Gwil: Don't be too hard on the twins. It was thoughtlessness, not meanness, that caused them to put the pitch into the concoction. They did not intend for Anomen to lose his hair! Also, you don't have to worry about the stories losing their focus on Legolas. Estel is simply one more character with whom our favorite Elf can interact in interesting ways. You'll see that in this chapter there is quite a bit of Legolas.
Jebb: Don't worry. Anomen's hair will grow back quickly enough, with a little help from Elrond. But first I mean to make some use of his baldness, as you will see in this chapter. By the way, I love your slogan for a tipsy Estel: 'Don't drink and hike'!
Grumpy and Dragonfly: Yes, I think only Estel could have pulled off such an audacious feat! (Although it helped that the Trolls were so stupid.)
Dragonfly: You'll get a look at what is happening back at Rivendell in this installment.
Karri: Bilbo has in fact already encountered his Trolls. There will be a passing mention of that in this chapter. Incidentally, one of my Trolls shares a name with one of Bilbo's, but they are two different Trolls. I wanted to use the name 'Bert' and decided to go ahead and do so anyway because 'Bert'n'Ernie' are inseparable.
Anomen was retracing his steps from that morning, looking carefully side to side to locate where Estel's path had diverged from his own. At last he noticed a spot where some vegetation had been disturbed, and before too long he stood under the tree where Estel had perched waiting for an adventure to transpire. The ground under the tree was littered with abandoned little flags made out of twigs and leaves, as well as an unusual concentration of nuts, the remnants of Estel's imaginary warriors. Anomen began to track Estel's path away from the tree. As he approached the scene of the encounter with the skunk, the odor of that debacle grew stronger and stronger. The stench was well-nigh overwhelming for the sensitive nose of an Elf. Anomen's eyes filled with tears, and he found himself holding his breath.
At length Anomen came upon the abandoned sock. He held it with his fingertips, at arm's length, just long enough to determine that it was indeed a small-sized sock that, judging from its filthiness, no doubt had been worn by Estel. He resumed his search. Estel's path from that point was easy to trace, for the frantic child had been crashing through the forest with great abandon.
The trail led Anomen at last to the river. There sat Anomen's boots by the flume. Anomen carefully searched the river bank up and down from that point. The conclusion was inescapable: Estel had gone into the river but had not come out again. Anomen paused only a moment before heading downstream. He would not take the time to return to the Hall to notify Elrond, who in any event would no doubt send out scouts on his own initiative once Anomen and Estel failed to reappear at the Hall by sunset. No, if Estel had been swept away by the river, the faster Anomen reached him the better.
All through the night and into the next day Anomen loped on, watching carefully for any sign of Estel, either that he still remained in the water or that he had left the river. The first whole day of his search drew to a close before Anomen found the spot where Estel had dragged himself from the river. The child had then turned south. Darkness fell soon after Anomen discovered the tracks, and Anomen spotted a flickering light in the distance. A campfire? Yes. And Estel's footprints led straight toward the fire. It was not likely that Estel had lit it, but perhaps he was sheltering with the person who had. If not, mayhap the owner of the fire would nonetheless have news of the child. Anomen cautiously drew near. Ai! a Troll camp! Two of those huge creatures sat by the fire, gnawing on last night's bones as they waited for that day's meal to cook. Anomen studied the camp carefully. He saw many cow bones scattered about, but, praised be the Valar! nothing that looked like human bones. Yet it was undeniable that Estel's footsteps led straight to the Trolls. Was he trussed up in a Troll cave somewhere? Anomen decided that a conversation with these Trolls was in order—but how did one go about chatting with a Troll? He did not know anyone who had exchanged words with a Troll and lived to tell about it. Well, there was a story Mithrandir had lately told—something about Trolls and Dwarves, and with a Periannath mixed up in it—but Anomen doubted that the tale was relevant in this instance. At wit's end, he recklessly declared to himself, "I'm just going to step out and hail them. I'll outrun them if they try to catch me." And so he arose and walked into the light cast by the fire.
This was the second night in a row that an unexpected guest had strolled into the Troll camp. The creatures gawked at Anomen just as they had gawked at Estel the day before. He looked somewhat like an Elf, but in their experience, Elves had always come equipped with long, long hair. A bald Elf? They couldn't wrap their minds around the concept—although, their minds being small, there weren't many concepts they could wrap their minds around.
Taking advantage of their stunned state, Anomen addressed the Trolls.
"Have you seen any unusual creature recently?" he asked carefully.
"Huh," Bert replied dumbly.
"A small creature, walks on two legs—like a baby Troll. Dressed in clothes—like a baby Troll! Smells rather badly—like, uh, smells rather badly," Anomen finished lamely.
The truth slowly dawned on Bert and Ernie.
"Say, Bert, that little thing wot came by last night and et our dinner—do you suppose it was a baby Troll!"
"Aye, that would explain it!" said Ernie. "It was kind of cute an' all, warn't it?"
"Was?" said Anomen anxiously.
"Yeah, tiny and all, jest a mi-ni-uh-cher Troll," said Bert.
"Warn't no mor'n a mouthful," said Ernie mournfully.
Anomen's blood ran cold. Had they, had they—?
"Yep," said Bert, "no mor'n a mouthful—not worth the trouble o' cookin'—and now I know 'twas a baby Troll, glad we didn'." Bert shuddered. "Be nasty, ettin' a baby Troll. Sorta thing a Dwarf'ud do."
"Stank, too," added Ernie. "Prob'ly woulduh bin in-ed-uh-ta-bull."
Anomen exhaled in relief. The creature stank—definitely Estel—and the Trolls hadn't eaten him.
"So where is this baby Troll?"
Bert shrugged. "Dunno."
"Yeah," said Ernie. "Left it sleepin' by the fire. Came back the nex' night, warn't here no more."
Had Estel been dragged off by an animal? worried Anomen.
"But," added Bert, "polite little thing, for all it was so stinky."
"Uh-huh," agreed Ernie. "Folded up the blanket wot we let it use."
Anomen again exhaled in relief. "Thank you," he said to the Trolls. "Sorry to have troubled you."
"Oh, no trouble 'tall," said Bert. "This spot's gettin' to be real busy. Firs' the stinky creature, now you. Pro'bly somethin' good to eat'll happen by any minit now. Gettin' tired of cow, we is."
Anomen felt a little sick but smiled politely. He circled around to the downstream of the Troll camp, and before too long he had again picked up Anomen's trail.
At about the same time that Anomen was making his discoveries at the Troll camp, Elrond was making one of his own back in Rivendell. Anyone with a life spanning thousands of years is bound to make a mistake at least once a millenium. So it was with Elrond. Before turning in the night before, he had not checked to make sure that Anomen had indeed returned with Estel. Arwen was departing for Lothlórien in only a few more days, and Elrond stayed in the Hall of Fire talking quietly with her until very late. Arwen would be dwelling with her grandmother Galadriel for several decades, and Elrond can be forgiven if his daughter preoccupied his thoughts that night.
The next day, Elrond had arisen well before dawn and broke fast with Glorfindel, who was setting out that morning with a patrol of novices. He lunched with Erestor in the library, for he wished to use the time to go over a trade agreement that had been proposed by some of the less hostile Southrons. Not until the evening meal did he notice the absence of Estel and Anomen.
"Erestor, did Estel attend his lessons today?"
"No, Elrond. I had been meaning to say something to you about that."
Rather more concerned than the night before, Elrond looked about the dining hall. "Has anyone seen Estel this day?"
Silence.
Elrond looked hopefully at the head cook. He shook his head.
"Has anyone seen Anomen this day?"
Silence.
Elrond's expression changed from one of concern to alarm. Estel had gone out and not come back. Anomen had gone after him and not returned either.
"Berenmaethor."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Form up a patrol at once—and send a messenger after Glorfindel."
Berenmaethor bowed and hurried from the room.
"Erestor."
"Yes, Elrond."
"You must tend to matters here. I will accompany Berenmaethor."
Elrond arose and with no further ceremony strode from the room. He had had two princelings in his care, and he had managed to lose them both.
The day of Elrond's discovery, one of those princelings had been moving along at a steady clip. Although he was barefoot, Estel's energy and spirits had been restored by the Trolls' inadvertent hospitality. Moreover, since he had chosen to follow the smoother path that led south, he encountered no obstacles to slow him. Unbeknownst to him, however, step by step he was inexorably approaching a hunting party of Dunlendings. Times had been hard for the Dunlendings since they had fought with the Elves—some of their best hunters had fallen in that battle—and in their desperation they were following game into Eregion, a place that they had formerly shunned. A river, of course, is always a good place to look for game. Many animals live alongside the river; others draw near out of thirst.
So it was that a party of Dunlendings concealed in the undergrowth near the river caught sight of a small child trotting steadily downstream along the bank. It was not an Elfling. They knew that from the ears. Besides, Elves generally were not so dirty. Nor were Elves so stinky, as they could tell Estel was when he drew near enough for them to get a whiff of him. Seeing that the child was alone, and not an Elf, the leader of the hunters stepped out from his hiding place.
"Here you, what do you do here?"
Estel was delighted. More grownups!
"I'm going home."
"Home? You live south of here?" said the leader, pointing downstream.
Estel considered. "No," he replied, pointing upstream. "I live that way."
The men burst into laughter.
"You're going the wrong way," said the leader, although not unkindly. It occurred to him that he ought to take the child to his village. The Dunlendings had been dwindling even before the battle, and, given the losses they had suffered at the hands of the Elves, the situation had now worsened. It would not be hard to find a family that would be eager to take in this child. If the urchin had wandered down from the North, his own kin must be far away indeed, for the only near settlements were those of the Elves of Imladris. Thus, if they took the child to a Dunlending village, it was very unlikely that anyone would come to reclaim him.
"What's your name, boy?"
Estel was about to use his elven name, but, as these were Men, he impulsively decided to use his human one.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he declared proudly.
Another round of laughter ensued. The name meant nothing to the untutored Dunlendings, but they did recognize that it was a pretentious name for such a grubby urchin.
"That name will never do," said the leader. "It's too long for one so little as you. From now on, you shall be Ara."
Estel was dismayed. Another name!
"Come along now," said the Dunlending leader, holding out his hand. Anticipating a meal, Estel went along most willingly. Sure enough, the Dunlending led Estel back to their camp and served him up a bowl of stew. After Estel had finished, he looked at the sky. Several hours of daylight remained. Estel scrambled to his feet.
"I thank you for your hospitality, but I must be going now—especially since I have to go back the other way."
The Dunlendings laughed at Estel's formal way of speaking. The leader gestured for him to sit back down. "You must travel with us now."
"Are you going back up the river?"
"No, our home lies to the south."
"Oh," said Estel, puzzled, "then how can I travel with you? You are going the wrong way."
"Nevertheless," replied the leader, "your path lies with us from now on."
Estel shook his head and turned to leave the camp. The leader arose and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Oh, no, little one, you mustn't wander off."
Estel twisted out from under his hand. "I'm not wandering off. If I follow the river back the way I came, I will get home."
The Dunlending shook his head. "You must stay with us."
Estel scowled and made as if to stomp off. To his shock, the Dunlending sprang forward and seized hold of his arm. Estel attempted to yank free. He failed. He tried to peel the Dunlending's fingers from his arm. No good. He kicked at the Dunlending, but, as the child was barefoot, the Man only laughed.
"A feisty one. Just the sort of fresh blood that our village needs."
"But I am not going to your village!"
"Oh, but you are. Finders keepers! Malcolm, hand me that cord there."
The Dunlending used the cord to tie Estel's wrists, and then used Estel's belt to secure his ankles. Helplessly, his eyes filling with tears, Estel looked up at his captor.
"Now, Ara, be a good boy, and you will have nothing to fear. It is too dangerous for children to wander alone; they must live in villages."
"But I already live somewhere!" cried Estel.
The Man shook his head. "Your old home is much too far away. You must come with us. Oh, no," he added, as Estel opened his mouth wide to let out a scream. "If you make a fuss, we'll gag you as well as tie you. So just you sit quiet."
Bewildered, Estel huddled on the ground as the Dunlendings broke camp. When they were ready to depart, one of the Dunlendings tossed him over his shoulder as if he were a sack.
"Well," laughed the hunter, "we didn't bag a deer, but I warrant that this creature will be as just as welcome in the village."
These words had an unfortunate effect on Estel. He had been bagged like a deer? Now he understood. They were going to eat him! He began to howl. Within minutes, the leader had acted on his promise to gag him if he made a racket. Deprived even of his voice, Estel was now altogether at the mercy of the Dunlendings.
Several hours after parting from the Trolls, Anomen was approaching the spot where Estel had encountered the hunters. It had been easy to follow Estel's trail, for the child kept to the soft sand at the edge of the river. He was marching along steadily, Anomen could tell, which was good in one sense, as it meant that the child was unhurt. Of course, that also meant that the child was moving onward, away from Rivendell, at a good pace, but Anomen was not alarmed. The tracks looked fresh, so Estel could not be very far ahead. Anomen was confident that he would catch up before too long.
Then he came to the point at which the child's tracks were intercepted by the footprints of Men. He studied the ground carefully. A half dozen Men at the most. He was still within the borders of Eregion, so it was possible that these Men were Rangers. He thought it more likely, however, that these were Dunlendings who had ranged beyond their borders in search of game. Small as the group was, Ranger bands were typically even smaller. Indeed, most commonly each Ranger roamed on his own, returning from time to time to an agreed-upon rendezvous point to exchange tidings. Anomen's suspicions were confirmed when he followed the tracks to the abandoned campsite. Rangers would have carefully covered up all signs of their presence. By leaving no hint that they had ever been at a place, they might be able to return with less danger of future discovery. The Dunlendings, however, had merely kicked dirt over their fire and had not bothered to bury the bones and offal left over from gutting and preparing a meal.
As Anomen began to follow the trail out of the camp, south toward Dunland, he made one further, extremely disconcerting discovery. When he had followed the trail from river to camp, he could easily spot Estel's footprints alongside that of a Man. But he found no sign of Estel's tracks among the Men as they abandoned the camp and made for their homeland. That meant that Estel had walked under his own power to the camp—there was no sign that he had been dragged—but that he was no longer afoot. Anomen guessed that Estel had turned uncooperative and the Men had been forced to carry him off, no doubt binding him to boot. It was good that the Men had not killed him, but it was not good that he had been made captive. Anomen remembered how the Dunlendings had assisted the Southrons on the slave raid that had nearly led to the loss of Elladan and Elrohir. Was Estel destined for Harad? Estel was only a little child, but Anomen had never forgotten what the Dunlendings had said of him when they planned to sell him to a Southron trader: 'The Southrons are clever at getting the most out of their slaves'.
By now Anomen was following the trail at a run. It was easy to do so, for the Dunlendings were making no effort to hide their tracks. They did not believe that any other Men were nearby, and it would never have occurred to them that an Elf would be searching for a human child.
Moving at great speed, but with the stillness of an Elf, it was not long before Anomen heard the voices of Men. He crept near. Laughing and talking, the Dunlendings had stopped for a meal break, kindling a fire to rewarm some leftovers. A woeful Estel lay near the fire, gagged, ankles and wrists securely bound. That was not good, as Estel could do nothing on his own. On the other hand, Anomen was relieved to see that the Dunlendings were indeed few in number, only four plus the leader. He knew, however, that they were very close to a farming settlement, which they would no doubt reach before nightfall. Had they been stopping for the night, Anomen would have waited until dark and stolen Estel away. He did not have that luxury. It would be much harder to rescue Estel should the hunters reach the Dunlending village. He decided that the approach that had worked with the Trolls might very well work with a small party of Men who no doubt remembered the trouncing they had received at the hands of Elves only a little while earlier. Boldly he stepped out from behind the bush and strode into the midst of the camp.
The Dunlendings were dumbfounded by his appearance on two counts. First, that he had materialized so suddenly. Second, that he was bald. Like the Trolls, they had never encountered an Elf with no hair. A hairless Elf? If the Dunlendings had known the word 'oxymoronic', they would have used it. They did not, however, and so they simply sat as stupid as Trolls. Anomen made the most of their confusion.
"You have something of mine," he said accusingly, pointing at Estel.
The leader found his tongue, albeit haltingly.
"Yours? That—that child is yours?"
"Yes," Anomen said firmly.
"But—but he is no Elf!"
"Nevertheless, he belongs to me."
Anomen did not deign to offer an explanation, but the Dunlending leader was casting about for one of his own. Elves had not been known to keep slaves, but, perhaps, thought the leader, their customs had lately changed. Best not to antagonize the Elf then. Let him have this child, lest he come after one of their own. On the other hand….
The leader's eyes narrowed. Having survived the battle between Dunlendings and Elves, the leader knew first-hand of the fighting prowess of Elrond's warriors. But this was only one Elf who carried neither bow nor sword.
Anomen saw the leader's change in expression and had no difficulty in guessing his thoughts.
"I would not, if I were you," he warned the Dunlending.
The Man tried to look as if he did not understand. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I would not try to take me on if I were you. I tell you this for your own good."
"Oh," sneered the Man. "And not for your own good? You are only one Elf, and you bear no weapon but a knife."
Anomen fixed him with a level stare. As both Anomen and Durrandîr, he had had much practice in dissembling and bluffing.
"Do I look like any Elf you have ever seen?"
"No," smirked the Man. "You haven't got the precious hair that Elves are so fond of. Mayhap you have caught some dreadful, unmentionable disease."
Untroubled by the gibe, Anomen coolly replied. "If you had better vision, you would see that my head has been shaved. I am a member of an elite fraternity of warriors that admits only those who are willing to wholly dedicate themselves to warfare. In token of our eagerness to sacrifice, we shear our hair. This is but the outer sign of our utter devotion to the defense our people. If you wish any further proof of my commitment, then by all means do take me on. You shall find that I bear only a knife because, thus armed, I am the match of ten warriors equipped with both bow and sword."
Anomen spoke the last sentence so nonchalantly that the Dunlendings did not doubt him for a minute. Mumbling, they began to back away from the Elf.
"My Lord," stammered their erstwhile leader. "Be sure that we respect all property rights. We would by no means bereave you of that which is rightly yours."
"See that you do not," Anomen replied loftily.
With that, the Dunlendings turned about and fled from the clearing, carrying with them a tale of ferocious Elves who would sacrifice anything—even their hair!—in pursuit of success in battle. Now even a lone Elf passing through Dunland would be unmolested by Men!
As soon as the Dunlendings had scuttled away, Anomen pulled the gag from Estel's mouth and removed the bonds from his wrists and ankles. Estel gazed respectfully at Anomen as he fastened his belt back around his waist.
"That was a lie!"
"Well, yes," admitted Anomen.
"I never heard such a good lie," declared Estel admiringly.
Anomen was not sure how he should feel about this, ah, compliment.
"Will you teach me to tell such good fibs?"
"Um, I think not. Erestor is your tutor."
"But he won't teach me to lie, will he?"
"No, he probably won't."
"Then you must! After all," the boy added cleverly, "it is sometimes useful to be able to lie well. Is that not true?"
Having just lied to great effect, Anomen could not dispute Estel's point.
"Well, that may be correct—but lying is not something that can be taught. It is a skill that must be developed."
"Oh," said Estel, disappointed. Then his face brightened. "So I must take every opportunity to practice, is that not so!?"
Anomen groaned. What could he say?
"I would not practice too much if I were you."
"Why not?"
"Because," said Anomen desperately, "you will wear out your tongue. It is possible to over-exercise a muscle, leaving yourself lame. As an Elfling, I often did that by exerting myself excessively on the archery field. And then, instead of making progress, I would be forced to sit out a day or more to let my injured limbs recover."
"Ah, so I should tell fibs with great care."
"Yes, do not tell them often, and lie only at need—to escape from real danger. You would not want to fritter away your ability to fib and lack it when it may be necessary to save your life."
Estel nodded in understanding. Anomen was very wise!
Anomen handed Estel his boots. Estel pulled them on gratefully. Equally gratefully, he devoured a portion of the bread, cheese, and fruit that the Elf had been carrying. Anomen took none himself. He was old enough to do without for several days. Besides, they were only two days from Imladris, and Anomen expected that it would not be too long before they were met by the scouts that Elrond no doubt had sent out the very night that they had failed to return to Rivendell.
"Ready now?" he said to Estel as the child licked the last crumb from his lips. The boy nodded.
"Very well, then. There are a few hours of daylight left. Let us try to make the most of them."
Willingly the child trotted along beside the Elf, chattering about his adventures.
"And then I met two very, very large grownups. They had just roasted a cow. It was delicious!"
"Two very, very large grownups?"
"Yes!"
"They didn't look at all odd to you?"
"Well, they were large."
"Anything else?"
"They were dirty—like me!"
"Indeed?'
"And their clothes were raggedy—like mine!"
"Was that so?"
"Yes! And—and—actually, they were rather smelly."
"Like you?"
"Um, yes," admitted Estel. He walked on silently for a few minutes.
"Anomen?"
"Yes?"
Estel looked worried. "Will I look like that when I grow up—and will I smell like that?"
"No, Estel. You will look and smell like Halbarad, your kinsman." Compared to an Elf, Halbarad was scruffy and odoriferous, but nothing like a Troll!
"Oh, that's good."
"Estel, those very, very large grownups were Trolls. You are not a Troll." Whatever the Trolls themselves may have thought, Anomen added to himself.
"Trolls?" Estel's eyes widened. He had heard of Trolls. "But why didn't they gobble me up!?"
"Because, Estel, you are, without a doubt, the luckiest, canniest human I ever knew."
They marched on cheerfully. Anomen was impressed by Estel's stamina. For such a little one, he seemed to have a great deal of strength in his legs. A mighty strider this one would grow up to be, Anomen thought.
The sun began to draw toward the horizon, and Anomen kept an eye open for a likely place to camp for the night. Then in the distance, he spotted something. He halted.
"Look," Anomen said softly, "a campfire."
"Good!" cried Estel automatically. "Grownups!"
Anomen clapped his hand over the child's mouth. "Shhh! You should realize by now that not all grownups are to be trusted."
That was true. Those hunters had turned out to be nasty, trussing him up like a deer!
"We must creep up ever so quietly." Anomen thought for a minute about leaving Estel behind as he went forward to scout, but quickly abandoned the idea. Best to keep the child within reach.
With the greatest of care, boy and Elf crept forward until they could peer into the clearing in which the fire had been kindled. Two horses stood browsing. Over the fire stooped a Man, hooded and cloaked. With a shock of delight, Anomen realized that he knew him. He was Radagast, an Istar who on occasion had accompanied Mithrandir to Rivendell. Sitting on the ground, his back to Anomen and Estel, was a second Man, likewise hooded and cloaked. Whooping, pulling Estel by the hand, Anomen leaped into the clearing. The seated Man twisted about, surprise on his face.
Saruman!