Blessing of Earendil: Uh oh, I'm destroying your mouse! Author's Disclaimer: The author hereby declares, announces, and publishes that she will not be responsible or liable for any or all damage, deterioration, destruction, or dissolution of or to any cyber rodent or computer creature, or any appurtenances thereunto, including, but not limited to, wires, plugs, chips, bits, and bytes, regardless of whether said damage, deterioration, destruction, or dissolution occurs, has occurred, or is occurring in the course of the reading or perusal of any story, tale, narrative, or account composed, created, or written by the aforesaid author. Any reader who undertakes to read or peruse one of the said stories, tales, narratives, or accounts does so at his or her own risk, in full awareness that such reading or perusal may lead to irreversible loss, harm, or injury for which no compensation, reimbursement, or reparation will be proffered or forthcoming. (The above statement was prepared by the Law Firm of Huey Louis Dewey Cheatham and Howe!)
Dragonfly: Hmm. It may be premature to say that nothing good could come out of the situation.
Legosgurl: Oh, great! I'm destroying Blessing of Earendil's mouse, and I'm making you late for work. I'm a menace to the cyber community! Agent Smith and Agent Smith and Agent Smith will be appearing any day now to drag me off to the Matrix.
Tara Aaaaargh! OK, so let's list the damage. I'm destroying Blessing of Earendil's mouse, I'm making Legosgurl late for work, and I've made you crabby by depriving you of sleep. What's that sound? Oh, noooo, it's Agent Smith. Help me, Neo! Help me! Seriously, thank you for your review. I'm glad that you have so far found the series to be interesting, and I hope it continues to entertain you.
Pegasus: In various stories I've so far managed to work in 'birthmarks' for the following characters: Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf, and Gimli. I overlooked a chance to mention the birthmark in a story in which Frodo figures slightly, but either I will go back and revise that story or I'll find some way to mention it in a future story. About Glorfindel: He won't be in this chapter, but he'll be in either the next one or the one after that.
Terreis: Yes, the cagy way Gandalf handled the conversation with the Captain would have impressed even the enigmatic Galadriel. Glad I was able to make you laugh early in the morning. Given the damage I'm doing to everybody else (see above!) it's good to hear from a satisfied customer, he he! Oh no, I spoke too soon! Don't you dare send me any psychiatric bills! I'll have to post another Author's Disclaimer, this time to forestall any claims for damage to mental health. Yes, Anomen is indeed a 'sly little thing', although some would say he is 'too clever by half', given how much trouble he gets into. I'll try to give a 'meanwhile back at the ranch' glance at Erestor in an upcoming chapter. I should show Elrond, too.
Joee: How about 'yes' and 'yes'? He is going to wake up and continue his journey, but, then, too, someone is going to find him. After all, the two events are not mutually exclusive.
Beta Reader: Dragonfly.
Vocabulary
Ælfgar—'Elf Spear' (Old English)
Ælfgifu—'Elf Gift' (Old English)
Ælfhild—'Elf Hero' (Old English)
Ælfred—'Elf Wisdom' (Old English)
Ælfric—'Elf Leader' (Old English)
Ælfrith—'Elf Peace' (Old English)
Ælfsig—'Elf Victory' (Old English)
Ælfstan—'Elf Stone' (Old English)
Ælfswith—'Elf Strength' (Old English)
Ælfthryth—'Elf Strength' (Old English)
Ælfwen—'Elf Hope' (Old English)
Ælfwyn—'Elf Friend' (Old English)
Leofwine—'Dear Friend' (Old English)
Modthryth—Soul Strength (Old English)
Symkin—name of miller in Geoffrey Chaucer's "Reeve's Tale" (Middle English)
Waerburh—'Wary Protector' (Old English)
Number Nine: Chapter 3
When Anomen regained consciousness, it was dark, and the temperature had dropped. Still, even if he had not been an Elf, he would not have been cold, for, in addition to his own garments, a strange cloak covered him. It was most assuredly not an elven cloak. It was made of some coarse fabric, crudely woven, and it smelled of wood smoke and pigs. Slowly, Anomen raised his head and looked about. A few feet from him sat a small human female, legs crossed, solemnly staring at him. For several minutes the two young ones cautiously studied one another. The human spoke first, using the Common Speech.
"You are a stranger," she said, her voice wary.
Anomen replied in the same tongue, but with his voice carefully neutral.
"You are a stranger as well—to me."
The human considered this, a surprised expression upon her face.
"I suppose," she said slowly, "that there be truth in what you say. You are a stranger to me, and I am a stranger to you." Then she became animated as she was struck by a sudden idea.
"If I tell you my name," she said triumphantly, "then I won't be a stranger no more!"
"True," agreed Anomen.
"Then my name is Waerburh! There now!"
"And my name is Anomen," said the elfling quickly. "So I am no stranger, neither!"
"Yet you are not from hereabouts," challenged the human, a trifle crestfallen.
"No," conceded Anomen, "I am not, but I have passed through this land before, on my way to my home."
"Where do you live?"
"Up north," said Anomen vaguely.
"Up north? There be fearsome folk to the north. They live in mounds and come out to dance once a year—but if they trap you in one o' their mounds, when you come out a twelve-month later, ye'll have aged one hundred years and all yer kin'll be dead. Be you one o' them?"
"Do I look I look like a leprechaun!?" Anomen demanded indignantly.
The child looked him over carefully.
"No-o," she said at last. "I suppose you don't. Happens they're green, or so I've been told. But mayhap you be one o' those folk what sprinkle decent folk with magic dust and so bewitch 'em."
"I despise dust," Anomen said haughtily. "I won't touch the stuff. Anyway, I'm no pixie. They're very tiny, like butterflies or hummingbirds, and they have wings."
Now Anomen had of course never seen a pixie—or a leprechaun, either, for that matter—because, unlike Elves, such creatures are entirely imaginary. He had, however, read all about them in the tales of Men that he was so fond of perusing. Thus the exactitude of his description.
"Be you a faerie, then? Do you dance at midnight midst the mushroom rings?"
This was only marginally better than being mistaken for a pixie. Anomen replied with strained dignity.
"I am most certainly not a faerie. And," he added hastily, "I'm not a gnome, neither!"
"But you are from up north?"
"Yes." Anomen decided to gamble all. "I am from Rivendell, and I am an Elf."
To his relief, the child did not become frightened.
"An Elf," she said calmly. "Let me see your ears."
Anomen drew back his hood to reveal his ears, and Waerburh nodded, satisfied.
"So you are an Elf. Most folk hereabouts say Elves be wicked, but my Ma and Da calls 'em the Fair Folk. I met one upon a time."
"Did you?" Anomen said eagerly. "Tell me the tale."
"'Twas when one o' my brothers fell out of a tree and broke his leg. He is littler than me, and I tried to carry him home, him wailing the while. Hadn't carried him very far afore I realized that, little as he was, I warn't much bigger. Told him I'd go for help, but he clung to me and begged me not to leave 'im. I was tryin' to peel his fingers from me wrist when a tall fellow stepped out from behind a tree. Had his hood up, he did, so I didn't know he was an Elf. But even if I'd 'a known, I think I was too fearful to 'a been fearful, if you catch my drift."
"I do," said Anomen. "Go on."
"My brother quieted when he saw the fellow, and he set my brother's leg and carried him to the cottage. The fellow didn't want to go inside, but my Ma and Da insisted. They was grateful and eager to show it. But he kept his hood up the while, until my Da said, 'Master Elf, you needn't hide yerself. I know you to be one o' the Fair Folk. My boy here hain't never been so quiet and calm-like. Only an elvish wight could have soothed him so'. And after my father spoke, the fellow did push back his hood, and we could all see his ears. Pointed they was, like yours. But his hair was of a different color than yours be. Dark it was, and his eyes, too. And he had dancing eyebrows!"
"Dancing eyebrows?"
"Aye. They darted all about his face and near all the way up to his hairline!"
Anomen shouted in merriment.
"Lord Elrond! Surely that must have been Lord Elrond! He has such eyebrows, and even amongst the Elves he is accounted a notable healer. Hearing your brother cry, he could not forbear lending him aid."
"Lord Elrond," repeated Waerburh, her tone no longer wary but wondering. "A lord visited our cottage. Imagine that!" She arose to her feet, and her manner became all briskness.
"You look poorly, and my Ma and Da will be glad to repay the kindness of your Lord Elrond by sheltering and feeding you this night. My cottage is not far from here. Can you walk, do you think?"
Anomen staggered to his feet.
"If you will lend me your shoulder, I will make do."
Leaning on the girl, who, although slight, proved to be strong, Anomen was able to move tolerably well. His arm still throbbed, but he no longer felt faint—only somewhat weak and weary. They drew near a modest cottage. Near it stood several small outbuildings. Before the dwelling a horse was tethered. Waerburh frowned and stayed Anomen from going further.
"You had best not come in after all. Yonder is the horse of Symkin the miller, a stout churl, brawny and big of bone. He is always on the lookout for chances to show off his strength, and at the Harvest Fair he always enters the wrestling contest—aye, and wins it, too! No one would mind if that was the sum of his fighting, but he is famous for brawling any chance he gets. He has a mouth as big as a cauldron, and with that huge hole of his he is always telling vulgar stories and whipping up trouble—or trying to. Everyone tries to avoid fighting with him because it is said he could knock a door off its hinges or break it with his head without hardly trying. My Da says Symkin's just a bully and could be taken on if folk would band together to defend themselves, but so far no one's dared. People do think that he has a gold thumb, but they are afeared to challenge him."
"A gold thumb?"
"Aye. They think he is a cheat, weighing his scales falsely and charging folk thrice what he ought. But they can't prove that he's stealing grain because no one has actually caught him at it. It's suspicioned only—although many are the folk who think that it do be the case."
Amazed, Anomen exclaimed, "Can nothing good be said of this miller?"
"Well," said Waerburh thoughtfully, "Symkin is a rare bagpipe player. Folk do like to hear him play at gatherings. But," she added vehemently, "that is the only good thing I have ever heard tell of him!"
Anomen shook his head, wondering what it must be like to live amongst folk who had to put up under such ill behavior. Why did the humans tolerate the miller's violence and thievery?
"I am sorry you cannot come with me to the cottage," Waerburh was saying, "but Symkin would be sure to pick on you, for you are small and a stranger in this land, with no kin to take your part. But go you into that shed, and I'll contrive to bring out somewhat for you to supp upon."
The shed was small but well-built. At least it would provide protection from the wind, which was beginning to pick up. Anomen found some empty sacks, and in the corner mounded up some hay and spread out the sacks. He was grateful for these arrangements, simple as they were, for he had slept in much worse places.
When Waerburh reappeared, she was accompanied by a woman.
"Here be my Ma," the young human announced.
"Welcome, Master Elf," said the women. "I am Modthryth, and as Waerburh has said, I am her mother." Modthryth's manner was kind, and for a moment Anomen thought longingly of his Edwen Nana.
"One of your folk did us a good turn," the woman continued. "I would have you come inside but that nuisance of a miller looks to be settled in for the near term and the long! Probably won't leave until he's passing certain that there's no beer left for him to drink."
Waerburh drew a basket from underneath her cloak, and her mother drew out a blanket from underneath hers.
"Waerburh has put up some food for you, and I have brought you a blanket. You will be comfortable in this shed, I hope. If the miller has gone in the morning, you are welcome to come in and break fast with us. If not, be sure that we shall bring you some food nonetheless."
The Dunlending woman and child bade Anomen good night, and he uncovered the basket. The food was simple but tasty, although the portions were small. This latter, he suspected, reflected a state of poverty and not a lack of generosity, and he felt a little guilty as he dined until he remembered that it was more likely that the miller's voracious appetite would be a cause of hardship than his own small one.
After finishing the contents of the basket, Anomen wrapped himself in both his cloak and the Dunlending blanket and laid himself down upon the mounded-up hay. Soon he was asleep—but his rest was swiftly interrupted by a loud voice and raucous laughter. The miller was taking his leave, and so loudly that Anomen thought the Man would be heard all the way to the border of Rivendell. Braying a vulgar song loudly and off-key, the miller at last rode off to the south. Anomen drew the cloak and blanket more tightly around himself and began to drift back into dreams.
A small sound pulled him back. Soft footsteps were approaching from the north. Instantly, Anomen knew that that the miller had left his horse and returned on foot, circling about so that he could creep up on the shed from behind without having to pass the cottage.
Shrinking into the corner, the elfling pulled the blanket over his head, leaving a small gap so that he could peek out. He heard the latch being drawn back quietly. The door slowly opened, and a large Man stole in.
In the moonlight that shone in through the open door, the elfling studied the miller. The Dunlending was indeed powerfully built, a stocky fellow with broad, muscular shoulders. Anomen could see that he had red hair and a red beard. He had a wide nose, with yawning nostrils, and on the tip of his nose was a wart from which sprang a tuft of hairs that put Anomen in mind of a boar's bristles. The Man went to center of the shed, knelt down, and pulled up a board that lay there. Anomen heard the clink of metal.
'Waerburh's Nana and Ada have hidden their hard-won wealth in this shed', the elfling thought, dismayed. 'The miller has found out somehow and means to steal their small trove'.
Anomen peered about the shed. A spade was leaning against a wall. The miller's back was to the elfling, and, moving with the stealth that was native to the Fair Folk, he slipped out from under his coverings and crept over to the tool. Grasping it tightly, he tiptoed behind the miller, who was mumbling and muttering.
"Not as much as I'd hoped," the Man was complaining, "but it will have to do."
His grumbling was cut short by a blow to the head. He slumped forward unto the ground, face down. Quickly Anomen slipped out of the shed. Up to the door of the cottage he went and knocked. After a few moments, he heard someone moving about within. The bolt was drawn back, and a Man peered out cautiously. He gripped a cudgel with both hands.
"Ah," he said, lowering the cudgel when he spied Anomen, "you must be the Elf. Is the shed not to your liking, then? Well, the cottage is not much better, but you are welcome to enter, now the miller's gone."
"He isn't gone, Uncle," Anomen replied. "He returned and crept into the shed. He pulled up a board and drew out a bundle. It held some objects of metal, for I heard a clinking noise."
The Man gave a cry of dismay.
"Waerburh's dowry. He has reived us of Waerburh's dowry."
"He hasn't neither," Anomen quickly reassured the human. "He didn't see me, hiding as I was in the corner, and so I came up behind him and struck him with a spade. You'll find him in the shed still—aye, and the bundle, too."
The Man flung wide the door.
"Come inside and warm yourself at the hearth, Master Elf, whilst me and my sons see to the entertainment of the miller."
The Man roused his two eldest sons, and the three, furnished with both grim expressions and cudgels, marched out to the shed. Sitting safe by the fire, Anomen heard angry shouting and then, after a while, silence. Looking immensely pleased, the Man and his sons shortly thereafter marched back into the cottage and tossed their cudgels into a corner. The father carried not one but two bundles with him, the second one appearing to be a wallet.
The humans seated themselves around a trestle table and invited Anomen to join them as they hoisted celebratory cups. Anomen did so, although he forbore tasting the beer, politely asking for water instead. The Woman, who was now awake, gladly fetched him some, especially when she heard what her husband had to say.
"Wife, said the Man, "it seems that the Fair Folk bring us nothing but good fortune. Not only has the young master here saved Waerburh's dowry, thanks to him her prospects have in fact been enlarged. When the miller saw that he was well and truly caught, he proffered his wallet in order to escape the beating he deserved. For all his bravado, he was not about to stand up to three foes armed with cudgels."
The Man opened the wallet and poured its contents upon the table. His sons and wife gasped at the sight of not only copper coins but silver ones. Indeed, there was even one enormous gold coin, which shone in the firelight as brightly as any sun that had ever arisen over that cottage. The wife roused Waerburh so that she could marvel at their good fortune.
"Waerburh," her father said grandly, "marry whom you will. When our wealth becomes known, ye'll have suitors aplenty."
Waerburh was impressed, but only a little. She was, after all, still a child, and marriage for her was several years in the future. Her mother also was not as ebullient as the Man.
"Leofwine," she warned, "when our wealth becomes known, it is more than likely that the robbers will arrive before the suitors."
The room fell silent. These were hardworking folk, and they had several times managed to put aside a little something against the future. Each time they had done so, their cottage had been raided, which is why they had resorted to hiding their latest winnings in the shed—they had hoped that, as in the past, it would be the cottage that would be targeted. Now they knew that there was nowhere that they could hide their wealth where it would not be vulnerable to theft.
Anomen it was who broke the silence.
"Uncle," he said, "as I have journeyed through Dunland, I have noticed that in many places the soil is poor and ill-suited for farming."
"True," Leofwine said sadly. "Men have farmed here for ages, and not always wisely. The soil has been robbed of its richness. Perhaps it could be restored, but times are so hard, that no one wishes to gamble one season's harvest against the hope of better harvests in the future."
"To the north of Imladris," said Anomen, "is a vast, empty land. It is called the Northern Waste, but only because it was emptied in the wake of ancient wars. It was once a settled and fruitful place, for parts of it are well-watered and fertile. The only folk who wander there now are Rangers, and they are greedy for neither wealth nor power. I know whereof I speak, for the Rangers are known to the Elves. If you were to settle on a piece of land to the north, the Rangers would not trouble you."
Leofwine looked doubtful.
"Land for the taking, and no one to molest us. That cannot be!"
"But it is true," insisted Anomen. "The land lies empty, free for the taking, because Men have long believed that a shadow lies upon that land. But if there is a shadow, it exists only in the minds of Men who allow themselves to be ruled by superstition. The Rangers do not indulge themselves in such foolish notions, and they know that the land is evil in nothing more than memory."
"Leofwine," urged Modthryth, "I think we should listen to him. Twice now the Fair Folk have been good to us—twice as many times as our own folk have aided us! I do not believe this young Elf would lead us astray."
Leofwine considered.
"We may have no choice but to believe him, Modthryth," he said soberly. "The miller will not dare to demand the return of his wallet, for he knows he has well and truly forfeited it. But he will make sure that all know that we have something worth stealing, both the coins we earned by our labor and the ones he forfeited through his greed. We cannot remain in this place. Yes, we will journey north. I doubt we will fare worse by doing so than we would if we remained here."
"Go first to Rivendell," Anomen said. "Tell them that I sent you and that you have need of a guide to the north. Be sure to say that you wish an introduction to the Dúnedain—the Rangers, I mean."
Leofwine nodded.
"No sense turning in again," he said briskly. "Modthryth, children, let us pack straightaway. The sooner we leave this place, the better."
By moonlight and firelight, and aided by Anomen, the family gathered its modest belongings. Bowls were nested inside cauldrons. Straw was dumped from mattress tickings, into which were crammed quilts and spare garments (the latter a small item). These, along with precious metal tools, were loaded onto a wood-wheeled cart onto which was also tied several geese and a basket of chickens. The cart would be drawn by their one ox. Behind it would be driven their milk cow and their pigs.
By sunrise, the family was ready to set out. It had not taken them long to prepare, for they were by no means burdened by many possessions.
"Will you come with us as far as Rivendell?" Waerburh asked Anomen.
"No, I have an errand to the south. I go to the aid of a friend. But carry a message for me, I pray you. Tell Lord Elrond that I am well."
"But that is not true," Waerburh pointed out. "You hold your arm as if it pains you, and you look poorly."
"Please do not tell the Lord Elrond so," Anomen begged. "I would not have him worried."
Waerburh looked troubled.
"I will do my best not to tell him," she promised, "but I am not yet very good at lying. My Da always keeps me out of sight when he chaffers over our crops, lest by speech or gesture I betray him."
"I do not ask you to lie," Anomen replied. "Merely say no more than what you are asked."
Waerburh brightened.
"Oh, that I can do," she said cheerfully.
Modthryth called to her. It was time to depart. The two young ones took their leave one from the other.
"You and your folk have been kind to us," Waerburh said solemnly to Anomen. "When I have a child"—here she waved vaguely toward a still-unfathomable future—"when I have a child, I shall name her Ælfgifu, and when I have another child, I shall name him Ælfsig."
Waerburh must have kept her promise. In after years, the Bree-landers were known to have traded with humans from a settlement to the north of Rivendell, and on occasion they intermarried with the folk who dwelled there. It was noted that it was the custom of those northerners to give their children names that began with the element 'Ælf'. It was not uncommon for a merchant in Archet to bargain with an Ælfgar or an Ælfred, a smith in Combe to shoe the horse of an Ælfric, or an innkeeper in Staddle to serve beer to an Ælfstan. Bree-landers who traveled to that northern land bargained for cloth and baskets with canny matriarchs who went by such names as Ælfhild, Ælfthryth, and Ælfwen, and Rangers gladly received food and drink from the hands of women called Ælfwyn, Ælfswith, and Ælfrith.
Before leaving, Modthryth had furnished Anomen with a bundle of as much food as could be spared. Now he watched a little wistfully as the family's cart rattled off, the humans walking alongside it, all save the youngest, who perched on a ticking stuffed with blankets and garments. Once the small party had disappeared into the trees, heading toward Rivendell, Anomen resolutely turned his face to the south. His arm still ached, and that could mean only one thing. Gandalf was still in danger.
