Wyze Lies

by Erestor

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to The Lord of the Rings. This story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Once again, thank you for reviewing! The next chapter should be the last.

Glorfindel.

The events that caught me off guard all happened on the same day. Ironically, the day was one to which I look forward all year: the day of the Annual Wings Debate, and, not coincidentally, the day my book was published.

I awakened early that morning feeling happy and expectant, ate a wholesome, healthy breakfast, and walked to Aragorn's palace. There, the King of Gondor became one of the Wyze in an ancient initiation ritual, which I conducted. As is traditional, there were four other witnesses present, who I will not name.

Following the ancient initiation ritual, I walked to the bookstore, and prepared myself for the book-signing.

I suppose I should have expected at least one dramatic event to occur on the day Erestor and I signed books in the same bookstore. I had assumed that nothing would happen that I could not handle, and that any dramatic events taking place would either be instigated by me, or, at the very worst, affect Erestor more than they affected me. However, I did not realize that Erestor had such vicious fans. After they had attacked several of my poor adherents with their posters, the outbreak of violence was almost shocking in its intensity.

As I fought off anarchists, the King and Queen of Gondor entered the bookstore. This created quite a stir, but fortunately had the effect of distracting my attackers. Irony of ironies, I was very glad to see Aragorn. Reenforcements are always a good thing, I find. Unfortunately, at that point, I did not realize that Aragorn and his lovely, backstabbing wife were not there to reenforce me.

Arwen said, "I have an announcement to make."

At this, from somewhere in the fray, Erestor made a little squeaky noise under his breath. I was puzzled because I did not think I knew of any announcement Arwen had to make, and curious, because it seemed from the way Erestor was behaving that he knew. Several undercover reporters produced cameras and equipment from behind bookshelves, and hurried forward to broadcast the announcement on live television.

When the camera equipment was ready, Arwen drew herself up, pointed at me, and said, "Glorfindel is a liar!"

I nearly gaped at her, but caught my expression just in time. Everyone else seemed equally astonished. My fans said, "ahhh" and the anarchists said, "hear, hear", and Erestor retreated behind his desk and looked slightly sick.

Arwen picked up a copy of Paranoia and Confusion: An Analytical Look at Erestor and his Works of Fiction. She said, "Lord Glorfindel did not write this book."

My fans said, "oh" and the anarchists looked confused.

"What do you mean, your majesty?" I asked politely. "Of course I wrote that book."

Asking a queen what she means is the safer way of telling royalty not to be silly. I had a sinking suspicion that Arwen was not being silly at all. She was being far too clever.

Hooray, I thought.

Arwen smiled at me. "Glorfindel," she said kindly, "everyone knows you are clueless when it comes to politics. Everyone knows you are far too nice a person to write something so harsh and critical. And everyone knows that there is no way a superficial, lovable Elf such as yourself could write an 'analytical look' at anything. You simply do not have the intellect. I do not understand why you tried to pass off my work as your own, but I cannot let it happen."

I had been afraid from the beginning that Arwen's diatribe would lead to this 'revelation', but I had not had the time to prepare for it. I echoed her words in spite of myself, and probably gaped a little as well. "Your work?" I said.

"My work," said Arwen firmly. She smiled brightly at the cameras, and the cameramen looked dazed. "I wrote a report on Erestor for my father, who, as you all must know, is a member of the Wyze. Somehow, Glorfindel must have gotten his hands on the manuscript, and had it published as his own work. As I have already stated, I cannot let that happen. The report contains confidential information that only the Wyze can know. Glorfindel should not have made such information public. Certainly he should not have made it public under his own name."

For the split second after Arwen finished, everything was silent. Anarchists, ufologists, cameramen and fans quietly absorbed the new information. Then, this task complete, the crowd erupted. They exclaimed in horror. They exclaimed in triumph. They shouted questions. They shouted at each other.They pressed around the queen, eager for more information, or for her glance to rest on them for a few seconds. Erestor and I were utterly forgotten, though I knew that would not last.

I stood still, faltering. I did not know what to do. In the long run, Arwen's claim would lack evidence to support it. There was no way it would hold up in court. But she had wanted to surprise me, and she had wanted to hurt my reputation, and she had succeeded.

I did not feel betrayed by her, not in a personal way, since I had never allowed myself to trust any of the Wyze. We really aren't a trustworthy bunch, after all. I felt angry, but not betrayed. I should have anticipated such a move on her part, or anyone's part, for that matter. Anyone could have showed up and claimed to have written my book. Arwen was the most dangerous claimant, because she was so beautiful, and the sort of woman people would happily believe even if she told them the sky was green and the grass was blue.

Erestor had slumped back weakly in his chair, big-eyed, staring at Arwen with a strange expression on his face. I could tell he did not want to look at me, and, at the same time, that he wanted to see my reaction. At last he turned his head slowly, and our eyes met.

Erestor and I looked at each other, and I realized that Erestor must have been somehow involved in Arwen's plan. Only five days before, I had seen him come racing out of the palace as though all the Wyze were on his heels. He had not looked very surprised when Arwen had entered the bookstore with her announcement. He seemed stricken now, but that was probably because he thought I was going to kill him. Third time lucky, and all that.

Someone coughed, and I averted my eyes from Erestor to look at Aragorn, who suddenly stood beside me.

"I'm holding a special meeting of the Wyze at my palace at noon," said Aragorn. "I'm sorry," he added.

He did seem truly apologetic. I smiled one of my most reassuring smiles at him. "Don't worry about it, your majesty," I said. "This is the way the game is played."

I had not read Erestor's book at that time, but it occurred to me that Wyze Lies had been a good name for it. Lying is what we do. Arwen might have thought that defeating me placed her on the side of truth and justice, but in defeating me she had lied more brazenly than I ever had. Or had generally.

I gathered my belongings and left the bookstore before it could occur to anyone else to talk to me.

I went back to my hotel room and plotted. No doubt the special meeting would involve voting me out of the Wyze, in the same way we had removed Saruman from the membership role. I could take this blow meekly, or I could fight back. Or I could take the blow meekly and then fight back, when everyone was least expecting it.

This last idea appealed to me. I already wanted revenge. I wanted it more than anything, and after revenge, I wanted to talk to Erestor, to find out just how much of Arwen's plan he had known in advance. Then I would get revenge on him too.

Someone knocked on the door. I considered opening it, but decided that my room was too devastated to invite anyone in. When I feel frustrated, my plotting tends to involve throwing lots of things against walls.

"Who is it?" I asked cheerfully.

"Elladan."

"And Elrohir."

"That's lovely," I said, still cheerfully. "Go away."

"We realize that–"

I noticed I was still holding a vase in my hand, so I threw it against the door. At the sound of the crash, the voices stopped for a moment, and then the twins said, "All right."

"We'll go."

"But we'll be back."

"We want to talk to you."

I listened to their footsteps fade away. Then I looked for more smashable objects. Finding none, I sat down and glowered into the distance, still plotting, but without any strenuous activity involved in the process.

There was another knock on the door. I sighed. Just when I had run out of ammunition, yet more visitors had come calling. Was there a sign on the other side of the door that read 'Pity me'? Or did it say 'Annoy me'? I was beginning to wonder.

"Who is it?" I growled.

"Erestor."

"Which one?" I asked. Not that I knew any other Erestors personally, but I certainly didn't know any Erestors who would come willingly to me when I was in a bad mood. "The conspiracy theorist?" I added helpfully. The Erestor I know hates being called that.

I imagined that I could hear him grinding his teeth. "Yes. That Erestor," he said, sounding irritated. How very novel of him.

"Come in," I said.

Erestor opened the door, but he didn't step into the room. Clever Elf. "I'd like my scarf back," he mumbled.

"Your scarf," I said flatly. I had almost hoped he had come to beg for mercy.

He nodded.

"Fine. Come in and get it."

"I'd rather not."

"Oh, I don't mind."

"I don't want to intrude, Lord Glorfindel."

"Nonsense. I can hardly call coming into my room and taking clothing out of it 'intruding'."

Erestor took a deep breath, and said, "I didn't know."

"About intruding?"

"I didn't know Lady Arwen would claim to have written your book. It wasn't my idea. I didn't want that," said Erestor rapidly. He glanced up, and glared at me. "I didn't want any of us to have to stoop to your level to combat you. It wasn't necessary."

"She believed it was necessary," I said. "You aren't looking at the problem Wyzely, even after writing three books about us."

"I wanted you to know that I don't think Arwen fought you fairly."

I laughed. "If I expected people to fight me fairly, ever single day of my life would contain a multitude of unpleasant shocks, Erestor. Don't fret. I intend to fight back, and I plan to fight fire with fire. However, thank you for your apology on Arwen's behalf. It's nice to know some people in this world care about honesty and integrity and so on and so forth."

Erestor accepted my thanks with a little nod of his head, but he did not quite cease to glare. I suppose he did not like to hear me belittle honesty and integrity.

"You really have changed," I said, leaning back in my chair and stifling a yawn. Ancient initiation rituals conducted in early hours of the morning are extremely draining. "Be thankful I'm feeling mellow at the moment. I would be much more violent otherwise."

"Yes, I realize that," said Erestor, looking at the floor. "I see a good deal of fine china was sacrificed to put you in such a mellow mood."

"I'm sure you'd rather I smashed china and not your head," I said. I smiled lazily. "Go away, Erestor. Run and hide. I'll come after you soon enough, but I have a few other problems to deal with first."

Erestor did not run and hide. He cleared his throat. "My scarf," he said, holding out one hand.

I contemplated grabbing Erestor's scarf from my coat rack and chasing him around the hotel with it. A well-made scarf is an invaluable weapon in the hands of an expert. I yawned again. I was exhausted. I couldn't be bothered. I would rest, and then I would hunt Erestor down.

"Get it yourself," I told him. "If you force me to get up and hand you your scarf, I may be tempted to simply strangle you with it."

Erestor understood, which was good, since I had spelled out the situation very clearly for him. He hopped into the room, snatched his scarf from the coat rack, and hurried away. I was asleep the moment his footsteps died away completely.

When I awakened, it was nearly time for the big meeting. I cannot say I was looking forward to suffering job-loss at the hands of democracy, but I wanted the experience to be over as soon as possible, so I would be able to concentrate on getting revenge on everyone.

I wasn't hungry. I dressed in my finest robe: the one involving a vast quantity of cloth, and a lot of embroidery that no one would ever see. I would have looked impressive in anything, but I looked imposing and defiant and regal in that robe. I wanted my career to end in a blaze of glory, not with some pathetic little whimper.

I laughed as I regarded myself in my mirror. Yes. A blaze of glory. That was the best way. After all, my first life had ended in a blaze of glory, hadn't it?

I swept out of my room, out of the hotel, and into the street. I strode down the street, and people scuttled out of my way, and I told myself that getting revenge would be very enjoyable.

There are days when I am awed by my own personality. The power of it goes to my head. I realize that if I smile at someone, I will have made his or her day. If I frown, everyone around me will wonder what they are doing wrong. If I say 'please', people will rush to oblige me, and if I say 'thank you', people will flush with pride and pleasure. They will do anything to make me happy, because my happiness will make them happy too.

These dire circumstances did nothing to crush that feeling of power in me. Perhaps I was clinging to it with a particular desperation because of the dire circumstances. I'm not sure. At any rate, I stopped glowering, and instead focused on looking bright and vibrant and undefeated. A blaze of glory indeed.

The meeting went very quickly. Aragorn wouldn't look me in the eyes, but Arwen met my gaze unabashedly. Gandalf was there, seeming shaken, and Galadriel and Celeborn were there, conferring quietly with each other, and Elrond was there via a large television screen. He seemed merely distracted, and reported that the Annual Wings Debate had turned into a frenzied discussion of whether or not Balrogs actually existed. So Erestor had succeeded, at least in that respect.

Arwen announced that I was unfit to be a member of the Wyze, that I was blackening the reputation of the entire group. I was outwardly and inwardly unruffled. I sat back in my chair and looked faintly amused, because faint amusement always worries the people who want to think they are destroying your life.

They voted me out, of course. Unanimously, too. Surprise, surprise.

At this point I think I should mention that I DON'T want you to suppose I'm some kind of victim, because I'm not. If you're reading this and thinking, 'oh, poor Glorfindel, he didn't deserve all that', then please reconsider. I'm positively nasty, and the scary thing is that I can be positively nasty and still endearing, and I'm sure I could make you feel very, very sorry for me if I wanted. I've toyed with the idea of writing this account to make Erestor look evil and myself perfect, but I've decided to be mostly truthful, just to prove to Erestor that I don't lie all the time.

Anyway, I hate the thought of looking like a victim, which was why my farewell speech to the Wyze was full of sparkling wit and entirely devoid of regret. It was time for me to move on to better, more noble things, I said. Like revenge, I thought. I smiled at the Wyze, and let them know what I was thinking. I enjoyed watching them squirm in their seats.

As I said, I'm positively nasty.

I went back to my hotel. It felt lonely. Without people surrounding me, it is much harder for me to assure myself of my power and worth. I made myself hot chocolate, melted a peppermint in it, and dragged a beach chair outside. I sat on my balcony and drank the hot chocolate and watched snowflakes flutter gently to the streets below. I tried not to think of anything.

Are you, in spite of all my warnings, thinking, 'oh, poor Glorfindel'?

I almost was.

Hot chocolate always makes me feel sorry for myself. I thought of the Annual Wings Debate, now ended once and for all; I thought of the part I had played as one of the Wyze, which I would never play again; I thought of all those hours –wasted hours– I had spent writing a book to denounce Erestor; I thought of all the friends I didn't have, and all the money I hadn't made, and all the spies I had hired, who were now also jobless. I felt absolutely pathetic.

I was glad no one was there to see me drown my sorrows in a hot drink.

Then Elladan said, "Is that good? It smells like mint. Is it mint?"

Elrohir said, "Could we have some too?"

"If you like," I said listlessly. "The kettle should still be warm."

Elladan and Elrohir hurried into the little kitchen to make themselves hot chocolate. I hoped they wouldn't find my stash of peppermints. That would be the last straw.

"Father told us all about the meeting," said Elrohir, coming back out onto the balcony, holding a mug. It was one of the few survivors of my earlier plotting. "We aren't part of the Wyze officially," he continued, " but he lets us know what goes on."

"They voted," said Elladan, "and decided to call themselves the Wise again."

I mustered a smirk. "I'm glad. Don't know whose bright idea it was to call us –to call them– the Wyze. It's not as though the inclusion of a few less common letters make the word 'more modern'," I finished, quoting the Lady Galadriel.

Elladan and Elrohir smiled at me.

"May I ask why you are here?" I asked suddenly. "You can't have come simply to drink all my hot chocolate."

"Glorfindel," said Elrohir, "we decided it was only fair to let you know what is going on within the Wise."

I wondered why all my enemies were so obsessed with being fair to me. It seemed rather condescending of them, but I chose not to comment. Being treated fairly was quite nice, but it didn't mean I was going to start treating them the same way. I needed all the advantages I could get.

"With you gone, Arwen has invited us to join the Wise," said Elrohir. "As you must have realized, we have never been as opposed to the Wise as we occasionally acted."

I grinned briefly. "Occasionally acted," I repeated, raising my eyebrows, and Elrohir had the decency to look embarrassed. I'm never that decent. "You threatened to burn down our headquarters," I reminded them.

Elladan shrugged. "A threat made in a moment of youthful exuberance," he said.

"If you like."

"We have chosen not to join," said Elrohir. "For the moment."

"Why is that?"

"Because..." Elrohir hesitated. "We have made so many arguments against the existence of the Wise over the years... I think we see its deficiencies more clearly than our sister. She wants the power, and she enjoys the conflict, as you did. Elladan and I prefer the thought of unity within a group. We value trust – because we can trust each other, I suppose."

I understood that. Elladan and Elrohir had always worried me; they were always so unpredictable, and I knew I did not frighten them. But I also knew they would not lie to me.

"We are here to make you an offer, Glorfindel," said Elladan.

"Oh?"

"You can say no, if you want, but we would like you to think about it," said Elrohir.

I nodded. Snowflakes drowned slowly in my lukewarm drink. I almost resented the sons of Elrond for bringing me an offer when I was feeling lonely and depressed, because I knew I would say yes to almost anything, so desperate was I for a new beginning and a new challenge. "Tell me your offer," I said quietly.

"Work for us."

"You're clever, and you have experience."

"We need you."

"We need someone to keep an eye on the Wise."

"Not to interfere with them, really."

"Just someone to make sure they don't start hoarding secrets again."

"We can protect you, in case they send someone to... well, you know."

"To silence you, Glorfindel."

"And we're worried about Arwen."

"The power might go to her head."

"Soon she'll have more power on her side than the rest of the Wise combined."

"She's been plotting this takeover for years."

I held up a hand, and their voices faded away. "You want me to work for you," I said. "You want me to spy on the Wise, and in return, you'll make sure I don't get bumped off by certain individuals with cause to want me dead." I knew there were several of said individuals, who'd all be rubbing their hands gleefully now that I wasn't one of the Wise.

"Yes," Elladan and Elrohir said together.

"I thought you valued trust," I said. "You don't trust me."

"That's true," said Elrohir.

"We've been watching you for years," said Elladan. "We feel we know you very well. We know your methods, your tricks, and all your various personalities. We also know you enjoy challenges involving a little subterfuge."

They stood up, stepped away from me. "Think about it," said Elrohir.

"I will," I said.

Just before they left, Elladan turned and said, "One more thing. Father says the Wise elected to invite Erestor to join them."

"They haven't contacted him yet," said Elrohir, "but they will."

The door snicked shut.

I thought for a long time. I sat on the balcony in my beach chair until darkness fell and my fine robes were soggy with melted snow.

This might sound very sad and dismal, but I was no longer feeling sorry for myself. At the very thought of my future, I smiled faintly, a real smile. Perhaps my hirelings were not facing sudden unemployment after all.

'Glorfindel, Spy-Master,' I thought. I liked the sound of it.

TBC...