The translation of the Old English riddle near the end of this installment is based on the dictionary at the web site Old English Made Easy, which can be found at /modean52/oemedictionaries.htm
Jebb and Elvendancer: Yeah, I don't want to see Mithrandir without tunic and leggings either. I do have a story, set post ROTK when Legolas and Gimli journey about together, in which Gimli does strip Legolas in order to bathe him after the Elf suffers an injury. It's meant to be funny, including as it does much smirking by Aragorn and eye-rolling by Elrond. The story is called Mellon, and sometime way in the future, after I have concluded The Nameless One series, I will finish it and post it.
Farflung: I have taken some liberties with the canonical chronology, I know, although I've tried to be roughly faithful. I'm glad you find Thranduil to be a bit more believable. Yes, I love Ian McClellan's version of Gandalf (love Ian McClellan, too, but ai! he's not attracted to my gender. Author pouts).
Thank you, Kawaii ningen kitsune and Ebony Falcon.
Lembas7: Thank you for your additional advice about the battle scenes. I do tend to focus on dialogue and don't do nearly as much with scenery and action. This installment is an example of that, as it is pretty much dialogue driven. I'll keep that in mind as I work on my next story.
Dragonfly, MoroTheWolfGod, and Volcanic Plug: She's baaa-ack!
The Lothlórien and Imladris Elves were riding at a leisurely pace toward the realm of Lord Celeborn, where they planned to enjoy several days of feasting and merriment. The Rohirrim had accompanied them for part of the way but then had departed, politely declining an invitation to join the Lórien festivities. Thranduil and his warriors likewise had returned to the King's Hall, Thranduil preferring to celebrate with his people rather than to travel afar. Thus the Greenwood Elves had journeyed with their Elven kin only as far as the Rohirrim encampment. Mithrandir, too, had taken his leave at that point.
"I have some Dwarves to check on, as well as the hapless Halfling who accompanies them." Neither Mithrandir nor Thranduil could have guessed that those Dwarves and Halfling would soon be disturbing the celebrations of the Greenwood Elves. But that is another story.
The young Lórien and Rivendell Elves were sorry to be parted from the wizard. Sorry too were they that Tawarmaenas was not to travel with them to the land of the golden mallorn trees. Elrohir was especially disappointed.
"Remember, Tawarmaenas," he said to the Greenwood Elf at their parting, "do not give way to despair. Your cousin Legolas will return one day—I am as sure of that as I am that I have a brother! Of course," he added, "it may be several centuries before he reappears, so you will have to be patient."
Tawarmaenas nodded, his eyes shining. "It will not be difficult to be patient now that I have hope," he declared cheerfully. "Stay well, mellon."
"I shall try," laughed Elrohir as he mounted his horse. "But I do have that brother of mine, so it is not always easy!"
Elladan made a great show of scowling, but in truth nothing could have dampened his spirits. He and his brother would soon be in Lórien, lolling about in Haldir's talan and exchanging tales—only slightly exaggerated—with Anomen and Baramagor. It would take a great effort on Elrohir's part to damage his equanimity—although, he mused, he wouldn't put it past Elrohir to try. Perhaps it would be wise to be vigilant!
In Lothlórien Anomen and Baramagor waited impatiently for the return of their companions. A messenger had ridden in with word of the victory, and he had carried a letter from Elrond that had assured the two young Elves that their kin and friends had survived the final battle.
"I wish we could have gone into Dol Guldur with the others," complained Baramagor. "What an adventure they have had!"
"I would have thought," said Anomen, "that our flight from the wargs was adventure enough. You certainly seemed to think so at the time," he teased.
Baramagor laughed. "I cannot deny that, yes, I felt it to be an adventure more than sufficient to satisfy my desire for excitement for at least the space of my immortal life, if not longer!"
At that moment they heard voices at the base of Haldir's talan, where they had been staying since arriving in Lothlórien. Looking over the edge, they saw their friends ascending the rope ladder.
"Mae govannen!" they called down. "Mae govannen!"
Soon the talan was a perfect hive of buzzing Elves, each striving to talk at once.
"Anomen and I were set upon by three score of wargs!"
"Two score, Baramagor. Had it been three score, I would have run out of arrows."
"Oh, but he did run out of arrows. We had to fight the last two wargs hand-to-jaw!"
"After they had been knocked silly by our horse."
"Anomen," teased Elrohir, "stop being so modest. I certainly intend to take full credit for my exploits!"
"Your expoits!?" scoffed Elladan. "Anomen, Elrohir was a perfect troll-brain. He almost fell into the clutches of the Necromancer."
"You make it sound much worse than it was," protested Elrohir.
"If Tawarmaenas hadn't gone after you, it would have been," retorted Elladan.
"Tawarmaenas?"
"Yes," said Elrohir, "Tawarmaenas. Is he someone you knew in Greenwood, Anomen?" He watched Anomen closely.
Anomen had indeed known Tawarmaenas. Although his cousin was several decades younger than he, they had trained together on bow and horseback. In the company of Tawarmaenas, Anomen often found himself laughing, something he rarely did under other circumstances. For his part, Tawarmaenas had admired his older cousin and loved nothing better than to spend time trailing after him, a fact that Anomen greatly appreciated, as no one else seemed to find his company desirable.
"Yes," Anomen said at last. "Yes, I did know an Elf called Tawarmaenas."
"He is the nephew of the king. Did you know that?"
"Yes, I believe that I had heard something to that effect."
"And he is the cousin of the missing prince."
"Of course," said Anomen, a trifle testily, "if he is the king's nephew then he must have been the prince's cousin." Why had Elrohir said the 'missing' prince?
"Since no one in Mirkwood knows the whereabouts of the prince, Thranduil is going to name Tawarmaenas heir as soon as he comes of age."
"Thranduil must be delighted to have an heir to hand," said Anomen shortly. To himself he thought, "Of course Thranduil never minded my loss; he has known all along that Tawarmaenas would do."
"But," continued Elrohir, "Tawarmaenas does not wish to be the king's heir. He is very unhappy and hopes that his cousin will be found."
Anomen flinched a little. He had never meant to make his cousin unhappy. The day he had run away he had been thinking only of his own anger and pain.
"At first," Elrohir went on, "I did not realize how unhappy Tawarmaenas was, for he hid it well. We all of us merely thought that he was intolerably proud and insensitive."
"Tawarmaenas was never insensitive, and he certainly was not proud," Anomen declared indignantly.
"Really? But you must understand that it was easy for us to believe that he was thoughtless and arrogant: he seemed so much like his uncle the king. Of course, now I think on it, perhaps Thranduil is like Taramaenas, instead of Taramaenas like Thranduil."
"What do you mean?"
"We thought Taramaenas an unpleasant sort, but he created that impression because he was trying to hide his feelings. Everyone thinks Thranduil an unpleasant sort, but maybe he is trying to hide his feelings as well. After all, he would have cause, having lost both his wife and his son to spiders—or so it is thought."
Anomen had much to ponder. Could it be possible that his father's cold behavior resulted because he felt too much rather than too little? Could he allow himself to hope that his father might indeed feel sorrow over his loss? Beyond that, Anomen found Elrohir's language a little disconcerting: 'missing prince', 'no one in Mirkwood knows the whereabouts of the prince', 'hopes that his cousin will be found', 'having lost both his wife and his son to spiders—or so it is thought'. Anomen had the uncomfortable feeling that Elrond had intentionally chosen these phrases.
Elrohir, however, was not finished; he had one more throw.
"You remind me of Tawarmaenas in some respects, Anomen."
"In what way?" asked Anomen cautiously.
"Oh, I don't mean that you are proud or unkind, but you must confess that you sometimes hide your feelings."
"If I hide my feelings, then you can hardly expect me to confess that I do," replied Anomen dryly.
"With your careful answer, you have just proved my point," crowed Elrohir triumphantly.
Anomen joined in with the laughter of his friends. It seemed to Elrohir, however, that Anomen's laughter was a little forced.
Anomen experienced one more moment of discomfort before the Rivendell Elves departed from Lothlórien. Galadriel sent for him one night. To his surprise, her messenger led him not to her talan but to the clearing known as Galadriel's Glade, where the Lady oft retired to gaze upon her mirror, which was rumored to show past, present, and future, albeit in such a fashion that it was often hard, if not impossible, to judge whether one was looking at prior events or ones that were still to come.
When he arrived in the Glade, she stood before a plinth and gestured at him to approach. As he did so, she poured silvery water from a flagon into the basin that served as the mirror. Wisps of vapor arose as the water slowly stilled. Galadriel spoke.
"Will you look into the mirror?"
"What will I see, Lady?"
"Not even the wise can tell."
Anomen hesitated and then drew nearer until he stood looking down into the mirror. The smooth surface of the water was shiny and reflective; at the same time the water had the appearance of endless depth.
The water began to stir. Anomen found himself looking at his father, but it was not the face Anomen had grown accustomed to in the years before he had run away from Mirkwood. Thranduil was smiling; nay, he was laughing! By all accounts, this could not be Thranduil now! But was it Thranduil in the past, before the birth of the son that had meant the death of his wife? Or was it Thranduil in the future, recovered at last from his grief? Bewildered, Anomen looked up at Galadriel.
"The image is what you make of it, Anomen," she said softly, divining his thoughts. This was not a satisfactory answer, for it was as ambiguous as the vision itself. Did she mean that he could think of it as he would, or that he was somehow responsible for bringing it about?
Anomen again looked upon the mirror. The vision of his father had vanished. Now Anomen saw himself, and he knew that what he saw would have to take place in the future, if ever, for he had no memory of this scene. He was sitting companionably between two figures—warriors by their garb. One was a Man who was of noble bearing yet scruffy and unkempt. He was wrapped in a travel-worn cape, his long legs were stretched out before him, and he smoked a pipe. The other figure was—a Dwarf! Anomen looked up at Galadriel, his bafflement plain to see. She only smiled and said nothing.
A few days later the Rivendell Elves bade farewell to their Lothlórien kin, and several weeks after that, the Imladris Elves had safely returned to their land. Elrond and each member of his household quickly settled back into their accustomed routines. Elrond retired to his chamber to read and answer missives, to peruse scrolls, and to receive ambassadors—be they Man, Dwarf, or Elf. Glorfindel threw himself with renewed vigor into training novices and supervising patrols. Elladan, Erestor, and Anomen were immediately corralled by their tutor Erestor, who insisted that they take up their studies at exactly the same point at which they had left off so many weeks before. And gleeful at the return of her Ada and her brothers, Arwen scampered about, getting underfoot but amusing everyone, even, it must be said, the redoubtable Glorfindel.
But although the Elves were quick to readopt their former customs, all was not unchanged. The Elves who had fought at Dol Guldur were at once wiser, sadder, and more appreciative of the blessings that the Valar had bestowed upon them.
Elrohir was one of those who had changed the most. He was more thoughtful, less rash, and also aware that the world was a vastly more complicated place than he had thought when he had set out to avenge his Naneth. Anomen's presence in Imladris was a case in point. When Mithrandir had brought Anomen to Rivendell, Elrohir had been delighted at the arrival of a new brother who would be both a target for his and Elladan's pranks and a companion in their adventures. It had never occurred to him that Anomen's residence in their household might depend upon a complex and ever-changing set of circumstances. Nor had it occurred to him that among those circumstances might be a delicate balancing act that required Elrond to continually weigh the competing and equally legitimate claims of a father and his son. For since he had broached with Elladan the subject of Anomen's remarkable resemblance to Thranduil, Elrohir had become convinced that this ethical bartering was indeed what his father was engaged in. He could not believe that his father, who had been long acquainted with Thranduil, had overlooked what his two sons had finally been unable to ignore. Nor could he believe that his father would be so callous as to hide Anomen from Thranduil unless he believed that handing over Anomen would cause the young Elf harm.
But, reflected Elrohir to himself, these were mere suppositions. He believed himself to be correct, but he had no proof. For several weeks he brooded over the matter until at last Elladan grew impatient and insisted that he confront their father.
"You will never be satisfied until you have spoken with Ada. Why delay further?"
"I cannot just march into Ada's chamber and say, 'Ada, have you been hiding a son from his father?'!"
"I did not say you should do that, Elrohir! Surely you can contrive a more subtle approach. Come. Ada is at leisure in his chamber for the space of an hour. He has always encouraged us to talk with him whenever we felt the need."
Both reluctant and eager, Elrohir agreed. Elladan walked with him to his father's chamber. Elrohir raised his hand, hesitated, and knocked.
"Enter."
With a final glance at Elladan, who smiled at him encouragingly, Elrohir opened the door to his father's chamber.
"Elrohir, it is good to see you." Elrond gestured toward a chair next to his table and pushed a plate of cheese and fruit toward his son. "I was just now enjoying some refreshments. Please join me."
"Thank you, Ada." Elrond picked up an apple in one hand and a pear in another and unconsciously began to juggle them. Elrond smiled at the sight, for it meant that his son was preoccupied with some matter and desired his counsel.
"What brings you to your father's chamber on such a fine day as this? Has Anomen beaten you again at archery and so you come to seek solace?"
Elrohir laughed. "I long ago learned not to bring high hopes to any archery competition with Anomen. You know that, Ada!"
"Well, well, there is so much to remember when raising children. Sometimes I forget one detail or another."
"Tell me, Ada, was it difficult raising us?"
"Of course!"
"Did we sometimes grieve you?"
"No, you did not so much as grieve me as cause me concern. Sometimes I feared for one or the other of you—sometimes I feared for all of you at once!"
"What gave you the greatest fright when I was a little elfling?"
"When you were a little elfling? I think the time you wandered off and were lost for several days. You somehow contrived to make your way to the border of Eregion, where some passing Rangers happened upon you, thank the Valar!"
"Were you surprised when the Rangers returned me to you?"
"Surprised? No, for the Rangers had sent a rider ahead to tell me that they had found you."
"No, that is not what I meant. Did you not find it surprising that the Rangers took the trouble to bring me back to Rivendell?"
"Of course not. What else would they have done?"
"They could have kept me."
Elrond laughed. "Elrohir, whatever would they have done with an elfling!? Do you think those stern Rangers would have wanted to keep you about to give you pick-a-back rides!"
Elrohir smiled briefly, but he was not satisfied with his father's answer.
"Are lost young ones always returned then?"
Elrond grew somber. "No, not always. Sometimes they are found by wild beasts and slain. Sometimes they fall into rivers and drown. Sometimes they perish from cold or hunger. And sometimes they are seized by slavers and sold away into distant lands. But if they are lucky, they are found by good people, Elves or Men, who will try to restore them to their families."
"Would a good person who found a lost child ever not return the young one?"
"Well, if the child's kin could not be found, then, yes, a lost child might be kept."
"What if the kin were known?"
"Elrohir, what are you driving at?"
"If the child's kin were known, would a person ever be justified in keeping the child nonetheless?"
"Well," said Elrond slowly, "if a young one were in danger of harm upon return to his family, then it may be right to harbor him."
"So if a young one ran away?"
"Possibly."
"If his kin were cruel or unkind?"
"Probably."
"If they beat him?"
"Certainly."
"Of course," Elrond added, "I am not talking about the occasional well-deserved spanking."
He looked hard at Elrohir.
"For example, I seem to remember that a certain elfling crept into the cave of a sleeping troll and tied his boot laces together. The elfling never did that again, you will recall, not after his Ada was finished with him!"
Elrohir winced at the memory of the only thrashing he had received in his entire life, but then he grinned at a sudden thought.
"Do you know, Ada, I ran away after you gave me that spanking."
"Did you? To whom did you run?"
"To Erestor."
"That old bachelor!?"
"Yes. I asked him if I could be his little elfling."
"Oh, and what did he say?"
"He pulled out a strap and said he needed to size it against my bottom before he could tell me yea or nay!"
Elrond flung back his head and gave way to a rare fit of deep laughter.
Elrohir grinned sheepishly. "I went scuttling back to my room as fast as I could, you may be sure! I didn't come out from underneath the quilt until well after sun-up the next morning."
Elrond laughed again. Still chuckling, he arose from his seat. "Well, my son, if you are done reminiscing, I have scrolls to read and visitors to entertain."
"Yes, Ada." Elrohir arose as well, bowed to his father, and started toward the door. Halfway there, he stopped and turned about.
"Have you ever kept an elfling whose kin were known?"
"No one has ever told me the name of Anomen's father, if that is what you want to know."
Elrohir was stunned. He stood with his mouth agape. Elrond raised his eyebrows disapprovingly, and Elrohir closed his mouth.
"I have never," continued Elrond, "asked him the name of his father—nor have I asked Mithrandir, for that matter. So, you see, Elrohir, it cannot be said that I have ever kept an elfling whose kin were known to me. And, if you do not object," he added archly, "I would like to keep it that way."
"Oh." Elrohir stood uncertainly.
After a minute, Elrond raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "Is there anything else, Elrohir."
"Um, err, no, Ada. I will be going now."
Elladan was waiting patiently outside their father's chamber when Elrohir emerged.
"Well?"
"He did not tell me that he knows the name of Anomen's father."
"So he does not know?"
"I did not say that he does not know."
"So he does know."
"I did not say that either."
"Elrohir!"
"I think," said Elrohir slowly, "that Ada would know if he chose to do so—but he does not so chose."
"Do stop speaking in riddles as if you were a wizard!"
"Very well. I believe that Ada knows or suspects the identity of Anomen's father but that he thinks it would not be wise for him to concede that he does."
"It sounds as if you know no more now than you did when you went in to Ada's chamber."
"I know that Ada chooses not to know."
"But what does that tell you?"
"It tells me that the world is a very complicated place indeed."
"You knew that already, did you not?"
"Yes, but now I am satisfied to know that."
"Satisfied?"
"Satisfied that I must remain unsatisfied for the time being—at the very least!"
"You are speaking in riddles again!"
"Riddles, yes. On the way back from Dol Guldur, when discipline was relaxed, remember that we rode briefly with the Rohirrim and heard them tell riddles? Many of their riddles had two answers—or at least seemed to. Do you recall this one?"
Wrætlic hongað bi weres þeo,
frean under sceate. Foran is þyrel.
Bið stiþ ond heard. Stede hafað godne.
þonne se esne his agen hrægl
ofer cneo hefeð, wile þæt cuþe hol
mid his hangellan heafde gretan touch
þæt he efenlang ær oft gefylde.
"It meant something like this," said Elrohir, loosely translating the language of the Rohirrim: 'A wondrous thing, a splendid thing under a garment, hangs by a man's thigh. It has an opening in its front. It is stiff and hard. Its firmness is a virtue. When the man hitches up his own robe over his knees, he desires to touch with this hanging head that familiar hole that it oft has filled before'."
Elladan blushed. "Yes, I remember that one. The answer should be 'key'. But the Rohirrim delighted in making it sound as if the answer were—something else."
"That's the fun of riddling, isn't it? That the language allows us to think of two possibilities at once?"
"Yes."
"I think for Ada two facts can be true at once—even if they seem to contradict one another."
"You have lost me again," said Elladan.
"Look you," Elrohir continued patiently. "Is not Arwen sometimes a nuisance?"
"Sometimes!? You mean frequently!"
"Does she not sometimes infuriate you?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Do you not at the selfsame time love her? Would you not defend her to the death within moments of having chased her in a fury from your chamber?"
"Yes," said Elladan quietly."
"So within each person many qualities can coexist that would seem at first sight to be contradictory. For example, I can be quite serious, can I not?"
"Oh, that is indubitable."
"Yet on occasion I have been quite—mischievous."
"Not recently," grumbled Elladan. "But, yes," he conceded, "you do have the capacity to inflict quite a lot of mischief—if only you would choose to do so!"
"Do you want me to be only one or the other, either serious or mischievous?"
"No, both qualities are fitting, depending upon circumstances. It would be tiresome if you were serious all the time, but it would be awful if you never ceased to be mischievous. I would not be able to let down my guard for a single minute!"
By now the two young Elves had reached the garden. They stopped to admire a hummingbird that flitted amongst the flowers. Elrohir took a deep breath. There was a dangerous glint in his eye that boded ill for someone.
"Well, now that we have that all sorted out, I have been thinking of cooking up a foul concoction and pouring it over Anomen's head as he is climbing out of his favorite bathing pool. Would you come with me to the kitchen and distract the cooks so that I can steal a kettle?"
Elladan's eyes held a glint that matched his twin's.
"Hurrah! The old Elrohir has come back!"
"He has never been away," replied Elrohir with mock gravity and an exaggerated bow."
And with that the two raced off toward the kitchen.
And with that the author races off toward her bed, having completed yet another tale in "The Nameless One" series. When I resume, I will be adding Estel to the concoction—uh, mix.