her walk so that everyone crowded about her to hear her. “God, I wasn’t sure if I should faint or scream. In the end, I think I just ended up crying, which was very silly of me.”

“As I recall, Stacy, you kept muttering something about not being in Kansas any longer and pinching yourself to see if you were awake,” Gwyn said, grinning as the Woman blushed.

“I know the feeling,” Derek said sympathetically.

Anastasia nodded and resumed walking, the others keeping pace. They rounded the next corner going slowly, no doubt to give her ‘subjects’ time to set the gym up for dining. “Melisande, you have all the information these people will need?” she asked.

“Yes, my lady,” the Woman answered. “I have a copy of our newcomer’s packet which contains all the information needed for someone to get started in participating in the SCA. I’ve also included information on how to go about forming a group and getting it registered with the BoD.”

“The what?” Laurendil asked in confusion.

“Sorry, Board of Directors,” Melisande replied. “You’ll want to come up with a name for your group. As you are technically within the purview of this barony you would be a canton rather than a shire. Eventually, if you are large enough, you may petition to become an independent shire not holding any allegiance to the barony, but that’s for the future and you may not want to bother.”

“The trick is going to be to convince our Mortal friends to join and take over the running of the group,” Elladan said. “It will defeat our purpose if only the Elves join.”

“Well, I’ll be willing to join,” Derek said. “What about you, Alex?”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know. I think I’m tired of pretending to be someone else. I just want to concentrate on being Alex Grant for now.”

“What do you fear will happen if you were to join this group?” Vorondur asked gently.

“That I will lose myself again,” Alex replied softly, not looking at anyone in particular.

“Not going to happen, mate,” Derek said firmly. “I won’t let it happen and neither will Ron, but it’s cool if you don’t want to play. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to play, I said I wasn’t sure if I should, given my past,” Alex retorted.

“Something we can discuss at our next session, if you wish,” Vorondur said.

Alex nodded and Finrod, seeing the wondering looks on the faces of Gwyn and the three Women, decided that the subject needed to be changed and said, “I find it interesting that Mortals wish to escape into the past as much as we Elves tend to. It was my experience that Mortals were more forward-looking, which accounted for their restlessness.”

“And that is essentially true even today,” Vorondur said, “but it has also been my experience that when times become fraught with much uncertainty that Mortals often hark to an earlier age, claiming it to be a Golden Age. I suspect that this is what draws people into such organizations as this. It is why there is also a rise in fundamentalism. People want certainty where there is none and never has been.”

“That is true to some extent,” Anastasia remarked as they came around a third corner and were now passing the front entrance and heading back toward the gym, “but many of us are simply interested in resurrecting some of the arts and sciences of the past that have been lost or displaced in this mechanized age. If our civilization were to come to a screeching halt tomorrow, many of us would be able to survive the crash because we have learned skills our ancestors took for granted, or so one would hope. In the meantime, we enjoy doing research about the past and putting that research into practice. The feast we’re about to have, for instance, was designed using authentic medieval recipes.”

“And if you take a closer look at the armor, you will see that some of it is quite fine,” Gwyn added. “We have a couple of blacksmiths in our group and they help the others to make their armor.”

“What about the swords, the real ones, I mean?” Alex asked.

“Well, mine and Gareth’s are our own, forged some centuries ago. Most of the swords that are worn have been purchased, but a few have been made. I’ve been tutoring one of the blacksmiths in the process, however, it’s not something that can be done easily these days, but it is being done, here and elsewhere. As Anastasia said, if our modern civilization crashes, there will be a great number of people who will be able to survive simply because they’ve learned the skills to do so, skills that have been lost over time.” He paused and gave them a sly look. “Of course, I, for one, would not welcome such a thing. I rather like this modern age and I know Gareth would be upset if he could no longer use the microwave because there’s no electricity.”

Several people chuckled at that. “A most convenient appliance,” Finrod said with a nod as they rounded the last corner and were approaching the gym again, which they could see had been transformed into a dining hall with tables set about, all of them covered with fine linen. There was one table set apart as the high table though it sat on the same level as all the others. People were scurrying about, setting out plates and goblets in a variety of styles and material, from wood to pottery to pewter, and placing candles in strategic places, carefully placed under glass.

“Fire laws prevent us from having open flames,” Anastasia said without prompting, looking a bit apologetic, “so all candles have to be under glass. Not as authentic as we would like, but we are still subject to the laws of the state of Alaska.”

“Which is only right,” Finrod said firmly.

Anastasia led them along one wall, calling for Matt, still wearing his heraldic tabard. The young Man came quickly, giving them a bow. “Godfroi, would you escort the gentlemen to where they might dress?” She turned to the Elves. “We have what we call loaner garb for newcomers. You might feel less conspicuous wearing something other than mundane clothes while we’re eating. All our loaner garb is made to go over your own clothes so you do not have to undress. My dear, come with me and we’ll see you suitably garbed.” She gestured to Serindë, who joined her and her ladies.

“If you would follow me, my lords,” Matt said, giving them a bow. He led them back out of the gym and toward a door marked ‘Boys’ which turned out to be a locker room. Several pieces of garb were on hangers hooked onto the lockers.  Some of the garb were short, knee-length tunics with straight sleeves, but there were a few that were obviously floor-length with wide, trailing sleeves. “Luckily, we knew how many would be in your group,” Matt said, “so we brought enough for all. You can see they’re nothing fancy but they’ll do in a pinch. The T-tunics should be belted,” he pointed to one of the short tunics, “but the houppelandes needn’t be.”

“Ah, houppelandes,” Daeron said with a fond grin as he fingered one in a brown velour with yellow-gold trim. “You remember when they came into vogue? So impractical for running in.”

“And we tended to do a lot of that, as I recall,” Elrohir said with a laugh, while his twin chuckled and Glorfindel gave them a smirk. “I’ll take one of these T-tunics. I don’t fancy having to keep sleeves out of my soup. What about you, Dan?”

“T-tunic,” his brother said as he chose one that looked like it might fit him, then turned to Alex and Derek. “You’ll want to wear a T-tunic as well. Houppelandes can be tricky to eat in if you’re not used to wearing them, especially the ones with the bell sleeves.”

“There aren’t enough T-tunics to go around, unfortunately,” Matt said. “Some of you will have to settle for houppelandes.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Vorondur assured him. “Even Finrod and Laurendil are used to wearing such garb, aren’t you?”

Both ellyn nodded. “Though I still prefer wearing something like what the Twins are wearing now,” Finrod said, picking out one of the houppelandes, this one in a dark blue velour with red and blue flowers on white trim. “Thank the Valar my atar hates formal feasts as much as I do and prefers eating in comfort. Ammë says he would eat stark naked if he could get away with it.”

Everyone laughed as they continued checking out the various garb, trying them on with one or two having to find something that fit a bit better but eventually they were all in garb, though the ones wearing the T-tunics looked a bit odd with jeans showing underneath. Alex and Derek looked a bit self-conscious, pulling at the tunics and adjusting their belts, but the Elves were transformed by the simple garb, their bearing more regal and otherworldly. Alex, Derek and Matt all gaped at them. Even the Twins were seen as the Elf-lords that they were, an aspect of themselves they rarely displayed in public anymore.

With a gesture from Finrod, they all returned to the gym where they found Serindë dressed in a houppelande, though the cut was more feminine. She was with Anastasia who smiled at them. “Much better. Godfroi, would you like to show our guests where to sit?” she asked Matt, then turned to Finrod. “I’ve had a table set aside for your court and they will be joined by some of my own court, but I would be pleased if you, Lord Glorfindel and Lord Daeron would join me at the high table. Gwyn will be sitting with us. I am sure you and he have many questions. Gareth will join your people to answer any questions they might have. We’ve also supplied appropriate plates and goblets and such, knowing you wouldn’t have brought your own.”

Finrod bowed. “You are most gracious, Baroness. We will be honored to dine with you.”

“Can’t I sit with the others, Finrod?” Glorfindel said with a pout. “You know how much I hate sitting at high table.”

Finrod rolled his eyes. “How well I remember. Atar used to say that the surest way to make you disappear was to insist you sit at high table. I have no objections myself but I would fain not wish to insult our hostess.”

“I am not at all insulted,” Anastasia said. “Frankly, I can’t wait to give over this coronet to someone else so I won’t have to sit at high table any longer. It’s like being on display at the zoo.”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart,” Glorfindel said, flashing her a wicked grin. “I may have to marry you.”

“Sorry, my lord, I gave up older men along with my dolls,” Anastasia said with a lift of an eyebrow.

Glorfindel blushed and Vorondur actually burst out laughing while the others grinned.

“Well, in that case, I guess I will sit at high table, if only to keep Finrod company,” Glorfindel said after a pause.

“And I appreciate it,” Finrod said with a knowing smile.

“And what am I, chopped liver?” Daeron asked with a pout that the others sensed was only half faked.

“No, of course not,” Glorfindel replied fervently, giving the former Minstrel of Doriath a hug. “You know how much I’ve always depended on you to help me not to take myself too seriously.”

“And I value your wisdom and knowledge,” Finrod added sincerely, “and would welcome your insights into all this while we dine.” He gestured to the transformed gym. The afternoon had progressed enough that the sun was near to setting and clouds had set in to darken the sky even more. The candles were being lit and the overhead lights had been turned off, offering the illusion that they were in a feast hall instead of a gymnasium.

“Thank you,” Daeron said softly.

“Well, why don’t we find our places?” Vorondur said, gesturing to those who would not be sitting at high table and they gave the others brief bows (Alex and Derek looking self-conscious about it) and Matt — or rather, Godfroi — escorted them to where Gareth was already seated, along with a few others whom he introduced to the Wiseman group. Melisande was there with her husband, Sir Jehan, as was Dietrich. Sir Llewellyn was also at the table along with a Mistress Gabrielle, who was the barony’s Chiriugeon, and a Lord Cyneric, who turned out to be the Master of Minors.

“I see to the proper education of children within the SCA,” he explained. “We have a page’s school. There aren’t any children present today because it was decided to keep this between the adults for now and actually, we’re not at full strength. Regular fight practice was cancelled and only certain people were invited to attend today. If this were a proper feast, some of our older children would be acting as pages, serving the tables.”

“We’ll have to do something like that when we form our own group,” Serindë said. “I can think of a couple of families that might want to join.” And she and Cyneric occupied themselves in discussing what programs had been set up for the children in the barony.

“Are you medically trained, Mistress Gabrielle?” Elrohir asked.

“Mundanely, I’m a nurse practitioner,” she replied. “The laws require at least one person with some kind of medical background, even if it’s only someone certified for First Aid, to be part of the group in case a medical situation arises. There are always unintended injuries during fight practice or at tourneys, for instance, and there are the usual medical problems that beset us and might need to be attended to until proper help can be given. All our marshals are also certified for First Aid in case I’m not present, and I can’t always be because of my work schedule.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem with us,” Elladan said. “Several of our people are medically trained. Unfortunately, Roy and I won’t be around, as we’re heading back east for a time. We’re both medical doctors but we have no surgical experience and we’re going back to Columbia University for additional training. Would you be interested in being the group’s Chirugeon, Randall?” He asked Laurendil.

“That depends,” he replied. “I am not quite sure how my own studies will go. Ah, excuse me. I better give Loren his medication before I forget.” He stood up and made his way to the high table, hitching up the houppelande he was wearing to get at a pocket, pulling out the medication. “Here, Loren,” he said. “You’ll need to take this before you start eating.”

Glorfindel just nodded as he accepted the pill and dutifully took it with some water that was in his goblet, having politely refused the wine that had been offered, knowing full well that his minders would not approve. Laurendil stayed just long enough to make sure Glorfindel actually took the pill before giving everyone a proper bow and returning to his own table.

Meanwhile, Alex and Derek were grappling with the medieval style of eating. The soup had not been a problem but the rest of the meal was more problematic. “No forks,” Derek said softly to Alex, looking around as the Scadians calmly attacked the quiche-like pie filled with what appeared to be date, apples, and raisin and a salad of greens with knives and fingers. Sir Llewellyn, sitting across from Derek, grinned, having overheard.

“Forks were not invented until quite late and even then were rarely used. They were considered a novelty. And where else could you go where you’re actually encouraged to eat with your fingers like when you were a wee tot in a highchair?” He laughed and Derek and Alex grinned back. After that, they relaxed a bit more and enjoyed themselves. Derek began asking the knight questions about fighting while Alex was content to listen.

At the high table, Finrod was plying Anastasia with questions about the SCA while Glorfindel spoke quietly with Gwyn, the two of them trading stories about living among Mortals throughout the ages. Daeron half listened to the conversation while also speaking with Jason, who went by the name Michael of Norwich, and was the group’s Seneschal. Jason turned out to be fluent in Italian and very knowledgeable about medieval Italian literature, so the two were discussing Petrarch, Boccaccio and Dante in Italian, much to the bemusement of the others at the table.

The feast consisted of three courses. “We only had time to come up with three removes rather than the usual four or five,” Anastasia explained, “so this isn’t as fancy as most of our feasts.” Finrod and Glorfindel assured her that it was fine and praised the Mortals for putting together such a wonderful feast with such short notice. Between the second and third course, there was some entertainment, with two of the Mortals playing a harp and a lute while they sang chansons de geste in the original languages. Then they switched to a couple of songs from the Celtic realms, singing in Irish Gaelic.

Glorfindel nodded as the musicians sang and even joined in at one point when he recognized the song, singing softly. Daeron, watching him, smiled knowingly. Finrod, even though he did not understand the languages, was obviously enjoying himself, softly commenting about the musicians and the music to Anastasia.

At the other table, the Wiseman Elves were also enjoying the music with Elladan softly translating the words for the benefit of Laurendil, Alex, Derek and the other Mortals, while Elrohir had an arm around Serindë as the two rocked gently back and forth in time with the music. Vorondur sat watching the Mortals, gauging their states of minds. Whatever time period their particular personae were from, they all had acted in a chivalrous manner, bowing and curtseying without any sense of self-consciousness. Some of them were even speaking, or attempting to speak, in more archaic English, reminiscent of the English of Shakespeare. Gareth and the others had entertained them with the ‘medieval’ equivalents of modern devices: farseer for TVs and farspeaker for phones; dragon for vehicles of any sort. It had been amusing to listen to.

He glanced at the high table where he could see Glorfindel. He noted the contented look on the ellon’s face and the relaxed posture. Glorfindel had been tense all the way down from Wiseman and even after finding the Twins and Sarah he had not really relaxed, still feeling some pain from the injuries he had sustained and the subsequent surgery to save his life. This was the first time he had seen the ellon looking more himself.

Finrod was also looking relaxed and obviously enjoying himself. His smile was gentle though Vorondur thought he detected a hint of wistfulness in it and figured the ellon was perhaps wishing his wife were there with him, sharing in his adventures. He hoped that the elleth would join her husband soon. Finrod was adapting well enough to present circumstances, but Vorondur knew that he would fare much better if he had Amarië beside him, supporting him in his endeavors. Not for the first time he wondered at the wisdom of the Valar in sending the Elves from Aman.

The last song ended to much applause and Anastasia stood with her goblet in hand, charging all and sundry to raise their own goblets in toast to the musicians, which everyone gladly did. And then the final course was served: a selection of cookies and gingerbread topped with a hot lemon sauce.

When the feast came to an end and the lights were brought back up, Finrod insisted on helping with the cleaning up, recruiting an amenable Glorfindel while Daeron elected to sit with Anastasia and keep her company. “I do enough cleaning up after you lot back home,” he said with a sniff and sipped his wine. Glorfindel rolled his eyes and Finrod laughed, the two of them gathering up plates and silverware and joining with those who had volunteered to do the cleaning up. Large pots full of soapy hot water had been wheeled in from the kitchen so people could clean their plates and Finrod and Glorfindel got into line, happily meeting with the Mortals and assuring them that, yes, they did know which end of a dish towel was which.

The others helped the Scadians with moving the tables and chairs out and putting them away; Elladan joined in sweeping the floor. Soon the gym was cleared and now several people were gathered at one end with a variety of instruments, tuning them.

“We’ll do a little bit of dancing before we leave,” Anastasia explained. “We can show you the steps if you wish to join in or you can just watch. Not everyone cares to dance so don’t feel obligated to do so.”

The Wiseman Elves elected to watch first. Alex and Derek, however, had been accosted by a couple of young Women, one dressed in a bliaut, the other in a gates of hell, who were teaching them the steps of a pavane in anticipation of joining in the first dance, which, traditionally was always a pavane with Anastasia and Michael leading.

“Oh, and watch out for the cloved lemon,” Gwyn said to Finrod and Glorfindel as he led Mistress Gabrielle onto the dance floor.

“Cloved lemon?” Finrod asked Glorfindel, who shrugged and then gestured to the side where they saw a lady in Tudor dress holding a lemon covered with cloves and handing it to a young lord dressed as a Cavalier. She was smiling coyly as the Man took the lemon, choosing a clove to bite on before the two of them kissed with some passion. Eventually, they broke apart, the Man bowing over the Woman’s hand, the two of them flirting with one another with their smiles before going their separate ways. Then the Man went up to another of the ladies, presenting her with the lemon, his eyes bright with anticipation of a kiss from the fair damsel.

Glorfindel and Finrod exchanged amused looks and burst out laughing at the same time. “Don’t warn the others,” Finrod said with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Do you think you can refuse if it’s offered to you?” Glorfindel asked.

“I doubt it. It would be insulting to the lady,” Finrod pointed out, “but it appears that one is not obligated to be too… um… expressive.” He gestured to where the Cavalier and the lady, who was dressed in what Glorfindel said was late Saxon garb, kissed one another chastely once on the lips before stepping back to give each other their courtesy and then the lady went hunting for a suitable recipient of the lemon.

However, whether out of deference or shyness, none of the Wiseman Elves were presented with the cloved lemon, much to Glorfindel’s disappointment. Alex and Derek fared better, though Derek blushed when the lady who accosted him explained the meaning of the cloved lemon and what was to be done. Still, he dutifully kissed the Woman who was a matronly sort whose husband watched laughingly, apparently not at all offended, clapping Derek on the shoulder afterwards and pointing him to a suitable candidate for the lemon. Alex was more debonair about it, and Vorondur, catching him in the act of accepting the lemon from a buxom young Woman dressed in a style that was similar to what Eleanor of Aquataine might have worn, watched with some amusement mixed with clinical appreciation as the former intelligence officer poured on the charm and literally swept the lady away with his courtly manner. Alex might be reluctant to join the SCA but he apparently was no stranger to the art of innocent flirtation.

Eventually, the dancing came to an end and people began packing things away. Most had jobs to go to in the morning and children to tend to, while others still had studying to do for the morrow’s classes. The Wiseman group doffed their borrowed finery and spent several minutes saying goodbye to various people.

“I’ll send Gareth up in a couple of weeks to see how you’re doing,” Gwyn told Glorfindel and Finrod as they prepared to leave. “In the meantime, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call. You have my cell or you can contact Pam via the website.”

Everyone wished them a good night with promises on both sides to keep in touch.

“Why don’t you meet us at the Chena Lodge at around seven,” Glorfindel suggested to Elladan as they headed for their vehicles, “we’ll plan to pick up Alex and Derek and get on the road. We’ll stop at Livengood for breakfast before we head home.”

It was agreed and then they wished one another good night as Elladan joined Elrohir and Serindë while everyone else climbed into Glorfindel’s van with Vorondur driving.

“So what do you think?” Vorondur asked Glorfindel, who was sitting up front.

“I think it might work,” Glorfindel answered. “Finrod?”

“It was quite enjoyable,” Finrod replied. “I was thinking Nicholas might like to join such an organization.”

“We’ll have to discuss who among our Mortal friends we can convince to form the group and start recruiting people. We’ll have our own people know about it so they can join and we can start having them make their armor and weapons and begin seriously training them,” Daeron said.

“What should we name the group?” Laurendil asked. “I do not think we can use Edhellond, though it would certainly be appropriate.”

“I think it would be better if we let the Mortals decide on the name and we will encourage them to take up the various offices that are required, at least the more important ones of Seneschal, Exchequer and maybe a Herald,” Vorondur suggested. “We can act as consultants and tutor people in how to do things if necessary until they’ve gotten the hang of it, especially the heraldry.”

“What about you two?” Daeron asked Alex and Derek. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Oh sure,” Derek assured them, “though that cloved lemon thing was an eye opener. I always figured medieval types were, you know, straightlaced and proper.”

Glorfindel, Daeron and Vorondur all laughed. “Trust me, son, they were anything but,” Vorondur said. “What about you, Alex? You looked as if you were enjoying yourself once you allowed yourself to relax.”

“It was fun,” Alex allowed. “Sort of reminded me of a few soirées and masquerade balls I attended when I was stationed in Europe for a time.”

“Think you’d like to join?” Derek asked.

“Not sure. I have to think about it,” Alex replied.

“Plenty of time for that and you’re under no obligation to do so if it makes you feel uncomfortable,” Vorondur said as he pulled into the Chena Lodge parking lot. “As Derek pointed out, this sort of thing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. We’ll see you around seven, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Derek said, speaking for them both as they climbed out of the van. “Good night.”

The two Mortals watched as the van drove off and then went inside, quietly sharing their impressions of the day with one another. The feast had been filling enough that they did not desire any dinner, so they settled for sitting in the lounge nursing a couple of beers and munching on popcorn before they decided to retire knowing they had to be up early.

The Elves, ensconced in the drawing room of the B and B drinking sherry — or, in Glorfindel’s case, some chamomile tea — spent the evening sharing their thoughts about the day’s events, though Glorfindel excused himself around two in the morning to get a few hours’ sleep. The others stayed up until it was time to go and pack.

And at the Alpine Lodge, the Twins took turns keeping watch while the other and Serindë slept.





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