When I reveal the identity of the Man, please be sure to notice his parentage. The Man in this story does have a connection with another Man who plays a major role in LOTR, but, although they share name and kinship, they are not the same people!
Mystery: Someone posted a review under the name 'Kalendar'. Then 'Kalendar' posted saying that he or she hadn't read the story or posted the review. According to a note to the real Kalendar from Cheysuli, a software glitch has led to some reviews being misattributed. The misattributed Kalendar review was a response to Chapter 1 and reads as follows: "What a great story. Funny, cute, original and just nice! I'm off to read more!" Anyway, if you are the author of that review, and I never thanked you for it, I didn't intend to slight you. I never got back to you because the review was posted under somebody else's name.
It seems that to be a parent is to forever teeter upon the edge of a sword, with joy to one side, and fear to the other. So it was that Elrond's emotions were balanced precariously between relief and terror—relief at hearing the voice of a son, terror at realizing that he heard only one son, and a frightened son at that. He cast aside the bow with which he had been whiling away a rare hour of freedom and ran toward the voice of his child.
"Ada!" gasped Elrohir. Elrond flung his arms around him in time to prevent his falling once again.
"Elrohir, you are hurt!?"
"No, Ada!"
"And Elladan?"
"He is well!"
"Anomen?"
"Ada, he fell, and he hurt his back, and he cannot move!"
"Cannot move?"
"No, but he can feel a little bit if you poke his foot!"
"Where is he?"
"Elladan and a Man are bringing him along on a stretcher. I ran ahead to fetch you."
"GLORFINDEL!"
"I have ordered that my scouts mount up. Your horse has been sent for."
"Thank you, mellon-nîn. Elrohir, you are weary, but can you guide us to your brothers?"
"Yes, Ada," Elrohir said stoutly.
"That's a brave lad. At least you can rest whilst we ride. I will take you up before me."
"Nay, Elrond," Glorfindel objected. "My horse is larger and stronger than yours. Elrohir must ride with me."
"Can you ride, Glorfindel?"
"I'll manage."
Elrohir cringed. He knew why riding might be difficult for Glorfindel!
"Very well," sighed Elrond, reluctant to loose his hold on his son for even a minute but, as always, able to command his emotions at need.
In short order an elven troop thundered through the gates of Rivendell. Wrapped in a cloak, Elrohir sat securely before Glorfindel, clutching a piece of lembas in one hand and a water bladder in another.
"Glorfindel?" Elrohir said timidly after they had ridden for a fair amount of time.
"Yes, Elrohir?"
"Um, Glorfindel, I hope, um, that you are not, uh, too dreadfully uncomfortable as you ride."
Elrohir could not see the amused expression upon Glorfindel's face. When the balrog-slayer replied, it was in the usual gruff voice.
"I am as comfortable as can be, I suppose, given the circumstances."
"Oh." This was not a very encouraging answer.
The two rode on silently for a space. At last Elrohir dared to speak again.
"Um, Glorfindel, I am sorry you have to go out riding when you are not quite comfortable."
"Yes," said Glorfindel said shortly. "It does seem like adding insult to injury, doesn't it?"
Oh, dear, thought Elrohir. This was not good. Obviously he and his brother were themselves soon going to find riding to be an uncomfortable occupation. However, he resolved, he was never again going to try to evade a punishment. 'Twould have been far better if they had gotten matters over with instead of trying to run off as they had done.
"Glorfindel," he said, venturing to speak one last time. "I know I deserve to be just as uncomfortable as you!"
"Oh," said the balrog-slayer dryly, "that can be arranged. But we will take up that matter later with your father. For now, look sharp. We do not want to stray off the path that leads to your brothers."
"This is the right way," said Elrohir, glad to have something else to think about. "Yonder is the mountain that we tried to climb. You can just make it out in the distance."
Glorfindel urged his horse onward, and the other riders galloped along in his wake.
Elladan and the Man were laboring along as best they could, given that they were unmatched in height and strength. The Man was impressed at the elfling's willingness to push forward even when he was so obviously exhausted. At last he insisted that they stop and make camp.
"But we must get Anomen to Rivendell as quickly as possible!"
"We have made good progress toward your home," said the Man kindly. "Remember that your brother went to fetch help, and even now your father hastens toward us. No doubt he will be here soon. We will lose very little time by stopping to rest. Indeed, it may be better so. By lighting a fire, we shall make sure that your father does not miss us in the dark. Let us camp on that hill, so that the fire will show for many miles."
"But," said Elladan doubtfully, "the fire may draw Orcs or Trolls."
The Man placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. "This is no sword of legend—it may be long before my kin reclaim such a weapon—but I assure you that once it has been drawn no Orc or Troll lives to tell tales about it. Perhaps," he added wryly, "if I did let a few escape, it would be a sword of legend." The Man laughed softly.
Elladan was bewildered by the Man's talk of 'sword of legend', but he was reassured by the Man's assertion that he had bested Orcs and Trolls with the sword he did carry. "And I have got my bow," he added bravely to himself. He agreed that they might make camp, and he helped the man gather wood for a mighty blaze, for this would be a signal beacon rather than a cooking fire.
Far in the distance, the blaze was spotted as soon as it sprang up.
"There, on that hill, do you see that fire?" called Elrond.
"Aye," said Glorfindel. "No Orc or Troll would set such a blaze. I wager that if we make for the light, we will find our elflings toasting their toes in comfort."
"It is to be hoped that Anomen can feel his toes," said Elrond grimly.
They rode on, heading directly for the fire.
The elflings and the Man heard the elven party long before it galloped into view.
"Well," said the Man contentedly, "here comes the cavalry." He arose and peered into the darkness. "Ah, I'll wager that Glorfindel is amongst them. It will be good to exchange news with the old balrog-slayer. Mae govannen," he called as the riders drew near enough to hail
"Mae govannen, Aragorn son of Aravir," Elrond called back. "It is fortunate indeed that your wanderings have brought you here, else I am sure it would have gone ill with my sons."
"Your sons are brave and doughty, resourceful and discrete," replied the Dúnadan—for it was indeed a Ranger, as you have no doubt guessed. "They would have returned to you without my aid, although it may have taken a little longer."
"That may be true, but with an injury such as this, speed is important. I am much indebted to you."
Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgement. Elrond had by now dismounted and knelt beside Anomen's stretcher. He examined the elfling in much the same way as the Ranger had.
"Which foot am I pressing upon?" asked Elrond.
"The right."
"Which knee am I pressing upon?
"Also the right."
"Where am I pressing now?"
"My left ankle."
"And now?"
Anomen looked distressed. "I do not feel anything at all!"
"Good. I wasn't touching you. Press your left foot as hard as you can against my hand. Good. Now the right." Elrond smiled and straightened himself.
"Anomen, you have not severed your spine. You have bruised it, however. Sensation and strength are beginning to return to your legs as the swelling goes down. You have been very, very lucky. Now you will have to be very, very patient. You will not be up and about in a week, I can assure you!"
Elladan and Elrohir stood side by side staring at the Dúnadan. Rangers ventured into Rivendell now and again, but the twins had never paid them any mind. First of all, they were humans, and the twins had assumed—mistakenly it now seemed—that they lacked the strength and agility of Elves. Moreover, the Rangers were never much to look at, and they tended to be silent individuals, only upon occasion singing or telling tales, which would have caught the attention of elflings. Apparently, however, they should have paid more attention to these Dúnadain, judging both from the behavior and demeanor of Aragorn son of Aravir and from the respectful exchange between their father and this Dúnadan. They would take care in the future to pay greater heed to the Rangers who came into Imladris.
As Elladan and Elrohir were gazing at the Man of the North, Elrond was considering how best to make their way back to Rivendell.
"I will help bear the stretcher myself," Elrond declared. "Aragorn, mellon-nîn, you have been done much and are no doubt weary. Pray take my horse and ride on to the Hall. If you would, bear one of my sons before you."
"Thank you, Elrond. I shall." Aragorn beckoned to Elrohir. "Come, son of Elrond. We shared the burden of the stretcher; now we shall share a steed in recompense."
"Glorfindel," said Elrond, turning to that elf-lord. "Please take up Elladan before you."
"Nay, Elrond. I would rather be one of the stretcher-bearers."
"No, No, that will not be necessary, my friend."
"Indeed, Elrond, I insist. Truth be told," said the balrog-slayer, his face reddening slightly, "I would much rather walk back than ride—if you catch my meaning."
"Oh, oh, yes, of course," exclaimed Elrond. "I had forgotten. Well, Elladan cannot manage that great stallion of yours. Taurmeldir," he called to one of the captains, "please take Elladan up before you."
"Yes, Lord Elrond." Taurmeldir reached down a hand and pulled up the elfling. Accompanied by several other Elves, Taurmeldir and Aragorn rode off toward Rivendell. The remaining Elves dismounted and led their horses along by the side of the stretcher-bearers as they slowly paced toward home.