Farflung, Miruvour, and Raven Nightstrider:  Thank you all for your responses to "The Nameless One."  Raven Nightstrider, it is a great compliment for me to have the relationship between Thranduil and Legolas compared with that of Denethor and Faramir and Henry VIII and Mary Tudor!  Farflung: That French Kiss quotation hits the nail on the head: "Of course, you love your mother, even people who hate their mothers love their mothers."  Of course Legolas loves his father—as Thranduil does him.

Kawaii ningen kitsune: Thank you for letting me know that you are enjoying this current story as well as the fact that you also read "Saruman Redivivus".  A digital smile is wending its way to you via the magic of optical cable.  ^_^   Yes, I think I will keep writing.

Lembas7: Thank you for your response to both "Dol Guldur" and "The Nameless One" series overall.  I am glad that you didn't find the Thranduil/Legolas relationship to be the usual predictable one.  Could you give me a little more feedback on that battle scene (I wasn't sure which one you meant) and I will see if I can revise it to eliminate the flow problem.

Jebb: There won't be much humor in this one, I'm afraid, but hang on—more is on the way.

Dragonfly: Your question about whether Elrond knows the truth about Anomen will be answered in the final chapter of the Dol Guldur portion of "The Nameless One" series, which is coming up pretty quickly.

Volcanic Plug: I have a hunch you must have something to do with the sudden surge of interest in the earlier stories.  Thank you for taking the trouble to encourage people to go back and take a look at them.

Vocabulary

Thalioncrist—'Dauntless Sword'

Baramagor and Anomen stood gazing at the distant forest.   Baramagor was the first to speak.

"It is not Lothlórien, but it is a forest nonetheless.  Let us shelter in it, for dawn is still several hours away."

"No!" shouted Anomen with a vehemence that shocked his friend.

"But, Anomen, it would be safer than remaining on the plain."

"No," Anomen said again.

"Are there spiders in that forest?"

"No."

"Then I do not understand.  Why should we not take refuge in the trees?"

"That is Fangorn Forest."

"I know that, but what of it?"

"I do not want to encounter—there is someone—I cannot explain."

"At that moment the Elves heard the howling of wolves.

Weakly, Anomen tried to joke.  "They are wolves, not wargs.  Our fortunes are improving."

Baramagor was not amused.  "Anomen," he argued, "you cannot give voice to your reasons for avoiding that forest, but the wolves are not so reticent.  They are voicing their intentions."

Miserably, Anomen nodded.  They mounted their horse and galloped toward the forest.  As they drew nearer, Anomen's dread increased, but he could not pinpoint any valid reason for his fear.  He had not fared badly in this forest.  His first time in these woods, he had been taken in hand by an Ent who had delivered him to Saruman, who had been a gracious host.  His second journey he had encountered wargs but had escaped unscathed, and the Istar had once again been a gracious host.  His third stay he had been nursed back to health by the wizard.  What did he fear?

They dismounted several yards into the forest.  They did not think to picket or hobble the horse, for it was elven, and such horses brook no restraints.  Nor do they need them.  But this night something strange was afoot, for Baramagor and Anomen had no sooner set their feet upon the ground than the horse whinnied, tossed his head, and galloped back the way they had come.

Aghast, the two Elves stared after the retreating stallion until it had vanished into the darkness.  Anomen was the first to recover his wits.

"Something must have frightened him!  Quick!  Into the trees!"

Safe on a limb high above the ground, the two watched and listened breathlessly.  At first they could hear the hoofbeats of their fleeing horse.  When those had faded away, they heard nothing.  Nor did they see any movement.  The hours passed.  It was cold in the forest at night.  Baramagor began to shiver.

"Anomen, we have heard and seen nothing.  Perhaps we should climb down and build a fire to fend off the cold."

"Someone or something might see the fire and be drawn to it.  You don't want those wolves to find us, do you?"

            "But, Anomen, would not a fire keep wolves at bay?  Are not wolves afraid of flames?"

"Most wolves, yes, but fell wolves would be drawn with delight at the thought of their dinner toasting by a fire!"

            The younger Elf shuddered from fear now as well as cold.  "Oh, do not speak so, Anomen!" he pleaded.

            Anomen felt sorry for his words.  "Come," he said kindly.  "You are right.  A fire will do no harm.  If anything does approach, we can scramble back up into the trees."

The two young Elves climbed down from the tree and set about gathering deadwood for a fire.  Although their horse had run off with their saddlebags, leaving them without food, Baramagor had his flint and steel in the pouch that dangled from his belt.  Before too long he had a fire going, although Anomen insisted that it be kept small.  Still, as they huddled over the tiny blaze, the two began to feel a little warmer.  After awhile Baramagor stopped shivering and began to look about.  Suddenly he gasped.  Without making the slightest bit of noise, someone had crept up on them.  Just on the edge of the firelight stood an old bent man, leaning on a staff and wrapped in a great cloak; his wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his eyes.

Baramagor opened his mouth to speak, but Anomen seized his arm.  "Do not speak to him," he hissed.

"But, Anomen, he is an old Man.  We must be hospitable and invite him to share our fire."  He shook off Anomen's hand and leaped to his feet.  "Well, father, what can we do for you?  Come and be warm, if you are cold!"

The old Man stepped into the firelight and spoke.

            "Well, well, Anomen, I see that you have brought a friend with you this time."

            Baramagor looked at Anomen with astonishment.  "You know this Man?"

            "Oh," the Man said, "we are old friends.  Indeed, I have been as a father to Anomen, is that not so?"

            Reluctantly, Anomen nodded.

            "And are you not going to introduce me to your friend, Anomen?  You were ever the polite elfling—have you forgotten your manners?"

            Anomen forced himself to speak.  "My Lord Saruman, pray permit me to present to you this Elf of Imladris, Baramagor, son of Thalioncrist.

            Saruman looked amused.  "So formal, as ever," he murmured softly.

            For his part, Baramagor was well-nigh wriggling in his joy.  "The Istar of Isengard!" he exclaimed. "Oh, this is a fortunate meeting indeed!  We have found an ally!"

            "You have been found," corrected Saruman.

            "Oh, yes, of course, my Lord."

            "Are you hungry?  Thirsty?"  The wizard gestured toward the pouch that he wore at his waist.  "I carry some food in my wallet, for I had planned to spend the day in the forest."

            "We are very hungry!" Baramagor replied eagerly.

            "No, we're not hungry at all," shouted Anomen.

            Baramagor stared at him.

            "What I mean," said Anomen carefully, "is that we could not possibly partake of your small stock of food.  You are our elder and should not have to go hungry on our behalf.  We are young and ought to be able to endure a short fast in deference to you, Lord Saruman."

            "Oh," said Baramagor, embarrassed, "I did not mean to be disrespectful."

            Before Saruman had a chance to reassure Baramagor, Anomen said quickly, "Yes, Lord Elrond would be furious if we were to behave in such an uncouth fashion as to gobble up an elder's food, a Lord, no less!  We do not wish to shame Lord Elrond, do we, Baramagor?"

            "Oh, no!" said Baramagor, horrified at the thought of disgracing the Lord of Imladris.

            "So," thought Saruman, "Anomen can manipulate this younger Elf with ease.  Hmm, perhaps I should not give up my plan of seducing an Elf into my service, but Baramagor rather than Anomen.  For if Anomen can control Baramagor, then I should be able to do so with ease."

            Aloud he said, "Very well.  I would not wish to urge you to do anything against your conscience.  Instead, let us return with all haste to Isengard, where I have more than enough food to counter any scruples you might feel at accepting my hospitality."

            "Oh, no, we couldn't," said Anomen desperately.  "We were on a mission to Lothlórien when we were forced astray by wargs.  We must make for Lothlórien with all the speed that we can muster."

            "But you have no horses," Saruman pointed out.

            "All the more reason for hastening on, for we shall have to make good time on foot to make up for that fact that we are have been unhorsed."

            "But if you accompany me to Isengard, it shall be within my power to provide you with mounts.  A short walk will allow you to continue on horseback, a circumstance that will more than make up for a brief stay in Orthanc."

            Anomen flailed about for another reason to avoid Isengard.  "Um, I have heard it said that 'Short cuts make long delays'."

            Saruman laughed mirthlessly.  "Ah," said the wizard, "I can assure you that this 'short cut' will not be as you expect.  Come."

            Saruman strode away from the fire, and Baramagor trailed after him obediently.  Anomen had no choice but to kick dirt over the fire and to follow likewise.

            As they walked, the wizard meditated on how best to make use of this unexpected opportunity.  "I shall have to do away with Anomen," the Istar thought to himself, "but in such a fashion that I do not reveal myself to Baramagor.  A convenient fall from the top of Orthanc whilst star gazing—yes, that should do nicely.  And then Baramagor will turn to me for comfort in his grief.  I had looked forward to inflicting a long torment upon Anomen, but I shall have to forgo my plan for the sake of speedily ensnaring Baramagor."

            "Of course," the wizard mused on, "I could make it look as if Anomen had fallen prey to a ravening beast in the forest of Fangorn, leaving behind only a few bloodied garments.  Then I would have Anomen secretly cast into a dungeon, where I could entertain myself at leisure.  Hmm, a trifle more difficult to arrange than a fall from the tower, but it would be infinitely more satisfying than having only the space of a few minutes in which to enjoy Anomen's terror as he plunges toward the base of Orthanc."

             The wizard walked on, amusing himself with devising scenarios for the destruction—preferably painful—of Anomen.  Meanwhile his intended victim was wracking his brains for a means of escape.  Anomen realized that it had been foolish of him to let slip that Lothlórien, not Fangorn, had been their destination.  Saruman would have deduced that no one would know of their whereabouts.  Anomen thus had no hope of convincing the Istar that someone would eventually arrive at Isengard in search of them.  The wizard now had no motive to let them go.  Could they slip out a window and climb down the tower?  Unlike a tree, the tower had walls that were very smooth, providing no handholds or footholds.  And no windows were near enough the base of the tower for them to escape by knotting together bed linen into a rope.  Moreover, how was he even to convince Baramagor that it was necessary to flee their host?  What had Saruman ever done to justify Anomen's fear of him?

            With every step he took, Anomen's terror grew.  The trees about him sensed his dread and began to whisper one to another.  Moreover, distant trees sent word that someone or something had arrived at the edge of the forest, someone or something that would aid the two young Elves if only they could be prevented from reaching Isengard.  At length the trees agreed upon a plan.  As Anomen walked, heedless of his surroundings, a tree snaked out a root, wrapped it around his ankle, and gave a hard yank.

            "Ow!" Anomen cried in pain as he fell upon the ankle, twisting it.  Almost immediately, the joint began to swell.  Anomen was forced to pull off his boot at once, lest it become impossible later.

            Saruman turned about and stood over Anomen, with an effort hiding his irritation.  Baramagor knelt by his friend's side.

            "You can lean on my shoulder, Anomen," the younger Elf offered stoutly.  He helped his friend to his feet, and with his aid Anomen slowly hobbled forward.

            Saruman sighed to himself.  Their progress toward Isengard had been slowed, but he would have them there in the end.  It was necessary to be patient.  Aloud, he encouraged the two young Elves to persevere.  "When we have arrived at Isengard, you, Baramagor will be able to rest, and you, Anomen, will be taken care of, I can assure you."

But the trees had other ideas.  It seemed as if every step he took, Baramagor would trip over a root whose distance he had misjudged.  Anomen almost fell several times as Baramagor strove to maintain his balance.  Saruman glanced back over his shoulder from time to time, his frustration growing.  At last Baramagor lost his balance altogether and toppled to the ground, bringing Anomen down as well.  Bruised and breathless, the two Elves sat looking up at the wizard.

Saruman sighed aloud.  "Well, Baramagor, I do not think that you can support Anomen all the way to Isengard."  To himself, he said grimly, "And I am not going to carry the wretched Elf!"

He continued.  "Since you can walk, Baramagor, you and I should go on ahead and see that a horse is sent back for Anomen."  It occurred to him as he said this that here was a perfect opportunity for him to do away with his ungrateful guest.  He would send his servants to Anomen—to slay him.  The horse would be used to carry his carcass back to Isengard, where, with due lamentations, Saruman would see to it that he was buried with the greatest of respect.  He would then have Baramagor, vulnerable in his grief, completely at his mercy.

But Baramagor could not be persuaded to leave his friend.  "Lord Saruman," he exclaimed, "it would go against our customs.  We do not leave behind an injured Elf, for he would be unable to defend himself.  I must remain with Anomen."

At last Saruman was forced to give in.  Baramagor could not be moved.

"Very well," he conceded reluctantly.  "I will go on to Isengard and send to you servants with horses."  As he spoke, he tried to reassure himself that this only a temporary check to his plans.  "Should they try to flee," he thought to himself, "they will not get far.  Anomen can scarcely move, and Baramagor will not abandon him.  Yes, it is safe to leave them alone for the space of the time that it will take to send servants to fetch them back to Isengard."

The wizard bade the two Elves farewell and strode off toward his stronghold.

As soon as Anomen was sure that the Istar was out of both sight and hearing, he exclaimed to Baramagor, "Fetch me that branch over there."  It was a thick branch, fairly straight, and about five feet in length.  Anomen flexed it slightly.  It was not brittle.  Pressing upon it, he pushed himself to his feet, and he began to limp with surprising speed back in the direction from whence they had come.  Baramagor looked on with astonishment."

"Anomen, what are you doing?  We must wait here for Saruman's servants!"

"No!" Anomen declared vehemently.  "That is the one thing we must not do!"

"Anomen, I do not understand."

"Nor can I make you understand.  Baramagor, regardless of how things appear, you will simply have to trust me.  Can you do that?  Will you do that?"

Baramagor scarcely hesitated.  "Of course.  I will follow you to whatever end."

"Thank you," Anomen said gratefully.  "Now we must make haste.  We must get beyond the reach of Saruman's servants."

They set off slowly at first, given Anomen's injury, but to the surprise of both, before too long Anomen was able to move with some alacrity.  His swollen ankle seemed to be improving by the minute, and Anomen was soon able to put his boot back on and move even more quickly through the forest.  Moreover, it almost seemed as if their former foes, the tree roots, were now withdrawing from their path, leaving the way as smooth as if it were a paved road.  At the same time, the tree limbs appeared to lean out to catch them on the few occasions when they did stumble.  Indeed, more than once Anomen could have sworn that a limb had gently pushed him forward, hastening him toward safety.

They were very near to the border of the forest when they heard the sound that they had been fearing—hoofbeats.  They took cover in the nearest thicket.

"They are considerable in number," cried Baramagor, trembling and clutching Anomen.  Anomen was trembling likewise, but after a moment he relaxed somewhat.

"Baramagor," he whispered, "these riders approach from the east."

"What do you mean?"

"Saruman's servants would approach from the west.  These riders do not come from Isengard."

"From where then?"

"Let us wait and see."

In only a few more minutes the riddle was solved.  With a cry of joy the two young Elves burst out of the thicket, disregarding brambles as they did so.  Before them, prancing and snorting, was Baramagor's horse.  Hard on his heels galloped up the Rohirrim escort.

"A clever horse, that," said the captain to Baramagor.  "Came racing up to our camp, wouldn't allow himself to be caught, made it plain as day that he wanted us to follow him.  And so here we are, and here you are."

Within a trice, the two Elves had scrambled upon their horse, but Baramagor stayed the captain before he could give the command to resume their journey to Lothlórien.

"The Lord Saruman was to send servants and horses to bring us to Isengard.  I think it would only be courtesy to inform him that we did not after all need his assistance."  Baramagor glanced apologetically toward Anomen, but his friend nodded in agreement.  Whatever his own feelings, it would not do to anger the wizard needlessly.

The captain of the Rohirrim saw the wisdom in what Baramagor said.

"You are quite right, young one.  I will send a messenger."

The captain studied his troop briefly before calling over the youngest of his riders.

"Gríma, come here."

The young rider detached himself from the others and cantered over.

"Yes, my captain."

"I have need of a messenger.  The Lord Saruman must be told that these two Elves are safely on their way to Lothlórien."

Gríma was a callow youth, his eyes pale and watery, his limbs ungainly, his shoulders hunched.  His thin hair was stringy and greasy, his skin unnaturally pale, like the color of a grub one might find under a rotting log.  Anomen thought that his hands looked soft for a rider.  Oddest of all, Anomen could scarcely make out his eyebrows or eyelashes.  Combined with his heavily lidded and unblinking eyes, this lack of facial hair put Anomen in mind of a reptile, perchance a snake ready to strike.

Anomen shook off these thoughts.  Gríma's appearance was not his fault, and no doubt he would be a suitable messenger, discrete and fair-spoken, else why would the captain have chosen him.

Indeed, Gríma spoke smoothly now, his voice oily and ingratiating.  "It would be an honor indeed to carry your words to the Lord Saruman.  Long have I desired to see Isengard and its tower, Orthanc, whose strength and fame grow daily."

To Anomen it seemed as if the captain answered a trifle testily.  "Take care that you do not expend all your words before you come to Isengard.  I would not want your eloquence to run short."

Gríma answered in the same unctuous voice.  "Oh, fear not, my captain, I have a great stock of such words."

"I don't doubt it," said the captain shortly.

With that, Gríma bowed obsequiously and set out for Isengard, and the young Elves and their escorts resumed their journey to Lothlórien.