Terreis: Yeah, I had way too much fun with those magic tricks! "Galadriel? Sneaky? Heaven forbid?" Um, do I detect a teeny tiny hint of sarcasm? Yes, Erestor really stepped out of character for a moment there. Oh, now I'm ROTFLOL at your comment "Yes, I'd say he'd be safer outside. pause I was wrong."
Chrys: Aaargh! I can't believe I am still typing 'Elrohir' for 'Erestor'! Honestly, sometimes I wish alliteration had never been invented. Anyway, thanks for drawing it to my attention; I have gone ahead and corrected it. Yes, someday I do plan to write a story showing Thranduil's reaction to Legolas going off with the Fellowship. Actually, it may show up as a chapter in "Things Fall Apart" (which I had better get back to before Yarrie sends another lagging-author alert!)
Dragonfly: Yeah, poor Haldir never gets a break, does he?
Legosgurl: Sick? Oh, you must mean the part about the Orc drawing out the Man's intestines. Yeah, I guess that could be considered kind of sick. Mwah hah hah!
Joee: I can't believe I made the same mistake in both Chapter 4 and Chapter 5! But you didn't catch it in Chapter 4: Chrys did! Nyah nah nah nah nuh! Yep, you're right: 'three hour tour' comes straight from "Gilligan's Island," which is what I watched when I was a kid. (O.K., now everyone can figure out how old I am.)
VickiTurner: Oh, yes, the "three hour tour" will be plenty
long!
Beta Reader: Dragonfly.
Number Nine: Chapter 6
In the end, Saruman was mistaken in his assumption that Glorfindel and his scouts would continue heading south. It is true that when they first left Isengard, they did indeed travel in that direction, until they reached the point at which they had entered Fangorn Forest. But as they journeyed, Glorfindel reflected upon the events of the past several days. When the elven company emerged from the forest and stood on the edge of the Gap of Rohan, Glorfindel ordered the scouts to make camp, while he continued to ponder his choices. Restlessly he paced back and forth, at last coming to stand by a sentry. There he stood scanning the horizon.
"Since leaving Imladris," he murmured, "we have not found any trace of the young one. I begin to think that I was wrong, that he did not in fact head south."
"Shall we turn back, my Lord," asked the sentry.
Glorfindel shook his head.
"Not back, but we will change direction. Our stop at Isengard proved fruitless, for it appears that Saruman, for all his reputation as the all-seeing White Wizard, knows naught of either Mithrandir or Anomen. As we have learned nothing there, we will go on to Lothlórien. It may be that the Lady Galadriel will be able to assist us. Perhaps she has seen something in her mirror."
And thus, as Anomen continued marching steadily southward, Glorfindel and his Elves turned to the northeast, making for the land of Lórien. Shortly after they did so, the band of Orcs that Saruman had dispatched to follow them came to the spot where they had turned aside. Even the stupidest of the Orcs could see that the Elves were no longer traveling south. Here was a quandary! Saruman had told them to follow the Elves, but he had also ordered them to head south. They couldn't do both. Which command trumped the other?
"We could send a missive to the Master—ask 'im what we should do, like," opined one of the Orcs.
"We could," said the leader gloomily, "but who'ud be willin' t'carry it, I wants ter know?"
The leader had hit upon what was in fact the 'fatal objection' to his subaltern's suggestion. Saruman had an unfortunate habit of ordering the execution of servants who brought him bad news. The Orcs eyed one another uneasily. After several awkward minutes, no one had volunteered, and the captain began to consider other options.
'The pointy-ears 'ave gone north,' the Orc captain said to himself. 'North lies the land of the elf-witch, and her bowmen never miss. They hide in the trees and pick us off, and we never even see 'em. South we risk runnin' into the horseboys, but at least we 'ave a chance against 'em—wouldn't have no chance with those pointy-ears.'
"Awreet, boys," the Orc captain announced, "we be headin' south."
Off the goblins happily shambled.
Glorfindel would have been horrified at this development, of course, but how could he have known of Saruman's villainy? Not even Gandalf suspected Saruman, and thus it was that centuries later the Grey Wizard would walk blindly into a trap set by the White one. If Gandalf the Grey could be deceived, then what could have been expected of Glorfindel, who had far fewer dealings with the Lord of Isengard? It is true that amongst the Elves Galadriel had always doubted Saruman, but she had not succeeded in winning over anyone to her opinion—for she as yet had no evidence beyond her own misgivings.
So Glorfindel rode north, every step taking him further from Anomen, while a band of Orcs headed south, drawing ever nearer to their quarry, who, as determined as he was, could not march as swiftly as these Orcs could trot.
Of course, Glorfindel and the Orcs who had been trailing him were not the only players moving about the board. Saruman's second band of Orcs was marching north, directly in the path of Taurmeldir as he and his scouts advanced southward. And behind Taurmeldir came Elladan, Elrohir, and Haldir, who were tracking Taurmeldir and his band. Ai! Surely some of these players must meet in the end, with consequences that could only be imagined.
Within the elfling band, Haldir had followed along behind Elladan and Elrohir without voicing his objections until the sun began to set. At that point, he had to speak.
"Um, Elladan, Elrohir," he began timidly, "it is getting late."
"Really!" exclaimed Elrohir, feigning surprise. "I hadn't noticed!"
"We have been walking much longer than three hours," observed Haldir.
"True," agreed Elladan, unconcerned.
"Well, ah, don't you think we should turn back? Won't your father be alarmed if we do not soon return to Imladris?"
"Oh, my pardon, Haldir," said Elrohir. "I forgot to tell you that we spoke to our father before we departed."
"What did you say?" asked Haldir nervously.
"We asked if we might take you camping, hunting, hiking, and swimming. He said we might. We asked if we could be excused from the table for the duration. He granted us leave. So, you see, Haldir, our Ada will not be expecting to see us for several days."
Elrohir spoke the truth. Of course, the twins had neglected to specify where they would take Haldir for this camping, hunting, hiking, and swimming. Normally, Elrond would have thought to ask, but he had been distracted by a letter that he had just received from the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Seeing that he was preoccupied, the twins chose that moment to pounce. Almost before he knew what he had said, Elrond had given his sons leave to do as they would during Haldir's visit.
So an unwilling Haldir continued to trail after Elladan and Elrohir. His only consolation? Like Anomen, he believed that staying in the vicinity of the scouts would afford some protection from foes.
That night Elladan and Elrohir discovered the first flaw in their scheme. When they set up camp, they did not dare light a fire for fear it would be spotted by one of Taurmeldir's sentries. They had purloined an uncooked cut of meat from the kitchen and had planned on grilling it that night. Instead, realizing that they could not cook it without attracting attention, they had to carry it a considerable distance from their camp and pitch it into the bushes, lest its odor draw unwelcome visitors.
Anomen was faring only a little better. It is true that he had not yet completely consumed the food that Waerburh's family had given him; on the other hand, his arm ached. Even more troubling, the further south he traveled, the more forbidding the terrain grew. Increasingly, he was both lonely and frightened. Yet his love for Gandalf was so great that he never considered turning back. Fearful yet undaunted, he was now toiling across the plains of Rohan.
Anomen had covered perhaps a quarter of the distance across those vast grasslands when his quick ears heard the hoof beats of horses. There was little shelter in that place, so he had to settle for flinging himself flat upon the ground in hopes that the tall grass would conceal him. This plan very nearly worked. A company of Rohirrim came into view and rode directly toward Anomen's hiding place. As luck would have it, several horses cantered to either side of the elfling. One, however, came directly upon him and, suddenly aware of his presence, swerved to avoid trampling him. His rider looked down to see what it was that had caused his steed to shy—and spied Anomen. He gave a shout, and his companions reined in their horses. Soon Anomen found himself in the middle of a ring of horses. It is fortunate that, small, unarmed and huddled upon the ground, Anomen did not strike the Riders as a particularly fearsome foe, and so he did not find himself on the receiving end of their spears, as did many who visited Rohan unbidden. The Riders did, however, take those weapons out of their rests and hold them ready.
"Be you hurt?" asked one of the Riders wonderingly.
"No, sir."
"Lost, then?"
"No, sir. I know where I am going."
"And where would that be?"
"South."
This answer provoked smiles, as 'south' did not sound like a very definite destination.
"Where in the south?"
"I don't know yet," admitted Anomen.
"Ah, then you are lost."
"Oh, no," argued Anomen. "'Tis true I am not exactly sure of where I am going, but I know where I am."
"And where would that be?"
Anomen had a prompt reply.
"In the land of the valiant and noble horse-masters, who are such accomplished riders that almost they seem to be at one with their steeds."
The Riders laughed, but their merriment was genial rather than mocking.
"No Orc possesses such eloquence," jested the one who had first spoken. "I think we may safely put up our weapons. Now young one, arise, doff your hood, and let us have a better look at you."
Anomen obeyed.
"Oh ho," said a second Rider. "A little scion of the Fair Folk. Are you one of Elrond's people, or do you belong to the elf-witch of the Golden Woods?"
"She is not a witch," retorted Anomen indignantly.
"So you are one of hers."
"No, I am from Imladris. But she is still not a witch!"
"Capable of bold speech as well as fair," said the first Rider gravely.
"And loyal to those he loves," added the second Rider. "My pardon for denigrating the Lady."
"Freely I grant it you," replied Anomen, inclining his head slightly. He spoke with such dignity and earnestness that the Riders suppressed their smiles and adopted manners equally solemn and dignified.
"What is your name, young one?" asked the first Rider.
"Anomen Elrondion."
"Anomen son of Elrond? But his sons have dark hair."
"Two of them do. I am his fosterling."
"Ah, I see. Well, Anomen Elrondion, you are far from shelter. We will bring you with us to Edoras, and send a message to your foster-father so that arrangements may be made for your return to Rivendell."
"I thank you, sir, but I must not turn aside from my errand."
"And what errand would that be?"
"I go to help a friend in peril of his life."
"That is a great task for one so young."
"It fell to me because I was the only one capable of acting in this matter."
Had Elrond been there, he would have admired the eyebrows possessed by the first Rider, for they shot up to an impressive height.
"A youngling the only one capable of acting in this matter? Pray explain how this could be so."
"It was hard to explain even to my own people," said Anomen unhappily. "My friend is Mithrandir, and I know that he is in danger. But I cannot say how I know."
To Anomen's surprise and relief, the Rider seemed satisfied by this explanation.
"Ah, it is the Grey Pilgrim of whom you speak. It would be a wise Man indeed who could account for his doings. He has summoned you, seemingly, although not in the usual manner."
He turned to the second Rider.
"If the Grey Pilgrim has sent for this young one, we must not thwart him. It is never wise to get on the ill side of a wizard if it can be avoided."
"True," agreed the second Rider. "Better it would be to aid the youngling in his quest than to force him to accompany us."
The first Rider turned again to Anomen.
"Very well, Anomen Elrondion. We will carry you south, to the very border of our land, and there set you down so that you may continue your journey. I hope that you soon discover your wizard, for it is a perilous place to which we will bear you!"
"I know," Anomen said simply. "Mithrandir wouldn't be in trouble if it weren't."
This speech provoked more smiles, but respectful ones.
"When that one grows up," said one Rider softly to another, "wouldn't mind having him on our side."
"For all he's so small," replied his companion, "wouldn't mind having him on our side now."
"Aye, right you are," agreed the other.
The leader of the Rohirrim took Anomen up before him, although the elfling protested that he could hold on behind. The Rider was wise, however, for no sooner had they set out on the ride south than Anomen fell sound asleep. Truly he was more worn and weary than he had realized! The Rider graciously forbore mentioning that fact when they made camp that night. However, when the time came to set Anomen down at the border, the Rider did gently allude to the elfling's reduced condition.
"You are certain you wish to go forward?" he said. "What you plan to do may take more strength than can be found in the body of one so small—especially when you have already expended much of your energy in your journey from the north."
"Whatever strength I possess, whether it be paltry or great, I must use it to help my friend."
"Ah, but if it be paltry, then how can you be expected to help?"
"A little help must be better than no help at all," argued Anomen.
"You are resolved to go forward then?"
"I am."
"Very well."
The Rider handed Anomen a pack.
"We can easily replenish our stocks by hunting, so I have placed in this pack as much in the way of foodstuffs as I felt your shoulders could bear. And girt on this knife—it is much more substantial than the little one that hangs at your waist."
This was true. Anomen had only the small blade that Elves customarily kept at hand for such mundane tasks as arose in the space of a day. He gratefully accepted the longer knife, which could almost have served as a small sword.
"I shall be sure to tell Lord Elrond of your generosity. He will be grateful."
The Men of Rohan watched Anomen march away, his shoulders slightly bent under the weight of the pack.
"Do you think Elrond truly will be grateful?" the second Rider asked the leader.
The first Rider shook his head.
"He will be grateful that we didn't slay him out of hand for trespassing in our lands. But as for helping the little one on his way, no, Elrond will not be grateful for that. I am sure he would have much preferred that we had bound him onto a horse and borne him to Edoras, and there locked him up under guard until such time as the Elves could retrieve him. But Elrond is far away, and the Grey Pilgrim is likely to visit these lands long before the Lord of Imladris does. One must always give thought first to the danger that is nearer at hand. I do not fear retribution at the hand of Elrond, but Gandalf's staff, ah, that is another matter. If he were to learn that we tried to prevent someone from coming to his aid, I do not think he would be happy!"
The second Rider nodded. He could see the wisdom of these words. He and the other Riders reined their horses about and resumed their journey to Edoras.
As Anomen walked, he found himself drawn to a distant cliff. He clambered over and around every obstacle in his effort to reach it. Slowly it grew nearer and nearer. At last he arrived at its base. Unerringly, he made for the scrub that fringed it. There in a bush was a sword. It was a nondescript weapon that could have been wielded by anyone, but Anomen rummaged about a little further until he uncovered something whose ownership was indisputable. A staff. Gandalf's staff. Anomen sat back on his heels to consider.
He had been carried part of the way on horseback, and he had not lacked for food. Nevertheless, Anomen was weary, and his shoulder still ached. The elfling knew that he had not the strength to carry both sword and staff. What ought he to do? 'It is bad for a wizard to be separated from his sword', he said to himself, 'but it is even worse for a wizard to be separated from his staff. Very well, then, I will carry the staff'. The staff was twice the height of the elfling, but he gripped it nonetheless and marched on.
The terrain through which Anomen now toiled was bleak and forbidding, and it is difficult to imagine that such a small and weak being could have traversed it. But Anomen had a stout heart. Years later, perhaps there were some among the Wise who remembered the elfling's journey when they had to decide whether another being who was small in stature would be capable of venturing through these harsh lands. Indeed, in one way Anomen was able to show that the small and stealthy might have an advantage over the big and bold, for on several occasions he was able to slip into tiny crevasses and therefore avoid detection when sorties of Orcs marched by.
Inexorably drawn by his kinship with the wizard, Anomen was wending his way toward the fortress of Minas Morgul, although he did not know the name of the place that enticed him so. The Morgul Vale! A place inhabited by creatures that were feared even by the most powerful and loathsome of the Orcs themselves. If Anomen had known the nature of the place he struggled so hard to reach, doubtless he would have been more frightened even that he was. Still, he would have kept on nonetheless.
When at last Minas Morgul crawled into view, Anomen's eye was drawn immediately to the tower of Cirith Ungol.
'He's there', he said to himself immediately. 'He's in that tower. The very top, I shouldn't doubt. Yes, just behind that little window'.
Hidden behind a boulder, Anomen studied the scene. There were guards at the base of the tower, and Anomen was sure that within the structure would be swarming with Orcs. Curiously, the entrance to the Vale itself was unguarded, the breach in the wall flanked only by two hideous statues.
'I am sure I can get into the enclosure', Anomen murmured to himself, 'but how am I to get into the tower itself?' He returned his attention to the tower.
'The exterior is very rough', he observed. 'I am certain that it would provide enough handholds and footholds for me to scale it. Very well, then. I will slip through the opening in the wall and creep to the tower—there is cover enough! Then I will climb up to that window. Once I have returned Mithrandir's staff to him, he shall be able to manage from there'.
Here, of course, Anomen was being more than a trifle optimistic; but he should be forgiven, for it is in the nature of the young to place inordinate trust in their heroes. Indeed, it is the nature of the young to have heroes in the first place! Anomen may thus be pardoned for assuming that, through the proper application of magic, Gandalf would be able to dispense with a valeful of Orcs. Had Erestor been there, no doubt he would have pointed out to Anomen that Gandalf's powers hadn't prevented him from getting into trouble in the first place! But Anomen was an elfling and thus untroubled by such considerations.
As Anomen watched, at last it seemed to him that the guards at the base of the tower had become caught up in some sort of dice game. He was right, although it was fortunate that he did not realize that the loathsome creatures were casting lots for the effects of some prisoners who had been recently executed for failing to sufficiently amuse their Captain. Anomen crept out from behind his boulder, and, keeping as small a profile as possible, readied himself to dash through the breach in the wall.
'Now for it', he cried to himself, and bolted forward—only to find himself lying dazed in the dirt.
'What did I hit?' he asked himself in bewilderment, looking all about. He saw nothing, but suddenly he sensed that he was being watched, and he cast his eyes upward, his gaze falling upon the hideous statues on either side of the breach in the wall. With a shock, he realized that these three-headed, vulture-faced phantasms, though hewn of stone, were in some way sentient. They had been imbued by their creators with watchfulness and would permit the servants of Sauron to pass, but not his enemies.
Anomen looked hard at the wall. Unlike those of the tower, they were much too smooth to be scaled. The opening in the wall was the only way in. He had a sudden inspiration. Holding up Gandalf's staff before him, he cautiously approached the breach. Stone as they were, the multiple faces of the two statues appeared to express uneasiness. Emboldened, Anomen pushed forward. The barrier seemed to be softening, stretching—with one last mighty push he broke through it and flung himself off to one side, behind an overturned cart, just as the many faces opened their mouths to cry out. Seeing no one, however, they subsided back into stony silence.
Taking care to stay out of sight of both the Orcs and the watchful stones, Anomen crawled to the base of the tower. Once there, he shrugged off his pack and tied Gandalf's staff to his back. Then he began the laborious process of scaling the tower. Fortunately, the Orcs who infested that place were not in the habit of raising their eyes to the stars. If they had been, perhaps one of them would have spotted the small figure. As it was, up, up, up climbed Anomen, and no one descried him. Unerringly, he made toward the tiny window in the uppermost level of the tower. His arm hurt as he climbed, of course, but he disregarded the pain. At length he found himself clinging to the bars of the aperture. There sat Gandalf, sitting against a wall, his head upon his chest.
"Mithrandir," Anomen said softly.
Gandalf was not one to be surprised easily, but Anomen had the satisfaction of seeing him gape open-mouthed as he glanced at the window and beheld the elfling's face pressed against the bars.
"Anomen!" the wizard gasped. "How came you here?"
"I walked," Anomen said simply.
"I am sure you did," replied the wizard, "but how is it that you have come here, of all places?"
"You are here," Anomen said, as if it were obvious. "I have something of yours," he added before Gandalf could ask any further questions. "You had better come to the window and get it. It's tied to my back."
Gandalf went to the window and was delighted to find his staff. He untied the knots that bound it to Anomen's back and drew it through the window.
"Thank you, my boy," he exclaimed. "Now, descend from this tower and hasten to the north as fast as ever you may. Let's see, what would be the first friendly settlement that you could reach? There will be Rohirrim encampments scattered throughout the plain, but they move about and you couldn't be sure of striking one. Ah, yes, I have it! Make for Isengard with all speed."
"What will you do, Mithrandir?"
"Never you mind about that, Anomen. Just hasten to Saruman."
"I won't go without you!"
"Oh, I'll come after," Gandalf reassured him.
"No, you won't! You mean to flee west, to draw off any pursuit!"
Gandalf bit back an oath in the Black Speech. Anomen was right. When time permitted, the wizard said to himself, he would have to look more closely into Anomen's genealogy. He was certain that at some point Anomen and Galadriel must have had an ancestor in common. 'How else to explain the lad's prescience?' he murmured to himself. Then he pushed aside these thoughts and sighed.
"Very well, Anomen, I do mean to draw off any pursuit. You have put yourself in great danger on my account, and ought to be gotten out of it as quickly as possible. You must understand that any Orc who came upon you would be as happy as a Man who had just been vouchsafed a veal calf!"
Anomen shuddered but remained steadfast.
"But Mithrandir," he argued, "wouldn't I be safer in the company of a wizard than by myself?"
"Hmmph!" snorted Gandalf. "I have lately done a noticeably poor job of safeguarding my own person. Are you sure you want to trust yourself to my hands? You may in fact be better off on your own!"
"Well, never mind then," said Anomen, abruptly abandoning the argument. "But there is something else I ought to mention. You should flee north rather than west."
"And why is that?"
"You know that by now Lord Elrond will have sent out Elves to search for me. You would have a fair chance of encountering them if you head north, but if you flee west, you may expect no aid until you reach one of the settlements of Gondor."
"Hmmm. Good point. Yes, I suppose I should head north."
"In which case," said Anomen slyly, "we may as well travel together, as I am heading that way myself."
Gandalf made a great show of rolling his eyes in exasperation, but in truth, from the moment that Anomen had divined his intentions, the wizard had been preparing himself to concede. After all, what choice did he have? Anomen surely intended to cling to him like a burr.
"Very well, Anomen. You must descend from this tower and wait for me to join you. Did you enter the compound by passing between two ugly statues that seem to stand guard?"
"Yes. They blocked my passage until I held up your staff, and then they gave way."
"Ah, that is good to know. Now then, just before you reached those statues, did you notice that there were some steps, very steep ones, cut into the mountain side?"
"I saw some steps that ascended as far as I could see, perhaps to the summit itself. Are those the ones you mean?"
"Yes! There are some old blocks tumbled about there that will provide you cover whilst you wait for me to join you. But whatever you do, do not go up those stairs!"
"I won't," promised Anomen.
"Good lad! Now be off with you, and I will come along as quickly as I can. It may take a while, I hope you know."
Anomen nodded and got ready to climb down. Suddenly something occurred to him.
"Mithrandir! I can't get out without your staff!"
Gandalf clapped his hand to his head.
"Of course you can't. I am a fool!"
He picked up his peaked hat from the floor. Holding it in one hand, he passed his staff over it several times and uttered words that, while they were not mumbo-jumbo, were just as incomprehensible to Anomen. Then he passed the hat through the bars to Anomen, who, clinging tightly with one hand, used the other to stuff the hat into his tunic.
"There you go, my lad. Just you put than on when the time comes for you to pass by those nasty statues. They won't know what to make of you."
Anomen nodded and began his careful descent. When he reached the base of the tower, he collected his pack and stole back toward the opening in the wall. Again he waited until the tower guards were distracted. Then he clapped the hat on his head—it came down to his chin—and stumbled through the opening, rather afraid that he would walk into the walls rather than by them. Gandalf was right. The statues, for all their vigilance, were confused by this apparition. They saw what looked like a cone of darkness sweeping by them. Puzzled, they watched until Anomen dove out of sight behind some huge masonry blocks, and then they resumed their silent brooding.
Once Anomen had departed, Gandalf gave thought to how he could follow him.
"Now I have my staff," he muttered to himself, "I could blast that door open. However, if I do so, the attendant noise would be liable to draw attention. No, I must make my escape in a more humdrum fashion."
He laid the staff on the floor between himself and the wall so that it would not be spied by a guard glancing in at the trapdoor. Then he settled himself down for a long wait, lying on his back and closing his eyes. At length he heard the trapdoor being lifted, and a warder climbed up the ladder and approached.
"Here, you," uttered a rough voice. "Better eat yer food afore the rats do."
A metal basin clattered upon the floor. Gandalf did not move.
"Hey, didn' ya 'ear me?" growled the warder. "I said eat yer food."
Gandalf remained still. He felt the warder draw nearer, and from the sound of his breathing, knew that his captor was bending over him. Swiftly he seized his staff and brought it down upon his jailer's pate. With a groan, the Orc crumpled onto the floor of the cell.
Gandalf hastily stripped the goblin of its clothes and armor. He pulled off his own robes and garbed the Orc in them, pulling the hood of his cloak over the goblin's head. Then he dressed himself in the guard's garments, not neglecting the helmet, for he knew he must cover his face. He wrinkled his face in disgust at the odor and shuddered as he felt the fleas and lice begin to crawl over his body.
"I must submerge myself in the icy waters of the Anduin as soon as ever I may—oh, not the beard!"
The wizard's prayers and entreaties did not, however, dissuade his newly acquired fauna from taking up residence in his capacious facial hair. I suppose that, from the point of view of a louse, a wizard's beard is a veritable mansion, spacious and well-appointed.
Trying not to scratch, Gandalf quickly descended the ladder and, scuttling along in a fair imitation of the crouching waddle of an Orc, he had almost made his way to the ground level when he encountered his first check. Shouts broke out from the tower. His escape had been discovered.
He hurried down another flight. As he reached the bottom, two Orcs stepped out from a doorway and challenged him.
"You there, stop!" snarled the larger of the two. "What's yer name?"
"You don't need to know his name," replied Gandalf, his voice soothing, almost hypnotic.
The larger Orc turned to the smaller one.
"We don't need to know his name."
"He's not the prisoner you are looking for," continued Gandalf in the same mesmerizing tone.
"He isn't the prisoner we're looking for," the Orc repeated obediently to his companion.
"He can go about his business."
"You can go about your business," said the Orc.
"Move along."
"Move along."
The Orc gestured dismissal and Gandalf casually sauntered off.
"Neat trick, that," he murmured. "Useful and amusing. Hope it never goes out of style. But why should it? Millennia from now, doubtless folk will still find it handy."
Keeping his head low and his body hunched, Gandalf continued scuttling toward the tower door. Excited—and heedless—Orcs swarmed about. All eyes were turned toward the tower. Indeed, the guards at the entrance had abandoned their posts and hurried straight past Gandalf in order to reach the center of all the excitement. Gandalf reached the door, and, moving as fast as he could without abandoning the appearance of scuttling, he made for the breach in the wall. Once there, he pulled his staff out from under his Orc rags and held it up before the eyes of the many-headed statues. Held in the authoritative grip of a wizard, the staff caused them to yield even faster than they had before. Gandalf stepped through. Ai! Unlike Anomen, he did not at once disappear from their sight, and at last that multitude of mouths was able to give vent to its fury. A high-pitched shriek of fury and alarm arose high over Morgul Vale. Gandalf abandoned his orc-scuttle and took to his heels.
