Ky: I've finally taken your advice and used the bio space in my profile to list the order of "The Nameless One" stories.
Jebb: Oh, I wouldn't pity Anomen too much over what Glorfindel does to him.
Dragonfly: Yes, it is very lucky for Anomen that he will return to Bree in the company of Gandalf. You like Aragorn the First? Maybe I can contrive to make him figure in another story.
Farflung: Oh, good, you recognized the phrase about the menu of those wretched midges.
Joee: I promise I'll try to do another story about Anomen when he is still relatively young (young for an Elf, anyway).
Karri: Actually, Anomen is going to have quite a bit of fun before he has to return to Bree. That's the focus of this chapter.
Gandalf and Anomen stayed two nights at the cottage of Goldberry and Tom Bombadil. Anomen left regretfully. Tom had taken him about and introduced him to many of the trees, and the forest denizens had been polite to him after that. There was one exception: a bad-tempered willow sapling whose dangling branches pulled at Anomen's hair whenever he passed, but the elfling soon learned to avoid him.
Wizard and elfling journeyed on through the Old Forest until they came to a hedge. It looked as if it had been planted years ago yet still within living memory.
"We could probably squeeze through a gap," said Gandalf, "but, fortunately, that won't be necessary. Some friends of mine in Buckland have been so kind as to entrust me with a key."
"Buckland?"
"Aye, we will not be crossing the Baranduin—or Brandywine as the Hobbits call it—to enter the Shire proper. Instead, we shall be visiting in a strip of land settled and inhabited by the Brandybucks, as they style themselves nowawadays—they used to be known as the Oldbucks. I have a mind to visit with Gorbadok Brandybuck. Redoubtable gentleman he is. Goes by the nickname 'Broadbelt'. His wife is just as redoubtable—Mirabella Took, a member of another distinguished family. It is my opinion that the Brandybuck and Took families someday will give rise to some truly remarkable Hobbits. Tooks and Brandybucks are more adventuresome than most other Hobbits. Indeed, a Hobbit with merely a drop of Took or Brandybuck blood can be distinguished from a more ordinary Hobbit—at least if one knows what to look for. Yes," the wizard continued thoughtfully, "I imagine that even the most timid and respectable of Hobbits—say one of the Bagginses that dwell in Hobbiton and thereabouts—would be capable of great deeds with the addition of just a little Tookishness."
They did not in point of fact go through the hedge. Actually, they went under it, for a carefully constructed tunnel, with brick sides, had been cut under the shrubbery. This passageway was barricaded by a gate of thick-set iron bars. After unlocking and relocking this gate, Gandald led Anomen on to Brandy Hall. As they drew near, the wizard warned Anomen that young Brandybuck Hobbits could be a bit overwhelming.
"To begin with, there will be a lot of them. Hobbits tend to be much more prolific than Elves in that respect, so you must expect to be fair overrun. Also, there are almost always some Took cousins visiting at Brandy Hall. When those Took and Brandybuck cousins get together, there is usually Mordor to pay! Indeed," Gandalf continued dryly, "the only thing worse than confronting the combined forces of a Took and a Brandybuck is having to keep an eye out for one willful elfling!"
Anomen blushed a little, but the wizard sent an affectionate smile his way.
Gandalf had not been exaggerating. Their approach had been espied from one of the round windows so common in Hobbit architecture, and a door—likewise round—was flung open from which issued a seemingly endless stream of ruddy-faced youngsters with curly brown hair on their heads and their feet. They swarmed about the visitors, hurrahing and shouting Gandalf's name.
"Fireworks, Gandalf, fireworks!"
"I've brought you something much more entertaining than fireworks—this young Elf here."
"An Elf! An Elf! What's his name!?"
You can call him Leif. Now I'll leave you to introduce yourselves."
With that, Gandalf disappeared inside Brandy Hall, leaving Anomen surrounded by clamoring Hobbit children. Names were shouted at Anomen so rapidly that it was only with great difficulty that he could attach them to the corresponding faces.
"I'm Rorimac," shouted one, "but everyone calls me Rory. And this is Saradoc. But everyone calls him 'Sorry'," giggled Rory. 'Sorry' scowled.
"I'm Merimac," exclaimed another, "but I go by Merry."
"And if you ever want to get him angry," shouted Rorimac, or Rory, "call him Merry Sue. But be ready to duck if you do, because he's a dead shot with a dirt clod!"
"I'm Saradas!"
"Dodinas!"
"Dinodas!"
"Gorbulas!"
There were also various Bolgers, Burrowses, Bracegirdles, and Bagginses, related either by blood or marriage. And of course there were a number of Tooks, with names such as Paladin and Ferumbras and Fortinbras and Isengrim and Isumbras and Isengar.
Introductions completed, the young Hobbits proposed various amusements.
"Let's go berry picking," suggested one.
"No! no! pony riding!"
"Tree climbing!"
"Birds nesting!"
"Swimming!" suggested Merry.
"No! no!" objected one of the smaller Hobbits—Anomen thought it was one of the Bagginses—"We don't all swim as you Tooks and Brandybucks do!"
"All right, then—boating! You won't have to go into the water—and the braver sort can handle the boats."
"I am too brave!" protested the little Baggins.
"So," smirked Merry, "you won't mind boating then."
Boating it had to be after that. There was a regular stampede down to a nearby pond where a number of boats were pulled up on the grassy bank. Some of the Hobbits piled into the boats. Others, after digging up worms and fetching poles hidden in a hollow log, settled down on the bank to fish. A few, Merry included, did swim after all—Tooks and Brandybucks exclusively, Anomen noticed. This last pursuit was most appealing to the Elf, and he stripped down and joined in, splashing back happily as the Hobbits sent water flying every which way. Between the splashing of oars and of arms, the poor Hobbits angling for fish were unable to reel in a single one, their quarry having taken refuge in the reeds.
After awhile, when the swimmers were sufficiently water-wrinkled, they scrambled out of the pond and sat on the bank to dry in the sun. Hobbits and elfling looked one another over.
"Have you been ill?" Merry asked Anomen. "You're very skinny."
In point of fact, Anomen was thin when compared to Elladan and Elrohir, but not exceptionally so for an Elf.
"No, I haven't been ill. This is just the way Elves are shaped."
"Oh. What has happened to your feet?"
"My feet?"
"You have lost the hair on your feet."
"I never had any hair on my feet."
"No hair on your feet! Not even on your toes?"
"Not even on my toes."
Merry stretched out his legs and admired his own curly-haired feet. Imagine not even having hair on one's toes!
"Gandalf doesn't have hairy feet either," said Anomen defensively. He had seen the wizard's bare feet when he had had to wash the Istar's woolen hose.
"No hair at all!?"
"Well," admitted Anomen, "he does have some hair on his toes."
"Hah!" crowed Merry triumphantly.
Anomen struck back. "My ears are more pointed than yours."
Merry studied Anomen's ears. Reluctantly, the Hobbit had to admit that the elfling's ear were indeed pointier than his.
"What's that there on your arm?" the Hobbit said at last, pointing to the elfling's forearm.
"Oh, that? It's a birthmark. A friend of mine says that it looks like the elven word for nine."
Merry was impressed. "My gaffer says that birthmarks are portents."
"Portents?"
"Aye, signs of one's destiny. Maybe," mused the Hobbit, "you will have nine lives, like a cat."
"I already have sufficient lives," said Anomen. "More likely it means that I will have nine names! I've already made a good start toward that!"
"Pardon?"
Anomen shook his head. "It's nothing."
They heard a dinner horn sound in the distance. Fishers made haste to replace poles, boaters pulled for the shore, and swimmers searched for scattered clothes. When Anomen found his tunic and leggings, he discovered that they had been tied into knots—and with great thoroughness! Elladan and Elrohir, he thought to himself, were going to be sorry that they missed out on meeting these Hobbits!
The next day Gandalf went off with the master of Brandybuck Hall to visit old friends thereabouts.
"I shall be gone 'till nightfall. Be sure," the wizard sternly warned, "that you do not make any trouble for Mistress Brandybuck."
"I won't, Gandalf. I promise."
"Hmph," snorted the Istar skeptically as he strode off.
Anomen lazed about for several hours with the Brandybuck and Took cousins. They swam, they boated, they skipped stones, they made musical instruments out of reeds and blades of grass. After a while, Merry asked Anomen if he liked mushrooms.
"Oh, yes," replied Anomen eagerly. "Is there some place hereabouts where we can pick them."
"We-ell," said Merry, "the best place is across the river."
"Shall we take the boats?"
"The current is rather swift. There is a bridge, but even nearer is a ferry. Come."
"Shouldn't we tell Mistress Brandybuck that we are going?"
"Oh, no!" said Merry hastily. "That won't be necessary."
Anomen noticed the quickness of the reply, but he did want mushrooms, so he elected to ignore it. Off they went, Merry and Anomen and a half-dozen or so cousins. Chattering gaily, they made short work of the walk to the ferry.
"Halloo!" shouted Merry when they had arrived at the bank.
Out came the old ferryman from the shed where he whiled away the days whittling toys for his innumerable grandchildren and great-grandchildren and, in fact, great-great grandchildren.
"Good day, to you, Master Proudfoot."
"That's Proudfeet," grumbled Master Proudfoot. The Hobbit children humored him; it was one of the idiosyncrasies that the old Hobbit had adopted as he grew ever more ancient.
"Of course, Master Proudfeet. Pardon me. We'd be much obliged, Master Proudfeet," continued Merry, "if you'd ferry us across the river this fine day."
The elderly Hobbit stared suspiciously at the younglings. "If you have permission, then I'm a Dwarf," he muttered.
"We've an errand to fetch mushrooms. We'll be sure to bring you back some, Master Proudfeet."
Hearing that, the cantankerous old Hobbit smiled, revealing a number of gaps in his teeth, although enough remained, apparently, for the devouring of the favored fungus.
"Will ye? A fine lad you be, you and yer cousins. Come aboard then."
The young Hobbits helped pull on the rope that drew the ferry across the river. Truth be told, the old ferryman was a caretaker only, and passengers were always expected to provide the Hobbit-power.
"And at night," Merry told Anomen. "There is no ferryman at all, and the ferry remains docked on the Buckland side of the river."
Once on the other side, the young Hobbits and the elfling made for a spot where, Merry assured Anomen, the most excellent mushrooms grew in vast quantity.
"But," said Merry, "I must warn you, that, even though there are plenty for all, there is a Hobbit, old Farmer Grub, who has laid claim to that patch of mushrooms. If he happens upon us, be sure to run as fast as you can for the ferry, or he'll feed you to his beasts!"
"Would that patch happen to be on his own land?"
"Well, yes, but mushrooms grow wild, don't they? It's not as if he plants 'em and tends 'em, in't that so? And there are so many of them! He couldn't possibly eat 'em all, and then they'd be wasted, wouldn't they? Why, the land would be fair overrun with mushrooms, and they'd crowd themselves out, they would! They'd die out altogether if they weren't thinned."
Anomen had his doubts about this last bit of botanical wisdom but again chose to withhold comment in the interest of satisfying his appetite for mushrooms.
The Hobbits grew quiet as they crept onto the land of Farmer Grub. Anomen had not believed them capable of such stillness. Ai! it would take more than silence to evade the detection of Farmer Grub's servants, for amongst them were creatures with keen noses. Hobbits and elfling had hardly begun to gather mushrooms when there arose an uproar of snarling, growling, and barking. The young Hobbits shrieked and ran for the road. Anomen tried to follow suit, but in the confusion, a Hobbit blundered into him and bowled him over. Before Anomen could rise to his feet, the dogs were upon him.
Elves don't keep dogs, and to Anomen the creatures looked like wolves. Terrified, Anomen curled up and wrapped his arms over his head. He felt something moist on his hands. Blood? But he felt no pain. Cautiously Anomen peeked out from between his arms. The dogs were licking his hands. He also saw that they were wagging their tails, and, unfamiliar with dogs though he was, Anomen knew that the gesture was not a threatening one. And now, instead of barking and growling, the beasts were whining, and there was an eagerness and friendliness to the sound. Slowly Anomen lowered his arms. The dogs at once began to lick his face. The elfling giggled. How could creatures that looked so much like wolves be so much fun!?
"Well, now!" boomed a voice. "My dogs seem to like'ee. That's a sign that you must not be a scoundrel—even if you were in the company of those dratted Tooks and Brandybucks. But what you do be, I am at a loss to say, for it is certain you are no Hobbit!"
"I am an Elf, sir," replied Anomen politely. As he was not in Bree-land, he knew it was not necessary to pretend that he was a human boy.
"An Elf! Don't get too many of those hereabouts. Heel Goblin! Heel Dragon! Troll! Let 'im up, now."
Obediently, the dogs retreated a few paces and sat down, their tongues lolling. Anomen arose.
"I am sorry to have trespassed, Farmer Grub," he said contritely. "I'll be going now."
"Not just yet, you won't! You must visit with me and mine awhile. We don't have much of a chance to exchange news with the Fair Folk."
Visit awhile? What did the farmer mean by 'awhile'?
"Sir, I must be back at Brandy Hall by nightfall or Gandalf will be angry with me."
"Ah, Gandalf. So that's how you've come to be in these parts. You're with that old wandering conjurer. All the more reason to extend you hospitality—wouldn't want him to cast a spell on my crops! Fear not—I'll have you back to Brandy Hall by nightfall. You came across by the ferry, I'll warrant. Come have a bite with us, and then I'll hook up the wagon and take you back to the ferry straightaway."
Relieved, Anomen readily agreed. He was genuinely hungry by now and would indeed be glad of a bite, even if it included no mushrooms.
As it turned out, mushrooms were on the menu, as were bacon and cheese and warm bread and piping hot potatoes in their jackets and creamed onions and turnips and carrots and parsnips and hot ham and cold beef and beer aplenty—this last item Anomen was becoming accustomed to (although he would always prefer wine when he could get it). Just when Anomen was pushing his plate away with a satisfied sigh, Mistress Grub proudly entered bearing a fruit pie smothered in cream, and the dozen or so at the table fell to once again. At last, after Anomen had pushed his plate away a second time, Farmer Grub, looking out the window, said, "I'd best hook up the wagon and get you to the ferry afore old Master Proudfeet—foot! ah, now the old codger has me sayin' it, too—makes for home."
Farmer Grub was as good as his word, and soon he and Anomen were rattling toward the ferry, Anomen entertaining the farmer the entire way with news of the lands beyond the Shire.
"Here you be," said the farmer at last. "Oh, and here is a gift for Gandalf and one for old Master Proudfoot as well."
Anomen climbed down, and the farmer handed Anomen two cloth-covered baskets.
"Thank you, Farmer Grub."
"Don't mention it at all, young Elf. Me and mine are always glad to help out travelers in need. Farewell." With that the farmer, who had proved to be truly amiable in spite of his fearsome reputation amongst the inhabitants of Buckland, backed up his wagon and turned toward home.
Anomen hailed the ferryman, and he laboriously drew the boat across so that the Elf might cross. Anomen handed Mr. Proudfoot his basket, and then, on his own—for the ferryman promptly sat down to gaze gleefully at his gift—the elfling wrestled the ferry back to the other bank. Then Anomen bolted for Brandy Hall, for the sun was westering. He raced up to the door of the Hall just as Gandalf was hastening out in alarm, for the cousins had tearfully told him that Anomen had been eaten by dogs.
"You scamp," cried the wizard in mingled anger and relief. "You haven't been eaten by dogs after all."
"Oh, no, Gandalf, and I have brought you a gift from Farmer Grub."
Anomen handed the Istar the basket. Gandalf took it and raised the cloth to see what it held.
"Well, well," said the wizard, considerably mollified. "Well, well, a basketful of Farmer Grub's famous mushrooms. I suppose I shall have to let you off this time since you return bearing such a gift."
The next morning Gandalf insisted that they must return to Bree—"If Glorfindel gets back before you do, he will have your head"—and Anomen departed Brandy Hall as regretfully as he had left the cottage of Goldberry and Tom Bombadil. He could have spent days playing truant with the Took and Brandybuck cousins.
The two travelers left surrounded by a chorus of farewell and called back a fair number of their own.
"Goodbye, Rory! Goodbye, Sorry!"
Anomen saved his parting from Merry until the last.
"Farewell, Merry…Sue!" shouted Anomen. Then he ducked as the promised dirt clod came sailing toward him. It flew over Anomen—and knocked the hat from Gandalf's head. All young Hobbits instantly vanished into the woods on either side of the road, leaving an unfortunate Anomen alone with an irate Istar who had no other target on which to vent his rage.
"LEGOLA—ANOMEN!" bellowed that worthy wizard. Anomen blanched.
The Istar pointed with his staff at the hat that lay in the middle of the dusty road.
"Just you pick that up right now!"
Timidly, Anomen approached and bent down to retrieve the hat—and Gandalf whacked Anomen's bottom with his staff. It was as substantial a whack as Anomen had received as a parting gift from the vine in the Old Forest, and Anomen fervently hoped that this was not the beginning of a pattern.
"You do not," huffed the Istar, "trifle with the hat of a wizard."
"I'm sorry," said Anomen humbly. "I'll never do it again."
"Hmmph!" snorted the wizard as he settled his hat upon his head. "Never is a very long time." Satisfied that his hat was secure, Gandalf examined his staff. "Sorry," he muttered apologetically to the stick. "Undignified thing to do. Next time I'll cast a spell that will give him hairy toes—that would serve him right."
Anomen overhead the last threat and resolved to be very, very good.