Farflung: I hardly know how to thank you for your kind and thoughtful reviews of my other stories as well as this one! I'd like to respond to some of your specific comments, but I think I'll have to wait to Winter Break to do so in order to do a proper job of it.
Greetings and thanks, Grumpy, Kitsune, Jebb, and Dragonfly. Glad I haven't driven anyone away with images of fruit-flavored bug guts.
Karri, I don't think I answered your question last time. Yes, I plan on additional stories of Anomen growing up. Enough people seem to like reading them to make the effort worthwhile. Plus, of course, I enjoy writing them!
As Anomen drew near the Hall, he once again pulled his hood up. How long, he wondered, would it take for his hair to grow long enough to be braided. He hoped Mithrandir would soon pay a visit to Rivendell, for perhaps the wizard would know some spell that would cause his hair to grow back in faster. Failing that, perhaps he should ask Elrond to search his tomes of medicinal lore for a potion or unguent that would hasten the regrowth of his hair.
He saw Thoron approaching and for a moment was poised to flee aside into the garden, but then he reminded himself that an unpleasant encounter grew no less unpleasant for delay. Besides, Thoron hadn't teased him at all last night; maybe his friend had no intention of doing so today.
"Mae govannen, Thoron."
"Mae govannen, Anomen."
The two friends stood awkwardly for a moment. Thoron in fact did not wish to twit Anomen about the loss of his hair, but he was not sure how to start a conversation on any other subject. Ignoring Anomen's hair—or lack thereof—would be like pretending not to see a cave-troll in a kitchen.
"Um, Anomen?"
"Yes?"
"How are you feeling today?—I mean, it must have hurt when Elrond peeled that gunk from your skin."
"A little."
"Uh, I was wondering—if you don't mind my asking—how did they remove the pitch from—I mean it must have been especially hard to remove it—from certain spots."
Anomen winced. "Yes!"
"So," said Thoron, unable to repress his curiosity, "how did Elrond manage?"
"Um, well, he softened the pitch by warming it somewhat."
"But how was he able to warm the pitch without boiling you in a cauldron!?"
"Candles."
"Candles?"
"Yes, he held candles near—parts."
Thoron shuddered.
"And what did you say about that!?"
"Say? I said nothing. I screamed. Surely you must have heard me!"
"Yes, I did." Thoron had to grin. He momentarily forgot that he had resolved not to tease Anomen. "Actually," he smirked, "I think all of Imladris heard you! Oh, I am sorry," he added hastily. "I didn't mean to make fun of you."
To Thoron's surprise, and Anomen's as well, Anomen returned his grin. He could no longer deny the humor of the situation, even if he were the one in the middle of it.
"How could you not make fun of me!? Whoever heard of a bald elf!"
Both young Elves were laughing out loud now. In a nearby chamber, Glorfindel, hearing them, sighed and turned to Erestor and Elrond. "You see," he said dolefully, "not even skinning that scamp does any good. He recovers all too quickly."
Elrond nodded his head. "I suppose I might as well make up some unguent for Anomen's scalp to help his hair grow in faster, since it seems leaving him bald will serve no purpose." And, he thought to himself, it would serve Elrohir and Elladan right if they returned to find that Anomen had a head start, so to speak, on regaining his locks.
Thoron and Anomen chatted amiably for a few more minutes. Then Anomen bade his friend farewell and made his way to his chamber, where he changed into fresh clothes and washed his face and hands. He did not, of course, have to tidy his hair, so it took him very little time to prepare himself for dinner. He idled away a few minutes thumbing through a volume of maps of Middle Earth that he had not yet returned to Erestor. Afterward, he strolled toward the dining hall. He did not even bother to pull up his hood as he left his room but walked down the hallway only a little self-consciously. Elves grinned at him as he passed, and, although a little shamefaced, he grinned back.
Arriving in the dining hall, he approached the head table and was struck by how empty it seemed. No Elrohir or Elladan of course, but also no Estel. He wondered whether Estel had been banished from the table as not fit to be seen—or smelled. It would not have surprised him. He bowed to Elrond and took his place. Elrond looked at him expectantly.
"Estel?"
"Pardon, Ada?"
"Where is Estel?"
"I do not know, Ada."
"Where did you leave him?"
"In our chamber."
"Then go and fetch him, ion-nîn."
"I mean I left him in our chamber this morning. He is not there now."
Elrond looked concerned, although not yet alarmed.
"Estel was not with you today?"
"No, Ada. I left before he had arisen."
"And, Erestor," Elrond said, turning to his friend, "the child did not appear for lessons, is that not correct?"
"Yes, Elrond."
"Nor," added Glorfindel, "did I see him about the training fields. Nor did the stable hands report that they had to chase him out of any stalls."
Slightly more concerned, Elrond looked about the table. "Has no one seen Estel this day?"
The head cook, who always stopped briefly in the dining hall to make certain that all was well, cleared his throat.
"Your pardon, my lord, but the human has been seen. That one," he said, pointing to Anomen with his chin, "came into the kitchen this morning and stole some bread and cheese. A short while later, the little human came in and made off with three pastries—very fine ones, I might add."
Everyone looked at Anomen.
"He was not with me!" protested Anomen.
"I wonder," said Glorfindel thoughtfully. "Do you remember a few centuries ago when, unbeknownst to Anomen, he was followed into the woods by Arwen?"
"Yes!" Elrond grimaced. "He led Arwen straight into a nest of Orcs."
"But I led her straight out again!" cried Anomen.
"Anomen," Elrond said kindly, "no one is blaming you, either for that day or this. But I suspect that were you to retrace your steps, you would come upon Estel. Wrap up a bit of supper for the two of you, and make haste. Darkness will soon fall."
Anomen sighed. "I did smell something horrid in the woods today. I should have known that Estel was near!" Reluctantly, he arose, carrying away with him some bread, fruit, and cheese. Last night he would have been delighted to have been excused from the table, but tonight it was merely a nuisance. Ai! His heart forbode that this would not be the last time he would be sent off in pursuit of Estel.
"Well," chuckled Glorfindel as soon as Anomen had left the table. "I call that poetic justice!"
"Oh, and how so?" asked Elrond, although he suspected that he already knew the answer.
"Anomen led me on a many a merry chase when he was an elfling, as I hope you do recall. It is only fitting that this human youngling bedevil him in the same fashion."
Erestor agreed. "Although," the tutor added thoughtfully, "to use a literary term, I would call it ironic. Yes, indeed, a perfect example of irony. I shall have to make use of this situation in the future when I am called upon to illustrate the concept."
"And what, pray tell, is wrong with 'poetic justice'?" demanded Glorfindel.
"Nothing, nothing—it is merely that 'poetic justice' is not, strictly speaking, a literary term, but rather a phrase that we apply to a situation in which it strikes us that a character has gotten his just deserts."
"Who said I was trying to be literary?" growled the balrog slayer.
Elrond was not much given to sighing and rolling his eyes—he much preferred relying upon his feared and admired eyebrows—but this was one occasion that provoked the more mundane manifestations of frustration.
"If you two wouldn't mind, could we postpone this, ah, discussion of the relative linguistic merits of 'irony' versus 'poetic justice'? I would very much like to eat before this excellent repast becomes cold.
Chastened, the two antagonists fell silent and fell to.
At this very moment, Estel would have been glad of any repast, no matter how cold. The water had carried him a considerable distance downriver. At first, it had been all he could do to keep from drowning as the rushing water tumbled him over and over. Fortunately, a tree limb had floated within reach, and Estel lunged for it. He wrapped his arms around it tightly and clung to it until the river widened and the current slowed. The branch drifted into the shallows and at last scraped against the bank. Estel let go of the limb and on trembling legs staggered up the bank. For a while he sat shivering. Soon after the sun fell, however, he noticed that a campfire had sprung up not too far in the distance. Campfire! Grownups! Warmth! Food! Estel dragged himself to his feet and on stiff legs wobbled toward the campfire. As he came near, he spied two large figures hunched over it, warming their hands. Actually, these were two very, very large figures. Indeed, they were two very, very, very large figures. In point of fact, they were Trolls. At the moment, however, Estel was thinking that big people meant grownups, who were helpful to little people. Very big people must mean very big grownups, who would be very helpful to little people. He stumbled forward into the ring of light cast by the fire.
Estel was too stupefied by the cold to speak. He simply stared numbly at the huge creatures. For their part, the Trolls, stupefied by, well, simply stupefied—they were Trolls after all—stared right back. They did not know what to make of him. Estel was a little smaller than the items that typically appeared on their menu—generally Dwarf size or better—plus said menu items did not usually stroll up to the cooking fire. Plus, in spite of his plunge into the river, Estel still stank. So it did not immediately spring to the Trolls' minds, such as they were, that Estel might be edible. Then, too, they had just finished cooking their dinner—a cow, since no Dwarves had happened by—and were not on the lookout for provender. (Trolls tend not to plan ahead.) So they stared at Estel, and Estel stared at them.
The first thing that broke through Estel's numbness was the tantalizing smell of roasted cow. He looked about to where a platter lay heaped with various tasty-looking cuts of beef. Expectantly, he turned back toward the Trolls. In his experience, when visitors arrived at mealtime, grown-ups would invite them to partake of food and drink. He was a visitor who had arrived at mealtime. These were obviously big, big grown-ups. They were going to politely offer him a plate. He waited patiently.
The Trolls still sat silently agog at the child. Estel continued to wait patiently. A stick in the fire shifted and slipped. The glowing end of another branch broke off. At length, Estel remembered that Halbarad had cautioned him, when bidding him farewell at Rivendell, that he would have to become accustomed to new ways. Different people did things differently, the Ranger had said. Perhaps these big, big grown-ups were not going to offer him any food; perhaps they were simply waiting for him to help himself before going on with the meal. If they were waiting on him, then the polite thing to do would be to get on with it.
Estel glanced apologetically at the Trolls and hastened to the platter. Seizing hold of a fairly good size chunk of beef, he tore into it, smiling around a mouthful to show the Trolls that he appreciated what needed to be done. This broke the Trolls' trance.
"'Ere now, wot's it doin'?" exclaimed the first one, Bert.
"Eatin'," replied his companion, Ernie.
"I know that, Dwarf-brain! But wot's it eatin'?"
"Our dinner," replied Ernie.
"I know that! But why's it eatin' our dinner?"
This stumped his companion. But after thinking for a while—a great while, actually, as thinking is a slow process for a Troll—he had an answer.
"'It's eatin' our dinner 'cause it's the only dinner around—there now!" Ernie said triumphantly.
This truly impressive piece of cognition had the desired effect upon his companion, who stared at Ernie in awe, mouth agape. Meanwhile, enough time had passed that Estel had bolted down the chunk of beef. As it had been a good size piece, he was no longer hungry. Now he was thirsty. Looking around, he spied a flask. He laid hold of it but could not remove the stopper. Hauling his find to Bert, he said, with the utmost politeness, "If you please, sir, would you remove the stopper?"
"Waddya want me to remove the stopper for?"
"I want to drink from this flask."
"Oh." Bert scratched his head. This reply made sense. Feeling at a loss, the Troll removed the stopper and handed the flask back to Estel, who seized it and downed perhaps more ale than was strictly good for him. Soon he found himself sleepy. He looked about him once more and spied several blankets.
"May I use one of those blankets?" he said, this time addressing Ernie.
"Waddya want a blanket for?"
"To keep me warm while I sleep."
Another sensible reply. Ernie nodded helplessly. He looked at Bert. Bert looked at him. They both shrugged. Estel rolled up in the blanket and was almost instantly asleep.
"Whadduh we do now?" asked Ernie.
Bert sat deep in thought. His mind was suddenly illuminated by a spectacular realization. "Say," he exclaimed, "we ain't et yet. There's that platter o' meat still."
"What's left 'o it," grumbled Ernie.
"Eh, that thing, whate'er it is, it didn' et no mor'n a mouthful." Which was true, in Troll terms.
"Ain't no mor'n a mouthful itself," said Ernie mournfully. It was beginning to dawn on him that their dinner guest might be edible. But he joined his companion in demolishing the contents of the platter. Then they sat about and belched for a bit, being Trolls. By and by, Bert said, "Be dawn soon."
"Ayuh."
"Have to get under cover afore sunrise."
"Ayuh."
"Whudduhbout that thing?"
"Yeh wanna carry it back to the cave?"
"Nah. You?"
"Nah."
Having reached consensus, the two Trolls arose and shambled off, leaving Estel rolled up in a blanket by the embers of the dying fire.
When Estel awoke in the morning, it was full daylight. He was disappointed that there was no sign of the big, big grownups, but a few cold bits of meat remained on the platter. These he devoured. He then investigated the flask. Finding that it still contained a considerable quantity of ale, he drained it to the last drop. This was probably not a good thing. After finishing off the flask, Estel waited patiently by the dead fire for a bit, just in case the big, big grownups would be coming back, but when they did not return within the quarter hour, he decided that they would not be returning soon—at least not by his standards. He neatly folded the blanket to show that he was a grateful guest and set off heading downstream. This decision perhaps reflected his ale-addled wits. Had he been clear-headed, it may have occurred to him that, as he had come downstream, returning to Rivendell would require that he reverse course. Instead, he looked about and noticed that upstream of the Troll camp the way looked very rocky, whereas downstream the bank was less obstructed. Thinking to himself that he would make faster way over smooth ground, he marched off with great determination, heading south—away from Rivendell and, had he known it, toward such perilous realms as Dunland.