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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

43: The King and the Baroness

Sunday morning, Finrod, Glorfindel and the others staying at the B and B got up late and were the last to show up for breakfast, so the dining room was not as crowded as the day before. Glorfindel called Alex to let him know that they would pick him and Derek up around a quarter to one. After breakfast, Finrod suggested that they spend the remainder of the morning walking around the area of the B and B. It was a bright, crisp day and the sun was shining. Traffic was light and there were few pedestrians. During the walk, Glorfindel insisted that Finrod tell him what had happened with Vardamir and Eärnur.

“I think I have a right to know,” he pointed out when Finrod hesitated.

“Tell him,” Vorondur said. “He has to know eventually. Hell, half of Wiseman knows and the other half suspects, so it’s not as if it’s a big secret or anything.”

Finrod nodded and, as they wandered around the neighborhood, window shopping along the way, he told them what had happened. Glorfindel shook his head. “Damn fools,” he muttered at one point. “Now I understand what my dream was about.”

“What sort of dream was it?” Vorondur asked. “You never told us just how you knew that the Twins and Sarah were gone. None of us told you.”

“It must have been when I was dying,” Glorfindel said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, casting his mind back to that time. “I was in the corridor and the Twins and Sarah were there talking. I could hear what they were saying but they couldn’t hear or see me. They were obviously angry, though I never learned why, and they were talking about leaving Wiseman. I tried to convince them that that was a mistake, that they were just running away and solving nothing, but they went off without ever acknowledging me and you know how I hate to be ignored.“ He gave them a bright grin and they all chuckled. Then he shrugged. “I don’t remember too much after that. I think I went back to my room and there was someone there. We talked. Not really sure. I just know that at some point I woke up. Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, gwador,” Finrod said. “I think you slipped your leash, as Lord Námo likes to call it.”

“I prefer ‘out-of-body-experience’ myself,” Glorfindel said with a scowl. “It sounds much more dignified than ‘slipped your leash’. You make it sound as if I’m one of Ingwë’s hounds being naughty.”

The others grinned. “Well, at any rate, that solves that little mystery,” Daeron said, then glanced at his phone to check the time. “Let’s head back. I want to freshen up before we head off.”

So they went back to the B and B. A few minutes later they were back out and climbing into the van and then they were off, stopping at the Chena Lodge to pick up the Mortals before continuing on to the Alpine Lodge where the Twins and Serindë were waiting for them by their car.

“Just follow us,” Elladan said as he got behind the wheel.

The trip took little time with the lighter Sunday traffic and soon they were pulling into a building off University Avenue. They found a place to park beside a number of other vehicles. As they all got out, Derek commented that it looked like a school and Elladan said it had been an elementary school at one point but was not one now.

“Let’s see, it’s down here somewhere,” Elrohir muttered as they entered the building and walked down a corridor past empty classrooms.

“Here. This way,” Serindë said, when they reached an intersection, pointing to the left.

“Dan, go see if everything is ready,” Elrohir suggested. “We’ll stay here.”

Elladan nodded and headed down the corridor while everyone stood about. “Are you sure you don’t want to give us a hint?” Glorfindel asked Elrohir, but the younger ellon just smiled and shook his head.

“Hints are useless at this point. Just be patient. It won’t be long. Ah, all set?” he asked his brother as Elladan rejoined them.

“All set. Ready?”

“As we’ll ever be,” Glorfindel said. “Lead on, McDuff.”

The Twins grinned and they led the way with Serindë between them. They turned a corner and came to wide doors leading into the school’s gymnasium. A young Man, who was perhaps in his twenties, was standing there, dressed in medieval-looking garb with a green surcoat over it. The surcoat had two gold horns crossing one another. He carried a wood staff that was nearly as tall as he was. He stood there gaping at them, his eyes wide in wonder. Elrohir gave him a friendly smile.

“Will you announce us, just as we rehearsed, Matt?” he asked, and the young Man nodded. He visibly pulled himself together and opened the gym door, slipping in. Elladan held the door open a crack so they could hear what was being said. There was the sound of the staff being pounded on the floor.

“Hear ye, hear ye. His Majesty, Finrod Felagund and his court.”

Elladan opened the door wide with one hand and gestured with the other. “That’s your cue, Uncle,” he said with a grin. Finrod raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he swept past the younger Elf with Glorfindel directly behind him, but he stopped in surprise when he saw what was waiting for them.

The gym had been transformed into a quasi-medieval hall with banners strategically placed and hanging on poles. A large number of people dressed in a variety of styles, ranging from early Saxon to Cavalier, were standing about, forming an aisle that led to what was obviously a throne where a Woman stood waiting to greet them. She was dressed in Tudor style and looked regal with her coronet glittering from the overhead lights. On either side of the throne were a couple of Men carrying swords, obviously guards, and a couple of Women who were probably ladies-in-waiting.

Finrod glanced behind him at Glorfindel, who simply shook his head in amazement, before turning back to the crowd, trying to understand what it all meant.

“Did we just fall into Alice’s rabbit hole or something when no one was looking?” he heard Derek whisper behind him.

“Bloody hell, they’re all armed!” Alex muttered.

“Huh? You mean those swords some of them are carrying? So what?” Derek asked.

“Live steel, you idiot,” Alex retorted. “Very dangerous.”

“Trust you to see the dark side of everything,” Derek shot back. “I think it’s pretty cool, myself.”

All the while, those in the gym stood staring at the newcomers and Finrod could feel the awkwardness of the situation on both sides. Well, he might not know what these children were about, but he’d been in stranger situations before.  “Enough,” he said softly but with much power, abruptly cutting off the banter between Alex and Derek. “Come, we must not keep the lady waiting.”

Squaring his shoulders, he ceased to be Quinn O’Brien and became Prince Findaráto. As he strode down the aisle he was only slightly nonplused to have all the Mortals give him gracious bows and curtsies as he passed them. He ignored them. Upon reaching the throne, the Woman held out her hand and he took it, bowing over it.

“Welcome to our barony, Your Majesty,” she said. “Welcome to you all.”

“I am delighted to be here, my lady,” Finrod said. “It is quite a surprise, though I am somewhat at a loss to understand the meaning behind all this. Perhaps you would explain, Nephew.” He glanced back to where Elladan stood.

“But first, why don’t you introduce us,” Glorfindel suggested. “Names would be a big help.”

Elladan stepped around them and gave them all a bow. “Let me make you known to Baroness Anastasia of Winter’s Gate.”

“My lords,” Anastasia said, dipping them a brief curtsey.

“Baroness,” Finrod said slowly as if trying the word out, giving Elladan a quizzical look. “I thought Americans did not go for titles.”

“They don’t, Uncle,” Elladan replied, “but for the moment, we’re not in America. We’re in the Barony of Winter’s Gate in the West Kingdom.”

“Ah, a medieval re-creation group, then,” Daeron said. “I’ve heard of them.”

“Then this is all pretend,” Finrod said, seeking clarification.

“Serious pretending,” Elrohir responded. “Adult games, you might say.”

Vorondur nodded. “Playing is an integral part of any human society and it’s not reserved only for children. It’s one of the things that separates us from the lower animals.”

“And this is your surprise?” Glorfindel asked.

“Only in part,” Elladan answered. “Here is the real surprise.” He turned toward the group of people standing to the right of the throne and nodded. At once, they parted to reveal two people standing there, both of them looking a bit awkward and self-conscious. They were dressed in knee-length tunics covered in Celtic-style embroidery. Their long hair was braided so that the tips of their ears showed. Both wore swords on their hips.

There was a moment of shocked silence as the Wiseman group recognized the two for what they were. “By all that’s holy, you’re Elves!” Vorondur exclaimed, speaking in Sindarin.

Before anyone could respond to his proclamation, one of the Mortals standing nearby turned to her neighbor and whispered. “You see, I was right. Elves come originally from Wales. They all speak the language.”

Finrod glanced at the Twins and Serindë, all three grinning hugely with delight. He looked at Glorfindel who was simply goggling, while Vorondur had an enigmatic smile on his face and Finrod wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Daeron’s eyes were dancing with delight and Alex and Derek just stood there with their mouths hanging open.

“You see? Our running away wasn’t a mistake,” Elladan said in Sindarin.

Finrod turned to the baroness, giving her a short bow. “Perhaps thou wouldst introduce us to our kinsmen, my lady, for I doubt me not that they are indeed kin to my people.”

Baroness Anastasia raised a delicate eyebrow at the formal language but nodded, gesturing with a beringed hand for Gwyn and Gareth to approach, which they did. “Let me make known to you, Your Majesty, our beloved subjects, Lord Gwyn ap Hywel and his brother, Lord Gareth. Lord Gwyn is our Captain of the baronial militia and Lord Gareth is our Archery Marshal.”

Both brothers bowed as they were being introduced. Gareth’s expression was one of adoration, something Finrod had encountered in others. Gwyn’s expression appeared wary, as if he was not sure how this meeting would go.

“Do you speak Sindarin, my children?” Finrod asked in that language and when the two nodded, he asked, “Who are your parents? What House claims your allegiance?”

“Our adar is Tristan ap Hywel and our naneth is Iseult,” Gwyn replied.

“But those are not Elvish names,” Glorfindel said. “What are their true names and yours?”

Gwyn scowled. “Those are the only names we know them by,” he said, “and they never gave us Elvish names and we felt no need to have one. Other than to teach us Sindarin and something of our history, our parents refused to speak of the past. I was born nine hundred and fifty-four years ago and my brother was born forty-two years later. Until this past week we thought we were the only Elves still living on these shores.”

“Did you get any of that?” Derek asked Alex.

Alex shook his head. “Not really. I think they lost their history or maybe they were lost at sea, not sure which.”

“How do you lose your history?” Derek asked, apparently in all seriousness. “Can you go to the ‘Lost and Found’ department at Wal-Mart and look for it?”

Everyone stared at them and they suddenly realized they’d been speaking out of turn. Elrohir rolled his eyes. “Mortals,” he muttered in Sindarin.

Gwyn and Gareth actually grinned at that. “They can be amusing, can’t they?” Gareth commented in the same language.

Both Alex and Derek blushed, having understood that much of the exchange. “Sorry. We’re still learning the language,” Alex said, not looking at anyone.

“Let us move on to other matters,” Finrod said firmly, now speaking English. “Allow me to introduce my companions. This is Lord Glorfindel.”

“Just call me Loren. Everyone does,” Glorfindel said, giving the two brothers a proper bow.

“And this is Daeron, Vorondur and my liegeman, Laurendil,” Finrod continued, ignoring the interruption.

“Th-the Daeron?” Gareth stuttered, his eyes wide.

“Last time I looked,” Daeron said with a gentle smile. “By your coloring, I would say that you at least have Sindarin blood in you.”

“And Vanyarin,” Gwyn said. “We know that much about ourselves but little else. Da was adamant that we learn to exist in this world among the Secondborn and not concern ourselves with a heritage we could never claim, though he never really said what that might be.” He shrugged apologetically.

“And all this?” Finrod asked, gesturing to the transformed hall.

“That’s the next part of the surprise,” Elladan said and at a nod to Gwyn, that ellon called out, “Gwaith-en-Angbor!”

Immediately, about twenty people, including Gareth, scrambled away to a corner of the gym where armor and weapons were stacked. Everyone else moved to retrieve director chairs and folding chairs of various types and setting them up on either side of the throne. Finrod and Glorfindel were directed to sit on either side of Anastasia and the others from Wiseman sat where they would surrounded by the citizens of Winter’s Gate. Only Gwyn remained standing behind the throne, keeping an eye on those donning armor.

Once they were all settled, Glorfindel looked over to where the Twins were sitting with Vorondur and Serindë. “Okay, so explain what this is all about.”

“This is the Valar’s new secret weapon,” Elrohir said with a grin, gesturing to the fighters.

“Children pretending to be knights and ladies?” Glorfindel asked, looking skeptical, ignoring the hurt looks of the Mortals around him. Even Gwyn scowled, but before anyone could comment, Killian, a Marshal’s tabard — black with two gold swords crossing one another — over his finery, called out, “Hey, Gwyn! Which way is west again? I can never remember.”

Almost as one, every Elf, including Gareth who was in the middle of tying on a vambrace and never looked up, unerringly pointed in the same direction. Killian looked a bit nonplused and several Mortals chuckled. Anastasia gave them an amused look.

“Ah, thanks,” Killian said, turning away to speak to one of the other marshals, his face red with embarrassment.

“It’s like synchronized swimming, the way you all did that,” Derek commented, his expression deadpan. Alex had to pretend he was suffering a coughing fit to cover up his laughter.

Gwyn gave them a wry look. “Killian is one of those people who are directionally challenged. I’m sure his mother must have marked his shoes ‘left’ and ‘right’ when he was a kid.”

Anastasia laughed, flicking a fan she had at Gwyn. “Don’t be mean, Gwyn. Not everyone can be as perfect as you.”

Gwyn gave her a bow. “I stand corrected, my lady.”

“Well, to get back to Loren’s objections,” Vorondur said, “I suspect this is serious pretending on the same scale as Elf Academy.”

“What good does this do us, though?” Finrod asked as he watched the fighters arming themselves, going through some warm-ups. His expression was one of professional interest.

“Wait, Uncle,” Elladan commanded. “All will be revealed in time.”

Even as he spoke, the fighters were lining up, facing the audience. Gwyn called out, “Gareth, count off.” Immediately the fighters counted off by twos and when they had finished those who were ones stepped forward to receive red ribbons that were tied around their left arms. Then they retired to one end of the gym while those without ribbons went to the other end. Three others also wearing marshal tabards arranged themselves in strategic spots, while Killian stood in the middle between the two groups of fighters.

“My lords, honor the Crown,” he commanded in a ringing tone and all the fighters bowed toward Anastasia, who, as baroness, was the Crown’s representative.

“Honor your lady,” Killian called out and there were more bows, though now the various fighters were facing different directions to where their particular lady was. Finrod noted that Gareth bowed to Anastasia again.

“Honor the Lords of the West,” Killian then said, and as one, they all turned in the same direction and bowed, including Killian and the other Marshals.

“I added that bit,” Gwyn whispered loud enough for even Alex and Derek to hear.

Finrod nodded in approval and even Glorfindel looked mollified.

“Honor your opponents,” Killian ended and the fighters all saluted one another. He moved out of the center to take his position on the side, calling out, “Lay on!” as he did so.

Immediately, the two groups advanced upon one another, moving slowly at first and then, as they were within striking range of one another, they raised their weapons and began fighting. The Elves watched with interest and even Glorfindel’s expression was one of grudging respect as he watched the fighters wield their weapons.

“They use foam weapons though,” he commented at one point as one of the fighters on Gareth’s side fell to the floor, covering himself with his shield. Killian and the other three marshals yelled “Hold!” and everyone froze while the ‘dead’ fighter removed himself from the arena. “How do they know when they’ve … um… died?”

“Honor system,” Gwyn answered. “Blows to the extremities are allowed, but blows to the head are not. When a hit strikes true, the fighter is honor-bound to acknowledge it, by going to one knee, for instance, or losing his shield, simulating wounds that would have incapacitated him otherwise.”

“And sometimes, when in single combat, the other fighter might, out of fairness, go to his knees or lose his own shield,” Anastasia added.

“All well and good in a tourney, I suppose,” Glorfindel said with a shake of his head, “but hardly what would happen on a real field of battle. The enemy is never that accommodating.”

“No. He is not,” Finrod said, “but it is as I told the Tol Eressëans at our first All-Aman tournament. Do you remember?” he turned to Glorfindel with a grin.

Glorfindel nodded. “As I recall, Ingwion promised not to hurt us too badly.”

Finrod laughed. “Nor did he, but we were all friends there and we were not fighting orcs. So it is here, I imagine.”

“And will we fight orcs again, do you think?” Elrohir asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the fighters.

“That I do not know, Nephew,” Finrod said just as quietly.

There was a lull in the conversation as they all concentrated on the fighting. By now a couple of others had ‘died’ and were removed from the field. Gareth was still in the fighting.

“Your brother fights like a Mortal,” Laurendil said, looking at Gwyn.

“He fights on their level,” Gwyn acknowledged.

“That can’t be good, though,” Vorondur said. “He’s crippling himself needlessly.”

“For him to fight at our level would not be to anyone’s advantage,” Gwyn protested. “As it is, my brother and I practice together using live steel, but we do not allow witnesses. We don’t wish to give anyone an inferiority complex.” He cast them a grin. “Besides, Gwaith-en-Angbor trains at a higher level than the other fighters. They are handpicked and come highly recommended.”

“How high?” Finrod asked.

“Vala high,” Gwyn replied in all seriousness. “No one becomes part of the Iron Fist unless they are first approved by the Valar.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow at that implication, exchanging a knowing look with Glorfindel. There was a flurry of action and shouts from the audience as the last combatants continued fighting at a furious pace. The Elves returned their attention to the fighting. Finrod cast a side glance to where he could see Alex and Derek sitting. Derek was speaking to one of the Mortals from the barony, apparently asking questions about what was happening. Alex, on the other hand, was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped under his chin, an intense look on his face as he watched the fighting. Finrod had the impression that the former intelligence officer was itching to lay his hands on a weapon and join in.

Finally, only three fighters were left standing: Gareth and two others who were fighters from the other side.

“Two against one,” Glorfindel said in satisfaction, stretching out his long legs and folding his arms before him. “That’s more like it. I always seem to be outnumbered myself when I’m fighting. Let’s see how your brother does, Gwyn.”

The two fighters began circling Gareth, who stood calmly, his weapon at the ready. He had lost his shield at one point in the melee and, out of deference to him, the other two fighters also put aside their shields, much to the approval of the audience.

“Sir Llewellyn ap Daffyd,” Anastasia said, pointing to one of the fighters. “He is most chivalrous and the other is….” She looked up at Gwyn.

“Marcello da Vinci, my lady,” Gwyn answered. “He is our latest recruit and holds great promise. I think in another year or two he will be ready for knighthood.”

“Do you wish you were in there, gwador?” Glorfindel asked Finrod in Sindarin.

Finrod gave him a knowing smile. “Do you?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “We never did have our rematch.”

Finrod laughed, the sound echoing through the gym, seemingly brightening the air with its gaiety. The Mortals all straightened and there were smiles and a lightening of spirits among them. Even the three fighters paused for a split second, as moved by the laughter as the rest.

“I doubt that the Valar still would allow it,” Finrod pointed out.

Glorfindel scowled. “You know, they’re really such babies sometimes. I’m sure we are both sufficiently mature enough to control ourselves.”

“Well, the question is moot. You are in no condition to do any fighting right now.”

“Oh, I know that. I’m not the idiot you all think I am. It’ll be weeks before I’m healed enough to even begin strengthening exercises. Maybe by the summer.”

A sudden gasp from Anastasia alerted them and they drew their attention back to the fighters in time to see Gareth duck under Sir Llewellyn’s sword even as Marcello attempted to strike from the left. Somehow the Elf was able to deflect the first blow while simultaneously deflecting the second and Glorfindel nodded in approval as Gareth brought Marcello down, leaving only Sir Llewellyn.

“Your brother fights well,” he said to Gwyn.

“He should. Adar was most insistent that we both learn how to wield just about every weapon ever made, at least with regards to swords, pikes, staffs, bows and the like. When guns were invented, he swore that they were indecent and immoral and refused to have anything to do with them. Sounded like the Wesleyan minister up the street from us, going on about it.”

“Did you learn to use firearms, though?” Glorfindel asked.

“You bet,” Gwyn said with some feeling, “especially after we came here. No one in his right mind would travel through the Wild West without suitable weapons, though Gareth still prefers the bow. He says it’s quieter, if nothing else.” He gave them a mirthless grin.

Finrod absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder as he listened to the exchange, his attention more on the two fighters. “Oh, well done!” he called out even as Gareth managed to avoid a killing blow, though he failed to land a blow himself. Still, the match did not last much longer and executing a complicated series of sweeps, the young Elf managed to score a direct hit on the other fighter’s midsection and the bout was done. Everyone rose to their feet in applause as Gareth and Llewellyn clasped arms in brotherhood. Both men came to stand before Anastasia, doffing their helmets and giving her proper bows.

“My lords, you have fought well and we are pleased to present you both with tokens of our esteem.” She reached for a white glove hanging from her belt. It was embroidered with a blue flower. “To you, Sir Llewellyn, we present you with this and we would be pleased to have you carry it into battle.” She held out the glove and Llewellyn went to a knee, taking the glove and kissing the baroness’s hand.

“I thank you, my lady, and will endeavor never to besmirch my honor or this token of your esteem,” the Mortal said before rising and stepping back.

Anastasia nodded and then gestured to one of her ladies-in-waiting who approached carrying a coffer. The Woman opened it to reveal several pieces of jewelry. Anastasia hesitated for a moment before making a selection: an armband of beaten gold with uncut rubies and emeralds and engraved with a design of Celtic knotwork, though it was obvious to the Elves that the jewels were fake. She turned to Gareth and smiled.

“To you, Sir Gareth, I give you this token from our personal treasury. I hope that you will see fit to wear it when next you go into battle.”

Gareth knelt, extending his left arm so that Anastasia could put it on him, then he rose and gave her a bow. “This token is a wondrous gift, Your Excellency, but thine esteem for me is beyond price and I thank thee.”

There was quiet applause among the audience and it appeared that that was the end of it. Gareth and Llewellyn started to move away to remove their armor. Gwyn moved to join Finrod and Glorfindel standing with Anastasia.

“So, what do you think?” he asked somewhat anxiously.

“It was very interesting, but I still fail to see what it has to do with us,” Finrod said.

“Don’t you see, Uncle?” Elladan asked. “These people belong to the Society for Creative Anachronism and they have resurrected older and long forgotten skills in the making and wielding of weapons which are considered archaic in this day and age. Gwyn’s been working with this select group of fighters for the last year or so, honing their skills. He’s hoping to be granted a royal charter by the King so he can begin recruiting from other baronies within the kingdom. Roy, Sarah and I have already decided we will form a branch of the organization in Wiseman. It’s a perfect way of recruiting Mortals without raising suspicion in certain quarters.”

“We have been wondering how to institute the teaching of fighting with swords and such for some time, now, Finrod,” Vorondur said before Finrod could comment. “We just haven’t found a way to do it, until now.”

Both Elladan and Elrohir nodded. “And the best part is that this is an international organization with nineteen kingdoms so far,” Elrohir said, “all with people who make their own armor and weapons and fight. They even have war games where entire kingdoms come together in a massive tournament. If we can encourage some of the Mortals whom we’ve been recruiting to join this organization, we have the perfect means of training them to fight.”

“And you believe you were brought here for this purpose, to meet with this group,” Finrod said.

“Oh, of that we have no doubt,” Elladan said fervently. “And the fact that Gwyn gets his orders from Lord Námo himself is a deciding factor.”

Finrod gave Gwyn a considering look. “Hmm…. What do you think, gwador?” he turned to Glorfindel.

“I think it has possibilities, but we will need more information about this Society and what joining it will entail.”

“We would be happy to answer any questions you might have,” Anastasia said. “And I have a few questions about this Elf Academy we’ve been told about. We don’t normally bother to dress in garb during fight practice nor do we hold a feast but we’ve managed to come up with something in the time given us if you would care to join us for a light repast.”

“We would be honored,” Finrod said graciously. “I regret that none of us are properly attired.”

Anastasia waved a hand in dismissal. “That is not a problem. Come, let us walk the halls while people set up for the feast.”

Finrod automatically presented her his arm and she took it as they left the gym. Glorfindel and Gwyn walked beside them, while trailing behind were all the others from Wiseman, along with two ladies-in-waiting, one of whom was Melisande.





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