Folks, I start this story with sentence fragments, but I've got a reason for doing so. Let me know if it works.
Kitsune: True, there's a lot of potential for a story set during the LOTR. Hmm.
Ky: Glorfindel has a compassionate side; otherwise, I don't think he'd be a true Elf.
Jebb: I'm glad you like tension intermingled with humor.
MoroTheWolfGod: It is true that Elrond is not happy with the outcome of Glorfindel's mission.
Farflung: Hey, don't forget Anomen was nekkid when he went swimming with the Hobbits! You didn't read any mention of a bathing suit there, did you? Seriously, I love that Oscar Wilde quotation, and I'm going to put it into Gandalf's mouth when I revise the previous chapter.
Karri: Right—Elrond will not be pleased.
Dragonfly: I'm not a fan of pain and gore for the sake of pain and gore, so I put in only the details necessary to establish that Anomen's life was in very real danger.
Joee: Three reviews in a row. I am impressed.
Vocabulary
Adar, Ada—'father', 'papa'
barzum—'darkness' (Black Speech)
elleth—'Elf maid'
Istar—'wizard' (singular of Istari)
Maiar—'good spirits' (plural of Maia)
Mandos—'Dread Imprisoner' (a name for the Vala Námos, the 'Judge' of souls)
mellon-nîn—my friend
Naneth, Nana—'mother', 'mama'
pen-neth—'young one'
A voice singing. Soft. Melodious.
Nana?
Anomen struggled to force his eyes open.
Golden hair. Blue eyes.
"Nana?" he whispered painfully.
"Shhh," soothed the voice. "Don't try to speak."
"Nana?"
Anomen tried to push himself up on his elbows.
"Shhh. Lie still."
A hand gently pushed him back onto the pillow. Exhausted, he closed his eyes again.
A voice talking. A deeper voice. What was it saying? He couldn't make sense of it.
Halloo? Halloo? Halloo-sin-ate? Halloo-sin-eight?
That didn't make sense. Anomen tried again.
Hall-loose-in-eight-shun? Hall-loose-in-nation?
Anomen wearily gave up trying to understand the voice.
Another voice, again a deep one, but different from the other.
"He will return to himself once the fever goes down."
Return to himself? Have I left myself? Is this the Hall of Mandos? Is that golden-haired elleth my Naneth?
The bed slowly levitated and turned upside down. Anomen clutched the blankets tightly to keep from tumbling from the mattress. A cool, wet cloth came to rest on his forehead—odd that the cloth did not fall to the ground. Gradually the bed rotated until it was upright again, but it did not sink down onto the floor. Instead, it began to spin about like a leaf caught in an eddy. Anomen squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fought the sensation of nausea. The cloth disappeared but soon reappeared, once again cool and wet. The bed stopped spinning, but it rocked slightly. If only it would settle back upon the floor! Again the cloth disappeared and reappeared. The bed stopped rocking, and at last it came to rest upon a solid surface. Anomen cautiously opened his eyes.
Elrond and Mithrandir stood by his head, leaning over him. Galadriel sat on the bed, one hand tenderly stroking his forehead, the other holding a damp cloth. Erestor and Glorfindel gazed anxiously at him from the foot of the bed, and Lord Celeborn stood by the window regarding him gravely.
I've returned from the Hall of Mandos. But why is a council being held in my room? Strange place for a council. And where is Thranduil? Was he not summoned to the council?
"Where is the King of Greenwood?" gasped Anomen.
Elrond looked distressed.
"I did not think to summon him!" he exclaimed to the others. "Do you want me to send for him?" he said gently to Anomen.
Anomen looked at him in bewilderment. Why should Elrond ask him whom he should summon to a council? He tried to gather his wits so that he could reply sensibly.
"If you wish, Lord Elrond," he said with an effort. "I thought that when you hold a council you invite a representative from each realm."
Now it was Elrond's turn to look perplexed. "Council?"
Mithrandir spoke. "As I said, he has been hallucinating."
"This is no council," said Elrond, smiling. "I sent a messenger to Lothlórien to beg for Galadriel's aid, for I feared your injury was past my skill to heal, and the Lady, too, is a healer of sorts. Mithrandir was fortunately visiting the Lord and Lady and accompanied them as they made haste to cross the Misty Mountains."
"Not a council?"
"No, unless you wish to consider it a council of healers."
Anomen felt a little silly.
"Do not feel foolish, young one," said Galadriel, as usual divining what was in his mind. "You have been very sick, and a feverish person can hardly be expected to think clearly."
Elrond spoke again. "It is true that this is no council, Anomen, but would you like us to send for Thranduil nonetheless?"
"No," said Anomen miserably. "I doubt that he would want to be troubled over me."
"Are you sure of that, Anomen?"
"No, but I, well, I don't want to be sure!"
"Very well, Anomen, but whenever you become desirous of—"
"No!" interrupted Erestor vehemently, "such decisions of import should not to be left to elflings! We should send for Thranduil whether or no Anomen wishes it!"
Elrond replied just as vehemently. "What if Thranduil does not want to be troubled!? Such a discovery would be devastating."
"We must find a way to assay the king's feelings on the matter," suggested Celeborn, raising his voice in order to be heard.
This was dreadful! Anomen squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands.
"Stop!" bellowed Glorfindel. "You are upsetting the pen-neth, you-you-sorry excuses for Elves! If you do not fall silent at once, I shall-I shall-I shall do something," he finished lamely.
Surprised at the balrog-slayer's outburst, everyone fell silent. Mithrandir cleared his throat.
"Perhaps," he said mildly, "we should retire to Elrond's chamber and have, ah, a more congenial discussion over wine and some of those excellent fruit pastries that the Head Cook is so proud of—equaled only, I must say, by the fruit pies served in a certain hostelry in the village of Bree."
Galadriel smiled. Only Mithrandir spoke so, mixing the wise and the whimsical.
"I think," she said softly, "that Mithrandir is right. Anomen needs to rest and should not be subjected to our differences of opinion. But he should not be left alone."
"He will not be," said Elrond. He called out, "Scamp one and scamp two, come out from behind those statues where you have been hiding just outside this chamber."
Elladan and Elrohir materialized in the doorway.
"Will you sit with Anomen awhile—but that is a silly question, is it not?"
"Yes, Ada!" the twins chorused, and then both blushed.
"We didn't mean that you were asking a silly question, Ada!" stammered Elladan.
Elrond smiled. "I know. I was just having a bit of fun with you. Entertain Anomen and fetch anything he needs—but do not overexcite him," the elf-lord warned.
"We will not," Elrohir promised solemnly.
When their elders had left, the twins carefully climbed up on the bed, one on each side.
"You have been having adventures without us," said Elrohir a trifle accusingly.
"I do not think you would have wanted this adventure," said Anomen faintly.
"Really? But it wasn't all bad, was it? I heard Mithrandir say you had gone into the Old Forest, and"—Elrohir lowered his voice—"Ada said a very bad word when Mithrandir told him that."
"What did he say!?" asked Elladan eagerly.
Both Elladan and Anomen strained to hear as Elrohir looked about guiltily and lowered his voice even further. "He said—'burzum'!"
"No!" gasped Elladan and Anomen. The Lord of Imladris had said—that word—in the Black Speech. The three elflings shivered. Oh, this was delightful!
All three elflings jumped as the door opened. It was the Head Cook.
"Master Mithrandir asked me to bring you some fruit pastries—although you two," he said to Elladan and Elrohir, "have probably already stolen more than your share!"
"Thank you, Master Cook," said the elflings politely.
Anomen realized that he was hungry—as well he might be, for he had lain unconscious for days. Elladan and Elrohir held off eating until their friend had had his fill. Fortunately, the Master Cook had really been quite generous, and there was plenty for all.
After their hunger had been satisfied, Anomen told the twins more about his adventures. They were particularly fascinated by anything he could tell them about Hobbits, for Mithrandir's tales about the Shire had piqued their curiosity.
"So they actually do have curly hair all over their feet—I thought Mithrandir was teasing us," said Elladan.
"Yes, they do, and we are already taller than the biggest of Hobbits!"
"But they have pointed ears like us?"
"Yes, but mine are pointier than Merry's!"
"Merry?"
"One of the Hobbits. His name was Merimac, but nobody calls him that."
"These Hobbits sound like great fun," observed Elrohir. "They really tied up your clothes whilst you were swimming?"
"Yes, dozens of knots—first rate workmanship, too."
Elrohir looked thoughtful.
"But," Anomen added hastily, "that's really rather an unoriginal prank, don't you think?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Elrohir slowly.
Wonderful, thought Anomen. He sighed. Elrohir and Elladan became instantly solicitous.
"Are we tiring you?" asked Elladan anxiously.
"Oh, no," Anomen reassured them. "I can talk a little longer, I think."
"I hope I can visit Shire someday," said Elrohir longingly.
"The Shire. Yes, it is a lovely place. Mithrandir is very fond of it, and I can see why. He said something odd, though, as we left Buckland. He stood still for a moment, with a faraway look in his eyes, and muttered a few words—it sounded like 'Something wicked this way comes'. When I asked him what he meant, he brushed me off—said that it was an old habit of his to always talk to the wisest present."
"That's just Mithrandir's way—he always talks in riddles," said Elladan.
"Oh, all elders are like that," added Elrohir. "They never explain themselves fully."
"Erestor does," giggled Elladan. The three elflings laughed. Indeed, it was true that Erestor always explained himself quite fully—what year this battle was fought, how many warriors were on each side, which king signed what treaty, where that treaty was signed, how many barrels of wine were imported from what realm. They supposed that this was why he was their tutor in the first place.
"But Mithrandir is worse than most," insisted Anomen after they had stopped giggling.
"Of course," said Elrohir grandly. "Mithrandir is an Istar and one of the Maiar. He came from over the sea, from the Undying Lands."
Elrohir waved vaguely toward the west.
"I should like to visit the sea someday," said Anomen dreamily.
"Our grandmother says that the sea can be perilous to some Elves," warned Elladan.
"What does she mean by that?" asked Anomen.
"I do not know—she did not say."
"See!" said Elrohir triumphantly. "I told you. Elders never explain themselves."
"Except for Erestor!" declared Elladan again.
"Agreed. Except for Erestor."
While this conversation was taking place, the elders in question were having their 'discussion' in Elrond's chamber. It was a very peculiar debate, because there was an unspoken understanding that the ailing elfling whose welfare so concerned them could not be referred to by any name other than 'Anomen'. So no one could say outright what they were debating, for that would force them to take the very action that they were debating whether or not to take. In a way, the elflings were right: in this debate, these elders never fully explained themselves.
"If Anomen has an Adar, then that Adar should be informed of his whereabouts—and all the more because the elfling is ill," argued Erestor.
"But what if that Adar has forfeited his right to the elfling through neglect?" asked Elrond.
"That has not been proven," Mithrandir pointed out.
"There is a fair amount of traffic between Greenwood and Lothlórien," observed Celeborn. "Our traders and ambassadors have always reported that at least one Adar in Greenwood seemed to have little time and less regard for his son."
"That is not the same as neglect," Erestor shot back.
"I see little difference," declared Glorfindel, unexpectedly throwing his weight behind Elrond's position.
"We must not base our decision upon appearances," Galadriel reminded them. "What may appear to be lack of regard may be something else altogether."
"Then we should do nothing for the time being," argued Elrond. "We lack sufficient information upon which to judge the father. Let us leave matters as they are for the time being until we can better know his mind."
It was Elrond's opinion that at last held sway over all other arguments. For the time being, it was at last agreed, Anomen would remain at Rivendell, under the twin care of Elrond and Mithrandir.
"Well," said that wizard, arising from his seat. "I shall just stop by Anomen's chamber and let him know that he will not be going to Greenwood just yet."
"Yes," smiled a relieved Elrond. "Reassure him that he has nothing to fear from the big, bad ogre."
"Elrond," said Galadriel reprovingly, "take care not to poison the elfling's mind against his father with language such as that."
"Oh," deadpanned Mithrandir, "I thought Elrond was referring to Glorfindel."
The tension broken, everyone, even the balrog-slayer, joined in the laughter.
Although Anomen was out of danger and his immediate future had been decided, Celeborn and Galadriel remained in Rivendell for another several months. Galadriel, in company with Elrond and Mithrandir, continued to tend to the recovering elfling. Moreover, the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had not seen their grandchildren in several years and were glad of the chance to visit with them, and particularly with Arwen, whom they had spent the least amount of time with, as she was the youngest. Arwen was devoted to Galadriel and split her time equally between tagging along after her grandmother and affectionately hovering over her beloved 'Nomie, to whom she brought bunches and bunches of wildflowers. The flowers, truth be told, always arrived a little wilted, with stems bent, but Anomen didn't care, her kindness touched him so. Between her visits and those of the twins, who had been excused from lessons for the duration of their grandparents' visit, Anomen was well entertained. The older Elves stopped in frequently as well, especially Glorfindel, who seemed to feel it necessary to superintend Anomen's care, as if the combined efforts of Mithrandir, Galadriel, and Elrond might somehow be lacking.
The day came, however, when Anomen was permitted to arise from his bed. And then the day came when he was allowed to leave his room. At last he rejoined the household for meals, instead of eating from a tray. Things were getting back to normal. Mithrandir declared his intention of journeying once again to the Shire, and the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien likewise made plans to depart. They had a realm for which they were responsible, and it was time to return to it.
"Your holiday will be over now, will it not?" Galadriel said to the elflings with a smile.
Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen looked at Elrond. "Will it?" asked Elrohir, his voice full of disappointment.
"Yes, it is time for you to return to your studies with Erestor."
"Oh, burzum!" complained Elrohir.
"What did you say!?" growled Glorfindel.
"Um, nothing," said Elrohir meekly.
"Wherever did you pick up such language?" said Erestor primly.
"Heard it someplace," mumbled Elrohir.
Mithrandir looked at Elrond and winked. Elrond tried to look innocent, which was something he had not had to do since the First Age. He failed woefully, and soon the entire table was laughing at him—the older Elves anyway. The younger ones were simply relieved that attention had shifted from themselves to the elf-lord.
A fortnight later, the visitors had departed. Elrond found himself alone with Glorfindel for the first time since the balrog-slayer had galloped into Rivendell clutching an unconscious, feverish Anomen. He cleared his throat.
"Glorfindel, I have been meaning to ask you how Anomen came by his injuries."
For once in his life, Glorfindel found himself looking at his feet, unwilling to meet the eyes of Elrond.
"Matters did not go quite as planned."
"Oh?"
"Aragorn and I tracked down and destroyed a band of Southrons."
"And?"
"I slew one Bree-land traitor and put the fear of the Valar into two others."
"And?"
Glorfindel sighed. Elrond's brevity was to be feared more than his anger.
"As you see, Anomen was injured—but as I promised, I did not lead him into combat!"
"Oh, that is a consolation!" said Elrond with a sarcastic tone that would have done Glorfindel proud.
Glorfindel looked up and gazed straight into the eyes of his friend.
"I am sorry," he said simply. "I left him with a Man in Bree when Aragorn and I went in search of the Southrons."
"Leaving Anomen unsupervised is like leaving a toddler alone in a room with a fire! Even though it is the toddler's legs that will carry him into the flames, it is the caretaker who is to blame."
"Aye, I should have anticipated what would happen next. Anomen ran off, of course."
"Of course."
"Fortunately, he was following after Mithrandir, who collared him at the earliest opportunity and tried to keep him by his side until my return—although he gave even Mithrandir the slip at least twice, if I may mention that in my own defense!"
"You may."
"Mithrandir brought him back to Bree safe and sound. That very night, I permitted him to sleep in the stable. The Bree-land traitors chose that night to make off with the horses, and they stole Anomen into the bargain. The Southrons to whom they planned to sell him were the ones whom Aragorn and I had slain. When the traitors discovered that there was no market for stolen elfling, one of them began to treat Anomen very cruelly; thus he was badly injured before I was able to rescue him."
"I see. Would I be correct in assuming that the traitor who abused Anomen was the one you slew?"
"You would be correct."
"Let me guess: his head is lying somewhere in a thicket."
"Yes, unless the buzzards have already happened upon it. Elrond, again, I am sorry. I did not expect any harm to befall Anomen."
"I am at fault as well. I had no business allowing you to make use of him as means to further your disguise as a trader. An elfling so young is not to be hazarded on such a mission, even if the risks seem small. We are lucky Erestor is elsewhere at the moment. If he were listening to this tale, he would be saying, hah, a caretaker so neglectful has no right to rear a child!"
Elrond smiled wryly, as did Glorfindel.
"Well," sighed the Lord of Imladris, pouring himself and his friend a drink of wine, "the matter is at an end." He raised his glass in a toast. "Until the next time, mellon-nîn."
"Aye," echoed the balrog-slayer. "Until the next time—and there surely will be a next time!"
"Yes," said Elrond, shaking his head. "There surely will."
Folks, now I've got to decide which story angle to pursue next. I've been asked to write (1) another story about elfling Legolas, (2) another one about Legolas as an angsty adolescent, (3) one about Legolas during the timeframe of the LOTR, (4) a tale showing Thranduil's point of view, and (5) a tale featuring Glorfindel. I've got almost as many possible stories to pursue as Legolas has names! Any one want to weigh in on the matter?