CHAPTER FOUR
"Hey, Fi – do we know anyone who drives a Rolls?" Ryan's tone was curious as he stood idly scrolling with his phone near the window facing the street. "It's just sort of chilling there."
"What? Holy shit!" Mackenzie pushed past Fiona ambling into the corridor and bounded up to the window, gripping onto Ryan's immaculate blue work shirt as she strained to see. Ignoring his wince, she wheeled around and folded her arms accusingly. "You never told us these Welsh relatives of yours were rich!"
Fiona dropped her duffle with a thud. Eyes watering from last night's lack of sleep and not even remembering exactly what she'd told her housemates about her sudden and unplanned trip overseas, she gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry?"
"Whatever. Man, I wish I had your family. Hey, it's Lindsay! What's he doing here? Are you dating and just not telling me? Or is he one of your mysterious relatives?" Mackenzie's questions were flying thick and fast.
"This is going to sound ridiculously clichéd, but it's slightly complicated." As Fiona said this she brushed back an irritating curl that kept escaping from its pins. Instead of telling me about my winter woollies they might have told me about how to deal with over-inquisitive housemates, she groused inwardly.
Ryan glanced up from his phone and raised an amused eyebrow.
"I mean—yes, he's related, but in a family friend kind of way. And we're not dating. I'm not quite that weird."
The tapping at the door made all three of them jump. For a moment they stood looking uncertainly at one another, before Fiona sighed and made her way across the lounge room (which, thanks to their rigorous cleaning efforts, was now shot-glass-and-pizza-crust-free).
A warm smile spread across his face as the door opened to reveal her and her messy braid and plain t-shirt standing there. Two days had been enough to nearly wash all memories of Elven beauty out of her mind, but standing innocently in the doorway as he was, he brought it all flooding back. The sun, already high despite the hour, lit one side of his long chestnut hair into fire.
The stunned silence in the lounge room behind her indicated that thoughts of a similar nature were probably occurring to her housemates. Without knowing that he was immortal, of course, all they would see was an extraordinarily model-esque young man with curiously old eyes.
Wordlessly Fiona thanked whoever was listening that the sunlight flooding the house would probably dim his ethereal Elven glow enough to avoid suspicion.
This is ridiculous. Two days ago there's no way I'd be thinking about how to disguise my new acquaintance's ethereal Elven glow.
Summoning a bright smile, she stood aside to make room for him. "Hey! How was the journey up?" Whew. Not sounding too nervous. Nice work, Fi.
"Wonderful, thank you." His pleasantly musical tones washed over her again and she tried to ignore Mackenzie's excited whispering to Ryan in the background. "I hope that the Rolls isn't too much. I did try to tell Alun to go for something less flamboyant and – well, that was his idea of understated."
"Oh—no, it's fine!" Lindir levelled a solemn look at her. Be honest. "It's a little bit much," she amended. "But it's kind of exciting too, don't worry. It's not like I'll ever get the chance to lollop around in an expensive car like that again."
He smiled. "Not if Alun has his way. He likes to spoil his guests, and you being family, he will spare no expense." His eyes skimmed over the top of Fiona's head to settle on Mackenzie. "I'm happy to see you looking well-recovered from the last time we met."
"Oh, totally!" came the answer. Fiona turned to see her usually socially-competent friend blushing a little. She was doing well – her pose and voice casual despite her pink face. "I should probably thank you for rescuing me from the evil clutches of the booze bus. I couldn't see that one going down well."
"You're most welcome. And do please extend my humble apologies to your shoes." He looked back down at Fiona. "Do you have your luggage packed? I will spare our poor driver the effort and take it to the car now if everything is ready."
"Sure – all done."
"Very well. I'll collect your belongings and allow you the opportunity to farewell your friends." A nod at Ryan and Mackenzie. "It was a pleasure to meet the both of you."
As he hoisted Fiona's bag off the floor, she couldn't help an uncertain glance behind her, where she knew that George would be glaring reproachfully at her through the walls. It was pretty sad, really. It had taken an entire evening of her and Mackenzie dumping her bag on and off their cheap set of scales to try and get her luggage to fit within the weight limit which they'd Googled. Unfortunately all her jumpers and pairs of leggings wouldn't allow any more room for the little stuffed dog, and her hand luggage wasn't big enough. The result was a rather tragic parting, with Fiona glancing longingly over her shoulder several times before gathering the courage to leave the room with her bags.
The sunlight shone into Ryan's eyes as he squinted through the window at Lindir's retreating form, before he turned around with a bright grin. "He looks like Sebastian's type. Tall and manly but sorta pretty at the same time. What do you think?"
Fiona frowned. "I think he's not gay."
"No straight guy ever has hair that good." Ryan gazed back out the window. "I'm almost jealous."
"That is ridiculously stereotyped, and I'm still pretty sure he's not gay," protested Fiona.
"Texting Seb now!" announced Ryan, whipping his phone out again.
"I give up." Fiona threw her hands up then turned to Mackenzie pleadingly. "While you're looking after George, would you mind taking care of this one so he doesn't end up humiliating poor Seb between now and the next time I see you?"
"I'll do my best." Mackenzie stood back and looked at her appraisingly. "How're you feeling?"
"Kind of excited, and kind of like crapping myself." Fiona fidgeted with the strap on her bag. "I don't actually know that corner of my family all that well, and then I find out that they're all El—uh, elegant. Elegant people. I…kind of don't know what to expect."
Mackenzie gripped her shoulders. "Fiona. You need to quit with the insecurities." A demonstrative wave of the hand. "You're like a Hobbit. They'll love you." She hugged Fiona fiercely. "I expect to see pics of fancy Welsh castles and things on Facebook by next week!"
Fiona felt Ryan come up behind her and wrap his arms around the both of them. His breath stirred her hair at the intentionally uncomfortable distance. "Same here. And I don't even look at half the shit people put on there. Feel special." He took a step back and made a shooing motion. "Now go forth and amaze them with your medieval art trivia."
Fiona headed out the door into the already-warm morning with a deep breath and what she knew was probably a miserable attempt at appearing casual. A slim man with greying hair whom she assumed was Gareth was already standing there with the door of the car open. People wandering along the road cast quizzical glances at all of them. I'm going to Lindon. She clutched her bag strap a little tighter and a smile suddenly quivered at the corners of her lips. I can't believe it. I'm actually going to Old Middle-Earth.
"Ohhhh dear."
Something in Lindir's tone made her screech to an abrupt halt behind him. She peered over his shoulder. He was watching something in the distance, expression intent.
"Fiona, I would advise you to hop into the car, unless you want your picture taken. About now might be a good time."
"Wh—"
"Into the car!" he repeated cheerily, right before turning on his heel and stalking purposefully down the road towards the crowd of passengers squashing onto the tram.
Feeling that she had no other choice, Fiona sighed and slid into the Rolls, letting Gareth close the door for her. She almost sank into the unbelievably soft seating and hardly suppressed a squeal of surprise – a fact which did not seem to have escaped Gareth's notice, if the smile was anything to go by.
Finally settled, she twisted around in her seat. Hurrying just behind the tram was an unremarkable man glancing furtively over his shoulder, picking up the pace every moment. Apparently seeing Lindir making a beeline for him, he broke into a jog.
Lindir bolted after him.
"The hell is he doing?" Fiona whispered.
The guy leapt onto the tram just as the doors rattled closed, and left Lindir standing there watching it crawl down the road. A look of frustration marred the Elf's face.
"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you," said Gareth from the front seat, startling her. Bright blue eyes, set close together, met hers in the mirror. "He knows what he's doing."
"Does he just take off like that on a regular basis?"
Gareth chuckled. His clear accent – which Fiona was beginning to recognise as Welsh – sounded like music. "Lindir does as he pleases. Mostly, he tries to stay out of things – happy just sitting there tinkering about on the piano or violin and providing advice when needed, you know? But you mustn't underestimate him. If need be, he can change into the fiercest warrior at the drop of a hat. All of them can. Deadly people."
"I…can't really imagine him being deadly," mused Fiona, thinking of what she had seen of his cheerful demeanour so far. "He doesn't seem like the warrior type. I guess I don't really know much about him, though."
"And you're not expected to. Long and complicated lives, they all have. It's bound to affect them in ways we can't understand. Makes them less predictable." His tone was serious now. "They're not like you or me."
The car door suddenly flew open to admit Lindir. The smell of rain and trees swept in with him as he slammed the door, making Gareth wince. Still hardly a hair out of place, he sat down with a huff. "Well, he caught on a bit quicker than I thought. I have seen his face, however, so at the very least we have some indication of what to look for if he decides to follow us later. Please drive on, Gareth."
"Sir."
"What's going on?" asked Fiona, perplexed. The car began to roll away from her driveway, away from her house.
"We are being followed. That is all."
"Followed?" Fiona echoed. "Why? By whom?"
"At this stage? No idea. All we can discern is that we're not the only ones searching for the palantír. Which is a bit of a worry, and does mean our venture will be constrained by time."
"My gosh. Who else would be looking for it? I mean, it's not exactly a well-researched branch of history."
"True, but Mortals have the truly odd talent of coming upon the very things they shouldn't and then poking them with a big stick. I know not how they found out about it. Even we only stumbled upon hints of its whereabouts by accident. They must know that we're looking for it too, and but recently we have caught various individuals interested in Mensa Rotunda's doings attempting to take pictures. I suppose they want to know who they're up against."
"Wait. You mean some guy followed you to my house to take pictures?" said Fiona, aghast. My gosh. They know where I live now.
"It is possible. And they will be vastly interested in anyone affiliated with us, including you." He sighed. "I am sorry. Truly. I did not expect this to happen, but I should have been prepared for the possibility. I doubt that they would have managed a good shot of your face, but they now know your address. I fear Elrond will be displeased with me, and that I have lost your trust. I have failed to protect your safety and we are hardly ten minutes into the journey."
The look on his face was unbearably sad. "No—it's okay!" exclaimed Fiona. "Really. You couldn't have expected them to go so far as to follow you to some random person's house. I mean, I don't really know how I'll be able to go back home, now, but…" She trailed off, realising that her words were hardly reassuring. "Look, I'll talk to Elrond if he gets angry. He's one of the Wise, isn't he? He'll know that you've done your best."
"I hope you are right," Lindir said soberly. He faced her directly, dark eyes unreadable. "Unforeseen developments indeed. I should probably tell you one thing." Fiona watched his face, almost holding her breath, as he took a moment to evidently formulate his words. "Your involvement with us, and with this venture, need only be to the extent that you wish. Mortals describe our kind as…intense. Should you find this to be the case, you will be free to go home – with protection, of course – and to keep up the amount of correspondence you deem appropriate. You have seen already that unexpected things may happen, and I do not wish to force circumstances upon you."
Fiona was unable to respond to that.
Outside the window cafés and people and traffic crawled past in the rising morning heat. So utterly ordinary. Lindir's musical voice was solemn. "Are you frightened, Fiona Lockwood?"
Be honest. Fiona sat still for a moment, then found herself refusing to look away. "No," she said finally, which seemed to surprise Lindir. His eyes narrowed and she hastened to explain. "Nervous, yes. About what I might find when I go to Lindon, and about what dealing with real Elves will be like, but not frightened."
"Are you certain of that?"
"Absolutely," declared Fiona with a firmness that she suddenly and sincerely felt. "I'm here, aren't I? It means I want to be here. I want to help. I'm more excited than anything else. I mean, look at this!" She suddenly found herself grinning. "I'm going to Middle-Earth! I defy university to give me a better history assignment than that."
A few moments passed, but the slow smile that Lindir returned was all dimples. "That is exactly what I was hoping to hear," he said. Some kind of weight seemed to disappear from his face and smoothed out the tension in his brow, and the way he relaxed back against the plush seats breathed calm. He looked out the window for a few moments, leaning on the armrest as his fingers moved in a pattern, unwittingly coaxing silent music from some unseen instrument.
Inexplicably, Fiona felt as though she had passed a test of some kind.
OoO
The journey to the airport at Avalon – a ridiculously fitting name, Fiona thought, given the Elves' mysterious involvement with King Arthur – wasn't a very long one. She longed to ask more questions, curiosity almost gnawing at her insides. Lindir, however, had been sending emails and texts and making calls, giving her no opportunity. He had apologised for his unsociability but added that it was necessary, and that he would be more than happy to talk with her on the long plane trip to Heathrow Airport.
She had tried her best not to eavesdrop despite her curiosity and close proximity to the Elf. It wouldn't have done her any good, anyway – most of his conversations were in some lilting language that could have been Welsh or Sindarin. It made no difference because she couldn't understand either.
So in the meantime, she had decided to check her bank account and transfer her share of the rent money to Ryan. That way she wouldn't have to worry about it halfway through her stay in Wales. She wanted all her attention reserved for learning about her family's strange history.
When it had loaded Fiona had blinked a few times, wondering whether her eyes were still adjusting. There were far too many zeros on the end of her balance. What the— A frantic scroll through her transactions revealed money transferred from Mensa Rotunda Pty. Ltd. – and an extra $25 labelled:
For tucker :)
Alun meant it, she thought, stunned. He said he'd take care of any money troubles I might have and he did. Bewildered, she held up her phone again and re-read the last transaction. I've never heard anyone in Australia ever use the word 'tucker' but after what he's gone and done for me I don't think I have the heart to bag him for it when I see him.
"Looks like we're here," announced Lindir, his voice cutting into her thoughts. The car rolled onto the tarmac and came to a smooth stop near a small plane of some sort.
Fiona's jaw dropped open. "Are we flying private?"
"Yes, we are." The Elf cocked his head quizzically. "This seems to surprise you."
"I—yeah, I mean—" I can't believe it. All that time that we spent trying to get my luggage to get to the standard weight and I could've easily gotten away with bringing George.
The door opened courtesy of Gareth and the heat of the day hit Fiona full-force – unpleasantly, after the air-conditioned comfort of the Rolls. She scrambled out with a hurried thank-you to Gareth while Lindir climbed out of the other side. Maddeningly, he seemed unperturbed by the heat, aside from a slight pink tinge that rose to his pale skin.
He turned to her as a man in uniform who shared Gareth's close-set blue eyes hurried to help the driver retrieve their luggage from the car. Tall and slim, Lindir cut a striking figure against the stark blue of the sky and flat landscape surrounding the airport. An apologetic smile turned the corners of his mouth upwards.
He looks really impressive when he does that. What's he going to say now?
"I must beg forgiveness on Alun's behalf once again, it seems. Did he fail to inform you how we were to be travelling?"
"I have no idea, to be honest. Maybe I just wasn't listening – I was pretty excited at the time."
"And you ended up not bringing everything that you wanted to."
I don't like this Elf, he reads minds. The silly Ice Age misquote popped into her head. "Yeah, I kind of had to leave a friend of mine at home."
"Who?"
Fiona felt her face grow hot. "George the Magnificent. He's…my stuffed dog."
His features were solemn but his eyes were alight with amusement. "Fear not, King's Daughter. You will find that your preference of companion is among the least odd in New Imladris. For one," he added, holding out a hand to usher her towards the plane, "Elrond is known to have a few old Elven figurines in battle array lining one of his shelves, and Glorfindel swears he has seen him arranging them on his table and talking to them when he thinks no one is watching."
"Whoa, what?" She glanced behind her as they hurried along and then upwards at his face, remembering that Lindir was quite tall. "Elrond Half-Elven plays with Elvish G.I. Joes?"
"Essentially. And the famed Legolas Thranduillion of the Fellowship has his own small plush Elf lying around somewhere."
Fascinated, Fiona turned around once she had climbed the steps and was safely ensconced inside the plane. "You have to tell me how Legolas ended up with an Elf plushie."
"I will be happy to oblige. Please, sit." He gestured expansively once again with his hand.
The interior of the plane was easily as lavish as the Rolls, with a small set of comfortable-looking seating in two rows facing each other. Wood panelling – or something that looked like wood panelling – lined the walls. Beneath her ballet-shoed feet the carpet sank blissfully with each step.
"I feel like I have to take my shoes off before I tread this holy ground," murmured Fiona, tip-toeing over to the seats and reverently placing her small handbag on the one closest to the window.
To her horror Lindir seemed to have no such reservations. He removed his shoes and walked casually over the carpet before plopping himself down across from her as though he had done this a thousand times. And he probably has. He's on the board of some big corporation.
Conversationally, he leaned forward with elbows on knees. In the dim lighting he still seemed to glow. "One midwinter, not long after Return of the King was released, Glorfindel thought it would be amusing to make a gift of some Lord of the Rings paraphernalia to the real Legolas. The popularity of the films made it easy for him to find something suitable – in this case, a plush Elf, complete with little green surcote and tiny bow."
"I think I've seen that one at pop culture stores before," Fiona said. "He's really cute."
"Indeed. Legolas received his little Elf with great solemnity and fell in love with him immediately. He makes random appearances around the sprawling castle grounds on occasion and I think Legolas has been tempted several times to upload his adventures onto Instagram."
At that Fiona found herself laughing. "I'm suddenly not feeling anywhere near as bad about George."
"As you shouldn't," replied Lindir. "There's certainly nothing wrong with being fond of your possessions, especially ones to which you have an emotional attachment. To Elvenkind, such things might even weave a form of protection against the smaller and more subtle forms of darkness that remain to trouble to the world."
"Like…magic?"
Lindir seemed to wince a little at the word. "Not quite, but that's what Mortal Men call it. What many do not understand is that love is the most powerful force there is, and that while it may look like magic, that is simply because it moves in strange ways. Ones that not even the Wise may fully understand." Lindir shrugged. "Elrond's soldiers are well-loved, as is Legolas' Elf, and as such have a life of their own that shields them in their own way."
"That is such a weird concept," breathed Fiona, sitting back against the comfortable seat as she tried to take in yet another barrage of information. "Maybe that's where our fairy-tales get it from. Love conquers all and all that."
"There is a lot of truth in it."
Curious, she moved her eyes away from the view of the tarmac outside and dared to look at him directly. "What do you have?"
"What do you mean?"
"Elrond and Legolas have their toys. What do you have?"
Without hesitation Lindir answered, "My viola. Carved from fallen mallorn wood, and with the permission of the tree who was unable to remain rooted against the storm that felled it. In order to travel here I had to leave it behind in fair Lindon, and it has been most uncomfortable trying to sleep without its presence somewhere in my room." He smiled. "You see? We all have our quirks."
I'm starting to think that Elves are the quirkiest of the lot, thought Fiona.
He glanced up as Gareth's look-alike made an appearance over his shoulder. His smile grew warmer. "John, how fares the morning?"
"Very well, sir. And especially after that stack of pancakes. It certainly filled a hole."
At the mention of pancakes someone's stomach grumbled – and to Fiona's surprise, it wasn't hers. Lindir glanced downwards at his middle and sighed. "I suppose we'll not have much in the way of food until we stop over?" His mournful tone made it a question that he already knew the answer to.
John shook his head regretfully. "No, unfortunately. We might have some sandwiches from this morning left over, if I go and find them for you." For the first time he seemed to notice Fiona. "Fiona Lockwood, is it? Pleased to meet you. I'm Gareth's brother. He'll be co-piloting with me this morning."
"Nice to meet you too," answered Fiona, wondering how Gareth would have the energy after driving them for an hour already. "Will Gareth be okay?"
John waved a dismissive hand. "Perfectly fine. He's just finalising the last details of the flight plan before we head off. It looks like we'll have pretty good weather for the next few hours, so the ride should be a smooth one."
"Good," Lindir said. "I have a feeling my stomach would loudly object to any turbulence."
"Probably. I'll send Gareth in with the sandwiches in a minute." Turning abruptly John headed back up the aisle and towards the pilot's cabin, closing the door with a neat snick behind him.
Not long later, the small jet lifted into the sky, carrying Fiona, Lindir and the sandwiches with them towards Lindon.
Studying Lindir's face now that it was daylight, Fiona found its ethereal beauty and the ancient wisdom behind his young-seeming eyes breathtaking all over again. Her eyes wandered to his hands, with their long, clever fingers, and imagined them handling his viola: his bow poised and ready to sweep across their strings. I really want to hear him play.
A long time passed, and Fiona tried to keep occupied with reading or typing bits of assignments into her phone. She even napped for a little while. If he noticed that she kept looking away whenever he glanced up then he said nothing, and kept working away on his laptop with the quiet earnestness that he had demonstrated in the car.
Are they all this beautiful? Or intense? I wonder how I'm going to cope if I'm surrounded by more than one of them. The words which Gareth had spoken to her not so long ago sprang to mind. They're not like you or me. The thought made her wonder just what she had signed up for.
She was just finishing off the last sandwich when Lindir closed his laptop with sudden finality and leaned forward. "Business emails are a boring necessity, but now that they're safely out of the way and Elrond has no unfinished papers with which to reproach me, we can talk. Finally. I can see you are fair bursting with questions and I'd rather you not literally burst – our poor pilot would find that most inconvenient." He gave another one of his beautiful yet mischievous smiles.
Fiona couldn't help but smile in return. She was beginning to find Lindir's cheerfulness contagious. "Okay. Why are we looking for a lost palantír?"
"A good question, and one which has a lengthy answer to it. As we are in this small box in the sky you will have no choice but to hear it even should I begin boring you to tears. Are you willing to listen?"
Fiona tried to match his earnestness. "Absolutely."
"Very well. Let's start at the very beginning." Another grin. "A very good place to start, or so I'm told."
Thank you to everyone who has followed/faved/reviewed Lindir and Fiona's adventures so far! Your appreciation motivates me to keep writing. :)