My narrative sometimes tracks Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.

The incident in which Gandalf misleads the Orc interrogator is recounted in Chapter 2 of the story "Number Nine."

Thanks to the following reviewers: stormchaser34neo, Ne'ith5, Ilada'Jefiv, The Inebriated Lion-Minion, Telcontar Rulz, Starlight9, Elfinabottle, 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 incorporates quotations from the book and/or movie versions of The Lord of the Rings.

Beta Reader: Dragonfly

Chapter 38: Misdirection

"I don't see why I can't go," Merry said unhappily. "I have some weakness in one arm, but I can wield a sword with the other." Merry raised his uninjured arm and brandished his 'sword'—which to a Man would have appeared to be nothing other than a large knife. Legolas shook his head. "You are not the only one must remain, Merry," he pointed out gently. "Faramir has begged that he be permitted to join the riding, but Aragorn denied his appeal. Éowyn, too, wishes to take up arms again and has been refused." The Elf smiled. "Those two are of a piece," he laughed. Suddenly he grew thoughtful. "Those two are of a piece," he murmured. Aloud, he addressed Merry again. "Both Faramir and Éowyn are restless. I imagine they spend much time walking in the garden, as that is the only outlet for their restlessness."

"Yes," said Merry, "they do, although not at the same time. Faramir walks in the garden in the morning, and Éowyn in the afternoon."

"Indeed," said Legolas, a mischievous look upon his face. "Merry, beg Éowyn to walk with you in the garden tomorrow morning—but be sure you find some reason to break your engagement!"

A grin o'erspread Merry's face. "I catch your drift, Legolas. That is a game Pippin and I used to play in the Shire. I will never forget the night we decoyed Sam and Rosie Cotton into the same garden! Sam drubbed us both afterwards, but Rosie treated the two of us to free beer for a week!"

Legolas laughed. "I cannot promise you free beer, Merry, but you will receive much thanks ere the end, I warrant."

Taking his leave of the Hobbit, Legolas went down to the smithy, where he found Gimli forging a throwing axe to replace one that had become hopelessly embedded in the brain of a Troll. Legolas pretended to find fault. "Gimli, was it not careless of you to lose your weapon?" The Dwarf scowled. "Only a bit of the handle stuck out, and it was too slick for me to get a purchase on. What was I supposed to do? Get a spade and dig it out? How many of your arrows are left, by the by?"

Legolas had to concede that some of the shafts had broken off in the bodies of his foes.

"Thought so," chortled Gimli. "Actually, I knew so." He pointed to a slender package on a work bench. "I was here when the smith fashioned those. In fact, I would have you know I forged some of the points. Therefore, when you count your fallen foes, in some cases you will in fact be counting my fallen foes. Hah!"

Legolas crossed over to the bench and unwrapped the package of arrows. He held several up and studied their tips. At last he nodded approvingly. "Gimli, these arrowheads are well made. Henceforth, I must indeed acknowledge that my conquests are yours."

Gimli suddenly looked a little uneasy. "I hope that don't mean you shall cease numbering your fallen foes. It gives a battle some interest to know that we shall be comparing counts at the end."

Legolas succeeded in looking solemn save for the quirk of one eyebrow. "If you wish me to continue keeping count, I shall certainly do so."

"Yes, I wish it," exclaimed the Dwarf. "Otherwise, it's just slay a Troll, move on, slay a Troll, move on. Very monotonous. Nothing like a little competition to spice up a skirmish—even though I always win, of course."

Legolas nodded. "Let the game continue, then. Now, however, let us go to Aragorn's pavilion. The meal is laid on."

The two friends walked out onto the Pelennor, where Aragorn was still encamped in a tent, refusing all invitations to take up quarters in the City. It was a moot point now, of course, as they would set out tomorrow on their march to Mordor. This night, Aragorn had invited friends and allies to eat together at table. For those departing for Mordor, it would be the last meal that they would eat in comfort for many a day. For some, it might be the last meal they would ever eat at table.

When Legolas entered the tent, he saw Faramir sitting beside Merry and Pippin. On the other side of the Hobbits two seats sat empty, and the Elf steered Gimli toward them. The Elf took the seat beside Merry. Legolas picked a few pieces of fruit from a platter, and then he began to draw out Merry. "My friend," he said to his seatmate, "I have heard a little of your exploits in the late battle, but I would hear more. Your even being at the battle, there is a tale behind that, is there not?"

"Yes, for Théoden forbade my coming. He said my pony could not keep up with the warriors' steeds."

"So you had an excuse to remain behind without loss of honor, yet you did not grasp it. You are brave."

Merry blushed. "Not as brave as Dernhelm—I mean Éowyn."

Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas noticed Faramir turning toward them and listening with a little more interest than he had hitherto shown in any of the conversations taking place about the table.

"Tell me more about this Dernhelm," Legolas encouraged.

"I was standing miserably, watching Théoden's Men ride off, when Dernhelm offered to allow me to ride with him—her, I mean. Oh, hang it all: Éowyn offered to allow me to ride with her. Only I didn't know it was Éowyn. I thought it was Dernhelm until the minute she took off her helm as she stood before the Ringwraith."

"She is much slighter than any Man," Legolas observed.

"True, but several of Théoden's warriors were little more than boys. At any rate, had she not been so slight, she could not have taken me up with her. The two of us together weighed scarcely more than one warrior full grown."

Legolas nodded. "So you rode with her all the way from Dunharrow to the Pelennor?"

"Aye, and a grim journey it was. Éowyn was no comfort, you may be sure. Legolas, you may not give my words credence, but I think she rode so that she might die by the side of her uncle. I do not think she reckoned she would survive the battle."

"I do not find such a notion difficult to believe," Legolas replied. "Elves may fade from grief. Men, too, may lose the desire to live, and I suppose they may throw themselves heedlessly into battle and thus like a fading Elf find the means to depart a life that has become joyless."

Faramir looked exceedingly thoughtful. A servant refilled his wine cup, and Denethor's son took it in his hand, but instead of drinking from it, he stared into the vessel as if he were gazing into Galadriel's mirror. Legolas arose and went to stand by his chair.

"My Lord Faramir, may I make bold to address you? I am desirous of thanking you for the kindness that you have shown Gandalf over the years."

"You are a friend of the Grey Pilgrim?"

"For many years he was my mentor."

Faramir smiled a little, but the gesture was tinged with sadness. "So you are a wizard's pupil," he said.

"Yes," Legolas said simply.

"I have been called that," Faramir said wryly, "and it was no compliment."

"Whatsoever others may think of the epithet, I have always welcomed it. Gandalf was as good as a father to me at a time when my own father could not be."

"Then you and I have something in common," Faramir said softly.

"Is that so?" Legolas said. "As that is the case, you and I must share speech when I return from Mordor."

Faramir looked skeptical. "When you return from Mordor? How can you entertain such a notion?"

"Hope has brought me this far. I see no reason to despair now." Legolas raised his cup. "I see you still have wine in your goblet. Let us toast to the success of the armies of Gondor and Rohan."

Faramir raised his own cup. "Success to the armies of Gondor and Rohan," he repeated, and there was a glint in his eye that had not been there at the beginning of the meal. "I look forward to our continued conversation, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood," he continued. "Stay well."

"I shall endeavor to do so," said Legolas. With a slight bow, he returned to his seat.

Éomer had been watching this exchange with interest. "Faramir," he called, "I see that toasts are now in order. We each of us must propose one in turn."

"I know what you are about, Éomer," Legolas protested, laughing. "You are going to try to drink Faramir under the table. I have not forgotten the trick you tried to play upon me at Edoras."

"Since that day," retorted Éomer, "I have been trying to account for your success at that game. You drank great quantities of stout beer, yet aside from some tingling in your fingers, you seemed unaffected. And you are slender when compared to a Man of Rohan. However did you manage to remain on your feet?"

"Centuries of practice," Legolas replied with a grin. He nodded in the direction of Elrohir and Elladan. "My foster-brothers are older than I, and in their company I have been inured through much practice to the effects of alcohol."

In response, Elrohir and Elladan raised their cups in a salute to their younger brother and then downed them at one go. Gandalf rolled his eyes and groaned, then rose to his feet.

"Gentlemen, tomorrow we set out at dawn. I have no desire to ride with an aching head, a foul stomach, and scurfy teeth, and I will therefore retire for the night. May I suggest that the rest of you do likewise?"

"I do not set out at dawn," Faramir murmured unhappily. Merry overheard him. "Neither do I, my Lord," he said quickly, "but I shall arise early in the morning to farewell my friends. Will you do so as well?"

"Aye, I will."

"And then no doubt you shall walk in the garden, as is your wont."

"Yes, I believe I shall."

"You wouldn't mind company, would you?"

"No, I should not object," Faramir said distractedly.

"Excellent! Good night, then, my Lord."

"You neglected to say whose company," Legolas whispered to Merry as they made their way from the pavilion. Merry grinned. "I have been told," the Perian boasted, "that I have the knack of saying just enough to allow people to think whate'er they will. Saves me the effort of lying—safer for the skin, too, for I am always able to point out that I have said nothing but the truth."

Gandalf overheard the two. "Legolas, too, has cultivated that talent," he grumbled.

"Oh, and you have not?" shot back Legolas. "I seem to remember your bragging how you had managed to say everything and nothing to an Orc who was interrogating you when you went on an ill-fated expedition to Minas Morgul.

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, well," he said complacently, "perhaps I did tell such a story."

"Will you tell it now?" Pippin asked eagerly. During his time with Gandalf, the young Hobbit had become a great admirer of the wizard. They had arrived at Gandalf's quarters by now, and the Maia ensconced himself upon an armed chair as if it were a throne. He lit his pipe, and between puffs he told the tale.

"As Legolas has said," he commenced, "I was captured near Minas Morgul and taken before the chief of the Orcs. 'Here, you', he said, 'what's yer name?' 'Iôn Penion', I replied. 'Iôn son of Pen'. That is as much to say, Son Son of Somebody. Of course, the Orc didn't know Sindarin. So he replied, 'Pen? Never heard of him. Who is he?' and I answered, 'Oh, just Somebody. Nobody in particular, really'. Then the Orc said, 'And you, are you anybody in particular?' To which I was able to reply, 'No, just Somebody's Son'."

Hobbit, Dwarf, and Elf alike chuckled. "What then, Gandalf?" Pippin asked eagerly.

"Next," continued the wizard, "he asked me where I lived. To which I replied, 'Oh, Síahennas', that is, 'here and there'. The Orc said he had never heard of any such place, and I told him that was not surprising, as it was nowhere in particular."

Pippin and Merry giggled, and Gimli guffawed. Legolas, however, who had at first laughed with the others, had grown thoughtful as Gandalf had gone on with his story. 'It must be true', he thought to himself, 'that Gandalf is the son of somebody? But who? And when did he leave his father? Was he raised by him, or was he, like me, fostered? Does his father still live? Does Gandalf ever see him? Would he want to if he could?' So engrossed was Legolas in these thoughts that he did not hear his friends taking their leave. "Legolas!" Gimli finally bellowed. "Where are you? You are certainly not here!" Legolas looked up and saw Gandalf looked at him knowingly. "Oh, sí ah ennas," said Legolas lightly, trying to cover his confusion. His friends laughed. Gandalf, however, continued his keen study of the Elf, and Legolas lowered his head to hide the flush that spread o'er his face.

"Well, I am off to the House of Healing," Merry announced.

"Be sure to give our greetings to Lady Éowyn," Legolas reminded him, pleased to have the attention of his friends diverted to a new topic.

"Oh, I will," promised Merry, giving Legolas a wink.

Bidding the others goodnight, Gimli and Legolas made their way to their tent. "Gimli," Legolas said as they walked, "have you ever wondered where Gandalf came from?"

"No," said Gimli cheerfully.

"Never?"

"Never."

"Well, has it never occurred to you that he must have had a father?"

"No."

"Nor a mother?"

"No."

"Gimli, how can you be so incurious!?"

"Tell me, lad, is Gandalf likely to tell you about his father?"

"No," conceded Legolas.

"Is he likely to tell you about his mother?"

"No."

"Well, durn it, Legolas, it don't make no sense to be curious about something you can't learn nothing about. Waste of energy what could be put to better purpose!"

"You are, as ever, practical, my friend," Legolas replied dryly.

"Why, thankee, lad," Gimli replied grandly, making an exaggerated bow. He pretended not to hear the sarcasm in the Elf's voice. By now they had arrived at their tent and prepared to take their rest. "May be the last time we enjoy such comfortable beds," Gimli observed matter-of-factly as he doffed his surcoat. "Skinny Elf," he added, which was his invariable observation whenever he saw Legolas remove his tunic.

"Hairy Dwarf," Legolas promptly returned.

Having concluded the evening's ritual, the two friends wrapped themselves in their blankets and fell asleep. Gimli's sleep was undisturbed, but into Legolas's toddled an endless succession of infant Gandalfs. Each sported a miniature beard, wielded a tiny staff, and puffed upon a miniature pipe. Legolas sought in vain to descry the adult who seemed to hover over this infant Istar, but each time the Elf was close to making him out, the baby wizard would emit a puff of smoke and the mysterious figure would vanish into the cloud. When the Elf arose in the morning, he was unhappily no nearer to solving the mystery of Mithrandir than he had been when he lay down to sleep. However, for the time being the Sinda would have to put aside his curiosity, for matters of greater import were now to occupy his thoughts.