62: Midnight Conversations with the ap Hywel Brothers

Amroth stared at the computer screen as he listened to Glorfindel’s account of what had happened and shook his head.

“Fool of a boy!” he muttered, though he knew Glorfindel would hear. Glorfindel grinned.

“He is young, at least by our standards,” Glorfindel commented. “I know by Mortal standards he’s way too old for his age. He’s seen and done too much.”

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t excuse his attitude. I taught him better than that.” Amroth sighed. “I think I made a mistake leaving the Agency when I did. If I’d stayed…”

“You and Della would never have met again,” Glorfindel said categorically. “Don’t beat yourself up, Amroth. The past, as Lord Námo is always at pains to remind us, is just that: the past. It cannot be altered nor can it be retrieved. If there’s one thing I’ve learned as a Reborn is that now is all that counts. In fact, now is all we’re given. We, none of us, are ever promised the next five minutes, so concentrate on the moment. We’ll keep an eye on Alex. I think he’s feeling at sea right now because Derek isn’t here to be his anchor.”

“Derek does seem to have the ability to keep Alex calm,” Amroth allowed. “He’s younger than Alex, but he has a steady head on his shoulders.”

“My concern is that Alex is…hmmm…. I won’t go so far as to say enjoying all this, but—”

“I would,” Amroth said darkly. “Ron warned us that Alex gets an adrenaline rush when confronted with danger. He hasn’t been out of the game long enough that that particular poison is out of his system. He still craves it however much he may deny it. You should treat him as you would any junkie trying to get clean. He’s going to be all over the map as long as Farrell is out there taunting him. I’m glad Finlay is there to help.”

“Do you think Alex will lose control?” Glorfindel asked, now looking worried.

“No. He’s just too good to do that,” Amroth assured him. “But make no mistake, Loren. He’s dangerous, doubly so under the circumstances. Whether he accepts your help or not, I want him watched at all times when he’s not at Edhellond. I wish Val were there so I could speak with him about this.”

“He went over to Ron’s insisting he needed some quiet. We’re too noisy for him, or so he claims. Personally, I think he just prefers Ron’s stash of sherry to ours.” Amroth chuckled as Glorfindel continued. “Well we have a houseful of people who are very good at hiding in plain sight. I’ll make arrangements for them to keep an eye on Alex.” He paused and gave Amroth a smile. “Between you, me and this chair, I think the boy’s smitten.”

“Smitten?” Amroth asked, lifting an eyebrow. “He goes on one date—”

“Non-date,” Glorfindel interjected.

“A date,” Amroth repeated firmly, giving Glorfindel an amused look, “and he’s ready to propose marriage to Ms Cohen?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, not yet, but it’s clear to all of us that he sees Felicity as more than just a colleague. He’s hoping for more. I just hope we all survive long enough to see it.”

“Amen,” Amroth said. “Well, keep us informed. Della is anxious to get back. She’s not happy without one of the healers on hand.”

“How is she doing, anyway? Any problems?”

“Not at the moment, but she’s entered her twentieth week and oh, she felt the babies moving the other day and we’re pretty sure we have one of each.”

“That is good news… Ada.” Glorfindel flashed him a smile.

Amroth laughed, sounding a bit embarrassed. “Anyway, Della’s anxious to return so she can schedule an ultrasound. She wants two copies, one for us and the other she intends to give to the first Maia she sees and have it sent to Valinor to show everyone there.”

“Oh, I would just love to be there when that happens,” Glorfindel said with a chuckle. “Well, why don’t I send one of the healers down to you for the duration? That at least should help.”

“I’m sure she would appreciate it. If she’s experiencing any problems or has any concerns, she can’t go to the hospital here. Of course, one of the people from the barony is a nurse practitioner and we can call on her if necessary, but she’s Mortal and.....”

“Yeah, I understand. Okay. I’ll talk it over with the healers and let you know. Ah, Finrod just walked in. I promised him a game of chess, so I’ll say good night.”

“Good night, Loren. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

Amroth shut down Skype and then closed down the laptop. Gwyn and Gareth were sitting on either side of him at the dining room table, both of them with mugs of tea in their hands. It was nearly midnight and they were the only ones awake. Zach was sleeping deeply in the next room and Nimrodel and Mithrellas were both resting. Amroth gave the brothers a thin smile but did not speak, picking up his own mug of peppermint tea to drink.

Gwyn cleared his throat. “So, nothing’s changed.”

“Oh, no, child, everything changed when Ed Finlay showed up,” Amroth corrected. “That was a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one.”

“How do you mean, sir?” Gareth asked. The younger ellon was still in awe of Amroth and practically worshipped the ground Nimrodel walked on. Amroth found it amusing. Nimrodel, however, found it annoying. Still, she was unfailingly polite to both brothers. In an earlier age, they would’ve been her knights ready to do battle on her behalf, though Amroth suspected that Gwyn was more interested in Mithrellas.

“I knew Finlay when I was working at the Agency,” Amroth explained, leaning back in his chair. “He’s a decent chap, as I believe you Brits would say, rare in that particular environment.”

“We haven’t been Brits in a long time, Amroth,” Gwyn said with a grin, “but I take your meaning.” He paused and gave the former king of Laurinand a shrewd look. “You’re anxious to get back.”

“Of course,” Amroth allowed, “but trust me, I am also enjoying our visit. It was a pleasure to speak with your parents even via Skype. I hope they accept my invitation to come and see us in person.”

“Da could, but Mam would have to wait until summer when she’s not teaching,” Gwyn said.

“And that would be soon enough,” Amroth said. “Well, I should go check on Della. She hates it when I’m not there when she wakes. What are your plans for what remains of the night?”

Gwyn shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to catch up on some reading.”

“Me, too,” Gareth replied.

“Then I will leave you to it,” Amroth said, standing and the other two did as well. Amroth drained his mug and started toward the kitchen.

“Leave it,” Gwyn said. “We’ll clean up.”

“Good night, then,” Amroth said, picking up his laptop and heading quietly to the bedroom he shared with Nimrodel.

Gwyn and Gareth cleared the table and went into the kitchen. “I’m looking forward to visiting Wiseman soon,” Gareth said as he stacked the mugs in the dishwasher while Gwyn carefully washed the porcelain teapot.

“I wouldn’t mind a quick run up there myself, but you’re in a better position to do so.”

“It’s going to feel strange though,” Gareth said musingly.

“What do you mean?”

“All those Elves. All our lives, we thought we were alone. All our lives, Gwyn, we thought we were all that was left: you, me, Mam and Da. And now…” He shook his head. “Just having three other Elves under our roof freaks me out.”

Gwyn carefully placed the teapot down and reached over to give his brother a hug. “I know. I feel the same way. I have to keep pinching myself to see if I’m dreaming.” He stepped back and gave his brother a wicked grin. “Did you see Da’s face when he saw Amroth?”

Gwyn snorted a laugh. “Man, that was priceless. Mam seemed to take it better.”

“Oh, you know her. I swear if the end of the world comes at four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon while she’s having tea, she’d just look up and say something like, ‘I just need another half hour, thank you,’ and then go back to reading whatever romance book she’s on at the time.”

Gareth laughed again, though softly, so as not to disturb the Mortal sleeping in the living room. “Maybe when they come for a visit and meet everyone we might finally learn their own story.”

Gwyn shook his head. “I doubt it. You know how they clammed up whenever we asked. They would both get that haunted look and refuse to speak for days afterwards. Still, it’s possible they might meet someone they know from before. Well, let’s go and read. You want the bed tonight and I’ll take the air mattress?”

“Sure, thanks.”

They exited the kitchen, turning off the lights as they went, moving silently through the dark living room past Zach softly snoring and down the hall to the bedroom they were sharing. They both undressed and slipped into soft robes. Gareth grabbed the copy of the History of the Elves textbook which Amroth had brought along as a thank-you gift for the brothers and stretched out on the bed while Gwyn settled himself at his desk and turned on his computer, accessing the blog of one of his favorite online authors to read the latest chapter of the science-fiction thriller he was writing. For a time, the two brothers read quietly with only the soft sound of pages being turned breaking the silence between them.

“Hmm…. that’s interesting,” Gareth said, frowning slightly.

“What is?” Gwyn asked distractedly, still reading.

“Oh, nothing really. Just that, according to this book, when the Noldor left Valinor, they were given a warning by Lord Námo of what would happen if they continued on.”

“Yeah, so?” Gwyn didn’t bother to look up, still intent on his reading and only half listening to his brother.

“Don’t you remember Da telling us this story when we were little? He never mentioned Lord Námo or anyone giving the Noldor a warning.”

Gwyn looked over at his brother and shrugged. “So what? Maybe he didn’t know. He wasn’t there, remember? Neither he nor Mam were, and we’re only, what, an eighth Noldorin, so who cares?”

“But don’t you see? Somehow that little detail got lost in the telling. The way Da told it, it sounded as if the Valar washed their hands of the Noldor from the get-go. They made no attempt to dissuade them from their course. Yet, according to this, they first sent Lord Manwë’s herald and then Lord Námo himself. And Da never mentioned that Arafinwë turned back.”

“Who?”

“Finrod’s adar, Finarfin! His real name is Arafinwë. He’s the present Noldóran. He turned back and so did some others.”

“I still don’t see what you’re driving at, Gareth. So what if Da’s version of the story doesn’t mention Finarfin turning back? He eventually came to Beleriand anyway, as I recall, leading the Host of the West during the War of Wrath. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?”

“But don’t you see, Gwyn?” Gareth exclaimed. “Da told us that this story was passed down to him by his adar who heard it from his, and so on back, but if so, someone deliberately left out certain details and I just find it interesting which details have been left out, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s a bit like water under the bridge, isn’t it?” Gwyn said. “I mean, it doesn’t really change anything. We’re not Noldor, even if we have Noldorin blood, and whatever happened with them doesn’t really concern us. I’m more interested in learning about our Vanyarin kin. I always wondered why Great-great-grandfather remained behind instead of returning to Valinor with his bride.”

“Well, he went back eventually, don’t forget,” Gareth pointed out.

“Yes, I know, and I’ve always wondered about that as well. Neither Mam nor Da will speak of that time. Why did they not Sail with the rest of the family? What convinced them to remain here in Middle-earth?”

“Not what, who.”

Both ellyn leapt up, nearly shouting in surprise and fright. Gareth actually fell out of the bed and spent precious seconds cursing as he attempted to stand. His curses died aborning when he finally stood and found himself staring into the amused eyes of the being who had simply appeared in their midst. He was elven tall and looked similar to the Firstborn, though there was a subtle difference that neither ellyn could quite pinpoint. He was wearing a black duster, of all things.

Gwyn was the first to recover, lifting an eyebrow. “New look?” he said in a nonchalant voice.

Námo grinned, putting a finger to his lips. “I’m in disguise.”

“Oh, you’re Nate,” Gareth said and then covered his mouth with his hands as Námo looked at him.

“Yes, the people of Wiseman know me as Nate and I usually appear to them in this guise. It’s less, shall we say, intimidating. They will eventually meet me in other circumstances, but hopefully, by then, they will be too familiar with me to feel any real trepidation.”

“Oh,” was all Gwyn could say to that and he exchanged a nervous look with Gareth.

“I try not to think about it,” Gareth said softly. “I mean, with our friends. I try not to care, but…” he shrugged slightly, “and then they leave and we’re still here, still going on. Sometimes it just hurts, it hurts a lot.”

Gwyn went to his brother and hugged him. Námo gave them a sympathetic look and sighed. “I know and I imagine that sometimes it feels like a punishment, having to watch them die and not being able to do anything about it. You’re not alone in feeling this way, Gareth. There are several Elves just to the north who have experienced the same thing and for longer than either of you combined, but if you were to ask them, they would say that they don’t regret it. All of them should have faded a long time ago when they did not Sail, but they didn’t and you want to know why?”

“Why?” Gareth obliged.

“Because they allowed themselves to care. They entered into Mortal life instead of retreating and found their energy from interacting with the Mortals, just as you have and your parents. Your parents did not Sail because I inspired them not to.”

“You?!” the brothers exclaimed almost as one.

“Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, we Valar inspired them,” Námo corrected himself, “for you see, all of you are our secret weapon.”

“Huh? I mean….”

Námo smiled and gestured at the bed. “Why don’t you sit and I’ll explain.”

The brothers nodded. Gwyn stepped over to his computer and put it into sleep mode and then joined his brother on the bed while Námo took the chair Gwyn had been sitting in. When they were all settled, Námo did not speak immediately, gazing calmly at the two young Elves, who tried not to fidget. Gwyn was better at remaining still than Gareth, but not by much.

“I believe you know that if you were to go to Valinor you would find no elflings?” Námo asked, breaking the silence. Both brothers nodded.

“We were told that none have been born since before the last ice age. Is that true?” Gwyn asked.

“It’s true,” Námo replied.

“Why?” Gwyn asked, obviously perplexed. “Without elflings, there’s no future.”

“And that is a lesson you learned here, is it not?”

“I guess,” Gwyn replied, looking at his brother, who shrugged.

“Trust me, it is,” Námo assured them. “It is a lesson your parents learned, which is why they had you in spite of the fact that their lives were uncertain. It was not easy for them, but I think they are glad that they did not Sail with the rest of their families.”

“They never speak about it,” Gareth said. “They both look so sad whenever Gwyn or I ask.”

Námo nodded. “I know,” he said solemnly, but then he gave them what could only be described as a wicked smile. “Did you see their faces when Amroth Skyped them?”

Both brothers chuckled, their eyes bright with amusement. “Da was definitely gobsmacked,” Gareth nearly crowed, “and Mam wasn’t far behind.”

“When you see Elrohir again, Gareth, give him your parents’ address so he can send them a wedding invitation. It’ll be the hols then, as I believe you call it, so your naneth can certainly come for it.”

“So why are we your secret weapon?” Gwyn asked.

“Do you know what the reaction to the news that Amroth and Nimrodel are expecting was when the news was announced in certain quarters in Valinor?” the Lord of Mandos asked. When the brothers just shook their heads, Námo continued. “To put it politely, the news did not go over well with most. Oh, a few, a very few, were ecstatic, but for the most part the response to the news was lukewarm and rather disdainful, and it was the younger generations that were most unimpressed.”

“Really?” Gwyn asked. “It’s usually the older generation that is the most conservative in outlook, at least that is generally so among Mortals.”

“But it was the younger generation that made the decision not to bring any elflings into the world,” Námo countered. “In fact, the older Elves, people like Finrod, for instance, have been working to reverse the trend. They have been fighting against it, but you can’t force people to bring forth children.”

“But surely there must have been a few people who decided they wanted to add children to their house,” Gareth said plaintively. “Unless the bringing of children into the world has been outlawed and made a crime, I can’t see everyone toeing the line like that. That’s not natural. There are always holdouts.”

“So you would think, but you are basing your assumptions on your own experiences and you only can speak of how Mortals would act under similar circumstances. Somewhere along the line, the younger generations of Elves in Valinor fell into despair. They have convinced themselves that because their lives are bound up with that of Arda, when the Renewing comes, there is no guarantee that any of them will survive, so why bring forth children who will only die in the end?”

“But that’s absurd!” Gwyn exclaimed. “And what if they’re wrong? What then?”

“Are they wrong?” Gareth asked.

“As to that, I cannot say. Cannot, not will not. I honestly do not know. None of the Valar do. We can make pretty good guesses, but ultimately, we simply do not know, for we had nothing to do with your coming into being. Your ultimate fate and that of the Mortals is solely in Ilúvatar’s hands. But you see, your people have lost estel somewhere along the way. We Valar sensed that this might happen, so we made contingency plans.”

“Meaning us,” Gwyn said.

“Meaning you, your brother, your parents, the Wiseman Elves. You are our secret weapon. Your parents, Vorondur and his wife Ercassë, and now Amroth and Nimrodel, have brought or are bringing forth children. We are hoping Elrohir and Serindë will do so as well. We hope to show that children are indeed the hope of the future. Mortals must bring forth children by necessity or they die out as a people, and so each new generation is a sign of hope for them. Elves do not have that imperative and yet in some ways they need that hope more than the Mortals. Your parents were inspired to remain behind, or rather, your parents were receptive to the idea. We tried desperately to inspire the other members of their families to remain as well, but they closed their minds and their hearts and we let them go.”

Silence fell between them as the two brothers contemplated Námo’s words. Finally, Gareth reached over to pick up the history book lying on the bed. “What about this?” he asked. “Why does this book say one thing and we’ve been told something else and which version is true?”

“The history book is accurate,” Námo replied. “As to why you were told a different version, I can only say it was because those who told it wanted to justify their own actions. But it is not something you need to concern yourself with. Those who altered the truth know that doing so was wrong for a number of reasons and have seen the error of their ways. I would suggest that when you have finished reading this book that you send it to your parents. I’m sure they would appreciate it.”

“Sure, we can do that,” Gwyn said, speaking for them both.

“Good,” Námo said, rising, and the ellyn hastily rose as well. “I’m glad we had this little chat. You are both doing well and my fellow Valar and I are very pleased with you. Gwaith-en-Angbor is coming along quite nicely.”

“Thank you,” Gwyn said shyly.

Námo extended his right hand in blessing over the two Elves. “Ilúvatar keep you both,” he intoned and then they found themselves alone. For a moment or two they just stood there staring at the space where the Vala had been, then Gwyn looked at Gareth. “Why don’t we read this history book together?”

Gareth nodded and the two crawled onto the bed with each of them holding the book. Without prompting, Gareth began to read out loud. “There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thoughts….”

****

Note: Gareth reads from the beginning of the Ainulindalë.