Folks, I'm disappointed, dispirited, mournful, and depressed. (Guess which candidate I voted for in the presidential election.) Maybe this explains why I am busy writing a nasty piece of work populated by nasty pieces of work. The only thing standing between Anomen and my destructive imagination is that everybody already knows that he survives to grow up as Legolas. That, and the fact that I adore him and have a crush on Orlando Bloom. Anyway, I'm going to go ahead and rate this as 'R' because of violence in an upcoming chapter. You have been warned!
Green and Gold: Part 1
"I don't see how you can smile at a time like this," raged Glorfindel.
"I don't see how I can not," retorted Elrond, his eyebrows gyrating wildly in spite of his best efforts at restoring some modicum of facial order. "Look! Even Erestor is smiling."
"Only because he is amused at seeing me in such a state!"
"Well, of course. That's the whole point, isn't it," replied Elrond calmly. Erestor himself was incapable of speaking, for, in point of fact, he was not smiling so much as guffawing—a very unelvenly manner of expressing one's amusement, I might add. This unusual noise now brought Gandalf to the door of Elrond's chamber.
"Goodness!" exclaimed that worthy wizard. "Whatever has happened to—it is, Glorfindel, isn't it?"
Glorfindel emitted a tolerably good imitation of an Orc growl, and the Istar took a step back.
"He has had his shots, I hope," the Istar smirked.
"Shots?" said Elrond inquiringly.
"Never mind. Something that will make sense sometime in a future Age. But, pray, tell me how Glorfindel has come to be such a lovely shade of green."
"Can you not guess?" snorted Glorfindel.
"Wouldn't have anything to do with elflings, would it?"
"Yes," snapped Glorfindel. "With elflings who will be very lucky to reach elfhood, if I have anything to say about it!"
"I must tell you, Glorfindel, that I just now saw three elflings running at breakneck speed for the woods. At the rate they were scampering, I am quite sure they will reach pretty much any destination they choose before you have anything to say about it."
Glorfindel sighed in defeat and turned to Elrond.
"Elrond, how long will it take to remove this foul mess from my skin?"
Elrond shook his head doubtfully.
"I must say that my sons have outdone themselves this time. I do not know what they have added to the mixture, but it is adhering much better than it did the time the time they turned Erestor purple."
Glorfindel groaned.
"If I recall correctly, Erestor was purple for a fortnight—was that not so?"
This reminder of his own former plight sobered Erestor considerably, and he now looked upon Glorfindel with considerable sympathy. He cast about for some way to cheer up the balrog-slayer.
"It is true that I was a hideous shade of purple for a fortnight, Glorfindel, but this green color rather becomes you, I think. It goes well with your golden hair. I have always thought that green and gold—"
Elrond interrupted the tutor.
"Erestor, I really don't think that your words are helping matters."
"Oh, yes, of course," Erestor hastily agreed as he realized that Glorfindel's face—what could be seen of it, anyway—was becoming suffused with an interesting shade of red. "Well, perhaps I should go and ask the Head Housekeeper to see to the heating of a great quantity of water."
"Yes, that would be wise," said Elrond. "I have used up the small quantity that was to hand. Several large cauldrons will be necessary, I think."
While this conversation had been taking place, the elflings had indeed been fleeing into the woods as fast as their fleet feet would carry them—which was very fast indeed, for even though they were little, they were still elf-kind. Now they huddled in Anomen's favorite oak tree.
"If only Glorfindel hadn't come along," lamented Elrohir. "It was the perfect plan!"
"It couldn't have been the perfect plan," retorted Elladan, "else we wouldn't be in this fix."
"No use arguing over whether it was or was not the perfect plan," Anomen pointed out. "Glorfindel tripped the rope, and there's an end of it."
"No," moaned Elrohir, "there's the beginning of it. If the bucket had tipped onto Thoron, we'd be in trouble, but now we are in peril of our lives!" Thoron, it should be mentioned, had been promoted by Glorfindel to the next cohort and as a result for several weeks had been lording it over our elflings.
"This," continued Elrohir, his voice rising to a wail, "is the worst thing that could possibly have befallen us!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Elladan thoughtfully. "Mithrandir could have tripped the rope. That would be pretty bad, I think."
The three elflings sat and reflected upon that possibility.
"Ye-es," said Elrohir at last. "That would be pretty bad. Mithrandir would pay us back by turning us into dreadful colors that would never wash off."
"True," said Anomen gloomily, "but Glorfindel can turn us into colors that will fade after awhile but will be very painful while they last."
"What colors?" asked Elladan nervously.
"For starters, black and blue. After awhile, though, various shades of purple, green, and yellow. You've seen what a bruise looks like, haven't you, and the colors it will change into?"
In the course of various escapades, they had indeed all accumulated their fair share of bruises. They had also all heard dreadful stories about how Men would whip their younglings when they misbehaved. Had they behaved so badly that Glorfindel would treat them like man-children? Elladan shuddered, remembering the sound of the balrog-slayer's bellows that had pursued them as they ran for cover.
"Perhaps we should spend the night here," he suggested timidly. "Glorfindel may not be so angry in the morning."
Elrohir shook his head.
"Not here. Ada knows perfectly well that this is Anomen's favorite tree. It is one of the first places he would look."
The elflings discussed and rejected several possible hiding places. At last they concluded that there was nowhere within Imladris where they could remain undiscovered. They eyed the mountain that loomed over the valley.
"Do you suppose," Elrohir began tentatively, "do you think—"
"No!" interrupted Elladan. "Absolutely not!"
"But, Elladan," argued Anomen, "if we cannot hide within Imladris, then the only thing to do is to hide without it."
Of course, there was a third alternative: they could return to the Hall and face the consequences of their actions. However, like younglings of all races, they were inclined to think in 'either-or' terms. Either they hid within the valley, or they hid without it. As it was plain that they could not hide within it, at last, after considerable argument, they all agreed that they would have to seek sanctuary outside it. They slipped away from the comfort of the oak tree and headed for the hills, so to speak.
Back in Rivendell, however, Elrond was giving no thought to pursuing them. He knew that the elflings would have to return to the Hall eventually, and when they did he would deal with them. Now he saw that Arwen was safely bestowed for the night before returning to his chamber, there to share the usual glass of wine with his friends. Glorfindel joined the party, and he was in considerably better humor than he had been earlier, for, after experimenting with various ingredients, Elrond had brewed a mixture that had largely restored the balrog-slayer to his former color. True, Glorfindel was a bit green behind the ears—'green around the gills', Erestor joked—but otherwise he looked quite presentable.
"It is good that Elrond is such a master of herb lore," Gandalf observed between sips from his glass. "If he were not, Rivendell would be a very colorful place. Hardly a week goes by without those younglings cooking up some variegated potion."
"I must say, Glorfindel," smiled Elrond, "that your language was for a time quite colorful today."
"Indeed it was," agreed Erestor. "Turned the air quite blue, it did!"
They all laughed genially, Glorfindel not excepted. As they did so, they heard the patter of raindrops.
"Ah," said Elrond, arising and going to the window. "It has looked like rain since morning. Good. Rain is needed, for it has been unusually hot and dry these past several days."
"Are the miscreants still without the Hall?" asked Gandalf.
"Yes," said Elrond. "Probably they have taken shelter in Anomen's oak tree. They will be safe enough there. I hear no thunder and see no lightning. Tomorrow, wet and hungry, they will return. I must think on their punishment."
"As they like applying colors," suggested Erestor, "is there nothing needs painting?"
"Now you mention it," said Elrond, "the walls of the kitchen have grown rather dingy over the eons. A coat of paint would be just the thing. Indeed, it will probably take two or three coats of paint to restore the room to its former fresh appearance. Glorfindel, weren't you planning on taking our mischief-making elflings on a boating excursion upon the Bruinen?"
"Yes. As it has lately been so hot, I thought that they and the remainder of their training cohort might benefit from a break in the usual regimen of weapons training. I had planned to allow them to boat, fish, and swim."
"Excellent. And while you and all the others are boating, fishing, and swimming, Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen will be painting."
"You are wise, Elrond," said Gandalf, raising his glass in a salute to the elf-lord.
As the elders sat in comfort in Elrond's chamber, the rain fell harder and harder, and three very miserable elflings labored their way up a slope that grew more and more slippery. Soon the runaways looked as if they themselves had been painted, but with mud rather than the bright colors that they favored for their concoctions.
"Maybe we should go back," muttered Elladan through a mouthful of mud.
"Like this!?" exclaimed Elrohir, horrified at the thought of how they must look. Of all the elflings, he was the one most concerned with appearances. Anomen, of course, always kept himself very tidy, but mainly because he hated to feel dirty. Now he daubed at his face with a wet sleeve, but merely succeeded in smearing the mud more effectually.
"I think Elladan is right," he said miserably. "We should go back before this mud dries upon us and we are too stiff to move!"
"That will not happen anytime soon," argued Elrohir. "Look at the clouds. They have plenty more water to pour upon us."
"Then we should go back for that reason," Anomen promptly replied. "The weather is too foul for us to remain outside."
"Quite right, young one," said a voice near to hand. The three elflings gasped, and each simultaneously reached for the others. Three frightened faces peered out from a muddy ball of quaking, tangled elflings. A Man, well-cloaked against the weather, stood observing them with a smile upon his lips that did not extend to the rest of his face—particularly not to his eyes, which had an eerie depthlessness to them.
"I have been watching you make your way up this slope," the Man continued. "Now, I wonder why three elflings so young would be out in such a storm, and heading away from shelter rather than to it. But I will not question you! No, I merely mean to offer you my assistance. I can lead you to a nearby cave. There you can shed your drenched garments and warm and dry yourselves."
"We are not allowed to go into caves," Elrohir said hastily. "Trolls may lurk within."
"Ah, but I can promise you that there will be no Troll in this cave," replied the stranger. "I have personally made sure of that."
The elflings exchanged looks. An enemy of Trolls. They had that in common with the Man. Should they thereby trust him? Elladan and Elrohir looked to Anomen, who had been out in the world more than they had. Wordlessly, Anomen shook his head. It meant nothing that the Man had slain a Troll, for even Orcs were troll-foes. Trolls were not particular about who they ate, so they were universally detested.
"Sooo, you do not wish to enter my cave," said the Man, who had observed the exchange of glances and gestures. Before the elflings could reply, he stepped forward, seized Anomen's wrist and yanked him away his companions. Spinning Anomen about so that the elfling faced his friends and holding a knife to his throat, the Man smirked at Elladan and Elrohir.
"I see that you defer to this one," he said to the two. "He is precious to you, no doubt. You had better follow me then, if you do not wish him to come to any harm."
Elladan and Elrohir looked helplessly at one another. They could run for help, but then the Man likely would kill Anomen in order to make his escape unencumbered by his prisoner.
"We-we will go with you!" stammered Elrohir. Beside him, Elladan nodded his head.
"Good. You are not altogether foolish, even if you have been wandering about in the wild in the middle of a torrential rain. Cultivate wisdom in the future, and you will not do too badly in the place to which I will take you."
Keeping a tight grip on Anomen's wrist, the Man turned and stalked away. He did not look back. He knew Anomen's friends would not abandon him.
Man and elflings crested the mountain and started down toward the valley on the other side. At length they came to a well-hidden cave. From the clutter and noisome odor within, the elflings knew that a Troll must have inhabited it in the not-too-distant past. One corner, however, had been cleared of debris, and there camping kit and bedroll were laid out neatly.
Once inside, the Man released Anomen's wrist.
"Strip off those wet things," he ordered the elflings. "Your boots, too."
The elflings obeyed and waited expectantly to be given dry clothes.
The Man laughed.
"Surely you don't think I'm going to give you garments in which you can escape."
He gathered up their boots and clothes, dumped them into a chest, locked it, and pocketed the key. He pointed toward a corner.
"The previous inhabitant of this cave left behind some blankets. You may wrap yourselves in them."
The elflings examined the soiled and ragged coverings. The Troll must have dwelt in the cave very recently indeed, for the blankets were still crawling with vermin. The elflings opted to forgo any coverings and instead huddled together for warmth. Meanwhile, the Man busied himself with starting a fire. Even though the Man built the fire as near as possible to the entrance, the cave was soon quite smoky. This did not seem to bother the Man, but the elflings were used to well-ventilated dwellings. Soon they were coughing, and their eyes filled with tears. The Man laughed at their discomfort as he handed them a trencher filled with chunks of bread and strips of meat.
"You've led pampered lives, I'll warrant. Well, you'll be pampered no more—I can promise you that!"
After the Man and the elflings had eaten, the Man set about dragging casks and barrels to the opening of the cave, barricading it quite completely save for a small opening at the top through which smoke might continue to exit. The elflings watched with despair as they did so, for they knew it would be difficult—perhaps impossible—to move any of the containers without making noise. The Man was not done yet, however. When he had finished the barricade, he suddenly seized Anomen and dragged him to his bedroll.
"This one I will hold onto," he told Elladan and Elrohir. "If he stirs, I shall know it. As for you, you might be tempted to try to flee, but remember this: if you do, this one dies as soon as I shall know of it!"
The Man was really quite clever. He could have tied the elflings' hands behind their backs, but they might have contrived to loose one another's bonds. Now, even with their limbs free, they would go nowhere.
Having issued this threat, the Man lay down upon his bedroll with one arm tightly gripping Anomen around the waist. Anomen gave a sudden yelp of pain and indignation. With his free hand, the Man had pinched his bottom. The Man laughed.
"It's lucky for you that I have no interest in pretty Elves," he leered at a confused and frightened Anomen. "At least, it is lucky for you this one night. But there are those who do have such an interest. I'll wager you'll never end up as a galley slave."
Anomen could not even begin to grasp the import of the Man's words, but this much he understood: whatever had served to protect him that one night, it would be no protection against the future. With this unhappy thought in mind, Anomen at last fell into a fitful sleep, his eyes squeezed shut against the stinging smoke and his own fear. Elladan and Elrohir fared little better. The best that could be said for them was that at least they had one another to cling to, rather than being held in the crushing grip of a Man who stank of beer, sweat, smoke—and death.