In her review to Episode 5 of "Elf Interludes," leralonde wondered how the "little dance" that Anomen and the Cook do first got started. This chapter is an attempt to answer that question. I am placing it in "Elfling Interludes" because it starts at a point when Anomen and the twins are elflings. It does conclude when Anomen is an 'adult' (although still childlike!).
My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.
Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 10 of "Elfling Interludes": Elfinabottle, leralonde, Dragonsofliberty, Ne'ith5, 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.
This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as The Silmarillion.
The description of the mallorn tree is derived from Unfinished Tales.
Anomen's unfortunate first introduction to the Head Cook is recounted in "Dining Out."
Beta Reader: Dragonfly is the beta reader for Parallel Quest, but shorter pieces are posted without a reader. If you catch any errors, please let me know.
Episode 11: Edifice of Trust
Elrond's twin sons had been at war with the Head Cook ever since they nearly ruined a very special pastry that he had baked on the occasion of a visit by the Lady Galadriel. The Lady and her spouse, Lord Celeborn, rarely ventured from Lothlórien. For, indeed, why should they leave the place in which rested the heart of elvendom in Middle-earth? But when their daughter Celebrían gave birth to Arwen, to welcome the child they made the journey across the Misty Mountains, through the Redhorn Gate on the slope of Caradhras the Cruel, and north through Hollin, the abandoned lands of Eregion.
The Cook had known the Lady Galadriel of old, for he had been born in Lothlórien and had served his apprenticeship in her kitchen. He had joined Elrond's household when he accompanied Celebrían as part of her wedding retinue. After Celebrian departed for the Grey Havens, the Cook elected to remain in Rivendell rather than return to Lórien, for, as he said, he 'had got the flour of the place under his fingernails'. However, he still felt great affection for the Lady Galadriel, and when he learned that his former mistress would visit Rivendell, he resolved to welcome her in the way he knew best—through the baking of fine pastries. His creations were already known as the finest in the West, but he resolved to produce pastries superior even to his customary ones.
He labored long on his project, sketching fanciful shapes for his pastries and experimenting with the ingredients. Then, after much careful preparation, he mixed sufficient batter and began to roll out and cut the dough for his handiworks. Some he shaped like dragons; others were fashioned in the likeness of eagles about to take flight. Many took the form of various flowers, chiefly mallos and elanor, lissuin and niphredil. One was a recreation in dough of Eärendil's ship, with a cherry serving as the Mariner's star. Of all the Cook's creations, however, the most magnificent was his pastry sculpture of a mallorn, a tree found only in Lothlórien. He carefully sought out a beech bough that would do as a model for the upswept branches of the mallorn. This bough he covered with an almond paste dyed silver. Then to the twigs he carefully affixed numerous small, thin biscuits shaped like mallorn leaves, that is, like beech leaves, only larger. In summer mallorn leaves are pale green above and silver below, but the Cook chose to color his leaves the pale gold of the autumn mallorn leaf, for it was this color that gave the tree its name, 'golden tree'.
When it was finished, he stood his pastry model in the center of a silver platter, and around it he artfully arranged moss in which he placed some of the pastry deer. Then he stood back and gazed joyfully upon his creation, for the scene reminded him of Cerin Amroth, the grassy mound sacred to all Elves no matter the kingdom in which they dwelt. Sighing a little at his memories of that place, he turned his attention to putting the finishing touches upon the other courses to be served at the feast. Then, everything at the ready, he left the kitchen to survey the settings in the banquet hall one last time.
As soon as he had departed, the elven mice came out to play. Elladan and Elrohir had been loitering in the vicinity of the kitchen that entire day, attracted by the yeasty smell of dough rising. When they saw the Cook and his helpers depart for the banquet hall, they immediately came out from their hiding place behind the statue of Gil-galad and scampered into the kitchen, where they headed straight for the trestle table upon which the pastries were all laid out ready to be carried to the banquet hall for the dessert course. Round and round the table they circled, marveling over the clever confections.
"We are sure to have our share," Elladan said, trying to be virtuous.
"But we shall have to wait ever so long," Elrohir pointed out. "All the other courses will have to be served first. And we will have to wait until all the adults have been served. All the nicest pieces will be chosen before we are allowed to pick our pastries."
"They are all nice, Elrohir, so even after they have been picked over, many tasty desserts are certain to remain."
"Right," exclaimed Elrohir, seizing upon Elladan's words. "Many tasty desserts are certain to remain because the Cook made more than enough. So if we were to eat our share now, what would be the harm?"
Elladan hesitated. Sensing that his brother's resolve was weakening, Elrohir pointed to the mallorn tree. "Look, Elladan. See how many leaves are on that tree. Surely we could nibble a leaf or two without the loss being detected!"
Elladan still hesitated. Emboldened by his brother's silence, Elrohir plucked a leaf from the tree. He broke off an edge and handed it to his brother. Slowly Elladan lifted his hand to his mouth. Once he nibbled upon the leaf, however, he forgot his fears. "That is the best biscuit I have ever eaten!" he exclaimed.
Elrohir plucked two more leaves, one for himself and one for his brother. These they eagerly devoured, and as the foliage on the tree still seemed thick, they greedily plucked several more. Each time a leaf was removed, the loss was scarcely noticeable. If one subtracts a large number all at once, the difference is immediately apparent, but remove one object at a time, and the difference is slight. So it proved in this case. Each time the twins removed a leaf, they compared the resulting number of leaves against the most recent count rather than the original number. Thus, they had almost completely denuded the tree before they realized what they had done. Suddenly Elladan compared the number of surviving leaves with the count of those that had been on the mallorn at the beginning.
"Elrohir," he exclaimed, "we have stripped this tree as surely as does a powerful wind on an autumn's day. The Cook cannot fail to notice!"
His words were confirmed at once, for through the door strode the Cook. At his appalled expression, each twin dropped the biscuit he was holding and fled toward a window. Springing onto a stool and from thence onto a table, Elrohir dove through one window. Simultaneously, Elladan jumped onto a barrel and wriggled out a second, smaller window. Behind them, unable to decide which elfling to pursue, the Cook seized a ladle and waved it futilely.
Things would have gone ill for the twins had it not been for the fact that the Cook had baked a great quantity of extra biscuit leaves. He had planned to scatter them about the table, but now he set about affixing the extra leaves in place of the ones the twins had eaten. This task occupied the Cook until it was time for the banquet to begin, so he had no time to march off to Elrond and report the twins' transgression. During the feast itself he would have no opportunity to approach the elf-lord, and immediately afterward he was too busy superintending the servants who were clearing the dishes. Moreover, his indignation was assuaged by the many compliments he received from the guests. The mallorn tree in particular was praised by one and all, leaving the Cook both gratified and relieved that he had been able to conceal the damage done by the twins. He thus ended the evening in a better frame of mind than might have been expected, and his complaints to Elrond the next day were milder than they would have otherwise been.
Still, from that time onward, the Cook would bristle whenever he saw the twins in the vicinity of the kitchen, and his suspicion of them widened to encompass Anomen when that elfling arrived upon the scene. At first it seemed that the Cook's distrust was justified, for Anomen did attempt to steal his breakfast from the kitchen shortly after he joined Elrond's household. Of course, the elfling only tried to purloin the food as a result of a misunderstanding. When Elrond had explained to the Cook how things stood with Anomen, the Cook was sorry that he had threatened to 'serve' the lad like a potato. He began to keep an eye out for the little fellow, hoping to make amends.
It seemed, however, that Anomen was being very careful to keep clear of the kitchen, and the longer he failed to put in an appearance, the more the Cook began to wish that he would. One day the Cook wistfully mentioned this desire to one of his underlings.
"Oh, but Master Cook, the lad has been here every day this past fortnight."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the Cook. "Nothing has been stolen."
"He has not set foot in the kitchen," the servant explained. "He sits outside, under the window, whilst the bread is baking. After the loaves are turned out of the pans, he arises and slips away, taking nothing with him but the aroma of warm bread."
The Cook was flummoxed. An elfling who loitered about whilst the bread was baked but did not try to steal any of the loaves? What would account for such odd behavior? He thought about this puzzle as he rolled out some dough and began to cut it into biscuits. Midway through his task he found that he had created several biscuits that were very ill-shaped. He was about to roll them back into the dough and try again when he suddenly paused. Grinning to himself, he slipped the misshapen biscuits into the oven with the others.
The next day, after he and his apprentices had placed pans of bread dough in the ovens, he picked up a plate upon which he had placed the malformed biscuits. He carried this plate to the window and laid it upon the sill. "These biscuits are not fit for my Lord's table," he announced loudly, "but it would be a shame for them to go to waste. I shall leave them on the sill for any small creature that may happen by."
The Cook strode away from the window, not trying to disguise his footsteps as he did so. Then he stole back toward the window and waited expectantly. After several minutes, a small hand inched its way to the plate, seized a biscuit, and withdrew. A few seconds later, the Cook heard the crunch of teeth as Anomen nibbled upon this peace offering.
From that day onward, the Cook began to turn out a remarkable number of misshaped cookies. He also suddenly seemed to have difficulty measuring out the ingredients for his various creations. As a result, he was forever baking more pies, pastries, and sweetbreads than were needed at Elrond's table. These confections had to be disposed of in some fashion, and Anomen was regularly the one assigned to accomplish the task. Elrond was once heard to say that as regards Anomen, the Cook came near to concocting as many excuses as cakes.
Many years later, when Anomen had grown up to be Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, he sat in the kitchen on one of his frequent visits to Imladris. Even then the Cook maintained the charade that he was not indulging Legolas. Legolas, for his part, maintained the pretense that he did not know that he was being indulged, for both enjoyed the game (although they fooled no one, least of all one another). On this occasion, however, the Cook at last asked Legolas to explain why he used to sit outside the kitchen window while bread was being baked.
"My father was very unhappy after the death of my mother," Legolas explained. "He did not take pleasure in music or song. He did not take pleasure in food. His cook baked only the plainest foods, and the kitchen was not filled with delightful aromas. But I remembered a time before I came to live with my father. For the first five years of my life, I dwelt with my Edwen Nana. She did not have a great kitchen such as yours, but in our simple cottage she cooked food both wholesome and tasty."
Legolas paused to take a bite of his biscuit, which he washed down with a mouthful of cider.
"I remember in particular," he continued, "how she used to bake bread. The wonderful aroma would surround me as I played. Did you know that one can be caressed by an aroma? Foolish question, I suppose. You are a Cook. Of course you must know what it is to be embraced by the smell of soup simmering and bread rising."
The Cook nodded thoughtfully and handed Legolas another biscuit—not a misshapen biscuit, either, but the finest his kitchen had to offer. It was, in fact, a mallorn biscuit like one of those that he had baked so many years before.
"I missed those odors when I was taken to live at Thranduil's Great Hall," Legolas went on, "and I was often sad. Then, when first I came here, I also often felt very woeful. Mithrandir brought me to Rivendell, and I thought he should stay with me. It was not his mission to raise an elfling, however! Shortly after our arrival, he left me in the care of your Lord. Elrond was very kind, but I missed Mithrandir straight away. It was then I took to sitting 'neath the kitchen window. The aroma of bread surrounded me as it had when I was very little, and I was comforted."
"Soup for sorrow, pie for peevishness, and bread for a broken heart," declaimed the Cook, reciting a saying known to all cooks, no matter their nation. He arose to stir a pot of stew. "You never took for granted the food I put on the table," he said when he resumed his seat. "A body who has been deprived of something appreciates its value more than someone who enjoys it without let. Now, those twin terrors, they never knew what it was to want, so they never savored their victuals to the extent that you did."
The Cook arose again. He tasted the stew, added a little more pepper, and returned to his seat. "It is said," he continued, "that a craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated. Well, what is a cook but a craftsman? You appreciate my food, and I treasure the fact that you esteem the fruit of my labors."
Before Legolas had a chance to reply, a servant entered the kitchen bearing a sack of flour. At once the Cook snatched away the plate and mug that rested on the table before Legolas. "Enough of your malingering about my kitchen," he harrumphed loudly. "No doubt I should count my pies to make certain that you haven't filched one!"
Putting on a solemn expression, Legolas sprang to his feet and retreated toward the door. At his back the Cook brandished a ladle and muttered imprecations about reiving rascals.
Once outside, Legolas put his hand into his pouch. Sure enough, the passage of decades has not lessened the Cook's skill in legerdemain. Somehow he always managed to drop a biscuit into the bag. Legolas grinned. "Soup for sorrow, pie for peevishness, and bread for a broken heart," he repeated. "And," he added, "biscuits for building trust."
The Elves often said that no barricade, no matter how tall, no matter how thick, could keep a people safe if trust were not found among them. Smiling, Legolas remembered Erestor's lectures upon the subject: "Trust is an edifice stronger than any wall built of stone," the tutor would intone. 'Now I see what the Cook was about', Legolas thought to himself. 'With biscuits as his bricks and icing as his mortar, he built up my trust. Well, that structure still stands without a single chink in it!'
Just then Gimli strolled around the corner. Spotting the biscuit in Legolas's hand, he eyed it hopefully. Without a moment's hesitation, Legolas proffered it. "Soup for sorrow, pie for peevishness, and bread for a broken heart," the Elf said gaily as Gimli nibbled contentedly upon the mallorn cookie. 'And', he added to himself, 'biscuits for building trust'.
