As evening brought to an end Anomen's day as a runner, he hastened back to his patrol's encampment to join his comrades in the evening meal.  When the scouts had finished eating, Baramagor began to gather the dishes.  Anomen arose and began to help him.

            "Anomen—" began Baramagor.

            "Yes, yes, I know.  You are the youngest.  But I was the youngest in Taurmeldir's patrol, and, since our warriors are joining forces, it seems sensible that we should join forces as skivvies."

            "You don't mind?"

            "Not at all."

            "And you think Berenmaethor won't mind?"

            "If he does, you may be sure that he will not hesitate to say so.  Unless he does, you must let me share this duty."

            Baramagor nodded his head, and together the two Elves lugged the dishes to a nearby creek and scoured them.  As they labored, Anomen found himself talking as freely with Baramagor as he did with any of his other friends.  Baramagor had much in common with Thoron, although, being younger, he lacked his cousin's confidence.

Baramagor and Anomen returned to their campfire still chatting amiably, a fact that Berenmaethor noticed with interest.  Later he called Anomen aside.

            "Anomen, I have a task for you."

            "Yes, Captain."

            "You are closer in age to Baramagor than any of the other Elves in this patrol, yet you have more experience in battle than he has.  I know that you are accustomed to joining forces with Thoron, but I would like you to watch Baramagor's back instead.  I do not want to be so obvious as to ask his cousin Thoron to look after him—Baramagor would resent that, I think—but he does need someone to keep an eye on him.  You seem to get along well together, and I suspect he would be grateful if you were to pay attention to him." 

            Anomen hesitated.  "I would do so, but what of Thoron?"

            "I will ask Thoron to select another partner for the time being.  He will understand.  Baramagor is, after all, his cousin.  He will want to see him kept safe."

"That is true.  Very well, Captain, I will try to stay near him and watch out for him."

Anomen was able to keep his promise that very night.  He and his friends had hardly rolled up in their blankets, clustered together as they had been the night before, when Berenmaethor's lieutenant roused them.

"A mist is forming," he whispered.  "Berenmaethor wants us all to be at the ready."  The young Elves got into position, Anomen making sure to slip into a space beside Baranmagor.  He glanced over at Thoron, who was separated from him by several scouts.  Thoron smiled at him and mouthed the words "Thank you."

The mist began to creep toward them.  As Taurmeldir had during the previous skirmish, Barenmaethor ordered them to shoot into the vapors even though they could not make out their enemies.  Oddly, this time they heard no sound after they had released a volley of arrows—not a shriek, not a howl.  The uncanny silent was not broken by the second volley either, nor the third.  Anomen found that he was sweating.  Silence, he was learning, can be as unnerving as any sound.  He had little time to contemplate this discovery, however, for the mist was upon them—and it was empty.

Confused, the Elves stood silently as the mist passed them by and then dissipated.

"I do not understand," said Baramagor.  "Where are our enemies?"

"I think," said Anomen slowly, "that this mist was meant to attack our spirits rather than our bodies."

"Yes," said one of the older Elves.  "It is well known that when the mind becomes unstrung, so too does the body.  The Orcs do not understand this, but the power within Dol Guldur does."

Berenmaethor and his lieutenant conversed in terse whispers, and then Berenmaethor's lieutenant came over to tell them that they could stand down.  The watch was reset, and the Elves began to drift back toward their bedrolls.  Baramagor lagged behind the rest.  To Anomen's eyes, he seemed to have been greatly unnerved by the phantom assault.  Concerned, he slowed his pace until he was walking alongside Baramagor.  Suddenly the young Elf stopped and clutched his belly.

            "Anomen, ah, my stomach—I don't think I'm going to make it to a tree!"

            "No one's watching but me, and I'll never tell."

Anomen held Baramagor's shoulders as the younger Elf leaned over and retched.  When he was finished, he looked at Anomen apologetically.

"I am so sorry, Anomen."

"Oh, don't be troubled, Baramagor.  If you don't mind me saying so, I'm delighted to see you retching your guts out because it shows that you still have guts to retch out!  The alternative is pretty gruesome, don't you think?"

Baramagor turned pale again and doubled over once more.

"Um, Baramagor, I guess I shouldn't have said that."

Baramagor's shoulders were shaking.

"Maybe I should fetch Berenmaethor," said Anomen, alarmed now.

Baramagor raised his head, and Anomen was amazed to see that he was laughing.

"Anomen, that was a dreadful joke, but, still, it was a joke.

"He's right," Anomen thought to himself, with amazement, "I just told a joke."  Nervously he said to Baramagor, "Do you suppose it's all right to tell jokes so soon after so many have died?  You don't think I'm being disrespectful, do you?"

Baramagor shook his head.  "No, you don't sound any different than Berenmaethor does sometimes.  No matter how grim the situation, he can say the most outrageous things—and with an impossibly straight face, too!  Yesterday morning, after breakfast, he asked me how I had enjoyed my dancing lesson.  I answered in all seriousness, 'What dancing lesson?'  Berenmaethor said, "Why the dancing lesson last night."  What an idiot I am!  I fell into his trap and replied, 'But last night I was fighting'.  'Oh,' said Berenmaethor, 'is that what you were doing with that Orc?  And here I thought you were dancing!"

Anomen actually giggled.  "Berenmaethor said something like that to me after we skirmished with the Dunlendings.  And when I told Thoron about it, he told me that Taurmeldir had said the same to him after his first battle!  I think all the captains must twit their novices with that very joke.  I'll bet Gil-galad once said the same to Elrond!"                     

   Baramagor grinned.  "I would have liked to have seen that!  Do you suppose Elrond once had to scour pots?"

"Oh, without a doubt.  And Glorfindel, too."  Anomen's eyes were sparkling.  "After all, Glorfindel had to have been a novice, too.  I'll bet every threat he has uttered at me was once directed at his own head!"

"What has he said?"

"Well, one time he was mightily vexed—I think it was the second time that he had been forced to stay up all night leading a patrol in search of me—and he had hold of my arm and was dragging me off to see Elrond.  'I am glad you have come back in one piece', he said, 'because I am going to skin you someday and I wouldn't want anyone to beat me to it'."

Now Baramagor was giggling.  "Were you frightened?"

"Yes, because I didn't know any better.  I thought he was serious.  There were a few times when, if I'd been trapped between Glorfindel and an Orc, I'd have run toward the Orc!"

Baramagor doubled over again, but this time it was in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

"Oh, Anomen," he gasped.  "You are going to cause me to make so much noise that the Orcs will be able to target us by the sound!"

"Haldir claims that he can aim for a target just by listening to it breathe—but I don't believe him."

Berenmaethor came up to them then.

"You should be resting—and if you will not rest, at least keep quiet so that the rest of us may!"

Berenmaethor kept his face straight, but the two young Elves couldn't keep similar control of theirs.  Nor could they keep themselves from giggling.  Soon Elladan joined in.  Next Thoron was spluttering.  Finally even Elrohir was laughing softly.

"Well," observed Berenmaethor's lieutenant, "at least this shows that the mist did not unstring their nerves."

"No," replied Berenmaethor, "but if they don't settle down soon, they are going to unstring mine."

The next morning the whole patrol seemed to have woken up with spirits renewed.  And a good thing that proved to be, too, because something quite unexpected happened.

Shortly after breakfast, they were attacked in full daylight.

The evil in Dol Guldur must have been powerful indeed to drive Orcs and wargs into battle while the sun shone high overhead.  Indeed, the fell creatures fought as if they had been maddened.  So frenzied was their attack that the Elves at first gained very little advantage from the fact that they could see their foes clearly.

Anomen and Baramagor were heading toward the creek when the first wave of Orcs and wargs swept past the sentries and crashed into the front lines.

"Our bows!" cried Baramagor.  "We haven't got our bows!"

"No, but we have got our swords!  Come on!"

Casting aside the dishes, the two drew their swords and raced back toward their companions.  When they reached the camp, they saw that bows would have been of little use.  Grappling hand-to-hand, hand-to-jaw, the camp was a chaos of intermingled wargs, Elves, and Orcs.  Anomen and Baramagor plunged into the swirling mass of combatants and began trying to hew their way toward Thoron, Elladan, and Elrohir, who had formed themselves into a circle.  In that fashion the three of them were holding at bay at least twice that number of Orcs and wargs.

Anomen and Baramagor had nearly reached their friends when more Orcs and wargs came pouring into the camp, forming a wedge that came between the two young Elves and drove them apart.  Anomen glanced toward Thoron and the others and saw that they were holding their own.  He gave up trying to reach them and decided to attempt to regain Baramagor's side.

This latest onslaught of their enemies had driven Baramagor clear to the other side of the camp.  An enormous Orc, at least a head taller than his fellows, spotted the isolated young Elf and, leering, came after him.  "This one's mine," he growled, and the other Orcs left him to his sport.  With one mighty blow, the creature knocked Baramagor's sword from his hand.  Baramagor darted behind a tree, and for several agonizing minutes Elf and Orc played a deadly game of tag, the hulking creature jabbing at the agile Elf, who dodged back and forth, trying always to keep the tree trunk between himself and his foe.  At last, however, a fallen branch rolled under Baramagor's feet, and he slipped, landing on his back and looking up at the Orc, who, with a sneer on its face, raised its scimitar to finish him off.

The scimitar fell, sticking into the ground beside Baramagor's head.  The Orc stood for a moment, a look of surprise on his face.  Then his knees buckled, and the creature fell forward, Anomen's sword embedded in its back.

The huge Orc had fallen full-length on Baramagor, but Anomen had no time to drag his friend out from under the body.  He scarcely had wrenched his sword from the carcass when he had to turn and fend off another enormous Orc.  It was just as well, however, for Baramagor was now as safely situated as it was possible to be, fully covered as he was by the dead Orc.  Had the beast not stank so much, Baramagor would have been quite comfortable.

Anomen heard shouting and realized that more combatants were pouring into the camp—but these were Rangers.  Taurmeldir had been right.  As warriors, these Men were fearless and doughty.  Thus reinforced, the Elves began to make headway against their assailants.  Little by little, the Orcs and wargs were forced from the camp.

When the last of the enemy had been slain or driven away, Anomen turned his attention back to Baramagor, who had been patiently waiting whilst trying hard not to breathe in the odor of Orc.  Anomen grasped one of the Orc's wrists and tried to pull the carcass off of his friend.

            "Umph, ah, Baramagor, this beast is heavy."

            "You don't have to tell me that," gasped Baramagor.

            Anomen tried again, tugging with all his might.  To his relief, the body slid off his friend—but then he realized that someone had taken hold of the Orc's other wrist and was helping him.  Surprised, he realized that it was one of the Rangers.

            "Oh," he stammered.  "I—I thank you, sir."

"You are very welcome," replied the Ranger.

            As Anomen stared at the Man, he realized that Taurmeldir had told him the name of this particular Ranger.

            "You are Halbarad, are you not, and you ride with Arathorn, son of Arador."

            "Yes, that is so.  And who may you be?"

            "Anomen, son of Elrond."

"Son of Elrond?"

"Foster-son of Elrond."

"And your friend?"

"Oh, my pardon!  This is my friend Baramagor."

Baramagor was sitting up now and was too curious about the Ranger to mind the fact that his friend had momentarily forgotten him.  The Man knelt down beside him.

"You do not look badly injured, but you must let me check.  I have some skill as a healer."

Baramagor nodded, and Halbarad checked him for broken bones.  Satisfied that the young Elf had none, he rose to his feet.

"I am sorry," he said gravely.  "You have no serious injuries."

"Sorry?" said Baramagor, confused.

"Yes, very sorry.  No doubt you will have some bruises, but nothing, alas, that will keep you out of tomorrow's battle."  The Ranger winked and moved on.

After he was gone, Baramagor quickly recovered his wits.  "Well, now we know what Rangers say to their novices," he chortled.  He deepened his voice.  "Ahem, 'Nothing, alas, that will keep you from tomorrow's battle'."

Anomen noticed that Baramagor said nothing about his stomach, and, indeed, after that day it never bothered him again.

Next installment: Elrohir confronts his demons.