Farflung: Yes, I think the vehemence of a parent's reaction is directly proportional to the fear they have felt for the safety of their children. Or, in other words, ahem, the more the kids scare the crap out of the parents, the more the parents try to scare the crap out of the kids!
Jebb: Sorr—rry. ^_^ It was indeed "Erector and the Three Trolls."
Dragonfly: Yes, Gandalf is going to be sorry. By the way, have you had a chance to read "The Return of the Elf," the side story that I posted a few days ago? I kind of thought that it would be one that you'd find particularly interesting. There is a note to you at the top of the story!
Melissa: "Mwah hah hah," cackled the maniacal writer, rubbing her hands with glee. "I am driving my readers insane—or at least making everyone else think they are!" ^_^
Kitsune: Yes, this is a riff on "Goldilocks and the Three Bears."
Karri: Yes, Anomen is recovering. Lucky for him that I need to keep him around and in reasonably good health!
Joee: Here you go!
MoroTheWolfGod: Here you go, too!
As Erestor slept, the habitual tenants of the cave were on their way back. Normally they stayed out all night, but, like Erestor, they had been driven to seek shelter by the storm. So they trudged through the downpour, heavily laden with sacks and barrels.
"Pity the trader got away," mournfully observed one, Morris by name, although he went by Moe.
"Aye, 'e looked like a right juicy one, 'e did." This came from a bald gentleman whom the others had nicknamed Curly. His true name had been forgotten long ago.
"Leastways, 'e did leave us his packhorse," said the third troll, who was called Larry, short for Lawyer. How he came by that latter name, no one knew.
"Aye, but 'e was too tough 'n stringy for my taste," complained Moe.
"Packhorses is in gen'ral, in't they?" retorted Larry.
"I bin thinkin'," said Curly.
"Again? Bad habit, that," Larry warned.
"We shoulda brung the packhorse home afore we 'et 'im. That way we wouldna be stuck luggin' all this loot."
"Whyn't you suggest that afore we et 'im?" complained Moe.
"'Cause I wuz hungry," admitted Curly. "Didn' occur to me until I was a'polishin' off the 'ooves."
Reader, no doubt by now you have surmised that these, ah, gentlemen were in fact Cave Trolls. On they plodded through the rain, making their way toward their home, which just happened to be a certain cave. I did mention that they were Cave Trolls, did I not?
They had not long been in their cave when they realized that someone had been there before them. Larry lumbered over to the table and was the first to notice that something was amiss.
"'Ere now, someone's bin a'gnawin' on my bread!" he declared indignantly.
That brought over Moe, who discovered that his plate, too, had been violated.
"Someone's bin a'gnawin' on my bread!"
Curly scuttled over.
"Someone's bin a'gnawin' on my bread! And they ate it all up!"
Next Larry lifted up his cup and stared at it balefully.
"Someone's bin a'sippin' from my cup!"
Moe echoed his lament.
"Someone's bin a'sippin' from my cup!"
Curly mournfully turned his cup upside down.
"Someone's bin a'sippin' from my cup! And they drank it all up!"
The befuddled Trolls moved on to their sleeping area.
Larry spluttered with indignation.
"Someone's bin a'tryin' my pallet!"
Moe echoed him.
"Someone's bin a'tryin' my pallet!"
Exclaimed Curly, "Someone's bin a'tryin' my pallet! And he's still in it!"
Now, Trolls are fairly stupid, but presented with a sleeping Elf, they knew what to do. In a trice they pounced upon Erestor, and before his eyes had come back into focus, he was orc-tied.
"Les' eat'im straightaway," gloated Curly.
"You dwarf-brain," jeered Larry. "Doncha remember? We came back 'ere in the firs' place 'cause it's rainin'. We cain't get no fire to burn in sich a downpour."
"Anyway," Moe pointed out, "we jus' now et that horse. I'm not all that hungry. Whyn't we have him later, for a snack, like?"
"Awreet," grumbled Curly, giving in reluctantly. He was always ready to eat and didn't think the lack of fire an obstacle. He liked his food raw and wriggling, he did.
The Trolls settled themselves around their table, and, having nothing else to do, drank themselves into a stupor. It stopped raining at length, but the Trolls, fortunately for Erestor, were too addled to notice. Curly dragged Erestor off his pallet and tossed him unceremoniously into a corner, and the three of them settled onto their respective pallets and soon were filling the cave with the thunderous snores for which cave trolls are famous. Trolls are often blamed, and not unjustly, for triggering avalanches on account of their stentorian breathing whilst asleep.
For a little while Erestor, bruised and dazed, lay quietly where he had been dropped. Soon, however, his wits returned to him, and although it was hard to think amidst the racket made by the sleeping trolls, one thing was clear to him. He had to get out of the cave. If he could do so by dawn, the trolls would not come out at once to pursue him. He would have time to find a sharp rock against which to rub his bonds, and, once they had frayed sufficiently, he would snap them and fly hence as swiftly as an eagle. But how to escape from the cave? His ankles were bound, and the trolls had had the good sense to tie his wrists behind him so that he could not use his hands to free his legs. Erestor sighed. He lay on his stomach, his chin up so that it would not scrape against the rocky floor of the cave. Then he pulled up his legs underneath him, bending at the knees so that they were drawn all the way up under his belly. Of course, this meant that his bottom was sticking up in the air, but there was no one to see, and, anyway, this was not an occasion for standing on one's dignity—and, besides, he couldn't stand in the first place!
From that position, Erestor wriggled his chest forward until he was lying flat again. Then he repeated the process, drawing up his legs until they were all the way under his belly, then inching his chest forward until he lay flat again. This was a most peculiar form of locomotion, rather like that of an inchworm, but it brought him steadily toward the entrance to the cave.
Unbeknownst to Erestor, someone else was drawing near the entrance to the cave, albeit from the opposite direction. Glorfindel had seen his stallion trotting through the gates of Rivendell, making his way back toward his stall, and of course the balrog-slayer had immediately hastened to the stable to learn why his horse had (apparently) been taking an afternoon constitutional sans Glorfindel. The stable hand looked frightened when he saw him.
"My Lord, I am so sorry. 'Twas the Lord Erestor's command."
"The Lord Erestor told you to let my horse out?"
"No, my Lord. He insisted on riding him."
Ah, so that would explain why the horse had come back riderless. Glorfindel grinned. He was going to enjoy chaffing Erestor over this. He bade the stable hand bring out a spare horse, and mounting his stallion and leading the horse, he departed to fetch back Erestor. He thought briefly about leaving the tutor to make his way back on foot, but he thought it would be much more entertaining to 'rescue' him.
Glorfindel easily found the spot where his horse had thrown Erestor, and he just as easily followed Erestor's footprints. Even after it began to rain Glorfindel had no trouble tracking his friend, for the ground was soft and each step Erestor took his foot sank a little into the ground. Glorfindel trotted on merrily. At last the rain stopped, and he felt even merrier. Suddenly, however, he noticed something that caused all his merriment to vanish in an instant. Erestor's footprints had been overtaken by those of largish creatures. Without a doubt, these creatures were Trolls. Glorfindel urged his stallion into a gallop. As he rode, he scanned the landscape anxiously for any sign of a campfire. To his increasing relief, he saw none, and at length he arrived at the entrance to the cave. Erestor had not yet been eaten, apparently, but he had been added to the Trolls' larder. Well, he would just have to go in there and fetch Erestor out, hopefully without precipitating a messy battle, as he knew from the tracks that he would have to slay three of the creatures in rather close quarters. However, judging from the snores that were rattling the branches thereabouts, a fight would probably not be necessary.
Indeed it was not. Before Glorfindel had even dismounted from his horse, he was startled at the sight of gigantic brown caterpillar inching its way out of the entrance to the cave.
"What in Middle Earth is that!?" the balgog-slayer muttered. In all his years of fighting fiends and foes, he's never seen anything like that!
He took a second look. That caterpillar was—Erestor! A very dirty Erestor, and a very tired Erestor, but, actually, Glorfindel had to concede to himself, the tutor was moving along at a fairly good clip—for a caterpillar, that is. Glorfindel dismounted as quietly as he could and crept toward his friend. He stood watching him a few minutes before he spoke.
"An interesting mode of locomotion, that."
Erestor yelped and his head shot up.
"Glorfindel," he hissed, "how long have you been there?"
"Longer than you would have liked, I am sure," grinned Glorfindel.
He drew forth his knife and cut Erestor's bonds. Erestor sat up and began to massage his wrists. Glorfindel knelt down before him and likewise massaged his ankles.
"Whatever possessed you to try riding my stallion!?"
"I needed the fastest horse available. I was trying to catch up with Mithrandir."
"Why ever for? Did Elrond want a message sent after him? If so, why didn't he send Lindir or one of the other riders?"
"I myself wished to speak to Mithrandir—and to drag him by the beard back to Imladris!"
"My friend," said Glorfindel gravely, "it is a very bad idea to beard a wizard. It can result in all sorts of nasty consequences."
"But Mithrandir has behaved abominably! He left without saying good-bye to Anomen, and the poor little elfling is quite distraught. You know as well as I that above all else the lad fears losing the love of those whom he holds dear!"
Glorfindel did know that, although he had never put that knowledge into words.
"Very well. As I came after you, I noticed the point at which Mithrandir turned off in the company of someone, one of his Dunadain friends, I expect. We shall make straight for that spot, and by morning the wizard shall be in our grasp—uh, metaphorically speaking that is. Do not touch his beard! Come, let us mount up. As you see, I have brought a spare horse."
Here Erestor looked a little abashed. He eyed the horse up and down.
"You'll have to boost me," he muttered.
"What?"
"You'll have to boost me. I'm too stiff and sore to mount unassisted."
Struggling mightily not to grin too broadly, Glorfindel nodded his acquiescence, and prepared to boost Erestor onto the horse. The tutor, however, suddenly stayed him.
"Don't tell the elfling!" he begged.
Glorfindel made as if he did not understand.
"Don't tell him what? That my horse threw you, that you inched your way out of a cave like a caterpillar, that you were too stiff to mount your horse unaided, or that you care deeply about his welfare?"
Erestor considered briefly.
"All of the above."
"Not a word," promised Glorfindel.
With that, Erestor allowed his friend to help him mount the horse. They drew the horses' heads about and rode off in pursuit of the unsuspecting wizard. Soon, they were resolved, Mithrandir was going to learn the cost of opening wounds in the soul of an elfling who, while arguably fatherless, was by no mean friendless!