My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.
Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 13 of "Elfling Interludes": Stormgirl415, leralonde, Ne'ith5, OuzoAthena11, Lady Ambreanna, ziggy3, 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 unless you have disabled the private messaging feature. (Please notice that the fanfiction site has changed its system so that responses to reviews go out via the private messaging feature. That is why the people who have disabled that feature have not heard back from me.)
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.
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 14: The Knife
Anomen tried not to giggle as Elrohir passed his hiding place for the fifth time. The older elfling stopped a few feet away. "Anomen," he called. "You have won the game. Come out now."
The younger elfling remained still. If he came out now, he would not be able to use this hiding place in the future. "Anomen," Elrohir called again, "it is almost time for bed. You had better come out or Ada will scold you."
Elladan came to stand by his twin. "You don't suppose he is trapped somewhere?" he said anxiously.
Elrohir shook his head. "Anomen is good at crawling into small spaces, but he is good at crawling out of them as well. I reckon he will come out after we leave. Let us return to the hall."
"What will we tell Ada?"
"Anomen likely will return shortly after we do. We may not need to tell Ada anything at all."
The twins left the forest and made their way back to the entrance to the Great Hall. The Door Warden—it was Figwit—looked at them suspiciously. "Three went out; two return. Where is your younger brother?"
Elrohir pointed at Elladan. "Here he is," he said innocently.
"You don't know that you are the elder," his twin protested. "Ada never says!"
"I am taller, so likely I am older," Elrohir said loftily.
"That proves nothing," Elladan argued. "A younger person may be taller than an older. Look at Figwit here. He is taller than Glorfindel, but Glorfindel is so old that he has been twice born."
The aforementioned Figwit raised his hand to forestall further debate. "Your birth order matters not one wit. You know very well that I ask about Anomen, who is younger than either of you."
"Oh, Anomen!" exclaimed Elrohir, pretending astonishment. "You know that he likes to climb in at the window above the trellis."
Elrohir was telling the truth, of course, but it must be noted that he did not say that Anomen was climbing in at the window above the trellis. Figwit was insensible of this crucial fact, however. Satisfied, he stepped back and gestured that Elladan and Elrohir should enter the Hall. The two elflings hurried to their room, splashed water upon their faces, and clad in nightshirts, climbed into their beds. Almost as soon as they had settled themselves under their duvets, their father entered the room. He kissed first Elladan and then Elrohir. Then he looked toward Anomen's empty bed. "Where is your brother?" he asked. "There!" the two elflings chorused, each simultaneously pointing at the other.
"I mean Anomen, as you both very well know," Elrond replied dryly.
"He is not in bed," Elrohir said helpfully.
"I know where he is not," Elrond replied. "I want to know where he is."
"We would tell you if we knew, Ada," Elladan assured him.
"Thank you. I am glad to know that you would be so accommodating. Could you at least tell me where he was when you last knew where he was? I mean," he added, when he saw that the twins were sorting through the four nested clauses of that last sentence, "could you tell me where you last saw him?"
"We were playing hide-and-hunt," Elrohir replied, "in the forest just past the gate."
"So he has hidden himself somewhere within the forest?"
"Yes, Ada," Elladan said. "Elrohir was the tracker. He found me in a thicket, and the two of us hunted for Anomen."
"We called to him to come out," Elrohir said, getting a little anxious because he could see that it was now very dark outside the window. "Ada, it was wrong for us to leave him, wasn't it? We should have waited for him to come out."
"I imagine you would be waiting still," Elrond replied evenly. He guessed at what must have happened and knew Anomen would never have come out if doing so would have revealed his hiding place. But something must have happened after the conclusion of the game or Anomen would have returned by now. Elrond did not want to utter that last thought aloud, however. He laid a gentle hand upon Elrohir's cheek. "Do not worry, ion nín. If Anomen does not return shortly, I will send Glorfindel to fetch him."
Elrohir winced, and Elladan grimaced. Anomen was outside the walls after dark, which was bad, and Glorfindel would likely have to fetch him, which was—bad. Their younger brother would have to spend many hours polishing shields under the wrathful gaze of the balrog slayer.
Elrond smiled reassuringly at his two older sons and then walked calmly from the room. Once outside, however, he strode rapidly toward Glorfindel's chamber. There he found the balrog slayer studying a checkered board whilst Erestor looked on smugly. "His king is trapped with no hope of escape," gloated the tutor.
"Your final victory must be delayed, Erestor," Elrond said briskly. "Anomen has not returned from a game of hide-and-hunt."
"And now I must be the tracker," grumbled the balrog slayer. "I had much rather play at dominion than at hide-and-hunt." Suddenly he moved a wizard and knocked aside one of Erestor's dragons. "I think you will find," Glorfindel said triumphantly, "that you haven't got enough trolls to counter that move."
The balrog slayer leaped to his feet, and leaving behind a chagrined Erestor, he strode from the Hall with Elrond at his side. As they walked, Elrond quickly explained that the game of hide-and-hunt had taken place close to the gate. "I have hopes that the lad has not gone far," he said to Glorfindel.
"Perhaps not far as the crow flies," observed the balrog slayer, "but I may have to follow a meandering path in pursuit of the scamp."
This was true. On at least one occasion the circuitous path taken by Anomen had forced Glorfindel to travel miles only to find the elfling ensconced in a tree a mere hundred yards from the Great Hall.
The scamp in question was indeed only a short distance from the Hall—but such was the obstacle that stood between him and the gate that he may as well have been a hundred miles away. Long after Elladan and Elrohir had given up looking for him, he had remained in his hiding place beneath a fallen tree, for he wanted to be sure that the twins were not tricking him. 'They may be hiding nearby', he said to himself, 'and may leap out the moment I emerge'. At last, certain that his brothers had returned to the Hall, he was on the verge of crawling out from his hiding place when he heard footsteps that did not sound like those of Elves. Cautiously he peeked out from underneath the log. Inches from his head were a pair of heavy boots. Beyond them were another pair, and beyond those another. A voice spoke in Westron, and for once Anomen was grateful for Erestor's lessons on that language.
"We should turn back, Morthor," one man was saying. "Elves are nasty, dangerous creatures. Their lord can move his eyes about his head."
"That's eyebrows, you idiot," scoffed one of his fellows— Morthor, apparently. "I saw him once, and 'tis true that he can quirk his eyebrows. But what of it? I can wiggle my ears. Am I a monster for that reason?"
"No, you are a monster for other reasons entirely," the third Man jested. "But," he added, growing serious, "Timor is right. Elves are dangerous."
"We have come all this way, and now would you have us turn back?" Morthor replied. "Only a little longer and we will have what we came for."
"Just one Elf?" said the third Man.
"Aye. We only need seize one of those creatures. And for that the reward will be a bag of gold for each of us."
Later Anomen would wonder who had employed the Men. Who would have paid such a munificent reward for the capture of one Elf? Anomen would also ponder the fact that these Men had been able to cross the Bruinen. Spells had been placed upon the river to prevent the passage of enemies, but somehow these spells had been countered. Surely the Men had not themselves been able to lift the enchantment. At the moment, however, Anomen was thinking of other matters. He did not believe that he was in any danger. Elladan and Elrohir had been unable to discover his hiding place, and he was certain that if he remained still the Men would not find him either. Yet Anomen was frightened. He knew that Elrond would send Glorfindel to fetch him, and here were three Men waiting to seize the first Elf that happened by. Would they take Glorfindel unawares?
"Quiet!" Morthor suddenly whispered. "Someone's coming."
Swords in hand, the three Men crouched low. Silently, Anomen began to cry. Surely it was Glorfindel who approached, and it was his fault that his mentor was walking into an ambush. The elfling took a deep breath. "Cyth! Cyth!" he screamed. "Drego! Drego!" Foes! Foes! Flee! Flee!
Seconds later arms reached beneath the fallen tree and dragged the elfling out. "A young one," gloated Morthor. "Easier to manage." He threw Anomen over his shoulder and began to run. "Hold off any pursuit," he shouted over his shoulder. He crashed off through the undergrowth. Almost immediately the sound of metal upon metal could be heard.
Morthor was a fast runner. Behind him the clang of clashing steel was quickly muted, and soon it could not be heard at all. Morthor stopped and flung a dazed Anomen to the ground. He stood listening for several minutes. "No sound of anyone following," he muttered. That's good news—and good news. No Elf on my heels, and no Men, neither." Morthor chortled. "If those fools are dead, won't be no need to share the reward," he gloated. He reached down and dragged Anomen to his feet. Pulling a length of cord from his pouch, he tied it around the elfling's neck. "If you don't want to be choked," he warned, "you had better keep up."
Morthor set out at a jog, and Anomen was forced to run after. As he ran, he began to recover his wits. He bore a small knife at his waist, as did all Elves. It was not intended as a weapon but as a tool for everyday use. Weapon or no, it was sharp, and it seemed that in the dark Morthor had failed to notice it. The Man had left Anomen's hands free—no doubt not out of kindness but so the elfling might be the better able to run, free arms being necessary for balance. Anomen slipped the knife out of its hanger. Then he pretended to stumble. Morthor cursed and yanked on the cord, but as Anomen briefly knelt on the forest floor, he succeeded in slipping the blade into the top of his boot, where Morthor would be less likely to spy it when the sun rose.
Morthor seized Anomen by the neck and pulled him to his feet. He slapped the elfling twice. "That is in earnest of what you will receive if you don't mend your pace," he warned. Then the Man began to run even faster than before, dragging Anomen behind him. The elfling felt blood trickling from his nose, but he was untroubled by this fact. Indeed, the elfling felt remarkably serene. He had warned Glorfindel, and he was certain that an alert balrog slayer was proof against two humans. As for himself, he would wait for the opportune moment and escape from his captor.
The sun was rising as they crossed a clearing. As they reentered the forest on the other side, Morthor looked back and then cursed. Rapidly he plunged back under cover. Anomen glanced back and briefly made out a figure crossing the clearing in pursuit. It was not a Man.
Morthor stopped short once they were again within the forest. He stood with his back to a large tree. Anomen pretended breathlessness and crouched low. When Glorfindel emerged to stand before them, Morthor seized Anomen's hair and pulled him upright. The Man had drawn a knife and held it at Anomen's throat.
"Tell me, Elf," the Man demanded, "would you rescue a dead body? Not much profit in that, is there?"
Glorfindel said nothing. He held the Man's eyes with his own.
"You don't want the lad dead, I am sure," the Man tried again. "If you turn back, I won't harm him, I swear. He's wanted for a servant, is all—and his master will be rich and keep him well."
Still Glorfindel held the Man's eyes with his own. Anomen felt the Man begin to tremble.
"Elf," the Man began anew, "I guarantee you the lad's life if you will…aaaaaah!" The Man fumbled the knife and dropped it, and Anomen threw himself to one side. Something large rushed by him. Next the elfling heard a whooshing noise and then a small thud, which was followed by a larger one. Cautiously the elfling lifted his head and peered in the direction of these sounds. Morthor's body lay stretched upon the ground—most of Morthor's body, anyway. The head lay a few feet away—no doubt that accounted for the smaller of the two thuds.
Glorfindel was kneeling by the body and removing something from the Man's side. He stood up wiping Anomen's knife upon a piece of cloth that he had cut from the Man's tunic. He held out the cleaned blade. Anomen hesitated a minute before he took it.
"It is still a good knife, Anomen," Glorfindel said encouragingly. "Put it back in its hanger. Good. Now gather deadwood and bring it into the clearing."
Anomen did as he was bidden. As he brought the first armful to the clearing, he found that Glorfindel had dragged the body into the midst of the open space. "Pile that over the body," Glorfindel instructed. Then the balrog slayer went back to fetch the Man's head.
The next armful Glorfindel placed over the body whilst Anomen fetched even more wood. When branches and small logs were piled high over the body, Glorfindel at last lit the pyre, and he and Anomen kept watch in order to guard against any sparks setting the woods ablaze. They tried to keep upwind of the fire, but the wind kept shifting, and Anomen's eyes teared as the smoke blew into them.
When the fire had died away, Glorfindel took a branch and stirred the ashes, searching for any sparks. These he stamped out. His boots were soon coated with ash, and Anomen shuddered a little, for he knew that some of those ashes had once been a Man. His eyes still burned. He rubbed at them, and his hands came away covered with soot. Suddenly the entire world was as gray as ash, and Anomen felt as if he were peering through smoke, the trees flickering in and out of sight.
Glorfindel moved as swiftly as he had when he covered the ground between himself and Morthor. Anomen found himself lying on a patch of moss out of sight of the clearing. He heard the sound of a nearby stream. Glorfindel helped him to sit up. The elf-lord had fashioned a cup out of a large leaf, and he held it to Anomen's lips. "Drink a little water," he encouraged the elfling.
"I want to bathe," Anomen said.
"I will help you to the stream," Glorfindel replied. "But first you must drink."
Anomen sipped a little water, and then the weapons master helped him to his feet in a manner as remote from Morthor's as could be imaginable. Gently the balrog slayer guided the elfling to the stream, and Anomen gratefully washed his hands and splashed water upon his face. "Give me your knife," Glorfindel said when Anomen was finished.
Anomen gladly relinquished his blade, and Glorfindel used it to cut a sturdy branch the height of the elfling.
"You can lean on this staff as we walk," the Elf said as he handed both branch and knife to Anomen.
As it turned out, Anomen did not need the staff for long. Soon after they set out to return to the Hall, they heard the sound of the bells that Elves customarily attach to the headstalls of their horses. Elrond and a party of scouts rode into view.
"You have tarried long, Glorfindel. I see that you stopped to dilly dally with a couple of Men," Elrond called when he spied the balrog slayer.
"Yes," Glorfindel replied evenly, "and yonder I had an exchange with a third human. I am afraid it did not end well. He had difficulty keeping his countenance."
"You are the greatest of communicators, Glorfindel. Your foes always lose their heads in the face of your rapier wit."
The rescue party had brought two spare horses, but Anomen was so weary that he sat before Glorfindel on one of the horses. As they rode, Anomen timidly broached the subject of the last night's events.
"I am very sorry I stayed out after dark, Glorfindel," he began.
"An elfling would not be an elfling if he did not stay out after dark on occasion," Glorfindel replied.
"But I put you in danger," Anomen said.
"You warned me of the danger," Glorfindel reminded him, "and put yourself in peril by doing so."
"I wouldn't have had to warn you if I hadn't put you in danger in the first place."
"True, but matters worked out well in the end. If I hadn't sallied forth to find you, the next day humans might have happened upon some other Elf less able to defend himself. Think you, Anomen: the humans might have stumbled upon Elladan or Elrohir at play in the forest. They could have carried off one of your brothers, and it might have been hours before anyone realized that he had been taken. In the end, it was good that you stayed out after dark."
Anomen exhaled in relief. Glorfindel was not angry at him.
"I shall tell your father," Glorfindel continued, "how brave you were. I know the Men would never have found you had you chosen to remain hidden. I shall also tell him that you had the presence of mind not only to hide your knife but to retrieve it at need. I saw you draw it from your boot, Anomen! And I shall tell your father that you did not lose your nerve when the moment came to act. You saved me, Anomen, and then had the wit to save yourself."
Anomen twisted about and looked up at Glorfindel's face. Not only was the balrog slayer not angry, he was smiling. No longer timid, Anomen smiled back.
A little while later, Elrond called a brief halt. The rescue party had ridden out without eating. Loaves of bread and wedges of cheese materialized from saddlebags. Elrond handed a loaf to Glorfindel, who handed it to Anomen. "Be a good lad and cut me a slice of bread," the balrog slayer said casually. Anomen drew his knife, hesitated a moment, and then cut Glorfindel a generous slice.
"Mmmph. Good bread," Glorfindel said around a mouthful. "You should cut a slice for yourself."
Again Anomen hesitated, but even more briefly than before. Carefully, he cut a slice that was not quite as generous as the one he had cut for Glorfindel. Then, after hesitating one final time, he began to chew determinedly. After a little while, he spoke. "Mmmph. Good bread," he said around a mouthful.
"Anomen," scolded Elrond, "you are talking with food in your mouth."
Glorfindel winked at Anomen, who winked back. "Ada," the elfling said, "I should like some cheese."
Elrond picked up a wedge of cheese and reached for his own knife to slice it.
"No, Ada, I should like to cut my own portion," Anomen said hurriedly. Elrond handed him the wedge, and Anomen sliced off portions both for himself and for Glorfindel. In short order, the elfling discovered that he had a very good appetite, something that would have been inconceivable when he regained consciousness upon his bed of moss.
Soon the company, fed and rested, again took horse, and it was with a full stomach and a restored spirit that Anomen returned to the Great Hall to once again be an elfling—until the next time.