Daw the Minstrel, Jebb, and Karri: I'm glad you enjoyed Beorn. Maybe I can work him in once again when the Elves are on the return journey to Mirkwood.
Farflung and Ninyo: In this chapter, Elrohir is going to demonstrate some self-awareness about bullying, although he won't use that term.
Kitsune: "More Anomen please." Hmmm. Would I be correct in guessing that you are trying to remind me of my promise to stay 'Anomen-centric'? ^_^ I think you will be pleased to see that today's chapter is "All Anomen, all the time."
Joee: Elrond would win because he would dodge Thranduil's blows, seize his arm, and flip him. There is too much 'Agent Smith' in him to be drawn into a fist fight. How's that for an answer?
Dragonfly: Here is a veritable 'perfect storm', Orc-wise.
Vocabulary
Celaimîr—'Bright Jewel', daughter of the Head Armorer and sister of Celaithand
Celaithand—'Bright Shield', son of the Head Armorer and brother of Celaimîr
gwador-nîn—'my brother'
Hannon le, gwador-nîn.—'Thank you, my brother.'
Hannon le, mellon-nîn!—'Thank you, my friend!'
ion-nîn—'my son'
In the end, the festival in Rivendell was enjoyed by all, even those who had been most reluctant to attend, but the real world intruded almost immediately. The reports of scouts had made it clear that Orcs were skulking in growing numbers on the western borders of Imladris. Orcs had long hidden within the ravines and crevasses of the Misty Mountains, but now it was plain that their numbers were increasing with the turning of each moon. The very day after the festival Elrond and Glorfindel sent out the scouts once more and even added to their numbers.
Less than a week later, a dirty and tired band of Elves straggled through the gates of Rivendell. They were led by Thoron, who carefully cradled before him the limp figure of one of the younger scouts. Elrond was hastily summoned, and he hurried out to help carefully lift the injured warrior down from the horse. It was Celaithand, son of the Head Armorer.
"Bear him carefully to the House of Healing," ordered the elf-lord. "Anomen," he added, turning to that Elf, "fetch his father. Celaithand should have his kin at his side, for his injury is grave."
Anomen hurried to the armory, but the Head Armorer was not there. However, his daughter Celaimîr was.
"Where is your father, Celaimîr?"
"He has journeyed with some of the apprentices to an outcropping of iron that has lately been discovered to the west. He will be back within the fortnight."
A messenger would have to be sent after him, but, still, the Head Armorer would not return for several days. Anomen hesitated, but then decided that he had to speak.
"Celaimîr, Thoron's troop has returned."
"So soon? They have hardly been gone for a week." Suddenly the elf-maiden looked frightened.
"Why have they returned so quickly, Anomen? Has something happened?"
"Yes, Celaimîr," said Anomen gently. "They have had an encounter with Orcs, and all have not returned uninjured."
Mastering her fear, the elf-maiden gazed at him steadily.
"You are trying to tell me that Celaithand is hurt, aren't you?"
"Yes. Celaithand has been wounded, and, and the injury is a serious one. He has been carried to the House of Healing, and Elrond sent me to fetch his kin. I am sorry, Celaimîr," he finished simply.
Celaimîr nodded, and spoke softly.
"I will go at once. Anomen, will you see to the rest of these shields."
"Of course, Celaimîr."
Scarcely pausing to put on her cloak, the elf-maiden hastened from the armory. Anomen picked up the shield she had been polishing and set to work energetically. He would have polished a score of shields if that could have helped his friend. He would have to settle for five, but you may be sure that they were going to be the most glorious shields ever borne into battle.
After the return of Thoron's patrol, the festival rapidly became naught but a distant memory to Anomen, Elrohir, and Elladan. The three young Elves set out the morning after Celaithand had been carried to the House of Healing. Their destination was the Misty Mountains, where for a fortnight they they carefully climbed up and down uneven slopes in search of their foes. They found plenty of Orc spoor but had not yet seen one of the creatures. That was soon going to change.
It was morning, and the three had agreed to separate so that they could sweep through an area of particularly broken terrain. They hoped thereby to make it more difficult for their quarry to elude them.
"We enter a ravine from one side, and our enemies scuttle out the other end," grumbled a frustrated Elrohir. For these Elves, this was no mere scouting mission. They did not wish to simply confirm that Orcs were hiding in the misty Mountains. This they already knew! No. They wished to pick off as many of the creatures as they could. Thus it was that Elladan and Anomen, both of whom were usually more cautious than Elrohir, agreed that it was indeed time to split up in order to increase their chances of confronting their foes. They decided to meet back at their camp by noon, and then they each went a different direction.
Even beating through the terrain from various vantage points, the Elves were at first frustrated in their attempts to run their enemies to the ground. Again, plenty of Orc signs, but no actual Orcs. After several hours, Anomen felt dispirited. He knew Orcs were about. Ai! The trees on these higher slopes were stunted and scraggly. In the stand where Anomen stood, he could just barely make out their hoarse whispers. Certainly he was learning nothing of importance from these gnarled and puny trees. To add insult to injury, from one of the trees a rotten bough gave way and came crashing down. Anomen leaped aside easily but was still showered with fragments of decaying wood.
"You trees are worse than useless!" he cried. To his horror, the trees fell completely silent.
"I am sorry," Anomen said contritely.
No good. The trees remained stubbornly quiet. But Anomen suddenly realized that the silence not only flowed from the trees. He heard no bird—not a single chirp or a croak. He neither heard nor saw any animals—not a snake, not a squirrel. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. What was it that Gandalf had said, that Men had a saying, 'Be careful what you wish for'?
"I have wished for Orcs, but I must be careful lest I soon have more on my hands than I can manage!" thought Anomen. "Mayhap it is time for me to once again join forces with Elladan and Elrohir. After all," he added to himself sardonically, "They would be furious if I had an adventure without them!"
Carefully, his nerves taut, he retraced his steps to their camp, where he found Elrohir already waiting. Like Anomen, Elrohir had seen sign of Orcs but had not encountered any. Also like Anomen, he was sure that many of their foes were hidden thereabouts. By unspoken agreement, they did not rekindle the fire, but stood silently, weapons at the ready. The preternatural silence continued. At last, they heard a twig snap. Though the sound may have boded the approach of their enemies, Anomen welcomed it, for he was beginning to find the waiting unendurable. Anomen took a step toward the sound.
"Anomen!"
Anomen spun about just as Elrohir leaped in front of him. Anomen heard the sickening thwock of the arrow that struck Elrohir, the arrow that had been meant for him. Numbly, but with a speed and efficiency born of hours of practice, Anomen drew, nocked, and released an arrow in one fluid motion. His target was hidden in the brush, but Anomen aimed along the trajectory of the foe's arrow. He heard a screech and then a panting noise. He drew his blade and crept into the brush to be sure of his enemy. He came upon an Orc gasping for breath, Anomen's arrow protruding from his chest. With one swift blow, Anomen dispatched the creature, and then he hastened back to Elrohir's side.
Elrohir was conscious but very pale. The arrow had struck him in the side and had surely pierced his lung, for he was having great difficulty breathing and a pinkish froth was upon his lips. Swiftly, Anomen removed Elrohir's quiver and tried to lay him in as comfortable position as possible. Taking off his own cloak, he rolled it up and gently slipped it under Elrohir's head. Then he cut away Elrohir's tunic so that he could examine the injury.
"Elrohir, I do not think I should try to draw forth the arrow. That had better be left to Elrond. I can do no more than break off part of the shaft so that it will trouble you a little less."
Elrohir nodded, and Anomen carefully snapped off most of the shaft, leaving enough to give Elrond a hand-hold when it came time for him to remove the arrow. Then he looked around at his surroundings. He needed to find better shelter, both to protect Elrohir from the elements and to hide him from Orcs. The creatures traveled in packs, so others were sure to come this way. The only question was when. Anomen rose to his feet.
"Elrohir, I am going to climb up to that stand of trees to see if it would be a good place to move our camp. I will not be long."
Again Elrohir nodded, but he did not try to speak.
Anomen scrambled up the slope. Past the trees was a rocky clearing surmounted by a ledge from which water trickled. A spring. Good—they would not be cut off from water. Over the ledge was an overhang. Also good. Shelter from the elements, plus no foe would be able to reach them from above. Altogether, an excellent spot in which to hide. With the trees screening it, they might not be spotted. If they were spotted, their foes would have to cross the clearing to reach them. Moreover, if he and Elladan could indeed contrive to lift Elrohir onto the ledge, that would be another barrier to the Orcs, who would be very vulnerable as they tried to clamber up to reach the injured Elf and his companions. Anomen climbed back down to Elrohir to await Elladan's return.
It would only be a little while until Elladan reappeared, but under such grievous circumstances, even to an Elf the time would have passed slowly. Anomen occupied himself with keeping Elrohir warm, covering him with both their blankets, and helping him sip water from time to time. The injured Elf refused all food. Speaking at last—much to Anomen's relief!—Elrohir said that he was very thirsty but could not stomach the thought of eating. His color did improve, however, and, after Anomen had several times wiped the bloody froth from his lips, at last no more of the pinkish spume foamed from his mouth.
Unfortunately, even though Anomen busied himself in caring for Elrohir, he did not have enough to do to keep him from brooding. He could not stop himself from thinking that he should have been the one injured. "That arrow was meant for me"—those words were a refrain that resounded in Anomen's mind.
At long last Elladan slipped quietly from the trees. He kept his face impassive as his gaze fell upon his injured brother. Only a flicker in his eyes betrayed his very real concern. Like his father, Elladan had learned that it is sometimes necessary to suppress one's emotions in order to best help the ones you love. This was a paradox that a good warrior had to embrace in order to be a good warrior. Now it was imperative that Elrohir be tended to and gotten to a place of safety. Swiftly Elladan knelt beside his brother and repeated Anomen's examination.
"You have done well, Anomen," he said finally. "It is plain to see that you have been raised in the house of a healer! Have you given any thought to what we should do next?"
"That stand of trees over yonder conceals a ledge and a spring. It would be a good place for Elrohir and one of us to shelter whilst the other goes for help."
Elladan nodded, and together Anomen and Elladan carefully carried Elrohir up the slope and into the trees. Once at the ledge, Anomen climbed up. Then Elladan helped Elrohir to his feet. The injured Elf gasped with pain but nevertheless stretched his arms up as far as he could. Lying on his stomach, Anomen reached down and firmly gripped Elrohir's wrists. Elladan placed his hands on Elrohir's hips and boosted him as Anomen pulled. Soon Elrohir was lying down upon the ledge. After assuring himself that Elrohir was comfortable, Anomen slipped off the ledge. With Elladan, he returned to their previous campsite. He led Elladan to the body of the Orc. They dragged the carcass to a cliff and pushed it over the edge.
"Now mayhap the Orcs will begin their search from that point down there," said Elladan hopefully.
Back at the old campsite, Anomen covered the bloody patch in the undergrowth where the Orc had lain, while Elladan did the same for the spot where his brother had fallen. When they were finished, only an Elf could have perceived by sight alone that blood had been spilled. Of course, Anomen thought gloomily, the Orcs were more likely to smell out the blood, and, for that particular odor, they were reputed to have noses as sensitive as those possessed by wolves.
Carrying their packs as well as Elrohir's, Anomen and Elladan returned to the ledge to plan their next move.
"I will set out for Rivendell to bring help," offered Anomen, "so that you may stay with your brother."
Elladan shook his head. "No, gwador-nîn. You are the better archer; I am the faster runner. You stay here and defend Elrohir whilst I hasten for aid."
Anomen hesitated.
"Elladan, are you sure you would not prefer to remain with Elrohir."
"No, Anomen, for I know that I will be leaving him in better hands than mine—I will never be your equal with the blow—or with the knives for that matter! Elrohir is much more likely to survive if you are the one who stays behind to defend him."
Anomen nodded, grateful for the chance to venture his life for Elrohir as Elrohir had ventured his own for him.
"Very well, Elladan. I will remain."
Elladan clapped a hand upon Anomen's shoulder.
"Hannon le, gwador-nîn."
"Go well, Elladan."
"Stay well, Anomen."
Elladan knelt by Elrohir, who was dozing, and kissed his forehead. Then he lowered himself to the ground and swiftly vanished into the trees.
With Elladan gone, Anomen noticed that Elrohir was shivering slightly. He took Elladan's blanket, and added it to the blanket and the cloak that already covered the injured Elf. Then Anomen took their water flasks and set about filling them with the spring water that trickled from the rock. As he finished, he heard Elrohir stirring. He turned about. Elrohir's eyes had come into focus. He went to him and knelt by his side.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Elrohir?"
"Yes. I am thirsty again—and a little hungry, too."
"Ah, hungry. That is a good sign!"
Elrohir smiled faintly.
"Anomen, you know that of the three of us, I have always had the heartiest appetite! It would take more than an Orc arrow to put me off my feed!"
Anomen laughed and went to the pile of packs. Elladan had left his, so they had at hand food intended to feed three Elves for another fortnight. He did not think he would need to ration their stores. No, neither food nor water would be a problem. If they could evade the notice of Orcs, things might yet turn out well.
After sipping some water and nibbling on a little lembas and a few pieces of fruit, Elrohir asked Anomen to slip one of the packs beneath his head.
"I think I will breathe a trifle easier if I am sitting up a little higher."
Anomen carefully helped Elrohir into a more upright position. Then, as Elrohir shifted about slightly, trying to get comfortable, Amonen said impulsively, "I am sorry that your brother is not with you, Elrohir."
"One brother is!" replied the injured Elf.
"I mean your real brother."
"Oh, and are you not real, Anomen? You do not look like a wraith! I know that you are the master of disguise, but I do not think even you could make a wraith look like an Elf!"
Anomen smiled.
"It is kind of you to say that, Elrohir, but, well, do you truly feel that I am your brother? I mean, you and Elladan were together for centuries—and twins no less!—before I arrived in Rivendell. Surely you cannot feel the same way toward him as you do toward me."
Elrohir shrugged a little but then winced. Still, he managed to speak.
"No, I do not feel the same way toward you as I do toward Elladan, but I also do not feel the same way toward Elladan as I do toward Arwen. You are all different, and I feel differently toward each and every one of you."
"It is true," Elrohir continued, "that when you first arrived in Imladris I sometimes resented the attention that Ada lavished on you."
"Lavished?"
"I know he didn't truly 'lavish' attention on you, but there were days when I didn't want him to pay any attention to you at all—after all, any time that he spent with you was time that he couldn't spend with me—at least I thought so at the time."
"And now?"
"I have learned that, somehow, no matter how much affection he spares for you, it does not diminish his affection for me. Somehow he has enough and to spare! But at first, well, do you remember the time that Elladan and I stole your clothes when you were bathing?"
Anomen grinned.
"The day the Head Gardener had to dig me out of an old badger hole where I had hidden so that Arwen would not see me naked? Surely, you don't think I would be likely to forget that!"
Both laughed, but then Elrohir grew sober again.
"For Elladan, I think it was just another prank, but I must confess to a little maliciousness on my part. I am sorry, Anomen!"
"Do not feel sorry, Elrohir. You had already lost your mother. I can understand how you would not have wanted anyone taking your father away from you, too. And you do not feel that way now."
"Oh, no," said Elrohir fervently. "Then I was jealous; now I would defend you with my life!"
"Well, that you have already made clear," said Anomen sardonically, gesturing at the broken arrow shaft that protruded from Elrohir's chest.
Elrohir grinned.
"You know me—always the one for dramatic gestures!"
Then Elrohir grew serious.
"Anomen, I am wide awake now, and I think I shall remain so for several hours. You should sleep. I know you will want to keep watch during the night, but you do not have to do so during the day as well as long as I am able to stand guard—well, 'sit guard', anyway."
"You mean 'recline guard', don't you?" retorted Anomen. "I will accept your offer, but only if you promise not to shave my hair or paint my face orange whilst I sleep!"
"You have my word, Anomen."
Anomen rolled up in Elladan's cloak—that Elf had taken only his knife—and quickly fell into a deep sleep in the elven fashion, his eyes open but unfocused. The sun set, but only when the moon arose did Elrohir awaken him.
"It is night," exclaimed Anomen. "Why did you let me sleep?"
"There was no need to wake you. I was not weary, and you were. But now I do feel the need to rest once more."
"Would you like anything to eat or drink before you sleep?"
"A little more water and a few bites of lembas, yes."
Soon Elrohir was sleeping, and Anomen was watching the trees with the greatest of vigilance. He lay on his stomach peering over the slight lip at the edge of the ledge. Hours passed. As dawn neared, Anomen caught a glimpse of something moving at the edge of the trees. A harmless animal or an Orc? Several more minutes passed. It grew lighter, and the figure was joined by a second and a third. There was no doubt now. Orcs. Soon seven Orcs stood under the trees gazing toward the ledge. Anomen was careful to stay hidden behind the lip, but he thought that it was likely that the Orcs knew that they were there even though they had not yet been spotted. Yes, they did know. They had drawn and nocked arrows and, spreading out, they were advancing toward the ledge. Anomen abandoned all pretence. He arose so that he could take his own bow in hand although he did not draw an arrow. The Orcs shouted in horrid exultation. They saw one Elf, and a trapped one at that. These were the sort of odds that they relished. They came on faster.
Anomen waited patiently. He wanted all the creatures well within arrow shot before he released his first shaft. He planned to fell all his enemies so they could summon no additional Orcs. He would then drag off the bodies to decoy any Orcs who might come searching for their fellows.
The Orcs were now loping toward him, their faces o'erspread with hideous smirks that showed their yellowed and broken teeth. The first had nearly reached the ledge before the last came within range. Swiftly, Anomen drew an arrow, nocked it, and sent it whirring into the face of the first Orc. The arrow embedded between his eyes, the Orc instantly fell dead.
Ai! To Anomen's dismay, that was enough for the other Orcs to turn tail. Anomen drew, nocked, and released as fast as he could, but two of the scurrying Orcs made it to the shelter of the trees. Anomen could spy them peeking out from time to time, apparently arguing vehemently. At last one of them vanished. Anomen crawled back to Elrohir, who was now awake.
"We have been discovered. I slew five Orcs, but two survive. One has just now slipped away—probably to summon others. The second remains to keep watch and no doubt prevent our escaping."
"Anomen," said Elrohir urgently. "You can easily elude one Orc. Get away from here before the other returns with reinforcements."
"And leave you here to hold off a horde of Orcs on your own! I think not, brother."
"You—you—you're not my brother," cried Elrohir. "Go away! I don't want you here!"
Anomen looked at him coolly.
"A valiant effort, gwador-nîn, but you won't get rid of me by pretending to despise me. Remember that you have already showed your hand!"
Elrohir grimaced ruefully.
"Remind me never to confide my deepest feelings to you the next time we are beseiged by Orcs! But truly, Anomen, what can you accomplish by staying with me?"
"I can keep you from dying with no one at your side—surely that is worth something."
Elrohir looked at him gratefully but wistfully.
"I would be lying if I said that I do not mind dying alone, but it would be selfish of me to desire such comfort at the expense of your life. Anomen, please flee whilst you still can!"
Anomen shook his head.
"And what comfort would I ever find in Arda if I did so? No, I am being the selfish one, brother. I insist on dying by your side whether you want me to or not!"
Elrohir groaned. "Wonderful! We are true brothers. To the bitter end we compete with one another!"
"How so?"
"We are each trying to outdo the other at being noble!"
Both Elves laughed, a sound which, had he heard it, would no doubt have greatly puzzled the Orc keeping watch in the trees. Then Anomen cautiously crawled to the lip of the ledge. There lay the five Orcs sprawled upon the rocky ground, each with a quiver full of arrows. Anomen had his own quiver as well as both Elladan's and Elrohir's. Still, before the end, he might have need of even more arrows than all three elven quivers contained.
"Elrohir," Anomen said, "I am going to slip forward so that I may try to recover my arrows from the bodies of the dead. I will also scavenge their arrows as well. They are of a different weight and length, but I am sure I shall be able to make use of them."
Anomen was able to easily draw the arrows from the bodies of the first two Orcs. He also scavenged the arrows from their quivers. He had to cut the arrows from the bodies of the third and fourth Orcs, however. It disgusted him to have to do this, but he did not want Elrohir to die on account of his squeamishness. The more arrows the better, no matter how much gore he had to wade through to retrieve them.
When he reached the fifth body, Anomen knew that he was now well within arrow range of the Orc who remained lurking within the trees. As he stooped over the body, he listened for the noise of an arrow being released. At last Anomen heard that distinctive sound, and he evaded the shaft as easily as he had earlier evaded the falling bough. The arrow flew past him harmlessly and embedded itself in the dirt. Anomen strode to the misspent shaft and pulled it from the earth. Then he held it up and waved it at the watching Orc.
"Hannon le, mellon-nîn!" Anomen shouted mockingly. "Thank you, my friend!"
The frustrated Orc answered with a string of oaths in Black Speech, but the only word that Anomen could make out was 'burzum', darkness. Anomen shrugged and returned to Elrohir laden with arrows. He would not run out soon, he thought.
Several hours later the second Orc returned with reinforcements. Anomen could see numerous squat and leering faces peering out at him from the protection of the trees. He could not tell their number, only that there were many. Still, for all their advantage in numbers, the Orcs could only reach the Elves in one way, by a frontal assault that would put them momentarily in the open and vulnerable to Anomen's arrows. And the behavior of the first band of Orcs showed that the creatures had little stomach for a frontal assault.
Bits and scraps of quarrelsome voices drifted over the clearing. Anomen only knew a few words of Black Speech, but he could tell that an argument had broken out, no doubt about the best way to get at their quarry. He made a mental note to ask Gandalf to teach him the language of their foes. Distasteful as that language was, it would be good to know as much about his enemies as he could. He remembered having once heard Elrond urging Erestor to teach his pupils Black Speech, but the tutor had demurred. Anomen, however, was not as squeamish as Erestor. Before the year was out, he vowed, he would understand the hateful language at least as well as a half-goblin.
After arguing for awhile, the Orcs at last spread out and advanced slightly. They drew arrows from their quivers, and Anomen realized that they were going to try to shoot into his and Elrohir's refuge. He was not concerned. Because the Orcs were below the level of the ledge, they would have to shoot upwards for their arrows to have any chance of landing within the shelter. But, ironically, there was not enough distance for the arrows to describe a parabola. Each arrow would strike the roof of the overhang and bounce off it. In fact, with luck Anomen would come away with a harvest of misspent Orc arrows.
"Pull up your hood," he called to Elrohir. "It will soon be raining!"
Anomen himself pulled a blanket over his head to deflect the shafts. He was, of course, correct. The Orcs released volley after volley of arrows but to no effect. Each arrow hit the overhang and then fell harmlessly to the floor of the ledge. Anomen and Elrohir suffered nothing worse than having the occasional shaft bounce off their head coverings. Anomen did not taunt the Orcs over their failure to injure their intended victims, for he wanted this strange shower to go on for as long as possible. As long as the Orcs carried on in this fashion, he and Elrohir were safe from harm, and he was amassing an impressive stockpile of arrows. After awhile, however, the Orcs gave the attempt up as a bad business and retreated to the trees, there to argue some more.
Their next plan the Elves found a little more bothersome. Anomen saw several tendrils of smoke arising from the stand of trees, and the Orcs reappeared clutching flaming arrows. Anomen hastily emptied their water flasks onto Elrohir's cloak and his blanket. The arrows that did fall upon their head coverings failed to set them alight, and as each arrow hit the ledge, Anomen seized it by the fletched end and hurled it away from their refuge.
After futilely expending several more volleys of arrows, the Orcs once more retreated to the trees. Anomen heard his foes arguing once again, and even more vehemently than before. At last it became apparent that the Orcs had decided that a frontal assault was unavoidable. Orcs came out from the trees with swords unsheathed and lined up in a row. Then those Orcs stepped forward, and a second line of Orcs came out from the trees. And then a third. And a fourth. Anomen began to feel a little sick. He could see still more evil faces peering out at him from the trees. He realized that he was going to need every one of those arrows.
One Orc, the leader no doubt, howled out a command, and the lines of Orcs began to lope toward the Elves' refuge. There were so many of them, that Anomen did not dare to wait until they drew near. Fortunately, he was such a good shot that, even though he began to fire at them when they were just within range, every arrow flew home. The Orcs in the first line fell. Then those in the second line. The Orcs in the remaining two lines kept on. Drawingnockingreleasing without pause, Anomen felled the Orcs in the third line, but by then his enemies in the fourth line were nearly to the ledge. But then, just as it appeared that several Orcs were on the verge of reaching the Elves' sanctuary, the Orcs in the fourth line lost their nerve. The line wavered and broke. In their haste to escape, the retreating Orcs lurched into one another, and chaos ensued. Orcs stumbled and fell, and Anomen picked off as many of the stragglers as he could. Only a handful made it back to the safety of the trees, and then howls and shrieks of rage resounded throughout the clearing. The head Orc waved his scimitar threateningly, but he seemed to direct his rage more at his followers than at the Elves. Anomen watched contentedly as the infuriated leader further 'cut down' the number of survivors of the ill-fated charge. "Good," he thought. "Let their chieftain slaughter as many as he will—fewer for me to deal with."
Unfortunately, even with the inadvertent assistance of the head Orc, there were many foes left lurking in the trees. Another four lines formed up, and the previous maneuver was repeated, with the same results. Again the survivors scuttled back under cover, although Anomen noticed that these Orcs were careful to stay at least a sword's breadth away from their enraged chieftain and so took no additional casualties. Another four lines formed up—Anomen was beginning to wonder at the limitations of Orcish arithmetic—and the same dreary exercise was gone through. During this latest sortie, the Orcs had no choice but to trample on the bodies of the Orcs who had preceded them. Not even the span of a footprint was left uncovered by the bodies of dead and dying goblins.
If Anomen had had enough arrows, it is conceivable that he could have gone on indefinitely repulsing Orcs in this fashion. However, for all the Elf's scavenging, the Orcs were so great in number that he could see his stock of shafts dwindling. Moreover, the last few sorties, the Orcs had come very close to breaching his defenses. The last charge, the final line had not broken until Anomen had shot dead an Orc who was hauling himself up onto the ledge. As Anomen looked out, he could see that a ramp was beginning to form from the bodies of his slain foes, one that was likely to grown until the Orcs had all too easy access to the ledge where he and Elrohir sheltered. He hesitated a moment and then slipped one of his twin blades out of his quiver and handed it to Elrohir.
"I hope you do not need to use this blade, but if you do, may it serve you well."
Elrohir nodded. If the Orcs made it to him, better to die by Anomen's blade than at the hands of his foes.
Anomen counted his final arrows. Twenty-nine. Four more lines of Orcs began to charge across the field, and Anomen counted down his last arrows as he felled Orc after Orc. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven. Nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release. Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two. Had every Orc in Middle Earth journeyed to the Misty Mountains? Nock, draw, release. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen. Nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release, nock, draw, release.
"Anomen," said Elrohir urgently, "do you want your other knife back?"
Anomen shook his head.
"No, Elrohir. Give me your knife, but keep mine. It is a better blade than yours—much sharper. You may need it more than I."
A sharp blade would inflict less pain and allow the spirit to flee more quickly.
Thirteen arrows left. Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five. Nock draw release, nock draw release, nock draw release.
The line broke. The Orcs retreated. One arrow left.
Anomen found that he was gasping. He staggered to the spring and put his head under the trickle of water.
"Anomen," called Elrohir in concern. "Are you all right."
"Give me a minute, Elrohir," Anomen panted. Then he stood upright and squared his shoulders. He was going to die, but bravely. There would be none to mark his end, but it would be a courageous one nonetheless. He smiled grimly at Elrohir and crawled back out to the lip of the ledge to survey the situation, hopeless though it seemed.
The Orcs were jeering and taunting. Dim-witted though they were, they must have realized that Anomen was running short on arrows.
"One arrow," thought Anomen, "I have one arrow. How may I best make use of this one arrow?"
He looked all about, although he scarce knew what he was looking for. Then he saw the nest, dangling from a tree limb high above the brush where the Orcs lay hidden. His eyes narrowed. At least he could try to cause the Orcs some discomfort. If he were honest, he would have to concede that his target was out of his range, but he had nothing to lose. If he held on to his arrow, what would it avail against so many Orcs.
Aiming carefully, Anomen shot at the nest. By the Valar! The young Elf struck his target and brought it down right into the midst of the Orcs. Howls and shrieks broke out as the Orcs batted at the swarming, furious hornets.
Thinking quickly, Anomen sprang forward under cover of the confusion to once again scavenge arrow. By the time his foes were aware of him, he was scrambling back toward the ledge, sixty-nine arrows in his quiver and clutched in his arms.
In the end, however, even sixty-nine additional arrows could do little against the massed power of Orcs who seemed to spring from the very stones of the Misty Mountains. Anomen had repulsed two more charges and was again down to his last few arrows. There was no other hornet nest in sight. He laid his knife and Elrohir's side by side within easy reach and glanced at Elrohir. The injured Elf was holding Anomen's blade and testing it against his thumb.
"You take excellent care of your weapons, Anomen. This blade is indeed very, very sharp. It will serve me well, I think."
Anomen nodded but could say nothing. He turned his attention back to the trees. He could see movement, and he knew that their foes were preparing their final charge, the one that would carry them both across the clearing and onto the ledge.
"Nana," he whispered. "I shall be with you soon." No doubt Elrohir was having similar thoughts.
Apparently the Orcs, once again sure of themselves, were in no hurry to end the siege, preferring instead to draw out their pleasure by jeering at their victims.
"Somebody light a cooking fire, boys," yelled one, the leader, presumably. "Elf is back on the menu. Young Elf, too. Mmmm. Should be tender!"
Coarse laughter greeted this pronouncement. Then the Orcs began to stomp their feet and beat their bows upon the ground. Louder and louder the noise grew. Orcs laughed and howled and hooted and waved their scimitars in the air, demonstrating how they planned to use them to dismember their intended victims.
With the wisdom of hindsight, no doubt the leader of this band of marauders would have rued this noisy display. But Orcs lack wisdom, and he was not to be granted hindsight. The Orc chieftain would never have the opportunity to analyze his mistakes. Not a single Orc heard the approach of the countless Elven warriors who were slipping up behind them. Suddenly the exulting howls of the Orcs changed to shrieks and screams of pain. A wedge of Elves drove through the band of Orcs, and the surprised leader was one of the first to fall, hewed down by the sword of Elrond, who was in the vanguard, outpacing even Glorfindel himself. Behind these two charged countless warrior, including Elladan, Thoron, Baramagor, and Berenmaethor. Even Haldir was there.
Within minutes, not an Orc remained standing.
Elrond vaulted onto the ledge and knelt beside Elrohir. He spoke remarkably calmly for a father who had just rescued children on the verge of being slaughtered in the cruelest manner imaginable.
"Your color is good, my son. I think, however, that I shall wait until you are back in Rivendell before I draw forth this arrow. Anomen, ion-nîn, you chose wisely when you decided to leave it be. Berenmaethor," the elf-lord continued, "will you set some of your scouts to building a litter?"
"Yes, my Lord," replied the patrol leader.
"Baramagor," called Elrond. "By rights these Orcs deserve no more than to be left for carrion-fowl to dine upon, but that would be disrespectful to Arda. See that the carcasses are burned."
Baramagor shook his head.
"I mean no disrespect either to you or to Arda, but I do not think there is enough wood at hand to burn so many Orcs. Anomen alone has brought down more Orcs than I have ever seen felled in one place!"
Elrond looked about. Indeed, Baramagor was right. Orcs lay sprawled so thickly that his warriors could not take a step without trodding upon layers of them.
"You have a point, Baramagor. Still, we will stack the bodies and let fire consume as many as possible. We shall have to trust to the crows for the rest."
Elves scattered in several directions. Some quickly dispatched the few Orcs still drawing breath. Others dragged the bodies into the center of the clearing, well away from the trees. Yet others gathered either deadwood for a pyre or branches with which to fashion a litter. Those charged with latter task encountered the greatest difficulty, for it was hard to find tree limbs both straight and stout enough to be used to carefully support the body of an injured Elf. At last, however, the litter was completed, and Elrohir was carefully laid upon it. The Elves began to pace gently but rapidly toward Rivendell.
"It will be good to get Elrohir as quickly as possible to the House of Healing," said Elrond. "For one thing, Celaithand has been chafing at his confinement. It will do him good to have a companion in misery!"
"Celaithand!" exclaimed Anomen joyfully. "He lives!"
Elrond nodded, smiling back at the young Elf.
"Yes, Celaithand lives, and he has proved to be no more the patient invalid than you ever were, Anomen! When he heard tell that a sortie was being mounted to rescue you and Elrohir, he tried to disguise himself in order to take part in it."
"Disguise himself? How?"
"Oh, he thought he would dye his hair. I wonder how he came up with such an idea?" teased Elrond. "Unfortunately—or mayhap fortunately!—he did not realize that, whilst it is fairly easy to dye light hair a dark color, it is not so easy to change dark hair to light! As soon as Celaimîr reported that her brother was missing from his bed in the House of Healing, Glorfindel and Berenmaethor were on the lookout for an Elf with dingy brown hair that was very dark at the roots. All of the departing warriors had been summoned into the dining hall for instructions and a quick meal, for we did not plan to stop to camp once we had left Rivendell."
Anomen grinned. He knew what was coming next. Celaithand had been tripped up by Elrond's 'no hoods at the table' rule—as he himself had often been!
"Of course," continued Elrond, "he had to remove his hood upon entering the dining hall. In a trice, Berenmaethor had pounced upon him, and he was dragged from the hall protesting that he was fit to ride! Erestor it was told who him that he was more 'fit to be tied' than 'fit to ride'."
Anomen groaned. Yes, that sounded like Erestor.
Elladan came up just then.
"Anomen," he exclaimed. "I have been talking a little with Elrohir. I marvel that you were able to stay so calm in the face of such reckless hate and overwhelming odds. However did you manage!?"
"Counting arrows, I guess. Well, counting down arrows, actually. In the future I think I shall try counting up," Anomen added cheerfully. "Yes," he went on. "I think I shall make it a habit to count the foes that I fell. Such a mental exercise is a marvelous way to settle the nerves!"
"Are you sure you have any nerves?" teased Elladan. "Elrohir says he has never seen anyone so cool in the midst of battle."
"Oh, he must have noticed me shivering from fear!"
Elrond shook his head.
"I think I shall journey in Glorfindel's company. Your relentless good humor will no doubt weary me."
The elf-lord took Anomen's face between his hands and kissed his forehead.
"It seems almost redundant to wish you to 'stay well', my son, as you have already managed that nicely when faced with scores of Orcs who wished you otherwise. Nevertheless, 'stay well', now and always."
Elladan cleared his throat.
"Don't I get a kiss?" he pouted.
"Kill a few Orcs," Elrond teased back. Then he kissed that son as well.