Someone—I think it may have been CAH—suggested I write a story showing Glorfindel and Anomen's first meeting. Actually, they first met each other in the story "Dining Out," but they got off to a rough start in that tale because Anomen was caught trying to filch food from Glorfindel's breakfast tray. So I have written an episode in which they become better acquainted under more favorable circumstances.

When Anomen tells Glorfindel that he has raced wolves, eluded watchers, and felled foul folk, he is alluding to events in The Nameless One. When Anomen ran away from Greenwood, he had to outrun wolves who were lurking in the fringes of the forest. Crossing the plain between Greenwood and Lothlórien, he shot Orcs in a skirmish in which he became a temporary ally of a band of Dwarves. (He also knocked down a Man in Dunland when escaping from the village in which he had been imprisoned.) As for eluding watchers, he bypassed sentries when he slipped away from Lothlórien.

I have not yet responded to all my reviewers, but, as usual, I will catch up. For now, I would like to acknowledge the following reviewers of Episode 9: Lady Ambreanna, Foxgurl0000, and CAH. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.

Vocabulary

Anor—Sun (Sindarin)

Celon—River (Sindarin)

Ethuil—Spring (Sindarin)

Hên—Eye (Sindarin)

Ithil—Moon (Sindarin)

Lhing—Spider web (Sindarin)

Lhûg—Snake (Sindarin)

Nínim—Snowdrop (Sindarin)

Episode 10: The Eye

"Another fosterling," Glorfindel said gloomily. "Elrond, you are too soft-hearted. It seems that every waif in Eriador eventually ends up on your doorstep."

"And I have never yet regretted taking in a single one of them," Elrond replied.

"You haven't," Glorfindel retorted. "But you are not the one who has to track them down and rescue them when they fall into crevasses or get their feet trapped in tree crotches or slide down cliffs and get stuck on a ledge halfway down."

"You should be grateful," Elrond rejoined, "for they have provided you with occasion for practicing your skills at very little cost to yourself."

A muted knock was heard just then.

"Ah, that must be the lad," Elrond said. "I have sent for him so that you may become better acquainted. Do try to look a little less fierce, Glorfindel. If you frighten him away, you will be forced to commence elfling tracking this very afternoon—and as you have just returned from battling Orcs, I should have thought you would have wanted a few days of rest first."

Glorfindel glowered at his friend and then tried to assume a neutral expression as the door was slowly pushed open in response to Elrond's cry of 'Enter'. An elfling sidled into the room. His hair glowed golden, but his blue eyes were wary.

'If he were any skinnier', Glorfindel thought to himself, 'he would be as transparent as a window pane. Who has been looking after him, I wonder'.

The elfling was still standing by the door. Elrond smiled encouragingly at him and gestured for him to come closer. The young one took a step and then another, all the while trying to watch Glorfindel without appearing to watch Glorfindel.

Glorfindel looked down at a map spread upon Elrond's table and pretended to study it. "I think," he said to Elrond, "that we should increase the frequency of patrols upon the borders of Hollin." He pointed to an area of the map. "The Dunlendings move ever south. We must put a stop to these incursions before hostilities break out between our peoples."

At the word 'Dunlendings', the elfling grimaced. 'So he is not fond of these Men', Glorfindel thought. 'I must try another tack'.

"Have you seen the newest foal, Elrond?" he tried next. "He is a feisty one with the clean lines of his sire. I do not doubt but that he will be speedy enough to outrun even the fell wolves who have lately haunted the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Today Lindir was in the stable eyeing the young stallion. I think he would like to train him to bear messengers between here and Lothlórien."

The elfling unconsciously took several steps toward his elders. Both Elves noticed, but neither let on. "I have other plans for that foal," Elrond said. "I thought he could be trained as a mount for one of the young ones."

"Elladan and Elrohir each have a horse," Glorfindel pointed out.

"True, but what about this lad here?"

Glorfindel pretended to be doubtful. "The foal is very spirited. Do you think the lad would be able to control him?"

By now the elfling was standing at Glorfindel's elbow. He stood very erect and spoke for the first time since entering the chamber.

"You Rivendell Elves fear the inhabitants of Dunland," he challenged the balrog slayer, "but I crossed that land alone and escaped many foes. If I can manage that, then I can manage a foal."

"A foal does not remain a foal," Glorfindel replied.

"And I will not remain an elfling," the lad retorted.

"Glorfindel," Elrond said gravely. "You have said that the foal is spirited, but the same could be said of this elfling."

"We shall see," Glorfindel said noncommittally. "Young one, I am Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog Slayer. I ride the fastest, most powerful stallion in this realm, one that has trampled Trolls and daunted dragons. It was my mount sired that foal. What makes you think that you can control the offspring of such a great steed?"

"I am Anomen," replied the lad bravely. "No Name is as great as mine. I race wolves; I elude watchers; I fell foul folk."

"Aye, and you steal the breakfasts left outside folks' doors," Glorfindel added dryly.

Anomen colored. "Oh, was that you?"

"Do not pretend innocence. You got a good look at me."

This was true. Anomen had gotten a very good look at Glorfindel, who slept naked and had come to the door to collect his breakfast clad only in what Men nowadays call a 'bed jacket'. The scantiness of this garment was the reason that Glorfindel had left off pursuing the fleeing elfling. The balrog slayer had feared losing his dignity in the course of catching a breakfast bandit.

Elrond spoke up. "I think we have established that Anomen is crafty and a quick runner. That does not mean, however, that he can manage a great horse such as this foal will grow to be. What more would be required for him to do so, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel considered. "Arm strength," he declared. "Older Elves may control a horse by voice alone, but an elfling should be able to rein in a steed, especially one that has been spooked. I should not want an elfling to be carried away by an impetuous horse."

"Does Anomen have sufficient arm strength?"

"We shall have to assay the matter," Glorfindel replied.

"And how are we to do that?"

"Archery," Glorfindel avowed. "He may demonstrate his arm strength through archery."

By now the wary expression was utterly gone from Anomen's eyes, replaced by a look of excitement.

'So the lad likes archery', Glorfindel thought to himself, pleased. Aloud, though, he spoke brusquely. "I shall expect to see you on the training field tomorrow after breakfast."

"Oh, yes, Glorfindel," Anomen assured him.

"That's Lord Glorfindel," Elrond admonished him.

"Lord Glorfindel," said Anomen promptly.

'So,' the balrog slayer thought to himself, 'the lad is feisty and sharp-witted, but he can also be obedient at need, and he is willing to work hard to achieve his ends. This latest fosterling may indeed repay Elrond's trust in him'.

Elrond picked up a scroll. "Anomen, I must hear the remainder of Lord Glorfindel's report from his mission to the border."

Anomen bowed and took a step toward the door. Then he hesitated. "Lord Glorfindel, I have lately been in Dunland."

"So you have said," Glorfindel answered, suppressing a smile at the memory of Anomen's grand account of himself.

"I saw much as I traversed that land."

Elrond quirked one of his famous eyebrows. This was an unexpected development. The elf-lord hadn't been sure that Anomen would say anything at all, and now it seemed that the lad wanted to report in as if he were a scout.

Glorfindel, meanwhile, had taken a seat and gestured that Anomen should do likewise. The lad's legs dangled as he perched on a great wooden chair. Still, even though the elfling was dwarfed by the furniture, he was not daunted by the keen questioning of the weapons-master. Step by step Glorfindel led Anomen to retrace his journey through Dunland. The elfling gave a full account of everything he had learned: both what he saw from the fringes of settlements as well as the situation of the village into which he had been dragged by the hunters who had stumbled upon him. He described the drought-blasted fields, the ramshackle cottages, and the fences and outbuildings in ill repair. He told Glorfindel of the threadbare appearance of the people and the gauntness of the animals. He numbered the folk to the last child, paying particular attention to the Men of fighting age, whose weapons he described in great detail.

When Anomen was finished, Glorfindel arose and poured himself a glass of wine and then carefully measured a little wine into a second goblet into which he added water. This second goblet he handed to Anomen.

"Your throat must be dry after speaking at such length," he said gravely. The wine was so diluted that Anomen could only taste a slight fruitiness, but he had never before been offered wine of any strength. Slowly he sipped it, as he did so unconsciously swinging his feet. Glorfindel hid a smile at the sight. The lad was trying so hard to be grown-up, but he was really only a little elfling.

Elrond, too, hid a smile as he joined the two in imbibing an evening glass of wine. Once he had drained his cup, however, he and Glorfindel spoke earnestly together for a time.

"From Anomen's report," Elrond began, "it would seem that conditions in Dunland have declined—and they were never overmuch good to begin with."

"True," agreed Glorfindel. "And that would no doubt account for the fact that their hunters are entering territories that they normally avoid. Our territories."

"If we could in some way relieve their suffering, then perchance they would not trespass," Elrond suggested.

"And how are we to do that without seeming to condescend? Do we ride into their settlements and offer them our charity? They may grudgingly accept our aid to preserve their children, but they would feel ashamed at their inability to take care of their own."

"No, we do not want to provoke their resentment by humiliating them," Elrond agreed. "We must offer them aid, but without seeming to do so."

"A trade pact, perhaps?"

"Aye, a trade pact."

"The problem, of course," mused Glorfindel, "is that they have so little to offer in trade. And if they had," he added wryly, "we wouldn't be having this conversation because then they would not be impoverished."

Elrond smiled wryly as well. Then he resumed.

"The Dunlendings have no foodstuffs beyond what is necessary to keep them alive. They cannot spare any goats or cows or other livestock; nor have they any cloth and leather beyond that out of which they patch together poorly fashioned garments. They have access to veins of iron, but they are not notable smiths, so the objects that they produce would find no market beyond the borders of their own land. But from Anomen's account, it would seem that there is an object that they make well and for which there would be a market."

"And what is this remarkable object?"

"Marbles."

"Marbles?"

"Aye, marbles. Tiny glass or ceramic or agate balls with which their children play a game of skill. The children draw a circle in the dirt, and they take aim at one another's marbles, each trying to knock his opponent's marbles out of the circle."

"I know what marbles are, Elrond," Glorfindel said impatiently. "I have lived a long time. Twice," he added dryly.

"Oh, indeed. In any event, from what Anomen has told us, these small toys serve as bright spots in what is an otherwise drab existence. It seems that they are glazed quite colorfully or that the stones chosen for their manufacture are of vibrant hues. Now, the raw materials out of which the marbles are made are very cheap: clay for the ceramic ones, sand for the glass, and bits of quartz for the agate. Moreover, these are materials that the Dunlendings can spare."

Glorfindel was beginning to look interested. "True," he mused. "Marbles can neither be eaten nor worn. But the market, Elrond. Where shall we find a market for marbles?"

"We shall buy some outright, for I suspect that our elflings would take to playing with them. But in the main we shall arrange to send them on to Breeland and the Shire. The folk in those parts are flourishing and well able to indulge their children. Marbles from beyond their borders would be familiar enough to be safe but foreign enough to be desirable as curiosities. They will snap up the marbles, and the money will allow the Dunlendings to purchase supplies to tide them over until the rains return to their land."

"I like this plan, and we shall be able to put it into effect rapidly, for traders from Breeland should be visiting soon," Glorfindel observed.

"Yes, and before they do, let us send a messenger to Dunland with a flag of truce to ask that marbles be brought to the border."

"A flag of truce plus an escort," Glorfindel said quickly. "Some Dunlendings are not to be trusted."

"You might have said that many Dunlendings are not to be trusted," Elrond agreed sadly. "Poverty and fear make folk behave ill, as Anomen discovered."

The two Elves looked over at the elfling, who sat nodding in his chair. "How much wine did you give him?" asked Elrond softly.

"Only a little. Not enough to make him so sleepy. It is late, Elrond."

Anomen's head lolled over to the side, and his eyes glazed over. Glorfindel arose and gently lifted him into his arms.

"I shall carry him to his room, Elrond," the balrog slayer said.

Elrond quirked both eyebrows. "I thought you didn't like fosterlings," he teased his friend.

"This one has made himself useful," Glorfindel replied gruffly.

"If you say so," smiled Elrond.

"I do say so. And I am Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog-slayer."

"In that case, it must be so. Well, do carry to his chamber Anomen the Wolf-racer, Eluder of Watchers and Feller of Foul Folk."

"That is a good name."

'But someday he will have a better', Elrond thought to himself. Aloud he said, "I shall accompany you to tuck Anomen in and to see to Elladan and Elrohir likewise."

"Good luck on that. Didn't you see the twins pass by the window? They disappeared into the garden."

"I was standing with my back to the window. Very well. I shall hunt up the twins whilst you tuck Anomen into bed—unless you would like to switch tasks."

"Hah! I think not. For once, you must be the tracker."

Gloating, Glorfindel turned at once and carried Anomen from the room and to the chamber the lad shared with the twins now that Mithrandir had departed to resume his wanderings. The elf-lord gently laid the elfling upon the featherbed. With equal care, he slipped off the lad's boots before making sure he was well lapped in the duvet. Then Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog-slayer, hesitated.

'Kissing the elfling is part of tucking in, I believe', he said to himself. "Well, I would not have it said that Glorfindel failed in his duty'.

With that, the elf-lord bent down and kissed Anomen upon the brow. The elfling murmured and smiled in his sleep. Glorfindel smiled a little as well. Then he hastily stood erect and assumed a business-like expression. 'There now', he said briskly. 'I have done the job properly'. With that, the balrog-slayer strode from the room, making sure to glower at a surprised servant that he encountered in the hall without.

A fortnight later, a wagon driven by a Dunlending but escorted by Elves descended into the valley of Imladris. The sacks of marbles could have been conveyed in saddlebags, but the Dunlendings sent a wagon because they preferred to trade for foodstuffs rather than money. "For where shall we spend the coins," their chieftain had said, "when no one in our land possesses a surplus of goods?" Elrond was agreeable and had ordered that sacks of grain equivalent to the price agreed upon for the marbles be prepared.

Anomen hid behind a statue and watched the lading of the wagon. In spite of his brave words to Elrond and Glorfindel, he was still frightened of the Men who had threatened to sell him to Southron slavers. If the Elves lading the wagon knew of his presence, they gave no sign as they went about their business. Per Elrond's orders, the grain sacks had been fashioned to be a little larger than usual and were stuffed as full as possible. Elrond also had ordered that one extra sack of grain be placed in the wagon as if the Elves had miscounted the load. If the driver noticed the Elves' generosity, he did not speak of it. Nor had Elrond expected him to. The elf-lord's goal was to lend the Dunlendings as much aid as possible without causing them embarrassment. His plan succeeded admirably, for it was many years before conflict again broke out between the Dunlendings and the Elves of Imladris. The humans lived off the grain until the rains returned and they were able to harvest a good crop. The rains continued sufficient for many a season, and the Dunlendings thus continued content with their lot. At last, however, they began to listen to the blandishments of a honey-voiced speaker who slipped in and out of their land from a stronghold in the south of Fangorn Forest. Then it was that the Dunlendings were beguiled into mounting raids against the Elves. But for now they were glad of the grain and gave no thought to anything other than that they would survive until the next harvest.

After the Dunlending had departed with his load of grain, Anomen came forth to join Elladan and Elrohir, who had been hovering nearby. Elrond gave each a pouch filled with marbles. Soon the three were happily engaged in shooting the tiny colorful balls within a circle in the dirt. Like young ones everywhere, they assigned names to their marble. Elladan dubbed one 'Turtle' for its tortoiseshell-like pattern of green and yellow. Another Elladan called 'Ithil' or 'Moon'. Its silver color was marked with grey flecks of grey that looked like miniature craters. Anomen had one he called 'Ethuil' or 'Spring' for its golden-green color, and another he named 'Celon' or 'River' for its blue streaks. Elrohir gave the name 'Bumblebee' to one that had yellow and black stripes, and he named another 'Anor' or Sun for its sunburst pattern.

As the weeks passed, individual marbles changed hands many times, for the elflings enjoyed trading their marbles when not winning them from each other outright. Anomen came into possession of a marble Elrohir had named 'Lhûg' or 'Snake' for its scaly pattern, and Elladan became the owner of 'Lhing' or 'Spider web', named by Anomen for its pattern of fine lines. One marble alone never changed hands. It had been at the bottom of Anomen's pouch, and it bore the semblance of a lidless eye ringed in red, its pupil slitted like a snake's. Anomen called the globe 'Hên', and he disliked handling or even looking upon it. In vain he tried to trade the 'Eye' to Elladan or Elrohir, at last even offering to throw in not one but two extra marbles. The twins could not be tempted, however, and Anomen wrapped the marble in a bit of cloth so that he would not have to look upon it.

"Why don't you throw it away," Elladan asked him one day. "You could toss it in the Bruinen, or you could dig a hole and bury it."

Anomen shook his head. "I do not know why," he said somberly, "but I do not feel as if the Eye can be gotten rid of so easily. It would resurface—I am sure of it. At least I shall know where it is and that it is not getting into trouble."

Elladan raised his eyebrows, looking like a miniature Elrond, but then he returned to the game, doing his best to win one of Elrohir's marbles that he particularly admired. This was 'Nínim', named after the flower Men call the 'Snowdrop'. "Hah!" he gloated after a successful shot. Seizing the Snowdrop, he forgot about the Eye, as did Anomen.

Eventually the elflings put aside their marbles, for as they grew older, weapons training took up more and more of their time. Anomen reached the elven equivalent of adolescence and was acknowledged to be Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. Forgotten, the pouch was pushed into a corner of a wardrobe, and Legolas went off to achieve many feats of arms, the greatest of which were those performed in the course of the skirmishes and battles leading up to the destruction of the One Ring and the restoration of the combined kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.

At the conclusion of the War of the Ring, as these battles came to be collectively known, Legolas journeyed to many places in company with his great friend Gimli son of Glóin. On one of these journeys, the two dwelled for a time in Rivendell. They stayed in the very room that had been Legolas's bedchamber, and one evening Legolas rummaged about in his old wardrobe. There in the back lay his pouch of marbles, undisturbed. He poured the contents of the pouch unto his bed and began to push them about with his fingers. Gimli drew near.

"Those are uncommonly beautiful marbles," the Dwarf observed. "Some of them are gemlike."

"Yes," agreed Legolas. He held up Nínim the Snowdrop. Elladan had won it from Elrohir, and then Legolas had won it from him. Legolas smiled at the memory. He showed Gimli each marble, recounting its name and history. "This one," he said, holding up a green marble and laughing, "has a particularly memorable history. Arwen swallowed it!"

Gimli made a face. "How ever did you retrieve it?"

"The nursemaid found it in her chamber pot and returned it to me."

"Ugh!"

"Well, she did wash it first!"

"What is wrapped up there?" asked Gimli, pointing at a tiny scrap of cloth that Legolas had ignored. The Elf made a face. "Oh, that is a very ugly marble. I didn't care for it. Elladan and Elrohir didn't care for it either."

"Odd, as the other marbles are so beautiful." Before Legolas could stop him, Gimli had unwrapped the Eye.

"You are quite mistaken, Legolas. This is a very pretty marble."

Surprised, Legolas took it from his friend and held it up to the light. It was indeed a beautiful marble. Instead of a lidless eye ringed in red, with its snake's pupil, Legolas now saw an eye as lovely and guileless as Arwen's.

'This is most strange', he murmured to himself. 'There is no harm in this marble—not now, anyhow. I remember that Elrond feared the power of his ring would be diminished with the destruction of the One Ring. This may be so in the end. So far, though, Vilya, the Ring of Wind, has merely been liberated from the Shadow that o'erhung it so that Elrond has been able to use it without fear. Perhaps a shadow likewise hung over this tiny globe, a magic spell like unto the enchantment laid on the Palantír that became Aragorn's after the fall of Isengard. If so, that shadow has been dispelled'.

Aloud he said, "You are right, Gimli. This marble is as beautiful as any of its fellows."

The Elf returned the marbles to their pouch. When he and Gimli departed Rivendell, he put the pouch into his saddlebag and so at length returned with it to Minas Tirith. Eldarion was a toddler then, and Legolas gave the pouch to Arwen. "For your son, when he is a little older," he said. "For we both know," he added, laughing, "that it is not good to let very little children play with marbles, for everything they grasp they put into their mouths!"

Arwen blushed a little but joined in Legolas's laughter, as did Aragorn when he was told the story. He, too, had swallowed his share of small objects, and the three reminisced about the mischief he had gotten into when he had been Eldarion's age.

It is not recorded that Eldarion ever swallowed any of the marbles. Still, he was seen to play with them. Often his father would kneel beside him and enter into a light-hearted battle for possession of the tiny globes. Whenever Legolas visited, he would join in, too. He was glad to be able to put aside his weapons and to play as if he were an elfling once more. "When he was a child, he spoke as a child," Glorfindel had said wistfully one day as he stood by Elrond watching Legolas parrying Elrohir's sword thrusts. "He understood as a child, he thought as a child; but when he became an adult, he put away childish things."

"He has put aside childish things, Glorfindel, but he is still childlike," Elrond consoled him. "He will always be childlike."

"There is a difference between being childish and being childlike?"

"Glorfindel, I am surprised that a wise Elf such as yourself would not recognize that there is a great difference between the two. To be childish is to be immature—to be self-centered and impulsive. It is tiresome to remain in the company of an adult who is childish. To be childlike, however, is to be full of joy and wonder. It is a delight to be in the company of an adult who is childlike. Now, it is true that Legolas must fulfill his responsibilities and so cannot be as carefree as formerly. Yet he continues hopeful and pure in heart. He would revert to our little Anomen in the space of a second if circumstances permitted."

Decades later, with the flick of a wrist that sent the Eye bowling into Aragorn's Turtle, Legolas proved Elrond correct. The little elfling whose brow the balrog-slayer had kissed, that little elfling had survived—had survived the horror of Moria, the fall of Gandalf, the death of Boromir, the brutal siege of Helm's Deep, the passage through the Paths of the Death, the hopeless march to the Black Gates of Mordor. In that one respect Anomen had been wrong when he declared to Glorfindel that, as the foal would not remain a foal, so he would not remain an elfling. And for that, Glorfindel—and a great many other folk—were to be eternally glad.