Two days later, on Friday, the second day of March, Nicholas felt restless when he got home from a day at the UCL campus, rather than exhausted, and decided to get a jump start on some chores so he could have more time free on the weekend for leisure. He began dusting the greatroom. A few minutes into the job he felt like putting on music. Instead of opera, classical or jazz, he opted for the music of his youth, since he was feeling young again.
It's not unusual to be loved by anyone
It's not unusual to have fun with anyone
But when I see you hanging about with anyone
It's not unusual to see me cry
I wanna die
Sören got off the couch, where he'd been curled up with the cats zoning out after a long day of surgery, and Sören began to dance, stepping from side to side, swinging his arms and snapping his fingers. Anthony looked up from his book and hit himself in the forehead with his book, chuckling.
"OK, Carlton," Anthony said.
"What?" Nicholas was utterly confused.
"Never mind," Anthony muttered, and went back to his book.
There wasn't a huge amount of dust - between the four of them, they tried to stay on top of keeping the house tidy - but Sören had asthma and was still sensitive to it, and a few songs later Sören stepped outside to get some air. Nicholas took a break and joined him, and soon Anthony was out there as well, cane clicking on the front step. It was one of those evenings when spring was definitely in the air, warm in the golden haze of the hour just before sunset. Nicholas put an arm around Sören and Anthony, grateful to have them close by... grateful to be alive, and share this moment with them.
As many uncertainties as the future held - what the world would look like in the coming decades with climate change and political upheaval - Nicholas still felt like he had just embarked on a great adventure. A few years ago, Sören had injected his life with fun and humor and passion. Now Nicholas was even hungrier for what life had to offer, feeling young and strong again. He hoped that somehow, Sören and Anthony would be able to join him and Mark in the years to come, exploring the world together as playmates. In the meantime, he would never take a single moment for granted, basking in the living hearth fire that was the love they shared.
The peace of the moment was disturbed as a brown Vauxhall with Grateful Dead decals pulled into the driveway. Nicholas wasn't expecting visitors, and he felt on edge as he watched the driver step out of the car.
"Holy shit, is that The Dude?" Sören whispered.
Nicholas's eyebrows shot up, confused. "The... Dude."
"The Big Lebowski." Sören patted him. "Never mind."
Immortal that he might be now, healed from his arthritis, Nicholas still felt utterly old from the reference he didn't catch for the second time today.
"That's not Jeff Bridges," Anthony said, and he stepped forward. "Edmund!" He narrowed his eyes and said more quietly, "Or should I say Olórin."
The man laughed. "You got me," he said, putting both hands up.
Nicholas knew of course that the Tolkien movies weren't necessarily representative of reality - of the Lord of the Rings movies, the only actor cast as an Elf who actually looked like one was Liv Tyler playing Arwen - but whatever he was expecting Gandalf to look like, it wasn't this. The man was a few inches under six feet, with a slight potbelly that the youth called a "dad bod" nowadays. He had stringy shoulder-length grey hair that was thinning on top, and a bushy grey beard that was longer on his chin. He wore a brown leather jacket over an obnoxiously bright rainbow-colored tie-dye T-shirt and faded, scuffed jeans, with penny loafers, a quartz crystal point necklace, and a bodhi mala on his left wrist. He took off red sport sunglasses to reveal merry grey eyes.
He doesn't dress like that for work, does he? Nicholas imagined that even in the more relaxed setting of therapy, the NHS still had a dress code.
No, he wears suits and puts his hair up unless it's a chat session then it's a sweater. Anthony chuckled. He still gives off major hippie vibes, though, he has a rock garden in his office and singing bowls and bonsai trees and stuff.
The man - Edmund Billingsley... Gandalf, Nicholas corrected himself, still in a state of shock - slowly sauntered towards the house. At the surprise on their faces, Gandalf said, "You act like you've never seen a wizard before."
"We were expecting someone taller," Anthony quipped.
"Yeah." Gandalf put a hand on his hip and looked Anthony up and down. "I was expecting someone blond."
Anthony rolled his eyes. Sören chuckled, and Nicholas smiled. Then Gandalf said, "Is now a bad time? Am I interrupting anything?"
"Mark is at the store," Nicholas said, "if that's who you came to see, but you can come in and have tea with us while you wait -"
"Actually, I came to speak to all of you," Gandalf said, "not just Mark, but we can wait to tackle the serious business when he arrives. Tea sounds good, thank you."
Nicholas gestured and led the way inside, barely believing what was happening.
Nicholas made tea and brought it out in the phoenix-and-roses tea set he'd bought for his and Sören's third anniversary. When he came out from the kitchen he found that all three cats were sniffing Gandalf and allowing themselves to be petted, like they recognized an old friend. Nicholas found that very curious.
Gandalf was sitting in one of the armchairs and after Nicholas handed Gandalf his tea, he went to the couch to sit on the other side of Sören, who leaned back and put an arm around Nicholas and Anthony. Nicholas watched as Gandalf took a few sips of tea, quietly looking around the room. The cats went over to the couch. Seumas climbed onto Anthony's shoulder, Miss Balls sat on Sören's lap, and Tobias climbed onto the arm of the couch next to Nicholas, leaning into his touch as Nicholas skritched him.
"I apologize for just showing up and not texting or ringing you first, Anthony," Gandalf said, "but I felt it was better to just come and say what I have to say rather than plan for it. Life is what happens when you're making other plans, and your lives have been interesting enough that I didn't want to take the risk there would be interference."
"Interference." Nicholas didn't like the sound of that.
"Yes, you heard me."
Mark's car pulled in. They went back to quietly sipping tea, while the word interference echoed in Nicholas's head, wondering what that implied. There was the rustle of bags and the jingle of keys just outside the door, then the door opened and shut and Mark set his bags down on the floor as he took off his boots and jacket. When he came in he saw Gandalf sitting there and his eyes widened, but Mark managed to keep composed.
"Olórin. Hello. Please allow me to get the perishables put away and then I'll... join you," Mark said.
"That's fine."
Nicholas felt ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation. After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, Mark walked out and took the other armchair. "I knew you would eventually come but your timing is always a surprise," Mark said.
"Well, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise. You know I would feel the surge of power a fortnight ago. I gave you this long to get settled."
"When you say surge of power..." Nicholas cocked his head to one side. "Do you mean the attack? Or what they did with the Silmarils? Or -"
"Both." Gandalf nodded solemnly. "I would have intervened if they hadn't, Ñolofinwë, but I knew it was better for several reasons to let them figure out what the Silmarils are capable of... what the four of you are capable of. So I made myself hold back and not interfere, which was very difficult. I'm glad you've recovered... and that the three of you are finally starting to awaken."
"So you felt the attack." Sören scowled and folded his arms. "Why didn't you stop it from happening in the first place?"
"That, Fëanáro, is what I'm about to get to, but first, let me answer your question with a question. The attack happened at an antique shop called Curious Goods, yes?"
"Yes," Nicholas said. "I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when it happened, that I was reacting to the horror movie atmosphere of the shop. I found out after the fact that Sören and Anthony had watched what happened in the palantir." Nicholas sighed. "Sören had told me he didn't like the shop. I didn't see the harm of going in. I wish I hadn't."
"Had you been there before?" Gandalf glanced at Sören.
"So..." Sören took a deep breath and gave a nervous laugh. "In November 2014, I did a bachelor auction to raise money for the Children's Hospital. Two guys got into a bidding war over me. The creepy guy who owns the shop, and Nicholas."
"You bought nothing at the shop?" Gandalf asked.
"Correct," Nicholas said.
"So there's nothing that could have come home with you that could be used as a sort of homing device."
Nicholas found that strange - but then, if he'd been magically attacked in the store, that wasn't such a bold assumption. After a minute Nicholas remembered something. "There's a business card he put into the pocket of my trenchcoat. I forgot it was there -" He got up and went to the coatrack.
Just a simple little business card gave him an uneasy feeling, even though the temperature was normal and it didn't feel like it was throbbing. It looked like a normal business card, heavy card stock, a plain black background with an elegant silver foil script below small caps denoting the name of the store. The proprietor's name was Marion Allendale.
Nicholas handed the card to Gandalf, who frowned at it, then the card floated over to Mark. Mark's eyes widened and he swore in Quenya before the card floated back to Gandalf. Gandalf pointed his finger and they watched as a beam of white light shot out and made the card disintegrate.
"Marion," Mark growled, and shook his head. "I should have realized."
"Wait," Anthony said. "That sounds like Mairon."
"Yes," Gandalf said. "Marion Allendale - like Mairon Ainulindalë. He's using a similar playbook to you, 'Mark', I suppose, with aliases."
"Sauron runs the bloody antique shop?" Nicholas couldn't believe it, even though it made too much sense.
"Yes, Ñolofinwë. That was who attacked you. ...Who tried to kill you recently."
"Wait wait wait, hold up." Sören put up a hand and started glaring again. "Motherfucking Sauron has been running an antique shop in London all this time, and you've just... done nothing? Do you not care? Do you not have any powers anymore? Or is there some sort of con going on with Manwë and Morgoth and you're in on it -"
"Now, now, Fëanáro, let's not jump to conclusions." Gandalf floated his empty tea cup over to the tray on the coffee table. "The correct answer to this is 'none of the above'. Something else entirely."
"This better be fucking good." Sören looked ready to kill.
"It starts with why you're here." Gandalf gestured at the three of them. "In some universes, you were re-embodied in your original Quendi forms. In some other universes, the Valar presented you with a choice about how you would be reborn, whether you would be re-embodied as Quendi again, or if you would prefer to take another form. Nienna thought that giving you an option to be re-embodied as something else would perhaps ease the trauma of what you'd endured, which is why you had a choice while others did not. You, Fëanáro, chose to be mortal when you saw your son was wandering the world of Men, all alone. Naturally your brothers followed suit."
There was a long pause, as Sören, Anthony, and Nicholas considered what had been said. Nicholas knew how much Fëanor loved his sons, especially Maglor, there was nothing Fëanor would not do for his sons. It made a lot of sense that Fëanor would choose a human incarnation for the sake of finding Maglor and reuniting with him, and a lot of sense that Fingolfin and Finarfin would go wherever Fëanor did. That was beautiful to Nicholas, in a sad way.
Mark's eyes misted. Sören teared up too, and Sören attempted to smile at him across the room, as Nicholas squeezed Sören's hand. Then the scowl was back on Sören's face. "You said... 'some other universes.' Not this one?"
"You were not given a choice in this world," Gandalf said. "But I had seen the other worlds where you were, and so... it was my choice, when you were released from Mandos, to send you here, so Macalaurë would not be alone. But more than that, Fëanáro."
"I'm afraid I don't follow with what this has to do with why you've just let Sauron hang out in London for however the fuck long he's been here," Sören said.
"I was about to get to that, if you'd let me finish," Gandalf said.
Sören folded his arms.
"You were severely wronged by Melkor. I know you also blame Manwë as being ultimately responsible and I'm not here to try to argue with you about that. After the War of the Ring, Sauron's body was destroyed and because the One Ring was destroyed, he could not re-embody himself. But then... Melkor found a way to break through the Door of Night. He re-embodied his chief servant, Mairon, himself, and Sauron has been quietly gathering power for the last five years with the shop he owns. He chose London because all three of you are here. He has tried, and failed, to kill each of you."
Anthony's hand covered his mouth and when he pulled it away, he was shaking. "Did he... the accident..."
"Justin Roberts was a destructive idiot on his own, a real bad apple, but he had recently been to Curious Goods and was under Sauron's influence from a good-luck charm he'd bought. You were meant to die in that car accident, Arafinwë. Because Sauron used a human agent to do his dirty work for him, it was hidden from my sight until it already happened." Gandalf lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Forgive me."
"And he would have won the bachelor auction if Nicholas hadn't," Sören said. "Killing me might have been the least bad thing he'd do to me."
Gandalf nodded. "He probably would have kept you alive for a time as... well, never mind. I think you all know what Sauron is capable of."
"Jesus." Anthony shuddered and held Sören tight. Nicholas clung to them as well, not wanting to think about it, glad that Sören was here with them, safe. Beloved.
"You still haven't explained why -" Sören looked ready to kill again.
"I'm about to get to that." Gandalf gave Sören a stern look. He went on, "I have been doing damage control - trying to track down the people who buy things from the shop and intervene before they can be seriously harmed, or harm someone else. It's much easier said than done, Sauron has everything specially shielded to keep us from tracing. We have been too late, too much of the time. As I said, I didn't know about Justin Roberts until the thing had been done. And yes, I could attempt to fight Sauron. But Sauron's work in this world is empowering Morgoth, feeding on what happens to Sauron's victims, and it seemed to us that it would be much more fair and just and right and proper for you to deal with Sauron yourselves, when you were ready and capable of doing so. A blow to Sauron is a blow to Morgoth. I did not feel it was right to take that away from you. I can, and will, assist you if you need it. But it would be much better if you found a way to take care of it without my help."
That also made sense to Nicholas, and that answer seemed to satisfy Sören. "Much more satisfying to kill him myself than let you do it," Sören said, "after all that fucker did."
"Exactly."
"We should go to Curious Goods and kick his ass." Sören's jaw clenched.
Nicholas put a hand on Sören's arm - as much as he loved that fighting spirit in Sören, he knew from before what kind of trouble it could get into. Before he could say anything, Gandalf shook his head. "I would exercise great caution and restraint, Fëanáro. You are more powerful than you know - and yet, you know how powerful your enemies are."
"He's right," Mark said. "Think of what was done to Maitimo. That's just a taste of what they're capable of."
"Other universes," Anthony said. He raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell us what you've seen, if there's anywhere else we've taken them on...?"
"I haven't seen every universe," Gandalf said. "The ones I have... it's a bit tricky. The universes all flow on different times. There is, for example, a universe I know of where you all are present and it's already the year 2034. There is another universe where you entered the timeline earlier and it just got done with World War II."
"OK, and..." Anthony narrowed his eyes.
"There is a universe where the three of you were re-embodied as Quendi and you fought Morgoth and Sauron at the Dagor Dagorath and... well, they lost, but everyone lost. That universe was destroyed. It was like two great powers having a nuclear standoff, but with magic."
"Fuck." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, while Sören sat there open-mouthed. Nicholas closed his eyes and saw the vision of a black hole whirling... ripples through other dimensions, like entire universes contained within galaxies. Nicholas opened his eyes and shivered. He suddenly wanted to be elsewhere very, very badly. Somewhere there was a blue pill, where he could unsee what he'd just seen.
"There is a universe where you fought Morgoth, and other gods, and won... but... you are the worse for wear. Especially you, Sören. Very deeply traumatized. The battle is never over, in your mind. That would be the universe where it's currently the year 2034."
"I see." Sören slumped in his seat and looked down.
"I have no easy answers for you about how you should go about taking on Sauron, only that it needs to be your job... and there is a great risk involved. Not just to your bodies, but here." Gandalf put a hand on his heart. "There is a saying, 'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.' Sauron needs to be stopped, but unleashing the sort of power and ferocity it takes to stop him is... a dangerous prospect, especially with your tendencies, Fëanáro. Once you release the wolf from his bonds, it is very hard to put him back in."
Another long silence, and finally Gandalf asked, "Do you have any other questions for me?"
Nicholas had a lot of questions, but he didn't think any of them were the sort that Gandalf could answer. Sören had something more to say, but it wasn't a question.
"Maybe the Silmarils should be donated to science, like you suggested," Sören said, looking into Nicholas's eyes. "They healed you. I perform surgery most days a week on people with life-threatening conditions. Some of them don't make it. Imagine if I could heal -"
"That's a bad idea," Mark said.
Gandalf nodded. "He's right."
"How is it a bad idea to heal people, exactly?" Sören asked.
"Because it's one thing to heal them and another thing to make them immortal, like an Elf." Mark shook his head. "Most people wouldn't be able to handle it. Some people... shouldn't be immortal. You and I both know that the first people who would be given access to the Silmarils and their power are exactly the sort of people who would put themselves in power for eternity. Like Donald Trump. Do you really want God-Emperor Donald Trump taking over the world?"
Sören made a noise of disgust while Anthony and Nicholas cringed. "OK, fuck that idea."
"It would also change your lives and not for the better," Mark said. "You would get government attention for having found the Silmarils. They would find a way to make you disappear... and then try to figure out what exactly you know. What exactly you're capable of. I try to keep as low of a profile as I possibly can to keep that from happening, and that's without the Silmarils complicating things. You don't want that kind of publicity, Atya."
"There may be a time and a place where it might be appropriate to aid individual people, if you think you can do it without getting caught," Gandalf said. "But as much as you want to help, consider carefully that you'd be doing more harm than good, to try to make them public use. Not just immortality being granted to the wrong people, or to those who think they want it and don't understand what they're getting themselves into. It would shake up the entire structure of the world, as religions were undermined and new ones were created, with new dogma and new holy wars. You would see governments destabilize. It's not a pretty picture. The Holy Grail has ever been a mystery for the chosen few, and so it must be with the Silmarils as well. To do otherwise is to burn the world down and watch who fights to rule the ashes."
Nicholas was in shock that for the briefest instant, Sören had actually considered what he'd suggested back in 2016 after the first Silmaril had been recovered. Nicholas was very glad now that Sören hadn't listened to him. The world was going to be a difficult enough place to get adjusted to over the coming decades without the Silmarils becoming public knowledge and being used by those in power.
I love you, Nicholas spoke into Sören's mind, followed by you stubborn arse.
It takes one to know one, Sören shot back, with the mental image of Fingolfin standing against Morgoth in single combat, knowing the odds were against him. Fingolfin fighting to avenge Fëanor, feeling like he had nothing left to lose. Nicholas felt the Fëanor part of Sören aching. I love you too.
We shan't let them win this time. Nicholas leaned in to give Sören a kiss. No one, nothing, will take you from me again. But that means we must be careful.
"Any further questions?" Gandalf looked around.
Anthony gave a wry smile. "Sounds like we're in court, doesn't it."
There was nothing - except Nicholas wanting to be polite and give a little something back to someone who had given them such valuable knowledge and insight. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
chapter 19 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index