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Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

97: Close Encounters of the Mortal Kind

Even as the sound of the sirens drew closer, Glorfindel began issuing orders to Ingwë. “Gather everyone who is here to your pavilion. We need to talk before the police arrive.”

“What—?”

“No, Ingwë! No questions. Just do as I’ve asked, please. There’s little time.”

“Do it, Uncle,” Finrod said. “We know what we’re about.”

Before Ingwë could respond, Arafinwë took the initiative, issuing orders for all to come to the main pavilion immediately. It took a few minutes but soon everyone was crowded in and around the pavilion with Glorfindel and Finrod in the center along with the kings and Turgon. Gareth kept looking about, trying to find Nielluin in the crowd and then saw her coming with two people who he knew had to be the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, her parents. Nielluin saw him and her expression brightened.

“Gary!” she shouted and before he knew it they were in each other’s arms.

“Gary?” he heard Gwyn say in a tone of voice that warned him that he was likely to be teased by his brother later. Before Gareth could respond, though, Glorfindel was speaking in Sindarin.

“Listen up, all of you. In moments we will have the police here. Under no circumstances are you to offer them any violence or rudeness. You will address them with politeness.”

“Or even better,” Finrod added, “say nothing at all. Let me or Glorfindel do the talking. Where’s Liam?”

“Here, Finrod,” Prince Legolas said, stepping out of the crowd.

“Good. I think it important that you be visible.”

Legolas merely nodded, understanding what Finrod wished from him. By now, the sirens were louder and stepping out of the pavilion, Glorfindel could see half a dozen police cars approaching, but stopping at the gate, which was closed and would only have allowed one car through at a time if it had been open. The sirens ceased, though the lights continued to flash as officers stepped out of the vehicles, among them Dave Michaelson. Then there were other sirens coming from behind them, though the bleachers blocked their view, so they could not see who was coming.

“We appear to be surrounded,” Finrod said conversationally to Glorfindel who cast him a wry grin. He was still speaking Sindarin.

“Par for the course, as they say,” Glorfindel said in English. “All right, everyone, smile and remember your party manners.”

All this time, Michaelson and his officers were slowly sauntering across the field. Glorfindel turned to see Sheriff Graff and a few of his deputies coming around the bleachers, stopping momentarily in shock at the sight of the pavilions before continuing forward.

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” Glorfindel whispered, then turned back to watch Michaelson. The police captain wore a charcoal gray pinstripe, three-piece suit with a powder-blue dress shirt and a dark blue and gray striped tie and looked every inch the professional. His expression was surprisingly unreadable for a Mortal and as calmly as he walked, Glorfindel had no doubt the Man was cataloguing every detail of what he saw. Glorfindel stole a glance at Turgon standing to his right and resisted a sigh. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with. He then noticed Ingwë and Olwë, their expressions ones of fascination, and realized that this would be the first time either of them would meet with a true Mortal. Eärendil and Elwing, being peredhil, did not necessarily count. Arafinwë’s expression was, surprisingly, more wistful but Glorfindel wasn’t about to try to analyze it.

The Elves watched in silence as the Men approached, the officers walking warily, their hands on the butts of their sidearms. Michaelson saw Glorfindel and Finrod and nodded as he came to a halt a few feet from them.

“Good day, Loren, Finrod,” he said. “Do these people have a permit to camp here?”

“Now, Dave, you know they don’t,” Glorfindel said with a grin. “And no, I had nothing to do with it. Finrod and I’ve been in Fairbanks. We just got back an hour or so ago. We’re as shocked as you are.”

Michaelson rewarded them with a thin smile. “I doubt that, Loren. What I want to know is how did they manage to show up without anyone being the wiser?”

“How did you know they were here, then?” Finrod asked.

“Where’s Prince?” Michaelson asked instead.

“I am here, Captain Michaelson,” Legolas said, stepping out so he could be seen.

“Thank you for the call,” Michaelson said and Legolas bent his head in acknowledgement.

Finrod turned to him in surprise. “You called him?”

Legolas shrugged. “I am a peacekeeper. It was my duty to inform my superiors of possible… trouble.”

“Your superiors?” Ingwë asked, glancing between Legolas and Michaelson.

“Yes,” Legolas answered shortly, but he refused to say more.

Michaelson ignored the interplay, nodding to Carl Graff in greeting as the sheriff reached them. Graff looked about, raising an eyebrow. “Halloween’s come a bit early this year, has it?” was his only comment.

Several of the Wiseman Elves snorted quietly at that, which caused some of the Elves newly come from Valinor to give them bemused looks.

Glorfindel just shook his head. “Dave, Carl, allow me to make the introductions.”

“Oh, please do, Loren,” Michaelson said, smiling thinly. “I always like to know whom I am arresting.”

“Arresting?” Olwë could not help saying and there were murmurs among the Elves. Turgon actually went to pull out the sword that hung on his belt. Glorfindel grabbed his arm to stay him and the ellon gave him a shocked look.

“Don’t make it worse,” Glorfindel said firmly before turning to Michaelson.

“If you plan on arresting all these people, you’ll have to ask some of the good citizens of Wiseman to help board the prisoners. I don’t think you and Carl have enough space in your jails for them all.”

“Well, we could just arrest the ringleaders of this merry band,” Michaelson said, “but for now, I’ll settle for those introductions. I—”

“Hey! Are we having a costume party? And you didn’t invite me? I’m crushed.”

Everyone turned at the sound of the new voice to see Alex sauntering up, grinning.

Michaelson frowned. “How did you get past the blockade?”

Alex actually looked stunned at the question and then gave a derisive snort. “That was a blockade? Please. Don’t make me laugh. I snuck in and out of the Kremlin once without anyone noticing.”

“The Kremlin?” Michaelson couldn’t help exclaiming in disbelief. The other Mortals and not a few of the Wiseman Elves looked equally nonplused.

Alex just shrugged, as if what he’d said was of little import. Glorfindel noticed Vorondur rolling his eyes and resisted a smile. “So, who are your friends, Loren?” Alex asked, gazing about him with interest and seemingly not at all in awe of any of them.

“These Mortals are so familiar in their behavior toward you,” Ingwë said to Glorfindel, speaking Quenya. “It is unseemly.”

“But Loren is a friend,” Michaelson said, speaking in passable Quenya, and the newcomers stared at him in absolute shock, while Glorfindel just smiled.

“Let me make those introductions,” he said, speaking English. “Dave, Carl, Alex, allow me to introduce you to Ingwë, High King of all the Elves of Aman, and this is Olwë, king of the Teleri or Lindar, as they call themselves, and—”

“And this is my atar, Arafinwë, also known as Finarfin,” Finrod interjected, giving Arafinwë a proud smile, which the king returned.

“Everyone, David Michaelson is the chief of police and Carl Graff is the sheriff. They are the law in Wiseman. Oh, and this is Alex Grant, troublemaker extraordinaire and someone even the Maiar respect.”

“You’re too kind, Loren,” Alex said with an easy laugh. “Derek’s going to be sorry to have missed the party, but he’s picking up his dad at the Bettles airport.”

“What about your mother?” Glorfindel asked.

“She called me from Anchorage and said she couldn’t get a flight until tomorrow. I was going to drive down and pick her up at Fairbanks, but she said not to bother. She’ll take the bus and be here on Saturday in time for the wedding.”

“Good. So, Dave, are you really going to arrest everyone?”

“Oh, wouldn’t I just love to, but I don’t want to deal with the paperwork it would entail. I still want to know how you managed to put all this up without anyone seeing you.” He addressed Ingwë.

“Yes, I’m curious about that, too,” Glorfindel said. “How did all of you even get here?”

“We came on Vingilot, of course,” Ingwë replied.

“All of you at once?” Glorfindel retorted.

“Ah, no. Eärendil actually made several trips, leaving us at Wild Lake, I believe Olórin called it.” He looked to where the Maia stood to one side observing them all. Olórin just nodded. Ingwë continued his explanation. “That was about three, four days ago. Once we were all gathered, we walked here.”

“You walked from Wild Lake?” Carl asked in surprise, and all the other Mortals looked equally stunned at the thought.

Ingwë shrugged. “It was a pleasant enough excursion. The Maiar were kind enough to transport our pavilions and other items for us, and everything was waiting for us when we arrived last night.”

“I cannot possibly provide enough police to protect you,” Michaelson said, “even if Carl’s deputies join in.”

“And why would we need protection?” Turgon asked. “Are you Mortals so dangerous? Are you as the Easterlings, too ready to offer treachery?”

Michaelson narrowed his eyes and Alex actually sighed and said, “Man, and I thought Finrod’s crew were a bunch of arrogant snots. What is it about you Elves that you think you’re so much better than us Mortals? Last time I looked, you still have to put your underwear on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us. So, really, there’s nothing special about you at all.”

“That’s telling them, Alex,” Gwyn said.

Alex turned and smiled in obvious delight, going over to shake Gwyn’s hand. “Hey, Captain Gwyn, and Gareth! Great to see you guys again. Are these your parents? Cool. Love the T-shirt. I’ve got one that says The Ultimate Test Question: Define the Universe and Give Three Examples.” The ap Hywels dutifully laughed.

“Yes, well, getting back to the matter at hand,” Glorfindel said, smiling at Alex, “Dave, the Maiar will guard these people. They’ve been hanging about unclad except for Olórin here and won’t let anyone in who shouldn’t be here.”

“Fine. How long are you staying, sir?” He addressed the question to Ingwë who raised an eyebrow at the unexpected courtesy.

“We must be at Wild Lake two weeks from today,” Ingwë answered.

“Great. That means they’ll be here during the elections and God alone knows how everyone will react to your presence. Peterson’s going to have a field day with his ‘the Elves are going to take over Wiseman and enslave us all’ nonsense.”

“He’s actually said that?” Finrod exclaimed in shock.

“Not in those words, but the implication is clear enough to most. And while you say you will depart, how do we know you won’t just stay now that you’re here?”

“Well, for one thing, neither Loren nor Finrod will allow it,” Vorondur said, interjecting himself into the conversation, “and for another, I won’t allow it.”

Everyone turned to look at him in surprise. Turgon was the one who spoke, though. “Who are you?” he demanded in obvious frustration. “You speak and act as if you are above even the High King.”

“I am your worst nightmare come true if you attempt to cross me,” Vorondur said in all seriousness, seemingly unfazed by the ellon’s belligerence.

“Yes, he is,” Olórin said, “but even more than that, we will not allow it.” He gestured with a hand and suddenly the field became overcrowded as several dozen Maiar, all clad in armor and carrying swords of light, appeared, surrounding them all, looking suitably grim.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” Michaelson said with a tight smile as the Maiar all sheathed their swords and faded from view, leaving too many different floral scents to catalog. “Loren, I trust we can keep things calm. Just to be on the safe side, I’m assigning a few more officers to patrol the Grange Hall Saturday. I don’t want anything to disturb the wedding.” He cast a look at Elrohir and Serindë; Elrohir nodded. “Okay, then. We’ll leave you to yourselves. Prince, I’ll be seeing you later.”

“I will be there, Captain. I am riding with Officer Nayokpuk tonight. He has promised to tell me about his people’s traditional hunting methods while we are on patrol.”

Michaelson nodded. “Jackson Nayokpuk is a good officer.” He nodded to the Elves and gestured to his men to head back to the cars. Graff did the same with his men. “Oh, and Loren,” Michaelson said as he started to leave, “if you see Nate around, thank him for me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. He… er… dropped by some time ago and gave us a lead to a cold case that’s been on the books for possibly a decade. We were able to arrest the person responsible for the murders of two teenagers the other day. Last person we expected, but all the clues were there and the guy showed us where he hid the bodies. The families of the victims can finally find closure.”

“If I see him, I’ll tell him,” Glorfindel said. Michaelson nodded and left.

“Nate?” Arafinwë asked. “Who is Nate?”

Glorfindel grinned. “You know him as Lord Námo, but the people of Wiseman know him as Nate.”

“But why?” Arafinwë demanded.

“He likes to come in disguise,” Glorfindel replied. “Okay, crisis over for now. People, for the next couple of weeks, you had better be on your best behavior or so help me, I’ll hand you over to Alex for him to deal with you.”

Just about every Elf stared at the lone Mortal standing there, smiling.

“Him?” someone asked in obvious disdain.

Before Glorfindel or anyone else could respond, Olórin chuckled. “Oh yes. Eönwë tends to refer to Alex as Fionwë’s Bane.”

“Huh?” was the only thing Alex could think to say, staring at Olórin in disbelief. He noticed Glorfindel and Finrod exchanging amused looks.

The Maia chuckled again. “Oh yes, my boy, you’re quite famous among the Maiar. Even Glorfindel cannot claim to have taken a Maia down, not just once, but twice.”

Alex closed his eyes, wincing. “Great. Now I have all the Maiar after me.”

“Not at all,” Olórin said soothingly. “You will find that most of them, the warriors especially, find it all too amusing. Manveru and Erunáro, whom you have not yet met, but will someday, even refer to you as a sword-brother, and Glorfindel is one of only two Elves ever accorded that sobriquet among the Maiar, so you are in very good and exalted company.”

Alex opened his eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” Olórin said, then turned to Ingwë, his expression sobering and when he spoke it was with grave authority. “Let me add my own warning to Glorfindel’s. None of you are to leave this encampment unless suitably escorted. I am not sanguine about having any of you here. The situation is very volatile and the Mortals are very unpredictable. Most of them are friendly enough, but there are a few who are not. Do nothing to antagonize them.”

He cast a stern look upon them all, settling his gaze on Turgon for a second longer than needed. Turgon, for his part, actually blushed and looked away.

“So you all are here for the wedding?” Alex asked in the silence that followed.

“In part,” Arafinwë answered. “There are things that must be discussed relating to the coming war.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. Okay, I need to get going.”

“Weren’t you teaching?” Glorfindel asked.

Alex grinned. “Yeah, but when I saw all those cop cars racing up the street, I dismissed my class and came out to see what all the excitement was about, and I wasn’t the only one. Probably half the campus is at the gate wondering what’s going on.”

“And you just waltzed right through,” Glorfindel retorted.

“Something like that,” Alex replied with a shrug.

“So what were you doing sneaking in and out of the Kremlin?” Daeron asked.

“What is this Kremlin?” Arafinwë asked, speaking Quenya.

“You ever see Angamando?” Glorfindel said in answer.

“Yes. I was there when Moringotto was finally taken. The fortress was quite formidable.”

“Yes, well, you might say that the Kremlin is the Angamando of the Mortal world.”

Arafinwë’s eyebrows went up and others murmured in surprise. Even Turgon looked momentarily nonplused as he stared at Alex standing there, frowning slightly, not understanding what was being said but knowing he was the subject of conversation.

“And he did not have someone like Lúthien to aid him,” Amroth said, speaking English.

“So what were you doing there?” Daeron asked again. “Unless it’s something you are not allowed to tell us.”

Alex shrugged. “Doing what I do best.”

“You were sent there to assassinate someone,” Vorondur said quietly, understanding what Alex was saying.

Alex nodded, looking grim. ‘Ilyivitch was… evil. He needed to be put down. The Russians, however, refused to handle it, even when the Agency told them to clean house. They feared him that much. So they sent me to do it. I think it was the first time I actually enjoyed putting a bullet in someone’s head.”

“Was that Pavel Ilyivitch, the one everyone called the Red Monster?” Amroth asked.

Alex nodded.

“Then you did the world a favor,” Amroth said solemnly. “That Man was truly evil. There were rumors even back in the day before the fall of Communism that he preyed on children.”

“And those rumors were true,” Alex said, looking even grimmer than before. “I caught him… playing with a ten-year-old boy, an orphan no one would have missed. I was able to get him out of the country and brought him to the States where he was adopted by a fellow agent and his wife. He’s now attending UCLA on a scholarship.”

“You are an assassin, then,” Ingwë said.

“I was. Now I teach French and Italian.” He glanced at his watch. “Hate to run but Derek should be getting home soon and it’s my turn to cook. I’ll see you all at the wedding if not before?”

“We’ll see you later, Alex,” Glorfindel said.

“I will see you tomorrow at our usual time,” Vorondur said.

Alex nodded, then turned to Gwyn and Gareth. “You guys want to get together tomorrow night for dinner? I know Derek would love to meet your folks.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Gwyn said, looking at his parents, who nodded.

“Say around six? And Nell, you’re invited, too. Wouldn’t want to keep you away from Gareth.”

“And my parents?” Nell asked with a smile.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “If you think they won’t mind eating at the café. I’ll see if Felicity wants to join us and I know Derek will bring his dad along. Hmm… maybe I should call the café and see if we can reserve a couple of booths and a table.”

“I will let Esther know,” Olórin said. “She will make the arrangements.”

“Okay, sure,” Alex said. “Later, then.” He gave them a wave and sauntered off, whistling some tune, his hands in his pockets, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“And he is the one Lord Eönwë calls Fionwë’s Bane?” Turgon asked, looking contemplative.

“Alex is probably the most dangerous person you will ever meet,” Vorondur replied.

“That’s for sure,” Glorfindel said with much feeling. “Even I walk softly around him and I don’t say that about everyone.”

“Well, let us forget about him for the nonce,” Finrod said, smiling at Amarië still in his arms, giving her a light kiss which she returned. “It has been a long day of traveling for some of us and I would like to spend the rest of the evening relaxing with family.”

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Olórin said. “Why don’t you all catch up with each other’s news and I will call you when it is ready?”

“Yes, I think that is a good idea,” Ingwë said. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the pavilion. Prince Legolas, however excused himself, saying he needed to get to the police station and Laurendil and Manwen were due to be at the hospital. Cennanion offered to give the three a ride to their respective places of work so they wouldn’t have to walk and they accepted. Everyone else followed Ingwë back inside the pavilion.

****

Words are Quenya:

Angamando: Angband.

Moringotto: Morgoth.





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