Folks, Anomen is going to be injured in this chapter. I wouldn't call it gratuitous elf-abuse, but I did want to warn anyone who doesn't like to read about harm befalling Elves in general or this Elf in particular.
Tinnuial: The reunion between Glorfindel and Legolas will take place in this chapter. Actually, things will not go as anyone expected, and they will have to be reunited not once but twice.
MoroTheWolfGod: This chapter will have a few humorous spots, but it is mainly angsty. I'm afraid Legolas is literally in for some 'hard knocks'.
Kitsune: You want me to—gulp!—set a tale during the LOTR? (Author blanches paler than Legolas.) I'm not sure I have the guts to take that on!
Ky: 'Laiqua' was the nickname given to Legolas by his foster mother. The seneschal Gilglir also used that name, but Thranduil could not bring himself to utter it. I'm assuming that Gandalf, as he wandered Middle Earth rooting about for news, would have learned that the ceremonial name of the Prince of Mirkwood was the Quenyan Laiqualasse and that his less formal name was the Sindarin Legolas. In his mind, I think he would gravitate toward the less formal name; thus I have him starting to use that name when he is flustered and momentarily forgets that the prince is to be called 'Anomen' for the time being.
Reviewer (no other name given): Glorfindel is getting close to learning his lesson, although it won't be articulated until they are safe back in Rivendell and Glorfindel has a chance to reflect and talk with Elrond.
Jebb: Legolas will escape from Glorfindel's wrath once again—although in a most unexpected way.
Farflung: Your response to the chapter was practically a chapter itself! About the birth mark: it is all of those things—portent of his role in the Fellowship of the Nine Walkers, sign of nine 'lives', sign of nine names (which, yes, could also correspond to 'lives'). So far he's been named or called Laiqualasse, Legolas, Laiqua, Anomen, Nomie, Durrandir, and Leif Anomenson. Seven names and counting.
Daw the Minstrel: Anomen is going to end up in even worse trouble this chapter—really serious trouble.
Dragonfly: The birthmark is based on the tattoo, but I'm using it in multiple ways, as I explain above to Farflung. I'm following the principle so dear to Elf warriors of "killing two Orcs with one sword thrust." (Legolas follows the principle in spirit when he slays two Orcs with one arrow at the skirmish at Parth Galen when the Fellowship is broken [movie version]!)
Joee: Yes, couldn't resist using one of Glorfindel's favorite phrase. Glad you enjoyed the 'Merry Sue/Mary Sue' pun.
Karri: Legolas might exasperate Gandalf sometime, but I don't really think you can say that he gets on his 'bad side'. Now as to Glorfindel, that is another matter altogether.
Vocabulary
Noro lim!—Ride quickly!
Having vented his ire over the ill treatment his hat had received, Gandalf had returned to his usual self, a mixture of firmness and kindness that seemed unique to the wizard. As he and Anomen walked along the road, they once again came abreast of the Barrow-Downs, where they had earlier turned aside to enter the Old Forest. Gandalf saw the elfling looking at the barrows with curiosity.
"I would like to rest, and you, I am sure, want to explore a bit. You may wander about the Barrow-Downs, if you wish—I trust you will not venture all the way to the Old Forest, however!"
"Oh, no, Gandalf. Indeed I will not."
"See that you don't. I dislike the thought of having to ask Tom Bombadil to rescue you twice in one century. 'Twould make me seem like a poor caretaker in the extreme!"
Anomen kept his word not to go near the Old Forest. He amused himself by running and singing as he went from barrow to barrow. He climbed up several of the mounds and looked about. It was an odd place, green with life and yet filled with memories of the dead. He climbed down from one barrow and stood gazing in at the entrance. That is where Gandalf found him when he arose from his rest.
"Gandalf, may I go in and look about?"
"These are burial places of Men long gone. Are you not afraid of barrow-wights?"
"I do not fear the Dead," said Anomen simply (LOTR book version: ROTK V.2).
Mithrandir looked at him and nodded. "Very well."
Wizard and elfling walked in respectful silence into the barrow. Anomen looked about in awe. Around them lay many treasures, some of gold, some of silver, copper, and bronze: circlets and rings, chains and jeweled ornaments, swords and shields and knives. The elfling picked up a gleaming dagger and examined it. It was long, leaf-shaped and keen, of marvelous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold (LOTR book version: FOTR I.8).
"That blade was forged many long years ago by Men of Westernesse, foes of the Dark Lord. Their descendants, although few in number, still wander the north, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding from evil things folk that are heedless" (LOTR book version: FOTR I.8).
With Gandalf's words, Anomen found the dagger even more fascinating, and he turned it over and over in his hands, studying the ancient words inscribed upon the blade. At last Gandalf interrupted his ruminations.
"Leave it, Anomen. You have no need of such a blade, but mayhap later there will come one who does."
Obediently, and reverently, Anomen replaced the dagger, and wizard and elfling resumed their journey.
After the Barrow-Downs, it was not far to Bree, and with several hours of daylight left, Gandalf and Anomen entered the village and made for the Plodding Ploughhorse. When they crossed the inn's threshold, a beaming Bartholomew Butterbur fair bubbled, so effusive he was in his joy at seeing the two—and Anomen in particular.
"Ah, Master Gandalf, you're back, and young Leif is with you—safe and sound, just as Master Gold hoped—oh, I am glad!"
Anomen suspected that he would not be 'safe and sound' very long, for he spotted 'Master Gold' bearing down upon them, his face stern, his hands clenched. But just as the elf-lord reached them, Gandalf flung his arm around Anomen's shoulder and said to Butterbur, "I must thank you, Master Butterbur, for sending Leif after me. He has been a great help. Hauled water, fetched sticks, mended my cloak, washed my hose—yes, he has been invaluable."
"Oh-oh-ah," stammered Butterbur, "I'm glad you found him a useful servant, ah, aren't we?" he finished lamely, turning to Master Farmer, who had just trotted up, tray in hand. "Actually, 'twas Master Farmer sent 'im after you, in't that so?"
"What? Oh, yes. Right you are, Bartholomew."
"Ah, then it is you to whom I owe thanks, Master Farmer. I was glad to keep the lad by my side, so handy he turned out to be."
Muttering something that sounded very much like Curses! Foiled again!, Glorfindel turned away in disgust. Gandalf winked at the elfling, who exhaled in relief. The day of reckoning was postponed, if not forestalled altogether.
Wizard, Elf, and elfling supped that night in Glorfindel's room, Gandalf and Glorfindel at the table, and Anomen once more perched on the edge of a bed with plate balanced on his knees. It was by turns a merry and a sober meal. In spite of himself, Glorfindel was in the end reduced to laughter by Gandalf's droll account of Anomen's adventures. But wizard and elf-lord quickly became grave as Glorfindel reported on the attempt of the Southrons to recruit allies amongst the Men of Bree-land.
"So, as far as you know, the entire band of Southrons has been slain?"
"Yes. Since returning to Bree, I have neither seen nor heard no sign that would suggest that any remain."
"But these Men of Bree-land—they are still in place. Hmmm."
Gandalf reached for the wine bottle. It was empty.
"Ah, Anomen, Leif you must be for a little while longer. Run down and fetch another bottle of wine—oh, and one of those excellent fruit pies, if you please."
That latter item was of great interest to Anomen, and he hastened to fulfill the wizard's behest. Unfortunately, and for the second time, he was thus to miss hearing a discussion of Will Ferny, Hugo the Smith, Andrew of the Circus, and Bræd the Dour Reeve. By the time he had returned with wine and pie, Gandalf and Glorfindel had moved on to other matters.
After the three of them had devoured the pie and drained the bottle of wine—Gandalf, truth be told, drinking the greater part of it—wizard, Elf, and elfling were more than ready for sleep.
Glorfindel invited Gandalf to share his room for the night.
"There are only two beds," said Gandalf. "What of Anomen?"
"We can ask Butterbur to put down a pallet in that corner there, or if he has laid out all the pallets for the night, Anomen can sleep in my bed. He's skinny enough."
Anomen did not want to spend the night in such close proximity to the balrog-slayer—he knew that he would be too terrified to sleep!
"If you please, Lord Glorfindel, I slept in the hayloft whilst you were gone. My blankets are no doubt out there still."
"In the hayloft? Butterbur said that he would lay a pallet for you in his own room. How came you to sleep in the hayloft?"
"I asked if I might—so I could look after the packhorse!"
Glorfindel looked at him suspiciously.
"So you looked after the packhorse, did you?"
"Yes, and helped feed and water the other horses every morning."
"Indeed. And what chore did you escape in exchange for such helpfulness?"
"Um, emptying chamberpots."
Gandalf laughed heartily, and Glorfindel joined him after a minute, although he shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"Very well, Anomen. You may sleep in the hayloft."
Anomen stood up and gathered the dishes on a tray to take down with him. As he made for the door, Gandalf called after him.
"I shall say goodbye to you now, Anomen, for I mean to get an early start in the morning. I will be following the Greenway south and then heading west to Isengard. Shall I give your regards to Saruman, who was so kind to you?"
"Uh, yes, of course, Gandalf. Will you return to Imladris afterward?"
"Possibly. I may journey to Lothlórien first."
"Goodbye then, Gandalf. Stay well."
"And you, too, elfling."
With that Anomen carried the tray down to the kitchen and went to the stable. The stable master said that he was indeed welcome to his old place in the hayloft, and, yes, no one had touched his things. The master was sitting on a crate, sharing pint and gossip with a Man that Anomen had not seen before.
"This here is Will Ferny, boy."
"Good e'en to you, sir," Anomen said politely.
Will Ferny stared at him with amusement, but Anomen for some reason did not like his smile.
"Such a polite lad you be," said the Man mockingly. "Where did you learn such manners—at the table of a king!?"
This was too near the mark for Anomen's comfort. He excused himself and climbed into the hayloft. For some time he lay listening to the Men's conversation. Will Ferny must have been a horse fancier, for he was filled with questions about the various horses that were stabled at the inn. He seemed particularly impressed by the elven horses—although, of course, he could not know that they were indeed elven steeds.
"Oh, yes," said the stable master, "those are fine beasts indeed"—beasts! thought Anomen indignantly—"but that one there, it can only be tended and ridden by Master Gold. The other two are tractable enough."
At last Anomen wearied of their talk of horses and fell into a deep sleep.
When Anomen awoke, it was still several hours before dawn. He heard the sound of horses nervously snorting and stomping in their stalls. What could be troubling them? He'd best see. He pulled on his boots and leaped lightly to the floor below. When he drew himself erect, he was surprised to see two strange Men in the center of the stable. What were they doing there at this time of night? Then he saw a third Man come out from one of the stalls leading a horse—his horse!
Even Elves need time to react, and Anomen had none. One of the Men had seized him by the wrist just as he realized that these Men were horse thieves.
""Ere now," growled the Man, "wot's this?"
"That's a Hobbit you've got there, Bræd," grunted another one of the Men.
"Dunno, Andrew," said the Man holding his wrist—Bræd, apparently. "Kinda skinny for a Hobbit. A little taller than most Hobbits, too."
"That's no Hobbit," sneered the third Man. "Lookit his feet."
"Waddabout 'em, Hugo?" said Andrew.
"He's wearing boots," replied Hugo. "Y'ever see a Hobbit wearing boots?"
Hugo stepped close and pushed back Anomen's hair. "Pointed ears."
Andrew echoed him. "Pointed ears—I told you, Hobbit."
Hugo shook his head. "Too skinny and a bit tall for a Hobbit, wears boots, pointed ears—this here's an Elf."
Bræd and Andrew gasped, and Braed tightened his grip on Anomen's wrist. "An Elf! He'll make our fortune," he gloated.
Hugo shot him an angry look. "Hush! You'll frighten the poor wee creature. Loose him."
"What!?"
"You heard me. Let go his hand, the poor little Elf."
Bræd did as he was told. Relieved, Anomen rubbed his wrist as the three Men stood in a circle around him. Now that these Men knew that he was an Elf, they were not going to hurt him. They must not be particularly wicked Men. Perhaps they had been taking his horse merely by mistake.
"Now then," said Hugo, pointing to himself and speaking slowly in the Common Speech, "my name is Hugo. This," he said, again pointing, "is Bræd, and that is Andrew."
Anomen had already gathered their names, but he was grateful that Hugo was taking care to make sure that he could understand them.
"My name is Anomen," he said, smiling.
"Anomen. Good. Anomen, it is hard to judge the age of an Elf, but you do not look very old."
"That is true. I am an elfling in the eyes of my people."
"An elfling." Hugo nodded. "Why were you sleeping in a hayloft, Anomen? Are you lost? Are your parents hereabouts, but you cannot find them?"
"I do not have parents."
"You are abandoned then?"
"No, I have been traveling with a companion."
"A companion?"
"Yes."
"Ah, that is good to know." Hugo suddenly seized Anomen and spun him about. Before the elfling had time to collect his wits, Hugo had grabbed hold of both his wrists.
"Bræd, you are right. He'll make our fortune. There's only one other Elf about. Bind him fast."
Anomen recovered his voice. "But it is Glorfindel the balrog-slayer! He will have your heads!"
The three Men laughed.
"No, I mean it. He really will have your heads!"
"Stop his noise," commanded Hugo. Bræd approached Anomen with a gag in his hand. Anomen lashed out with his only free limbs, his legs, but Hugo yanked him backward and threw him to the ground. Andrew sat on the elfling until Bræd had both gagged him and tied his ankles. Then all three Men stood up and looked with satisfaction upon their captive.
Gloated Andrew, "Now we can bring both news and a prisoner to the Southrons. They will double the reward."
"Oh, at the very least," said Bræd. "Who would have thought that spying would be such good business!"
"We do have to get to Weathertop before we collect our reward," Hugo reminded them. "Let us hasten to make off with these horses—no, leave that one—Will Ferny said that it is unmanageable by anyone except its master."
After the Men had roped together all the horses save Glorfindel's, they turned their attention to loading up their 'loot'.
"Andrew," ordered Hugo, "fetch that sack. Over his head with it. Now let us bind him on that packhorse like, well, like a pack, and let us hurry away before it is discovered that he and the horses are missing. Will Ferny shall have plied the gatekeeper with enough beer by now so that even should this 'pack' squirm no notice will be taken of it!"
Will Ferny had done his job well. The three horse thieves—and now kidnappers—rode through the gate without being challenged. Hugo stopped to slip a purse to Will Ferny.
"There will be more when we return," he whispered. "See that you send astray any who might search after the horses—or anything else for that matter."
Once the thieves were out of sight of the village, they stopped long enough for Andrew to loose Anomen from the sack.
"You'll be no good to us if you suffocate," said Hugo with evil jocularity. "Andrew, untie his ankles."
For a moment, hope sprang up in Anomen's breast. If his feet were left free, he had only to wait for the opportune moment to make a break for it. If he could scramble into cover of a thicket, he was sure he could elude his captors.
Ai! Andrew immediately lifted him up before Hugo. At Hugo's direction, Andrew tied a rope around one of Anomen's ankles, passed the rope underneath the horse's belly, and tied the end to his other ankle. With Anomen thus secured, they galloped eastward at a rapid pace, every moment taking Anomen nearer to the Southrons who would bear him to the dreaded realm of the Haradrim. He struggled futilely against his bonds. Hugo laughed.
"Save your energy, elfling. You will need it to serve your Southron master."
Anomen shivered. Hugo laughed again. It was not a pleasant sound.
"Do not fear, little elfling. Maybe you will be bought by a good master who will only beat you once a week!"
That morning Glorfindel arose early to briefly keep Gandalf company as he set out on his journey. When he returned to the Plodding Ploughhorse, it was to find the inn in an uproar.
"Oh, Master Gold," gasped Butterbur, "dreadful news! dreadful! All the horses have been stolen save your own—and your boy's gone missing—we think kidnapped, we do! The gatekeeper says that he does remember Hugo, Andrew, and Bræd, those men I told you of, leaving before dawn with a string of horses."
"And the lad was with them?"
"He saw no boy, but when pressed, he did recollect as to how one of the packhorses was laden with a large sack—big enough to fit a boy. The stable master says he'd given the lad leave to sleep in the hayloft last night. The poor boy must have stumbled across the thieves—or been stumbled across himself. Oh," wailed Butterbur, "The lad's nowhere to be found—whatever other explanation could there be!?"
Whatever indeed, thought Glorfindel grimly. He suspected at once that the kidnappers would head toward Weathertop, and he feared that Anomen's life would be forfeit if the Men reached the hill and discovered that there was no one to whom they could sell the elfling.
"Master Butterbur, I must leave at once. Here is something for your trouble," he said, tossing a bag of coins to the hosteller.
"But your things, Master Gold. Don't you want to gather your things?"
"Nay, Master Butterbur. Put aside our belongings for Longshanks. He'll know how to find us."
"You must eat and drink something, Master Gold! You'll need strength if you mean to pursue those Men and take them on!"
"Something I can eat in the saddle, if you please—and quickly!"
Butterbur put his alacrity to good use, and minutes later Glorfindel was galloping down the Great East Road in search of the place where Aragorn had turned off to gain the track that had taken them to the Midgewater Marshes. Secrecy was once again of paramount importance. The elf-lord would have to approach Weathertop from the north, for he was sure that if he were spotted, Anomen would be slain.
Hugo and his Men, unaware that they were being pursued, were nonetheless urging their horses onward at a rapid pace in their eagerness to claim their reward.
"Oh, we'll be rich, we will," gloated Bræd. "I shall have fine clothes and fine food and fine drink and fine women."
Hugo hooted. "There are no fine women in Bree-land!"
"Then I'll leave Bree-land!" Bræd shot back defiantly. "I'll travel to Gondor, that I will!"
"And I," proclaimed Andrew, "will get my own back, oh, yes, we will, won't we!"
"What will you do, Hugo?" asked Bræd.
"I won't live extravagantly, you may be sure of that. I don't wish to draw attention to myself, for I like the life of a spy, and I mean to continue in the service of the Southrons. No fine clothes for me, although I do mean to enjoy fine food and fine drink on the sly. As for fine women, I'll settle for any women I can get hereabouts, even though the pickings be slim."
"But not the women," leered Andrew.
The three Men laughed with wicked glee. As for Anomen, he sat listening miserably as the Men planned how to spend the proceeds from his sale. No fine food or fine drink or fine clothes in his future ('fine women' were of course of no interest to an elfling of his age). He could only hope that Glorfindel would come after him—but, he thought unhappily, would the elf-lord even bother, so much trouble had he caused him!
That elf-lord was encountering more of that trouble at the very moment, for he was slogging through the Midgewater Marshes. With no Ranger along, Glorfindel was the sole item on the menu of the midges. But he cared not. For his purposes, the Midgewater Marshes were on the route that would put him in the best position to rescue Anomen, midges and any other discomforts be damned! So he rode on without rest, traversing the boggy terrain even more quickly than he had when Aragorn had been his guide.
As Glorfindel was emerging from the Midgewater Marshes, the Men and their captive were ascending Weathertop on foot, having left their horses at the base. Hugo had noticed that no smoke arose from the summit, but he dismissed that fact. It was early; mayhap the Southrons had not yet arisen. He also dismissed the fact that they saw no horses. No doubt the Southrons had moved them to fresh pasture.
But when the Men and their prisoner stepped into the circle of stones at the top of Weathertop, they saw that the hill was deserted. The fire ring was cold and had obviously not been used in several days. No Southrons, no sign of their weapons and packs. But the ground and stones were stained with a deep rusty brown.
"What's that there?" asked Bræd nervously, pointing at one of the rusty blotches in the soil.
"What does it look like, you fool?" growled Hugo.
"Dried blood—but whose, I wonder?"
"Oh, I wouldn't wonder," said Hugo sarcastically, shoving Anomen to the ground and advancing further into the circle. "You don't see any Southrons about, do you?"
The Men stared at each other in frustration and anger.
"Now what do we do with this wretched elf-brat?" grumbled Andrew. "We've wasted our food on him, but now we can hope for no return from the Southrons. We shall have to let him go, I suppose."
"We could use him as a servant ourselves," suggested Bræd. "Then this expedition will not have been a total loss."
"Nay," said Hugo. "He'll forever be trying to run off. He'd cause more work for us than he'd save."
"Then let us leave him here to find his own way home," said Andrew.
"Nay," protested Bræd. "'Twould be murder! He'd starve."
"And what is wrong with murder?" said Hugo coldly. "Although mayhap it would be kinder to do the deed outright. He drew his knife and fingered it.
Andrew and Bræd looked at Hugo in horror. They were not so far gone as he in wickedness.
Hugo smirked at them. "You mislike the idea of murder? Not if there is another way? Very well. We shall ourselves journey to Harad. Indeed, our profit will be all the greater if we sell the elfling ourselves. We need no middlemen to take their cut of the proceeds!"
Andrew and Bræd looked uneasily at each other. Harad!
"You do not like that idea? Very well."
Hugo strode over to where a terrified Anomen crouched. The Man yanked him to his feet by the hair and pressed the knife to his throat.
"Wait!" shouted Bræd. "We will go to Harad!"
Hugo sneered. "So tender-hearted you are. Although some would argue that a quick death would be preferable to a life of slavery among the Haradrim. But you have chosen, and we will be the richer by it. Let us depart." He kicked Anomen.
"As for you," he snarled, "I begin to tire of having to drag you about. You'd best hope that we make good time to Harad."
He kicked him again. Anomen fell, and Hugo pulled him up once more by the hair.
"Andrew, rummage about and find me the longest piece of rope that you can. Yes, that will do. Toss it to me."
Hugo tied one end of this rope tightly around Anomen's neck. Then he unbound Anomen's wrists.
"Now, listen closely. You'll have to work for your supper from now on. This rope round your neck, I'm going to keep hold of this end of it, so don't think of trying to run off. If you attempt it, I'll tie the rope to my horse's pommel, and you'll have to run all the way to Harad—and the Dark Lord help you if you fall!"
The three Men and the elfling climbed back down to the base of Weathertop, Hugo in his ill-humor yanking on the rope ever so often. Once at the base, Hugo handed the rope to Andrew and mounted the horse. Andrew then lifted Anomen up. As before, he sat before Hugo, who wrapped the rope several times around his own waist. Andrew and Bræd mounted their own horses, and they set out again, this time heading south.
Anomen's hands and feet were now free, but he did not see how that would do him any good. Unless Glorfindel were to find him, he thought in his despair, it would be his ill fate to live out his life in thrall to a Haradrim master. With any luck, the Valar would take pity on him and revoke the gift of eternal life so that he would not suffer a slavery that would have no end.
The Men and their prisoner rode off toward the south as Glorfindel, having climbed up from the north, breasted the summit. He glanced quickly about and saw from the tracks that the hill had been visited since he and Aragorn had skirmished with the Southrons—and one set of footprints were those of a smallish Elf. He saw no fresh blood. The Men had been there and departed, their captive still alive. South was the only possible direction they could take if they still wished to profit from the sale of Anomen. Glorfindel sprang to that side of the stone circle and peered out anxiously. There, just there, was that not a party of horsemen entering into a copse not so far distant? Aye, so it was!
Glorfindel scrambled back down to the base of the hill and retrieved his horse. He prayed that the Men were making camp in that copse, for although Anomen was still alive, the elf-lord doubted that he was being well-treated.
Ai! Glorfindel's fears were well justified. Hugo's ill-temper did not improve. When they reached the copse and dismounted, Hugo kicked Anomen's leg when he ordered him to fetch sticks for a fire and kicked him again when he commanded him to haul water. Every demand that was placed upon Anomen was accompanied by a kick, and all too often a yank on the rope around his neck as well. Soon the elfling was limping, and at last he could no longer keep his feet. He staggered and fell upon the ground.
"You lazy elf-brat, get up and scour those pots," snarled Hugo, advancing upon the helpless young elf. Anomen flung his arms over his head and tried to curl up in a ball, but Hugo kicked him in the chest. Anomen heard a cracking noise and suddenly could hardly breathe.
"Hugo, that's enough!" cried Bræd. "You said we were to sell him and make our fortunes. He won't be worth even a pittance if you don't leave off kicking him!"
"Aye!" shouted Andrew. "I expect some return on our investment of time and money, and you'll rob it of me. Stick to slapping him, why don't you!"
"Oh, very well," grumbled Hugo, irked at being deprived of his amusement. "I suppose that's enough for one day, and tomorrow I'll just knock him about a bit. If you gentlemen don't object, that is," he added sarcastically. "I suppose it's best to tie his hands and ankles again for the night—though I mean to keep the rope around his neck as well."
While this conversation was taking place, Glorfindel was creeping through the thicket. He reached the little clearing that was the Men's campsite just in time to see Hugo finish trussing Anomen, pulling the knots as tight as he could. When the Man had finished with that, he yanked the elfling's hair and spit upon his face .
That was enough for Glorfindel. He broke cover and advanced on the three Men. "I will have your heads," he growled.
Hugo was momentarily taken aback, but the Man was nothing if not brazen. He recovered in an instant and sneered at the balrog-slayer. "There is only one of you. Bræd, Andrew, let us fatten our profits by capturing this one as well."
A few seconds later, Hugo's head went flying into the trees. Bræd and Andrew gaped, dropped their swords, and betook their own heads into the thicket before Glorfindel could do it for them. The balrog-slayer knelt beside the elfling and ungagged him.
"Anomen, are you hurt in any way?"
"No, Glorfindel," Anomen lied.
"Good. Then I shall skin you," said Glorfindel calmly as he untied Anomen's wrists. "There. You can manage your ankles. I'll go fetch the horses."
When Glorfindel returned with their horses, he found that Anomen, his fingers shaking, had been unable to free his ankles. Suddenly concerned, the elf-lord knelt beside the elfling and gently lowered him to the ground, placing his rolled-up cloak under his head as a pillow. He saw that the elfling was having difficulty breathing and pushed up his tunic. When he saw the bruise upon his chest, he regretted that Andrew and Bræd had escaped unscathed. Anomen divined his feelings.
"It was Hugo who beat me, not those other two."
That mattered little to the elf-lord, but he consoled himself with the thought that the two had run off into the wild without any provisions. Mayhap they would starve. Whatever became of them, no one ever did know. Perhaps they did perish in the wilderness; perhaps they continued southward and joined the Dunlendings. Perhaps they fled even further south and came at last to Harad.
One thing was certain, though: their accomplice, Will Ferny, remained in Bree, and a descendant, one Bill Ferny, lived there still as the Third Age drew to a close.
For the moment, however, Glorfindel quickly dismissed those miscreants from his mind. He added more sticks to the fire that the Men had abandoned, and he placed their kettle upon it. Then he went in search of athelas. When the water was boiling, he cast the leaves into it. He helped Anomen up and brought him to sit near the fire. He pulled Anomen's hood far forward so that it tented over the steam that, smelling of athelas, began to arise from the kettle.
"Breathe deeply," he ordered the elfling. Anomen obeyed and after a little while his chest did not hurt so badly.
When the water had cooled, Glorfindel scooped the leaves out of the kettle and used them to make a poultice that he spread over Anomen's chest. He then bound the elfling's chest tightly with strips that he tore from one of the Men's abandoned blankets.
"I think it would be best if we returned to Rivendell as quickly as possible. I know that you will be uncomfortable on a horse, but bear with the pain—in the end you shall heal all the faster; for you will be under Elrond's care, and he has a great stock both of herbs and wisdom."
"Glorfindel," said Anomen, his voice trembling. "I did not run away. Please do not think that I did!"
"I know you did not run away," said Glorfindel kindly. "Do not trouble yourself; what happened was not your fault."
Glorfindel had loosed the Bree horses that had been stolen by the Men. (Most of them made their way back to Bree in the end.) Now the elf-lord wrapped Anomen carefully in his cloak and lifted him onto his own horse and then mounted behind him to hold him steady. He would trust the two other elven horses to follow behind.
Glorfindel tried to be gentle, but Anomen winced nonetheless as the elf-lord's horse broke into a trot. It would be best, Glorfindel knew, if Anomen slept away the journey, and the balrog-slayer began to sing to the elfling such songs as he remembered from his own youth during the First Age. Gradually Anomen relaxed, and from his even breathing Glorfindel knew that he slept. He looked down at the young Elf cradled in his arms.
Anomen slept with his eyes closed, in the manner of an Elf gravely ill or injured.
"Noro lim!" Glorfindel begged his horse. "NORO LIM!"