Two weeks had passed since Anomen had uttered his light-hearted farewell to Elladan and Elrohir, and so far he had kept his promise fairly well—he hadn't been altogether bored, but nothing of great import had taken place. Break camp. Ride. Halt for the noon meal. Ride. Make camp. Take his turn on watch. Break camp. And to Anomen's dismay, he was still the youngest in the company, and so, yes, he was once again the one who had to haul water, collect wood, skin squirrels, and wash dishes. Thoron, who had taken a great liking to Anomen, often volunteered to help him with these chores, but Glorfindel seemed grimly determined to make sure Anomen remembered that, even if Elrond no longer thought Anomen a novice, technically he still was one.
Only one thing prevented Anomen from becoming utterly indifferent to his surroundings: he was certain that they were being watched by unfriendly eyes and that the number of the watchers was increasing day by day. He would glance anxiously at Glorfindel to see if the balrog-slayer seemed aware of this fact, but Glorfindel continued to ride along as serenely as if this were an excursion along the protected banks of the Baranduin.
At last Anomen could stand it no longer. He spurred his horse out of his place near the end of the column and rode up alongside Glorfindel. The balrog-slayer did not seem at all perturbed to find the youngest of the company suddenly riding alongside him. Indeed, Anomen had the feeling that Glorfindel had been expecting him.
"Anomen."
"My Lord."
"You have a question."
"Yes, my Lord." Anomen hesitated. He feared that Glorfindel would think him presumptuous. At last he went on.
"My Lord, I believe that we are being watched and that the number of the watchers has been increasing."
"Both of your suppositions are correct," Glorfindel said calmly.
"Oh."
The two rode on silently side by side, Anomen wondering how to return again to his place with the least amount of embarrassment.
"You are no doubt wondering," Glorfindel suddenly said—when he judged that Anomen had suffered long enough—"what I mean to do about the situation."
"If such curiosity may be permitted."
Glorfindel smiled, but only slightly, at Anomen's careful diffidence. "This mission is too important for us to retreat in the face of the Dunlendings."
"They are Dundlendings, my Lord?"
"Yes. We are being watching, but we have been returning the favor. Our scouts have reported back on the kind, number, and disposition of those who surround us. They number two hundred, more or less, and are heavily armed."
"Two hundred! But we are only a score."
Glorfindel nodded, apparently unconcerned.
"Yet we will not turn back, my Lord?"
"No, we cannot allow ourselves to be turned aside from our goal—too much is at stake. Moreover, we would not find safety in doing so. They stand between us and the Gap of Rohan, but they likewise block any return to Imladris. We risk no more in going forward than we would in going back."
"Then we will fight?"
"If need be. We will not turn aside to seek out battle. We will wait for them to make their intentions clear. They believe they have reason to fear us, and it may be that they only mean to stay on their guard until we have passed through their lands. If a company of men were to pass through Imladris, we would watch them as carefully. We have the right to defend ourselves; so do the Dunlendings."
"But we do not plan to hurt them!"
"They do not know that."
"So they will watch us, and we will watch them."
"Yes. We will not attack first. If they attack us, however, we will fight to protect our lives and our mission. Keep your bow strung, Anomen, and your sword loose in its sheath."
"Yes, my Lord." Anomen reined his horse about and cantered back to his place.
Thoron looked over at him as he rode up. "Has your curiosity been satisfied, Anomen?"
The young Elf blushed. Had his thoughts been so obvious? Glorfindel was right about him. Many months of gathering wood and hauling water would have to pass before he was ready to take his place among the fully-fledged warriors.
As dusk drew near, by a seemingly unspoken agreement the band of elves drew into a more compact configuration. Anomen found that he had been pushed into the center of the company and chafed a little bit at the fact that his fellow Elves wanted him in the center, believing him to be less experienced and therefore at greater risk.
When the Men attacked, they did so from all sides, showering the Elves with arrows from the cover of the scrub that dominated the Dunland landscape. Most of the arrows were turned by the shields that the Elves bore, but Anomen saw a missile pierce the shoulder of one of Berenmaethor's scouts. The warrior was not unhorsed, however, and, after a companion had broken off the shaft, the injured Elf looked as battle-ready as ever.
The Elves did not shoot back at their hidden foes, and Glorfindel ordered them to dismount and to create a shield wall, with the horses in the center. Anomen wormed his way to the front. The Dunlendings let loose another volley, and Anomen heard a 'thunk' as an arrow struck his shield. Suddenly he realized that his throat was very dry, but this did not seem to be the time to reach for his water flask.
The Dunlendings let loose a third volley. The Elves still held their fire, huddled in a circle and protected by their shield wall. Anomen's stomach lurched as he heard the scream of one horse and then another. Whether by accident or design, the Dunlendings had overshot the Elves, their arrows landing amongst the horses.
After the third volley, the Dunlendings must have concluded that the band of Elves was no match for their vastly larger numbers. From behind the bushes leaped a seemingly endless number of rudely dressed but heavily armed men, each swinging a sword as he sprinted to close the distance between himself and an Elf.
Many of the Men never made it. Once the Dunlendings broke cover, the Elves let loose their own volley of arrows. But there were too many Men for the elven archers to bring them all down, and after that one volley, the Elves found themselves locked in hand-to-hand combat, several Men to each Elf. The Elves responded by breaking into pairs, each Elf covering the back of another. Anomen found himself fighting back to back with Thoron, who felled three Men whilst Anomen was still ineffectively parrying with his opponents.
"Anomen," gasped Thoron, "sorry to trouble you, but would you be so good as to kill someone. This is not a garden party."
"I'm trying," panted Anomen, "but they keep ducking."
"How inconsiderate of them—ugh—scraped my sword on that one's belt buckle."
"Uh, uh, uh," wheezed Anomen. "Don't do that, Thoron. I'm the one who'll have to polish it!"
Suddenly Anomen realized that he was quite calm in spite of the fact that he was facing four Men, each of whom was trying in his own way to slice him into ribbons. They were actually competing with one another to see who could bring him down, and that, he saw, was all to the good. They fought each other with no method, each getting in the way of his fellows. As one Man lunged toward Anomen, a second Man inadvertently tripped the first. The two fell together to the earth, and Anomen thrust his sword forward into the chest of a third Man who suddenly found himself standing unprotected before Anomen, his sword held out uselessly to the side.
For a moment time stopped as the Man, too shocked to yet feel pain, stared into Anomen's eyes. Then Anomen gathered his wits and with all his strength yanked his sword from the Man's chest. It was then that the Dunlending screamed, one long, high-pitched howl of agony as he collapsed to the ground, the blood spurting from his wound. Anomen, however, had already turned his attention to his remaining foes. He brought his sword down upon the head of one of the Men who was trying to rise from the ground, and with another swing he half-decapitated the other. That left him facing one foe, who began to back away from Anomen. Should he follow and finish the job? Anomen took a step forward. The Man dropped his sword and knelt upon the ground, arms raised into the air. Anomen approached him to take his weapon; as Anomen bent down before him, the man suddenly leaped up, knocking the young Elf to the ground and pinning him down. The Dunlending drew a knife and raised it to plunge into Anomen's chest—and Anomen was showered with blood as Thoron, with one powerful stroke, struck the Man's head from his body.
Thoron pulled his shaken friend from under the headless body. Glorfindel strode up then, looking concerned as he gazed at the blood-smeared Anomen.
"Are you badly hurt, Anomen?"
"I am not hurt at all."
"You certainly look as if you've been to Mordor and back."
"It's not my blood. It's—somebody else's."
"A Dunlending's?"
"Yes."
Said Glorfindel bluntly, "Better his blood than yours—and I want you to remember that if you are ever tempted to vacillate in the middle of battle."
"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Anomen replied meekly.
"Now, given the mess you are in—the mess that we are all in—you are certainly going to need to fetch a great deal of water tonight, are you not?"
"Yes, Lord Glorfindel."
"Then I suggest you begin at once. The sooner a task is begun, the sooner it is ended."
Glorfindel spun about abruptly and went off to check on the well-being of his other warriors.
Thoron pointed after him with his chin. "Glorfindel never misses an opportunity to teach you a lesson, does he?"
"No," Anomen said gratefully. "No, he does not."