The previous chapter was meant to be a one-shot, but a couple of readers want a bit more of Anomen as a younger elfling, so here's another chapter. At least one more chapter will be forthcoming after this one.
"Keep your eye on the target! Keep your eye on the target!" grumbled Elrohir. "If I hear Glorfindel say that one more time!"
Elladan groaned and threw his quiver upon the nearest bed. At Anomen's reproving glance, he picked it up and put it away properly. "Honestly, Anomen, you have gotten so particular lately about the care of weapons. I think you bestow more attention only to dressing that precious hair of yours! Of course," he added with a giggle, "for the time being Elrohir and I have simplified matters for you by leaving only that strip to tend in the middle!"
Anomen ignored that last comment.
"Yes," Elladan chimed in. "Don't be such a stick, Anomen. I swear you have picked up a thing or two from Erestor!"
Anomen grinned. He wasn't about to let on exactly how much he had picked up, courtesy of his tutor.
Elrohir was rubbing his right arm. "I swear I have drawn my bow a thousand times today."
Elladan stared morosely at his fingers. "I don't think I'll be able to straighten these for a week. 'Keep your eye on the target! Keep your eye on the target!'" he declaimed in a passable imitation of Glorfindel.
"Wish there was a target on his bum," growled Elrohir. All three elflings laughed at the thought of a target on the bottom of the balrog-slayers. Suddenly Elrohir grew quiet.
"And why not?" he said softly.
"Why not what?" said Anomen nervously. Ai! He suspected he knew what.
"A target on Glorfindel's bum. He's teaching a class of the youngest elflings this afternoon. Can you imagine those little ones trying to concentrate if Glorfindel had a target on his bum?
"Oh, that would make a wonderful spectacle!" exclaimed Elladan enthusiastically.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," objected Anomen. "I think we'd be crossing a boundary if we did such a thing."
"See," said Elrohir accusingly, "Elladan is right, Anomen. You are a stick."
"I am not," said Anomen indignantly. "I just don't think it would be a good idea."
"Because you are a stick," declared Elladan triumphantly.
Anomen fell silent in the face of such logic. Elrohir began to rummage about for a square of parchment, and Elladan fetched a quill and a bottle of ink. Elrohir set to work drawing concentric rings, and before too long he held up a passable target.
"We need some way to attach it to Glorfindel's bum," said Elrohir.
"Pine sap," suggested Elladan. "Let's rub pine sap all over the back of it. Then I'll distract Glorfindel whilst you bump up against him. You, Anomen," he added, turning to the reluctant elfling, "since you are so leery of this prank, we will merely ask you to serve as lookout. Will you do that?"
Anomen agreed, but he was not at all happy.
Later that afternoon the elflings put their plan into acting. The littlest elflings were assembling on the field—they reached scarcely to the knee of the balrog-slayer—when the three older elflings arrived. Glorfindel looked balefully at them.
"What are you doing here?" he growled. "This is not your class."
"Lord Glorfindel," Elladan said politely, "I was thinking about what you said earlier about the deficiencies in my grip. I plan to practice a little on my own this afternoon. Pray demonstrate to me one last time the proper way of holding the bow so that my efforts shall not in vain."
Pleased at the elfling's diligence, Glorfindel quickly showed him the correct grip, adjusting his hands and arms until his stance was a classic one. "There," he said approvingly. "If you hold your bow in this fashion, your accuracy shall improve tenfold. Of course," he added, "you must also keep your eye on the target."
Just at that moment Elrohir bumped into Glorfindel's back. The balrog-slayer whipped about.
"Oh, I am sorry, Lord Glorfindel," Elrohir apologized. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
"Now you're another one who needs to learn to keep his eye on the target!" snorted Glorfindel.
"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Elrohir replied meekly, "I promise you that this afternoon I shall practice staring fixedly at it."
"See that you do," declared the weapons-master, dismissing them. The two elflings bowed and hastened away. They rejoined Anomen, and the three of them crawled into the woods nearby to watch the ensuing chaos.
"Now," said Glorfindel to the littlest elflings, "let us review yesterday's lesson. What is the first principle of archery?"
"Keep your eye on the target," chorused his pupils.
"Very good. You see across the field a row of targets, one for each of you. I want you to fix your eyes upon your target."
With that, Glorfindel turned his back upon his class to gesture across the field. A murmur of confusion arose amongst the assembled elflings. Glorfindel looked over his shoulder at his pupils. "Silence! You know that it is not permitted for you to talk without permission during this class."
The elflings fell obediently silent. A few among them had been thinking of mentioning to Glorfindel that he had a target on his bottom. These few, cowed, decided that perhaps they had better not.
"Now hold your bows in your left hand so," said Glorfindel, demonstrating. "Very good. Draw an arrow from your quiver, nock it, draw back the string slowly—eyes on target!—aim, release."
Their eyes fluttering back and forth between the targets across the field and the nearer target on Glorfindel's bottom, the hapless elflings released their arrows. The results were predictable. Arrows were scattered about the field seemingly at random. A very few had hit the cross-field targets, but none had landed anywhere near a bull's eye. Glorfindel gazed at the scene in astonishment. This class had done far better the previous day. Whatever could have gone wrong?
Concealing his bewilderment and speaking with forced calmness, Glorfindel instructed the elflings to lower their bows and retrieve their projectiles. After they had done so, he had them repeat the exercise—with no better results than at first. Again and again, Glorfindel had the elflings go through the same sequence; again and again the results were lamentable. At last Glorfindel began to abandon all semblance of calm. As for the elflings, they were now tired and edgy.
Reader, you know perfectly well the inevitable outcome of this situation. One particularly weary elfling, told for the umpteenth time to fix his eye on the target, obediently did so. But the target he fixed his eyes upon—well, you can easily guess which one it was. An unwitting Glorfindel gave the order to release the arrows. Seconds later, the balrog-slayer let out an indignant shriek, spun around, and gazed about in search of the offending archer. It was not hard to find him. All the other elflings had drawn several steps back. There stood the unfortunate little archer, quaking, as the legendary balrog-slayer stormed over to him.
"What do you have to say for yourself," demanded the furious elf-lord.
The little archer stammered, "L-l-ord Glorfindel, at-at least I-I did hit the-the target."
"What?"
"I-I did hit the target. 'Twasn't a bull's eye, I know, but I did hit it."
Nonplussed, Glorfindel twisted about to get a view of his backside. There fluttered the target.
"Oooh," he breathed, "there will be Mordor to pay for this."