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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

95: The Ride to Wiseman

When the Wiseman Elves met the ap Hywels the next morning at Denny’s, Gwyn and Gareth barely greeted them, mumbling their hellos. Tristan, now wearing a T-shirt that showed a screen print of a spiral galaxy with a red arrow pointing to a spot on the edge of one of the spirals with the words You Are Here, just smiled knowingly, while Iseult, who wore a pair of black jeans and a red University of Wales sweatshirt, rolled her eyes.

“They’ve barely said two words to us since last night,” she confided to the others as they followed the waitress to the tables which had been pushed together for them, “even after we apologized to them both.” She gave them a sardonic smile. “I don’t think they like us very much this morning. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long trip.”

“Well, we might be able to make it more enjoyable for you,” Glorfindel said, but he refused to say anything more, insisting that he never talked business during breakfast. “Bad for the digestion.”

Instead, Finrod asked Tristan and Iseult about Wales and their work and the conversation drifted from there to a description of Wiseman and what they would see on the way there. Gwyn and Gareth unbent a little as they ate and Gareth even offered his own impressions of Wiseman. When they were done and were heading back to their vehicles, Glorfindel suggested that Gwyn and Gareth ride in the van.

“We’ll let Helena and Anna ride with your parents. You do have an international license, don’t you?” This last was directed at Tristan, who nodded.

“We both do and this isn’t the first time we’ve driven in the States, though admittedly it was probably a good twenty years or so ago since our last visit.”

“Well, just follow us,” Glorfindel said. “We’ll be taking Route 2 out and once we get past Livengood we’re on the Dalton Highway and there’s nowhere else to go. If you need to stop, just flash your lights. Come along, you two.”

Both brothers started to protest, but Glorfindel simply gave them a look and they subsided. The ‘adults’ all exchanged knowing looks as the two groups split up. Once everyone was settled and they were on their way, Glorfindel said, “You two are going to have to forgive your parents eventually.”

“They treat us as if we were clueless teenagers or something,” Gareth complained, “and they blame Gwyn for everything when I’m the one who usually messes up.”

“Is that how you see this,” Daeron asked, “that you messed up because you’ve begun to bond with Nielluin?”

“Look, I’ve long wondered what it would feel like to have someone to love and cherish and be with the way our parents are, but I never thought I would actually meet anyone suitable and certainly not the way I did. It’s almost as if I’ve been given no choice. I would have liked to have gotten to know Nell in the normal way, you know, with quiet dinners and long walks and all that other romantic nonsense people carp about. Instead, I say hello and bang! I’m all but married. At least Gwyn gets to do the romance thing.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel said, stealing a glance in the rearview mirror. “Anyone we know?”

“Maybe, but it’s too early to say,” Gwyn replied, giving Gareth a glare. “But I agree with Gareth. It does seem a bit unfair that he and Nell have no say in the matter, that as far as everyone is concerned, they’re married or nearly so.”

“Well, I know it’s not what you had hoped for, Gareth, in terms of finding your one true love,” Glorfindel said, grinning, “but look at it this way: at least you don’t have to worry about if she really likes you or not.”

Daeron and Finrod chuckled.

“I can see why you wished for us to be here when you met your parents,” Finrod said then. “I have the feeling that if we had not been here, they would still not know about you and Nielluin, Gareth.”

“Perhaps,” Gareth conceded. “It’s not that I wasn’t planning to tell them, but I wasn’t looking forward to it and trying to explain, and having Lord Námo show up the way he did! That’s the last thing I was expecting.”

“None of us were,” Finrod allowed, “but Lord Námo has a way of getting people to open up, especially when they are most reluctant to do so. I am glad that we know something of your heritage. Tulcafindil is known to me and Valandur and I think Aldarion knows him as well.”

“Do you know anyone else in our family?” Gwyn asked. “Neither Da nor Mam would speak of them even though we asked, and that’s another reason we’re angry with them.”

“You have to give them time,” Daeron said gently. “This is terra incognita for them, too.”

“To answer your question, Gwyn,” Finrod said, “I know Tulcafindil and his wife, Emlinn. I have met other members of their family, but only in passing, as I am rarely in Vanyamar, Ingwë’s city where they live. I knew Tulcafindil slightly when he was one of my cousin Ingwion’s aides in Tirion when Ingwion was acting as an ambassador. Tulcafindil is a respected jurist and councilor and is actually a member of Ingwion’s household. Before he joined the Host of the West we thought he might marry another of Ingwion’s aides, an elleth named Marilla, but they never declared themselves to one another and remain only very good friends.”

“Well, that’s certainly more than our parents told us. Thank you,” Gareth said.

“In the meantime,” Glorfindel said, speaking in a no-nonsense voice, “I think you should consider apologizing to your parents for your behavior towards them. They are not the enemy and you know better.”

“Yes, sir,” Gwyn said softly and Gareth echoed him, neither brother looking at the others, so they did not see the amused smiles that passed between the three older Elves.

When they reached the Arctic Circle, they stopped to stretch their legs. Tristan and Iseult insisted on having their picture taken with their sons standing before the Arctic Circle sign. “Then we can go home and show everyone,” Tristan said with a smile as he wrapped one arm around his wife and the other around Gareth; Gwyn stood next to Iseult. Daeron offered to take the photo and then Tristan insisted on taking a picture of the Wiseman Elves together.

“Da, you’re acting like a stupid tourist,” Gwyn protested, rolling his eyes.

“A stupid geek tourist,” Gareth added.

“You two need to lighten up,” Glorfindel said with a mock scowl. Then he turned to Finrod. “That’s the trouble with this younger generation. They go on Crusade and they think they’re such hotshots and sophisticated and all.”

“So I noticed,” Finrod replied with a slight knowing smile. “Frankly, until they can claim to have crossed the Helcaraxë, they do not have a clue.”

Glorfindel nodded sagely. Daeron chuckled. “Well, I didn’t cross the Helcaraxë, but I’m not entirely clueless.”

“You’re in a class by yourself, Darren,” Glorfindel stated in all seriousness. “We all set to go?”

The others nodded and they piled back into their vehicles. Gareth and Gwyn went back to their car with Daeron and Melyanna while their parents traveled in the van with everyone else. Once they were back on the road, Tristan said, somewhat sardonically, “I apologize for being a stupid geek tourist.”

“They remind me of some Mortal teenagers I’ve met who are convinced that their parents take stupid pills every morning,” Glorfindel said and the others all laughed.

“I certainly did, and I was not a teenager, but a Reborn,” Finrod said.

“Same difference,” Glorfindel retorted with a shrug, sharing a smile with his gwador.

“I still can’t wrap my brain around the thought that I’m sitting here with two legends out of the past,” Tristan said with a shake of his head.

“I hope the reality is not too disappointing for you,” Glorfindel said.

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Iseult exclaimed. “But Tristan is correct. It’s very hard to accept that legends walk among us.”

“Well legends still have to put their pants on one leg at a time, they still have bad breath when they wake up in the morning, and they’re still tetchy until they’ve had their first cup of coffee, just like everyone else,” Glorfindel offered.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tristan said. Then he turned to Finrod. “Just before I got into the van, Gwyn took me aside and told me that you knew my great-grandparents.”

“Tulcafindil and Emlinn are known to me,” Finrod said with a nod. “They are members of my cousin Ingwion’s household. Tulcafindil and an ellon named Eccaldamos are Ingwion’s most trusted councilors and Emlinn is a lady-in-waiting to the queen. I do not know the others of your family except by name. I am rarely, if ever, in Vanyamar, where they reside, unless I have business with the Valar on Taniquetil.”

“Our parting did not go well,” Tristan said with a sigh, “and to this day, I still don’t understand why Izzy and I just didn’t go with them. There was nothing keeping us here, not really, but for some reason, we simply refused to leave.”

“And you can blame the Valar for that,” Glorfindel said.

“Oh?”

“From what we’ve learned, the Valar attempted to inspire a number of us to remain in Middle-earth rather than find the Straight Road,” Glorfindel went on to explain. “It’s why Elrond’s sons refused to Sail even after they no longer were watching over their sister’s descendants. It’s apparently why the other Wiseman Elves all remained. The Valar tried to inspire your families to remain as well, but you two were the only ones to pay heed to their promptings.”

“For what purpose, though?” Iseult asked.

“Well, I can name two right off and they’re in the car behind us,” Glorfindel said.

Automatically, the ap Hywels turned to look out the back window where they could see their sons sitting in the front seats, with Daeron and Melyanna in the back. They looked as if they were all singing. The two looked at each other, Tristan giving his wife a shy smile which she returned.

“It would be interesting to know if there are others out there waiting to be found,” Finrod said after a moment. “The more I think of it, the more I am convinced that those who are mortal-born will prove important to us all.”

“Mortal… born?” Iseult asked in confusion.

“He means Elves who have grown up among Mortals because they’ve never had the experience of living within an elven culture,” Glorfindel explained. “Your sons have never had the experiences that even you two had in living with other Elves and their responses to things are more mortalish than elvish, if that makes any sense.”

“And you think this is an asset?” Tristan asked Finrod.

The former king of Nargothrond nodded. “Although we are endeavoring to teach them how to think in elvish terms. Gareth, for instance, was honestly appalled at the thought that he would have to wait at least an entire sun-round before we would consider allowing him and Nielluin to marry. I pointed out to him that in Valinor before the rising of the sun, betrothals lasted an entire Valian year and that is almost ten sun-rounds and Amarië and I waited twelve years after we declared ourselves the second time before we were married.”

“That’s odd,” Tristan said in all sincerity, “because our sons have lived most of their lives in cultures where betrothals among the Mortals generally were a good year or more in length. Why would he be so upset? I swear, I no longer understand my children.” This last was said rather plaintively.

“Join the club, my friend,” Finrod said with a grin. “I ceased to try to understand my children when Findalaurë was well over a thousand years old and he still managed to do something phenomenally stupid, almost as if he were a newly-hatched Reborn.”

“Sounds like an interesting tale,” Glorfindel said, giving him a grin.

“And someday I may even tell it,” Finrod said, refusing to be baited and with that they fell silent for a while, each lost in his or her own thoughts.

By early afternoon, they had passed Coldfoot. “Not long now,” Glorfindel said from the passenger seat, for Finrod had taken over the driving some miles back when they had stopped to add more petrol to the tanks. Soon Finrod was turning onto the access road and they saw signs of civilization. Glorfindel directed him to take Morningside. “We’ll avoid the center of town for now. I still don’t think you’re quite ready for it, though you’re making good progress.”

“I remember the first time I got behind a wheel,” Tristan commented. “Man, what a trip!”

“We’ll have to trade stories,” Glorfindel said. “The first time we ever saw a car, a Model T actually, Dan asked, in all seriousness, ‘So where’s the horse?’”

That set them all laughing as Finrod turned onto Sycamore and then pulled into Edhellond with Daeron, who had taken over the driving in the other car, right behind. Soon they were pulling out luggage. Glorfindel went to open the door and was surprised to find it locked and wasted a minute looking for the key to open it. Once inside, Daeron offered to show Tristan and Iseult their room and told Gareth that Gwyn would have the one next to his from his previous visit. Glorfindel said that he would go put some tea on for them all. “Kitchen is down this hallway,” he said pointing, “or just use the back stairs. They’ll bring you right down.”

With that they separated and it was several minutes before everyone met again in the kitchen where Glorfindel and Helyanwë had busied themselves with making Earl Grey tea and putting out some home-baked chocolate chip and molasses cookies.

“All settled?” Glorfindel asked politely as they gathered in the dining room, for they were too many for the breakfast nook. “Darren give you the tour so you know where everything is?”

“Yes, thank you,” Tristan answered. “When Gareth tried to describe this place I really couldn’t see it. It’s almost as large as some manor houses in England.”

“Well, not quite, but it’s large enough,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “The original owner was an oil baron back in the forties and fifties, from what we understand. Anyway, he had this place built, but then he died and he left no heirs or rather he left too many who claimed to be heirs. They never did find a will, so his estate was contested. Finally, though, the courts decided that none of the so-called heirs, all too distant cousins and such, had a legal claim to the estate and it was allowed to revert to the state. When we came along, the mayor arranged for the back taxes to be paid, sold this place to us for one dollar and the rest, as they say, is history. We’ve remodeled and we pay the property taxes and everyone is happy, including the state. There had actually been talk of having the place torn down since it was unlikely that anyone was going to purchase it and sell the land to a developer.”

“Good thing you came along then,” Tristan said. “It’s too beautiful a place to tear down.”

“We agree,” Glorfindel said. “In many ways, it rather reminds me of the Last Homely House in Imladris where Elrond ruled. Not quite as grand or extensive but certainly as crowded.” He grinned at them and everyone dutifully chuckled.

“Place is rather quiet, though,” Finrod said, joining the conversation for the first time. “There should be at least a few people about, but no one is here but us. Where do you think everyone went? I do not like the idea of this place being left unattended, not after what happened with the bomb threat.”

The ap Hywels started at that. “Er… bomb threat?” Tristan asked somewhat hesitantly.

Glorfindel waved a hand in dismissal. “Long story and I don’t feel like talking about it at the moment.”

“At least they had the good sense to lock the front door before leaving,” Daeron commented.

“Yeah, I know,” Glorfindel said, frowning. “Well, we know the healers are at the hospital or at the college clinic, and of course the elflings are in class, but that doesn’t account for everyone. I don’t even sense anyone in the woods and I can always tell when there is even if I can’t tell you how many.”

“Do you suppose they are all helping out with the renovations at the store?” Daeron asked.

“Possibly, but that’s still too many cooks doctoring the broth,” Glorfindel said. “They’d be tripping over each other. It’s not that big a store. No. I think something is up, but I’ll be damned if I know what. They know we were returning today. I called them last night, remember? Someone, Val, for instance, should have left a note, but I saw nothing in the kitchen. Maybe there’s a note in the library.” Even as he was speaking, he stood up, excusing himself and leaving, returning several minutes later looking disturbed. “There’s no note anywhere. I cannot believe anyone would be that thoughtless.”

He went to the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing and then waiting. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone over at Amroth’s,” he told them and then spoke into the receiver. “Yes, hi, this is Loren. We’re back from Fairbanks. Where is everyone? Call me will you? Thanks.” He hung up, still frowning. “Curiouser and curiouser,” he said as he rejoined the others in the dining room.

“Can we importune a Maia, do you think?” Finrod asked. “They must know what is happening.”

“I am tempted, but I hesitate to call for them,” Glorfindel said. “It’s fine to do it once or twice, but I don’t think they appreciate that we think they can just come at our beck and call. They’re not tame Maiar, after all.” He gave them a wicked grin and they all laughed at that.

“Do you want me to try calling others?” Daeron asked. “It is very strange that there is no one here and I don’t like the implications.”

“Neither do I,” Glorfindel allowed, “but we never left orders that Edhellond should never be deserted, though common sense should have told them that there should always be at least two people here.”

“What about the Grange Hall?” Helyanwë asked. “Could they be there decorating it for the wedding? That’s only two days away.”

“Hmm… didn’t think about that,” Glorfindel said. “Well, I don’t think I’m in the mood to go chasing after people demanding to know where they are and why this place was left unguarded. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. In the meantime, if you’re up to it, why don’t we show you around Wiseman? Gareth’s the only one who’s been here before, so I’m sure you’re all curious to see the place. It’s a pleasant afternoon. We can walk and maybe, just maybe we’ll run into someone who can tell us what is going on.”

“We are at your mercy, so to speak,” Tristan said. “I wouldn’t mind a stretch, myself. That is one very long ride.”

“Tell me about it,” Glorfindel said. “Okay, I’ll clean up here. Go freshen up if you need to and we’ll all meet in the foyer in a few minutes. I’ll leave a note for whoever may show up while we’re out. At least we can show consideration even if others can’t be bothered.”

The others nodded and they exited the dining room while Glorfindel quickly cleared the table and filled the dishwasher. About ten minutes later, they were all meeting in the foyer. Glorfindel opened the front door to step out and stopped in shock to see Olórin standing there, his hand raised as if he were about to knock on it. He was dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a pale blue open-collared shirt under a gray cable-stitched cardigan with pockets, although it was far too warm to be wearing a sweater.

“Ah, good. You’re back.”

“Olórin!” Glorfindel exclaimed. “Do you know where everyone is? The place is deserted.”

“Which is why I am here.” He looked at Tristan and Iseult and gave them a slight bow. “Greetings, Children. I am Olórin of the People of Manwë and I bid you welcome. Now, if you would all kindly follow me, I will take you to where everyone else is.”

“Where?” Glorfindel demanded.

“All in good time, Glorfindel,” Olórin said calmly. “All in good time.”

“But—”

“No, gwador,” Finrod said. “Let us not waste time arguing. You know you will get nothing out of him. It is better if we just go where he directs. I think all our questions will be answered soon enough.”

“Fine,” Glorfindel said with a huff of annoyance, “but you know how I hate surprises and something tells me this is one I will truly hate.”

Olórin cast him an amused smile. “It depends on your definition of ‘surprise’. Shall we go? Don’t forget to lock the door. I had to remind the others. They would’ve just run out without doing so and that would never do.” This last was said rather primly, but the Elves weren’t fooled.

“Well, let’s go then,” Glorfindel said. “I promised Tristan and Iseult a tour of the town.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Olórin said as he stepped off the front porch with the others following him. Daeron locked the door and joined them. “You’ll have plenty of time for sightseeing later.” With that, he led them past the gates and turned left. 

“We’re heading for the college,” Glorfindel stated. “Why?”

“Because that is where you need to be,” was the less than helpful reply from Olórin.

More than one Elf sighed at the non-answer, all of them wondering what awaited them. Trailing behind the Maia, they did not notice his look of amusement, well aware of what they were thinking and equally aware of where he was leading them and why. He so could not wait to see their faces when they found out for themselves.

****

Emlinn: (Sindarin) The yellowhammer, literally ‘yellow singer’.





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