What I am writing is

Only to satisfy the

Longings of a certain creature

For Warg flesh.

A couple of reviewers asked me to write another Anomen/Legolas ficlet, so, back by popular demand, so to speak…

            A messenger rode into camp just as the scouts were finishing the evening meal.

"Taurmeldir," said the messenger, "Lord Elrond wishes you to return to the Hall.  Plans are afoot for a great riding, and you and some of your scouts are to be numbered amongst it.  Tactics are being considered now, and your advice is sought."

            "Does he wish my scouts to return as well?"

            "No.  Lord Elrond wishes your lieutenant to lead them ten leagues into Dunland.  They are to make sure that our warriors' path will be clear at least that far."

            Elladan, Elrohir, Thoron, and Anomen talked excitedly as they cleaned the supper dishes.

            "At last!" gloated Elrohir.  "At last we are going to strike against our enemies!"

"You say, 'we'," Thoron observed.  "Like as not we will be remaining behind in Rivendell or, at best, continuing our duties as scouts."

"Why should we not be included in the riding?" demanded Elrohir indignantly.

"As Elves, we are still numbered among the young."

"I am over a thousand years old," complained Elrohir.  "How much longer will I be treated like an elfling!?  And Anomen here has skirmished with Orc, Warg, and Man!  He at least can no longer be considered a novice."

"Anomen has also," Thoron pointed out, "managed to get himself covered with spider bites by disobeying orders.  That is not likely to recommend him to Glorfindel as he decides on the make-up of the force."

Anomen nodded.  "I have to agree with Thoron.  Scouts will still be needed in Imladris, and it would be more sensible for Glorfindel to assign us to that task rather than to spare older, more experienced warriors."

Elrohir struck his hand upon the ground.  "But Elladan and I have more cause than most to ride against those foul creatures that lurk about Dol Goldur.  All these years we have been training, training, training—and for what if we are never to be allowed to avenge our Naneth!?"

The four Elves fell silent.  Elrohir's face was a study in frustration and rage.  Elladan, on the other hand, had a faraway look on his face, as if he were remembering the mother who had been so cruelly tormented by Orcs.

Glumly, the four young Elves finished their chores and returned to camp.

            At the very time that this discussion was taking place, Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, and Mithrandir were reaching a very different conclusion.

            "Elrond," said Glorfindel, "remember when you first sent Anomen, Elladan, and Elrohir on patrol?"

            Elrond raised an eyebrow.  "Would I be likely to forget?  Elladan and Elrohir were captured by the Southrons on that sortie.  And Anomen," Elrond added thoughtfully, "killed his first Man."

            "You remember what motivated you?  You wanted the younger Elves to get a taste of the warrior's life before we were in a state of outright hostility."

            "Yes," sighed Elrond.  "I thought—hoped—that we still had the luxury of time so that they could be slowly introduced to their duties."

            "We do not have that luxury," said Glorfindel bluntly.  "I would like the young ones to be included in this riding: your sons, your foster-son, and their friend Thoron."

            "Glorfindel is right," said Mithrandir.  "There is more at stake here than the battle for Mirkwood"—Anomen's name for that forest had come into general use—"for I deem that there is a malevolent power at work there that will soon envelop all of Middle Earth in its machinations.  We may drive it from its fortress at Dol Guldur, but in doing so we will not defeat it.  Nay, likely enough our efforts will do no more than force it, willy nilly, into the open, and the resulting struggle will be a terrible one.  We should take every opportunity to send the young ones into the initial battles so that they are prepared for the later ones—for each battle shall be more terrible than the previous one."

            Elrond nodded somberly.  "You are right, my old friend.  When Taurmeldir's scouts return, all of them, even the youngest, will take their place in the vanguard."

            The old friends sat silently for several moments, each pondering the hard choice that they had made.  Erestor at last bestirred himself and tried to lighten the gloomy atmosphere.

"Well," he said, "we must keep in mind that, had we not decided to officially include them in the riding, no doubt they would have contrived to unofficially attach themselves to it.  At least we will know where they are and be able to supervise them."

"You are of course correct, Erestor," agreed Elrond, allowing himself to smile.  "Moreover, the trellis has been askew ever since the last time Anomen made his escape down it, and no doubt it will soon collapse outright if we do not concede them their places amongst the warriors."

All joined in the laughter.  Then Erestor arose.

"With your permission, Elrond, I need to return to overseeing the ingathering of the supplies."

"And I," said Glorfindel, likewise arising, "have to supervise the final preparation of some items of weaponry."

 Elrond nodded at the two.  When they had left, Mithrandir sighed and rolled his goblet in his hands.

"You are troubled, Mithrandir."

"Yes, Elrond."

"If you are concerned about Anomen, I think you need not be.  In the company of Dwarves, he has skirmished with Orcs.  When it was needful for Elladan's rescue, he steeled himself in order to slay a Man.  As a member of Glorfindel and Erestor's company, he held his own when they were forced to battle a force of Dunlendings much larger than their own.  Tracked by a warg in Fangorn Forest, he slew it.  He is as ready—mayhap more ready—than any of the other young ones."

"Indeed, Elrond, it is not Anomen who concerns me at this time."

An expression of surprise flitted across Elrond's face.

"Who then?"

"Your own sons, Elrond, especially Elrohir, who has ever been a little more rash than Elladan."

"What do you fear?"

"Elrond, they have waited long to strike back at the vile beasts that tortured their mother.  In the matter of Orcs, all Elves have a general score to settle; Elladan and Elrohir, however, have a most particular wrong that they wish to avenge.  But the desire for vengeance can cloud the mind, as should not happen in battle.  Your sons must come to understand that vengeance is least likely to be achieved when it is consciously sought in the heat of conflict.  No, in such a case, death for the avenger is the likelier outcome."

Elrond nodded somberly.  "You are right, my friend—as always.  My children and I have not often spoken of their mother, her sufferings, and her departure for the Grey Haven.  In this I have been selfish.  Now, however, I will broach the matter as soon as ever I may, and I swear to you that we shall not depart Rivendell until we have reached an understanding."

Satisfied, the wizard arose and took his leave of Elrond.  After his departure, long did that elf-lord remain alone in the chamber, staring into a fire in which visions appeared that brought him both great joy and great sorrow.

TBC