Saruman Redivivus

by Elf Eye

Another in the "Nameless One" series. Set after "Novices No Longer."

13. Many Are Thwarted

You are once again on the mark, dragonfly.  Potions will indeed loom large in this chapter.

Vocabulary

Saeladar—'Wise Father'

            Saruman somehow knew of their approach, as Galadriel had earlier.  When they rode up to Isengard, the guards swung open the gate without asking them to identify either themselves or their errand.  At the base of the tower of Orthanc, the wizard himself awaited them and informed them that he had gathered together all that might be necessary for the care of Anomen.  Erestor wondered idly through what means Saruman had learned of Anomen's illness, but he dismissed the thought from his mind as he turned his attention to watching the wizard prepare to treat the young Elf.

After carefully examining his patient, Saruman unrolled a cloth and began to study the herbs that had been wrapped in the bundle.  At last he picked up one bunch and prepared to cast it into a cauldron of water that a servant had heated.

            "Saruman," exclaimed Erestor, "is not that plant poisonous!"

            "Prepared in one way, yes," agreed the wizard.  "But prepared in another way, this herb has great virtue."

            Erestor still looked doubtful.

            "A knife," continued Saruman, noting Erestor's misgivings, "is a dangerous weapon.  Yet I see by these cuts on this young Elf's limbs that someone has used a knife to drain the poisoned blood from his body.  Did you not approve of that course of action?"

            Erestor looked toward Glorfindel, who nodded.

            Erestor turned back to Saruman.  "Very well," he said reluctantly, "do as you see fit."

The room filled with a noxious odor as Saruman prepared his potion.  When it was ready, Saruman needed the assistance of both Erestor and Glorfindel to force Anomen to swallow the vile liquid.  Glorfindel restrained the young Elf while Erestor forced his mouth open so that Saruman could pour the potion down his throat.  Anomen tried to spit it out, but Saruman pinched his nose closed so that the elfling gagged the liquid down in his desperate effort to breathe.  Glorfindel cringed inside at how harshly they had to handle the young one, and he tried to convince himself that what they did was for the best.

As foul tasting as the potion was, and as much as they had to struggle repeatedly to force it down Anomen's throat, the young Elf began to improve over the next several days.  At last it was apparent that the crisis had passed.  Although Anomen had not fully recovered, he was as strong as he had been when the Rivendell Elves had quitted Lothlórien.  Thus one night, whilst dining with Erestor and Saruman, Glorfindel spoke of the need to resume their journey.

"The time for the council approaches rapidly.  We should return to Imladris to assist Elrond in his preparations."  Rivendell had been agreed upon as the setting for the council because Men as well as Elves had customarily been welcome in that place.

Saruman objected.  "You set out from Lothlórien before our young friend was fully recovered, and that choice proved ill.  Would you risk his life again?'

"Galadriel believes that Anomen may long feel the effects of the venom," said Erestor, "but it is not practical for him to remain utterly bed-bound for the entire time that it would take for him to recover completely.  Moreover, if he did so, we would not return to Rivendell until long after the conference—and too much is at stake for such a lengthy delay."

"I did not say that he need convalesce for months on end.  If he could rest even for only the space of a few more weeks—that would be beneficial to the young one."

"But," argued Glorfindel, "we do not have a few more weeks."

"You may not have a few more weeks, but is Anomen's presence in Rivendell necessary for the preparations to be completed?"

Glorfindel paused.  Saruman had a point.  He and Erestor had need of haste, but Anomen did not labor under the same burdens as the older Elves did.

"You mean for us to leave him here," said Glorfindel.

Objected Erestor, "Then we shall have to make arrangements for his return to Rivendell, which may not be altogether easy if war does break out—as it assuredly shall."

"You forget," replied Saruman, "both that I too will be attending the council and that I do not need to leave for several more weeks.  If Anomen remains, he may rest during those weeks and accompany me when I depart for Rivendell."

Glorfindel nodded.

Said Erestor, "We should leave some of our warriors as an escort for Anomen."

Saruman looked offended.  "I assure you that my servants will be perfectly capable of protecting both myself and my guest!"

"Erestor," said Glorfindel hastily, "we shouldn't split our small force.  I doubt if we will face any trouble from the Dunlendings, but we may encounter Orcs and Wargs."

            "But," added Glorfindel, "let us at least leave Thoron behind as a companion for Anomen.  I do not wish him to feel abandoned."

Saruman looked troubled.  "Your pardon, my Lords.  I intend no disrespect to Thoron, who I am sure means no harm, but I have noticed that Anomen is weary rather than refreshed after Thoron has paid him a visit.  Perhaps it would be better for Anomen if he were to spend a few days undisturbed by the demands of his friend."

"Thoron is rather near to Anomen in age," agreed Erestor, "and therefore somewhat wilder than a more mature Elf.   Glorfindel, I think Saruman speaks wisely.  Let us leave Anomen entirely in his hands.  Besides," he joked, "with Anomen indisposed, we need Thoron to scour the dishes!"

Glorfindel smiled and nodded.  "Very well.  I shall tell Berenmaethor to prepare the scouts for our departure."

While the Elves were preparing to depart, Saruman hastened to Anomen's room.  The wizard had decided that it was time to give Anomen a medicine quite different from his former potion.

            To Anomen's surprise, this latest potion did not taste foul—in fact, it was delicious!  He drained the glass to the last drop.  Saruman looked pleased.

            "I see that this medicine agrees with you more than did the last one."

            "Yes, my Lord!  But my Lord, it tastes so good—what possible virtue could it have?"

            "Oh, I assure you, my young friend, this elixir is a very powerful one.  It will have a strong effect upon you."

            Anomen, much to his embarrassment, suddenly yawned loudly.  He blushed.

            "Excuse me, my Lord."

            "No, no, do not apologize.  It is to be expected that you would still be weary.  Sleep now."

            Saruman leaned forward and arranged the pillows.  Gratefully Anomen slid under the duvet.  Saruman stood by his bed, looking down upon the young Elf with a kind expression upon his face.

            "It must be hard for you," he mused,     "not to have a father."

            Drowsily, Anomen nodded.

            "A father would have sat beside your bed when you were ill or frightened."

            "Yes," murmured Anomen, as Saruman slipped into the chair beside the young Elf's bed.

            "A father would have wiped your forehead when you were fevered," said Saruman, picking up a cloth and dipping it into a bowl.

            "Mm-hh."

            Anomen felt as if he were floating whilst cocooned in the finest silk, surrounded by softness and warmth.  He felt someone smoothing the hair back from his face—such a gentle touch—safe—safe.

            "You would like to have a father, would you not?"

            "Mm-hh."

            Suddenly, Anomen heard a voice, Galadriel's voice.  Sharply she declared, "You have a father."

            Anomen sat bolt upright and shouted, "I do not!"

            "What is it Anomen?  What troubles you?" Saruman asked, his voice full of concern.

            "I-I must have been dreaming."

            "Ah," said Saruman sympathetically.  "A nightmare."

            "Yes, my Lord."

            The wizard shook his head, smiling.  "Always so formal.  You may call me Saruman."

            "That would seem disrespectful.  You are by far my senior."

            Then you may address me as Saeladar.  Is not that name a respectful one?"

            "Yes, my Lor—"

            "No, no.  Saeladar."

            "Um, yes—Saeladar."

Saruman seemed satisfied.  For his part, Anomen was starting to drift off again.  The last thing he remembered feeling before he fell into a deep sleep was the wizard lifting and stroking his hand, which had been dangling over the side of the bed.  The last thing he remembered hearing was the Istar's voice.

"I will sit with you until you are asleep.  It is something a father would do."

When the wizard was sure that the young Elf was unconscious, he returned to the other Elves, who were by now ready to depart.  All were mounted, except for Thoron, who stood by his horse.

"I must bid Anomen farewell," said Thoron.

"Ah," said Saruman, regret in his voice, "Anomen has just fallen asleep—a deep, healing sleep.  I hesitate to wake him."

"But I cannot leave without speaking with him," protested Thoron.

"You would not want to harm your friend, would you?" asked Saruman.  "He should be allowed to sleep until he wakes, which may not be for some time."

Troubled, Glorfindel hesitated.  "I do not like to deprive Thoron of the opportunity to say farewell to Anomen.  Still, unless we depart now, we will not be able to travel far.  The day will be wasted." 

"Do not forget," said Saruman smoothly, "that soon you will be reunited with Anomen.  I will bring him with me when I journey to Imladris.  And young Thoron, fear not.  I shall make sure that Anomen knows of the circumstances of your departure."

Glorfindel nodded at Thoron.  Reluctantly, Anomen's friend mounted his horse, and the Rivendell delegation rode forth.

The next morning, when Anomen finally was able to rouse himself from his drugged stupor, he was a little surprised to find that Thoron was not sitting in the chair by his bed.  Before, whenever Anomen awoke, his friend had been there.  Now only Saruman kept vigil by his bedside.

"Where is Thoron?"

"Your friend has left you.  All your friends have left you.  They departed for Rivendell yesterday morning."

"Departed—without me!?"  Anomen was stunned.

"They were in a great hurry.  They do, after all, have matters of great importance to attend to."

"Matters of great importance," Anomen thought bitterly.  "And I am of no importance—not to Thranduil, certainly not to Glorfindel, and now, it would seem, not even to Thoron."

"But I assure you," Saruman added, "that even though your friends have left you, you will not be neglected.  I have promised to take great care of you."

"I will begin, my young friend," said the wizard, "by making sure that you take your medicine."

"Friend," Anomen thought sadly.  "I have no friend."  Aloud he said, "I don't want it."

"But, Anomen, this is the pleasant tasting potion, not the foul concoction that you had to be forced to swallow."

"I don't care," said Anomen stubbornly, sulking like an Elfling.

This was unexpected.  Saruman had thought that getting Anomen's friends out of the way would make the ailing young Elf easier to manipulate.  Apparently this might not be the case.

"Now, now, Anomen," Saruman said in his most soothing voice, "you don't feel yourself right now, but this elixir is meant to restore you to health.  If you swallow it, you will feel much better."

"I don't care whether I get better or not," said Anomen.

"Of course you do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't!"

Stymied, Saruman wondered how he could make Anomen drink the potion without resorting to force, an action that would entirely defeat the purpose of this charade of kindly father looking out for dependent son.  What argument would work with the obstinate Elf?

"Anomen, what would Lord Elrond say if you did not take your medicine?"

Anomen began to say that Elrond wouldn't care in the least, but he stopped.  That, he knew, was not true.  Elrond had proved again and again that he had Anomen's interests at heart.  If he hadn't, surely he would have banished Anomen from Rivendell long ago, so much trouble had Anomen caused him.  But no matter Anomen's missteps, Elrond had always forgiven him, even when he had nearly led a young Arwen straight into a nest of Orcs.

"Very well," nodded Anomen.  "I will drink the potion."

Saruman felt triumphant.  He could make this young and headstrong Elf do his bidding.  Oh, yes, this time his plans would not fail.

In fact, Saruman may have just planted the seeds that would grow into the failure of his grandiose plans, but this possibility did not occur to the wisest of wizards.  All his eyes saw was a young Elf who was falling helplessly back into a stupor, a state that kept him a vulnerable captive of the wizard's hypnotic voice.  

After Anomen had spent several days at the mercy of Saruman's honeyed words, the young Elf began to puzzle over the fact that he was sleeping so much, and he noticed that he invariably fell asleep immediately after swallowing the Istar's potion.  The elixir, he realized, must itself be the explanation for his lethargy.

"Saruman," he thought to himself, "must think that I need a great deal of rest.  But I really feel much better and do not wish to drowse the day away.  If I could stay awake, at least I could pass the time in reading."

But how to tell the wizard that he did not need his elixir without seeming presumptuous or ungrateful?  The young Elf would have had difficulty in opposing the commands of a forceful wizard; he felt no more comfortable in opposing the wishes of a kindly one.  And Saruman was both.

The next morning Anomen was still pondering how to get out of swallowing Saruman's potion when the wizard entered the room carrying a goblet.

"Well, Anomen, I see that you are awake at last.  Your timing is excellent, for it is the hour when you must take your medicine."

"Oh, good," said Anomen, putting on a great show of looking forward to being dosed.

Just then a servant knocked on the door.  "My Lord, one of the new creatures appears on the verge of breaking free from its sac.  The master of breeding thought that you would like to be present."

"Ah," said Saruman, "I will be there at once."  He turned to hasten from the room.

"My medicine!" wailed Anomen.

Saruman smiled indulgently and paused to hand Anomen the goblet.  "I think you can manage, can't you?"

"Oh, yes," Anomen agreed eagerly.

Anomen waited a few minutes before leaping from the bed and racing down the hall to the garderobe.  There he poured the contents of the goblet into the opening, but only after dipping his fingers into the liquid and smearing some around his mouth.  Then he ran back to his room and placed the goblet on the table beside his bed.  He climbed into bed, covered himself with the quilt, and tried to look sleepy, letting his eyes glaze over.

Saruman returned a short while later.

"Why, Anomen, from your face one would think you were a little Elfing!"

Anomen smiled up at Saruman innocently.  The wizard dipped a cloth into a bowl and wiped his face clean.  Anomen yawned.

"Well," laughed the Istar, his eyes gleaming, "I had better let you rest.  Would you like me to sit with you until you are asleep?"

"Oh, please do not trouble yourself."

"Ah, it is no trouble."

What could Anomen say?  Saruman sat beside the bed speaking softly to Anomen until he was convinced that he was unconscious.  Only then did he leave young Elf alone.

After the wizard had left the room, Anomen arose and examined the books stacked on a table across the room from his bed.  After a while he found one to his liking.  He returned to his bed, propped up a few pillows, and began to amuse himself by reading a tale of the Last Alliance, when the combined forces of Men and Elves beat back the power of Sauron.  He knew he would have to be ready to hide the book in an instant should Saruman return, but, not having swallowed the potion, he felt fully alert for the first time in days.

Several days passed in this fashion, with Anomen getting rid of the potion in various ways, usually by dumping it down the garderobe but sometimes pouring it beneath a bush on the occasions when the wizard permitted him to spend time outside—although always within the Ring of Isengard.  After disposing of the potion each day, Anomen was exceeding careful to act drowsy in the presence of the Istar, and so Saruman was confident that the elixir, combined with his mesmerizing voice, would soon win over the Elf.  This delighted the wizard, for he was certain that such an innocent looking Elf could easily insinuate himself into the councils of both Men and Elves.  "He will be immensely useful," thought Saruman with satisfaction.  "He will never arouse suspicion."

Anomen, meanwhile, alert and with plenty of time to think, was meditating along other lines altogether.  Saruman had inadvertently put him in mind of the fact that Elrond had always shown the greatest concern for his welfare.  Having been reminded of that, Anomen also began to remember the numerous kindnesses that had been shown him by Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir.  Before too long, he was thinking fondly of many other denizens of Middle Earth—his long-ago Edwen Nana, Gilglîr, Mithrandir, Arwen, Galadriel, Haldir, even Erestor.  In fact, he could remember times when Glorfindel himself had taken much trouble over him.  And, Thoron, well, even though he had left without saying farewell, surely it was only because he was forced to.  At this thought, Anomen's resentment of Glorfindel was momentarily revived, but then Anomen had to smile when he remembered the wink Glorfindel had given him when he rejoined his companions on the crossing from Lothlórien to Greenwood.  He also had a dim memory of Glorfindel bearing him back to the land of Lórien after he had been attacked by the spiders.  No, Glorfindel often was sharp with him, but Anomen knew that Thoron's words in the forest of Greenwood were true.  By being strict, Glorfindel thought he was doing right by Anomen, for the world could be an unforgiving place.

The time drew near for the council.  Saruman of course had no intention of returning Anomen to Rivendell.  He would leave him behind and tell Elrond that the young Elf had still been too sick to travel.  With that in mind, one morning Saruman felt Anomen's pulse, sighed, and announced gravely, "I dislike entrusting your care to others, Anomen, but I am forced to undertake a journey.  I have assigned my most trustworthy servants to look after you in my absence.  Be assured that I will return to you as soon as I may."

"Where are you going, Lor—Saeladar?"

"I must meet with various personages."

"You are departing for the council in Rivendell!" Anomen said accusingly.

The wizard had to admit that this was true.

"Let me journey with you!"

"Yondo-nya, you are not fully recovered."

"I am recovered enough to travel!  And once I am at Rivendell, I will be able to rest and regain my strength without thought of further journeys."

Saruman shook his head.  "I would be remiss in my duties if I permitted you to travel before you are completely well."

"Lord Saruman—"

The Istar smiled benignly.  "Saeladar, Anomen, Saeladar."

"Saeladar, if you do not let me accompany you to Rivendell, I will make my way there on my own!"

This gave Saruman pause.  He knew that an undrugged Anomen would be perfectly capable of carrying through on the threat, and if Anomen were to arrive thus in Rivendell, Elrond would be most displeased—and his displeasure would likely extend to the wizard who had failed to see that Elrond's fosterling had returned under proper escort.  The only way to prevent the young Elf from venturing off on his own would be to restrain him.  Should he chain him, tie him, or lock him in?  But that would undo all the trust that he had been trying to cultivate in the Elf.  Well, here was a conundrum!  Was it best to anger the elf-lord or the elfling?

Neither, decided Saruman.  Anomen would accompany him to Rivendell, but he would make sure that the young Elf was bound to him so tightly that he would return with the Istar to Isengard at the conclusion of the council.  If Anomen wished to remain with him, as Saruman was sure he would, Elrond would be unable to stop him, as he had no claim upon the young Elf.  Their relationship was an informal one, thought Saruman smugly, for Anomen had never been legally attached to the elf-lord as a foster-son.

"Ah, Anomen, I cannot bear to see you unhappy.  If you so badly wish to see Rivendell once more, you may of course travel with me.  However, I fear for your health, as I do not believe you are truly recovered.  You must therefore promise to take your medicine each and every day of the journey and to faithfully follow my instructions."

Anomen nodded eagerly.  No doubt he could continue to find ways to avoid Saruman's potion, and what harm would there be in continuing to obey the wizard for the space of time it would take to regain Imladris?

            As it turned out, the journey was much more of a trial than Anomen had anticipated.  First, Saruman insisted that Anomen ride before him.

            "You have barely recovered from your injuries.  I do not want you to doze off and tumble from your horse."

When Anomen began to object, Saruman asked, "What do you think Elrond would say if I let you reinjure yourself?"

Anomen had no answer to that and so was forced to ride with Saruman.

Since the Elf rode with the wizard, ate with the wizard, and slept in a bed-roll next to the wizard, he felt like a captive bird.  He had to pretend to be sleepy much of the time; when he was awake, he had no choice but to listen to Saruman's talk.  He disliked being repeatedly addressed by the wizard 'yondo-nya'; he liked even less the fact that the wizard expected to be called 'Saeladar'.

            Most troublesome of all, however, was the fact that, when it came time for him to swallow Saruman's potion, he was never able to slip off and dispose of the elixir privately.  He was always in the company of Saruman or of his servants.  It thus required considerable ingenuity and some sleight of hand to hide that fact that he was not drinking the concoction.  One day, Anomen found himself standing by the cooking pot when Saruman handed him his dose, and he could think of no better solution than to surreptitiously pour it into the stew the minute the wizard's back was turned.

            Saruman himself had his own private stock of food, which he shared with Anomen, so the Istar did not fall victim to his own elixir.  His men, however, were soon feeling its effects.  Those who were not on watch quickly, and perhaps gratefully, fell into a profound slumber, but Anomen felt great pity for the guard as he tried in vain to stave off sleep.  At last, after peering cautiously toward Saruman to make sure that the wizard, albeit undrugged, had nonetheless fallen asleep, Anomen crept over to guard and whispered that he would be quite glad to take his watch.  The grateful guard was all too glad to accept the offer.

            "But," begged the guard, "see that you wake me before the master arises.  It would be worth my life if I failed in my duty."

Anomen assured him that he would indeed awake him before dawn.  He himself would have to be back in his bedroll by then, feigning sleep.

In spite of these difficulties, Anomen had Saruman convinced that he was a docile young Elf who would be incapable of escaping his clutches even whilst in Rivendell.  Confidently, Saruman rode through the gates of Rivendell and up to the Hall, where Mithrandir and Glorfindel awaited them.      

            Catching Saruman completely by surprise, an amazingly alert and agile Anomen slipped off the horse before the wizard had reined it to a halt.

            "Mithrandir!" shouted Anomen, sprinting to the wizard.  "Mithrandir!"  He flung his arms around the Istar and squeezed so tightly that the wizard gasped.  When he had caught his breath, Mithrandir looked up at Saruman, still upon his horse, and beamed at him.

            "My friend, I must thank you.  Judging from the words of Glorfindel and Erestor, I had expected that Anomen would be exceedingly frail.  Either they exaggerated, or, more likely, you have outdone yourself!  Your magic, as ever, is most powerful!"

            "Yes," agreed Saruman, speaking through thin lips, "it would seem that there has been powerful magic at work here."

            Anomen was still clinging to Mithrandir.  Glorfindel had been watching this exchange, and now he stepped forward.

            "Anomen," he scolded, "stop making a spectacle of yourself.  You would think that you are still an elfling—oomph!"

            Seemingly obedient, Anomen had loosed his hold on Mithrandir—only to fling his arms around Glorfindel.

            "Oh, Glorfindel," he teased the shocked elf-lord, "I am still an elfling. You yourself never overlook an opportunity to remind me of that fact!"

 Speechless, Glorfindel looked about at the smiling faces of his friends, for they had been joined by Erestor and Elrond.  Elrond cleared his throat.

"He has a point, Glorfindel."

"Is that so, Elrond?  In that case," said the balrog-slayer, grinning now in his turn, "Anomen, you will find in the armory—"

"Glorfindel," Elrond interrupted, "Elladan and Elrohir have polished the weaponry to the point that the metal is wearing thin."

Thwarted, Glorfindel wrinkled his forehead, trying to think of a suitable task.  Before he could do so, however, Erestor broke in.

"Anomen, come with me to library.  I have, ah, I have—oh yes, I have some scrolls that need copying."  Erestor winked at the young Elf.

Anomen grinned, let go of Glorfindel, and followed his tutor into the Hall.

Once Anomen was out of sight, Glorfindel allowed his gratitude to show on his face.

"Saruman, we are greatly in your debt.  No one expected Anomen to recover so quickly!"

Saruman waved off his thanks.  "No thanks are necessary.  I was glad to have him in my care, for I myself take a great interest in that young Elf and his future."

A few days after Anomen's return to Rivendell, Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Mithrandir sat in Elrond's study discussing the upcoming council.  "Elrond," Erestor pointed out, "Thranduil and his entourage should arrive in two days at the most.  We need to do something about Anomen.  His hair is growing back in, but even if we were to dye it again, I don't think we have time to get everyone used to calling him 'Dûrrandîr'.  If Thranduil learns that you have been harboring a refugee from his realm, his ire may cause him to depart in wrath, and the council will have been a failure.  Moreover, we do not want harm to befall Anomen, and Thranduil may resolve to find a way to strike at him once he realizes where he is hidden."

            Elrond nodded, and turned to Mithrandir.  "Is he well enough, do you think, to accompany Taurmeldir on patrol?  That would keep him out of the way, and he would not protest, as I think he might if we confined him to his room."

            "Not only would he protest," said Glorfindel grimly.  "You know perfectly well that he would climb down the trellis.  One of these days," the balrog-slayer added, "I am going to skin him."

            "So I have heard," said Elrond dryly.  "What say you, Mithrandir?" he said, turning again to the wizard.

            "I do not think that a brief patrol will do him any harm."

            "Are not Elladan and Elrohir members of that patrol?" asked Erestor.

            "Yes," replied Glorfindel.

            "In that case," laughed Erestor, "I have greater concern for Taurmeldir's health than for Anomen's!"

            "Especially as it is time for Thoron to rejoin the patrol as well," agreed Elrond.  He arose.  "Erestor, will you see that Anomen is sent to me so that I may inform him that he is to rejoin the patrol.  Afterward," he added, addressing himself to Glorfindel with a smile, "you will no doubt wish to give all four strict instructions."

 "As if that will do any good," muttered the balrog-slayer.  He, Erestor, and Mithrandir also arose and made to depart the room.

"Oh, Glorfindel," Elrond called after him, "as Anomen has only recently recovered from his illness, perhaps he should not perform all the chores whilst on this patrol.  Would you suggest to Taurmeldir that the various tasks be divided amongst the four youngest scouts—Thoron, Elladan, and Elrohir, as well as Anomen?"

Glorfindel's face was unreadable but his voice was not.  "What a brilliant idea, Elrond," he said sarcastically.  Elrond was not given to grinning, but he made an exception in this case.

            Anomen stood outside Elfond's chamber steeling himself for the severe scolding that he knew he was in for—and that he realized he deserved.  He had run off alone in a forest that was known to be dangerous.  He had refused Thoron's pleas to return to his companions.  He had scoffed at Glorfindel.  He had been heedless of the signs that danger approached.  Altogether, he had been foolish, stubborn, and disrespectful.  These were not the qualities of a scout or a warrior, he knew, and he wondered if Elrond had decided to confine him to tasks in and about Rivendell.  Such a punishment would be just.  At last, taking a steadying breath, he knocked on the door.

            "Enter."

            Anomen pushed open the door and reluctantly stepped into the room.   Stopping when he was a few feet from Elrond, he wanted to hang his head and stare at the floor.  Instead, he stood as straight as he could and looked directly at the elf-lord.

            "Is there anything you wish to say to me, Anomen?"

            Anomen nodded and took yet another breath, a deep one for he knew he had much to confess.  "It was wrong of me to leave the camp without permission, and I should have listened to Thoron when he tried to persuade me to go back to my companions.   I should not have mocked Lord Glorfindel, for he had my best interests at heart, even if I was too stubborn to admit it.  In my anger, I was careless; had I not been, the spiders may never have caught me in the first place, and I would have spared my friends much trouble and grief."

            "I am glad that you understand the nature of your faults, as will be Taurmeldir, who otherwise would be reluctant to accept you back into his patrol.  You have learned much—although the price of your education was a trifle higher than it would have been had you been less willful."

            Anomen was stunned.  "Then I am—I am to return to the patrol?"

            "Yes, for it would be a shame to waste wisdom so dearly bought."       

            "Oh, thank you, Elrond."  Anomen was so relieved and overjoyed that he could not stop himself from flinging his arms around the elf-lord.  Elrond freely returned the hug.  "Adar," Anomen murmured impulsively.  Then, suddenly self-conscious, the young Elf released the elf-lord and sprang back.

            "Lord Elrond," he stammered, "I-I-I am—I beg your pardon for my impertinence!"

            Elrond raised an eyebrow in amusement.  "Impertinence?  Anomen, I have been referring to you as 'ion-nîn' for over five hundred years.  If I may call you 'my son', why may you not address me as 'father'?"

            Anomen blushed, but his embarrassment was outweighed by his gratitude.

            "Now go and prepare yourself.  Then come to the Hall of Fire.  Mithrandir is there with Saruman.  You should bid farewell to both.  Be especially sure to express your gratitude to Saruman, who has gone to much trouble on your account."

            "Yes, Adar."

            Later that evening Anomen hurried toward the Hall of Fire.  He was sorry to be saying farewell to Mithrandir so soon after being reunited with him, but he was delighted at the thought that he was getting away from Saruman.   He hoped that he would never again be forced to address him as 'wise father'."  He paused at the door to compose himself.  "Last time," he reminded himself.

            He opened the door and approached the two wizards, who had been joined by Elrond and Glorfindel.

"Saeladar," Anomen began.

"What is that you say?" asked Elrond, who had caught the 'adar' and thought that Anomen was addressing him.

"Saruman," Anomen said hastily.  "I was about to say to Saruman—"

"That's Lord Saruman to you," chided Glorfindel.

Saruman raised his hand in a benign gesture.  "Ah, Glorfindel, do not scold the young one.  I am pleased that he is so comfortable in my presence that he feels that he can address me so."

Anomen, however, was overjoyed at the opening provided by Glorfindel.  To that elf-lord's surprise, Anomen, with every appearance of genuine contriteness, said, "I am sorry, Lord Glorfindel, at my lack of decorum.  I wish to disgrace neither you nor my Adar, Lord Elrond.  In the future, I promise that I shall address Lord Saruman in the proper fashion at all times."  A perfect picture of politeness, Anomen bowed to both the Istar and the balrog-slayer.

            Saruman forced himself to smile, but inwardly he seethed.  He could sense his opportunity slipping away, thanks to that wretched elf-lord and to whatever magic had been used to counter his own.  Very well, he would have to turn his charms on the messengers from Rohan who from time to time journeyed to Isengard.  Surely his blandishments and flattery could persuade one of the Rohirrim to enter into his service.  Perhaps, he mused, it was all for the best.  Elves had senses superior to those of Men but had proved difficult to corrupt—mayhap for that very reason.   No doubt it would be easier to turn a Man.  Certainly they were much more avaricious than any Elf he had ever met!  As for Anomen, well, if that Elf ever wandered within his reach, he would pay him back for his ingratitude.  Oh, yes, he would see the young one taught wisdom at the end of a whip!  As Saruman imagined the torments that were in store for Anomen, he no longer had to force himself to smile, for his pleasure, although spiteful, was real.

            Soon it was not only Saruman who had reason to seethe.  When the Lothlórien Elves arrived the next day, Lady Galadriel found to her dismay that the Rivendell Elves now held Saruman in high esteem because they believed he had taken excellent care of their Anomen.

            "Galadriel," Celeborn advised her, "you must give over your plan of contriving to place Mithrandir at the head of the council.  Formerly Erestor and Glorfindel would have supported you, and they might have persuaded Elrond to be of your party, but now I fear that you stand alone.  Mithrandir, as you well know, will not seek such a position of influence, so even he will not aid you.  He will accept power only if he thinks it needful—and this he does not believe and will not believe until Saruman at last shows his hand, which I deem he will not do for some time to come."

            "If I were to share what I have seen in the mirror," mused Galadriel.

            Celeborn shook his head.  "You know as well as I that everything shown in the mirror is equivocal, subject to two—nay, to many—interpretations.  Saruman's potion is only one instance.  A wizard gives a young Elf a potion that makes him sleepy.  But what of it?  Even Anomen himself, although he contrived to avoid the elixir, did so because he thought it unnecessary, not because he thought Saruman was striving to harm him."

            "But in his heart Anomen knows that something is amiss."

            "Saruman makes Anomen uneasy, but he does not know why, and not knowing he cannot help us for he is unable to put his misgivings into words."

            "Yet he resists Saruman."

            "Yes, but he does not know the reason.  He is not even aware that he does resist, for he does not know that he has cause to do so.  No, he cannot help us, at least not yet.  We must continue to watch and wait."

            "Watch and wait," said Galadriel bitterly, "as we have ever done whilst the enemy grows stronger."

            Had she been a mortal, Galadriel would have ground her teeth.  As she was an Elf, she composed herself, and as gracious and enigmatic as ever, prepared to attempt to sway the council, doomed though her efforts might be.

            At least, she thought, she had the consolation of knowing that Anomen had once again eluded the wizard of Isengard.  That victory would have to suffice—for the time being.

This is the end of this episode in Anomen's life.  Maybe I will come up with another adventure sometime.