Karri: Not only will Elrond be unhappy with the Rohirrim, in a future chapter he is going to have an opportunity to express his unhappiness.

Terreis: Ah hah! You spotted the line about Gandalf's beard, didn't you? Yes, you are right. That line is taken from the Fellowship of the Ring, movie verse.

Joee: I am so pleased that you and the others spotted the Jedi mind trick. You mentioned it, and so did Karri, Chrys, and Nathalia Potter. Yes, there was also a part of me that wished Anomen would climb the stairs. The minute Gandalf warned Anomen not to climb the stairs, I said to myself, 'Oh, but now he must!' Unfortunately, I have let the opportunity pass, as it would not permit some other events to occur that I already had in mind. I'm beginning to rethink my decision, however, as I have some ideas as to how I could get them in and out of the spiders' lair and back on the path to the Plains of Rohan.

Legosgurl: What have you done to offend the God of Technology? That deity seems to be throwing power surges at your computer on an almost daily basis! I think you had better sacrifice some discs to it to placate its wrath!

Chrys: Yep, Gandalf is actually the great-great-great-great-great, etc., grandfather of Obi-wan-Kenobe.

Nathalia Potter: Yes, I'm a real fan of the original three Star Wars movies. I wish that Lucas had stopped there. I haven't particularly liked either of the two 'prequels' that have come out so far, and I don't have much hope for the third.

Beta Reader: Dragonfly.

Chapter 7: When the Bough Breaks

A few yards beyond the shrieking statues, Gandalf reached the spot where Anomen was hiding, and the wizard dove rather ungracefully behind the blocks to join the elfling. Anomen nearly added his shrieks to those of the statues when this ungainly 'Orc' came catapulting over the slab of rock behind which he sheltered, but Gandalf clapped a hand over his mouth. "Quick," he gasped. "Give me the hat." He yanked it off Anomen's head and then threw it several feet up the stairs: high enough so it would appear that it had been dropped by someone ascending the steps, not so high that the Orcs would miss seeing it as they emerged from their warren to search for the fugitives, as they would surely do within minutes. That done, Gandalf seized hold of Anomen's wrist—fortunately not the injured one—and pulled him across the road and into the scrub on the other side. The wizard knew several ways in and out of the environs of Mordor and had no intention of keeping to a well-traveled path when a more obscure one would do.

They abandoned the road none too soon. They heard cries and the tromping of feet, sounds which halted as the Orcs spied the hat.

"Well, that's done for 'im," announced one of the goblins. "Tryin' to escape up the stairs, 'e is. Naught but spider fodder now. Might as well get on back."

"Can't," replied another gloomily. "Cap'n wants 'im found. Says either e's to amuse 'im or we is."

This led to a considerable amount of uneasy grumbling, but the Orcs were caught between a dragon and a cave-troll, as the saying goes. If they retreated, they would have to face their Captain. If they went forward, on the other hand, they would have to brave spiders that would have made Mirkwood arachnids look like the famously harmless daddy-long-legs (which are not even spiders, in point of fact). The stalemate was only broken when the Captain himself issued forth to check on the progress of the pursuit. The Orcs saw him stomping toward them, brandishing a whip (the leather one tipped with metal barbs, no less), and reluctantly they began to clamber up the steps.

While the Orcs were clambering, Gandalf and Anomen were scampering. The wizard knew that eventually his ruse would be uncovered, for the Orcs would at length discover that no old Man was cooling his heels in the spiders' larder. As a fresh catch, he would not have been devoured immediately but would have been wrapped up in spider silk and hung from the ceiling of one of the chambers in the spiders' lair. The Orcs would send in scout after scout; eventually enough Orcs would have been snared by the spiders for the arachnids to look on, uninterested, as the surviving Orcs searched their nest. Then the goblins would realize that he had never come that way. They would begin to search the road, and, if their Captain was clever enough—Gandalf feared that he was—scouts would also be dispatched to scour the countryside. Gandalf meant for the two of them to be far away when at last the Orcs realized the truth of the matter.

At first they kept up a good pace. Gandalf was relatively 'fresh', for he had had plenty of rest—enforced rest, of course, but rejuvenating nevertheless. At first, as the wizard dragged Anomen along, the elfling made shift to keep up, but in the previous weeks he had trudged a considerable distance, and that very day he had both ascended and descended the tower of Cirith Ungol—and not by the stairs. At length he stumbled and then cried out as Gandalf seized his bad arm in order to steady him. At once Gandalf halted their headlong flight.

"My poor lad! You are hurt!"

"A trifling little injury," said Anomen evasively. "It is nothing."

"You must let me see," Gandalf insisted. Gently he pushed back Anomen's sleeve until he saw the reddened skin around the birthmark.

"Oh ho," said Gandalf softly, "I think I now understand how you found me. You must have suffered dreadfully, and all on account of my carelessness!"

"So my sore arm was telling me something about you," Anomen marveled. "But how could that be?"

Gandalf considered for a moment. How much should he tell the elfling? Not much, he decided. He himself was not sure of the significance of the shared birthmark.

"The number nine is very important to wizards," he told Anomen.

"Why is that?"

"Because it is three squared, and the number three is very important to wizards."

"But why is that?"

"Because there are three angles in a triangle, and triangles are very important to wizards."

"Why?"

"Because I say so!" harrumphed Gandalf. "Oh, hang it all—I don't know why three is so important, but haven't you noticed that 'trouble comes in three's' and 'three's company' and, and, 'three little kittens' and 'three blind mice' and 'once bitten, thrice shy'?"

"That's twice shy."

"What?"

"Once bitten, twice shy. And it's not 'three's company'. The saying is, 'Two's company, three's a crowd'."

"Well, well, well," blustered the wizard, "I am older than you and I deal with larger sums, is all."

Anomen looked dubious.

"You will just have to trust me," Gandalf said beseechingly.

Anomen sighed.

"That's what grown-ups always say," he murmured sadly.

"Anomen," said Gandalf gently. "Have I ever given you reason not to trust me? 'Tis true I do not always tell you the whole truth, but have I ever told you a falsehood?"

Anomen considered and at last shook his head.

"No, you have never lied to me—except," he added astutely, "just now."

"Ah, but I haven't," Gandalf said, grinning slyly. "The number nine is important to wizards. I merely neglected to specify how important. Moreover, I left out the fact that all numbers are important to wizards. There now," he concluded triumphantly.

"Mithrandir, may I ask you something?"

"I suppose so," said Gandalf slowly, fearful of what the elfling might say next.

"You are always so confusing in your speech. If I were to study your genealogy, would I find that you and the Lady Galadriel share a distant ancestor?"

Unaccountably—to Anomen, that is—Gandalf began to laugh heartily, guffaws arising from deep in his belly, which shook so much that he placed both hands upon it as if to quiet himself. At last he grew calmer and brushed tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I must get a hold of myself," he gasped, "lest my laughter bring Orcs down upon us. Come, let me have your pack. Then let us go forward, although at a slower pace, for I see you have little strength to spare."

Gandalf took Anomen's rucksack and shrugged it over his own shoulders, turning his back as he did so that Anomen would not see him wince when the strap scraped his own injury. Then he carefully helped Anomen to his feet, and, this time holding his arm to support him rather than to drag him along, he encouraged the elfling on.

They walked through the night. As dawn neared, Anomen's belly gave a mighty rumble.

"Aren't you the one for suffering," exclaimed Gandalf. "First you don't mention that you are weak and weary; then you omit telling me that you are hungry. Really, you must be more forthcoming if you hope to survive this trek."

He released Anomen's arm, and the elfling sank to the ground.

"Hmmm," mused Gandalf, "I wish I had thought to bring away my dinner with me. Even now the rats feast upon it—well, 'feast' is perhaps not the right word, as even rats are reluctant to dine upon Orc provender. The very cockroaches turn their noses up at it."

"Cockroaches have noses?" Anomen said earnestly.

"And your genealogy," said Gandalf dryly, "probably at some point merges with Haldir's."

"Why do you say that?"

"Never mind!" smiled Gandalf, shaking his head at the naiveté of the young one. "Time enough for you to learn irony, I suppose."

"Irony? Am I to learn to work metal like, like—a Dwarf?"

"No! no! no! But enough talk. What are you to eat, that's what I want to know!"

"Some of the provisions in the pack."

"What?"

"The pack. There are provisions in it."

Gandalf stared at him for a second and then remembered that he bore Anomen's rucksack on his back.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said, shrugging that article off his back and opening it. "Ah, several strips of smoked meat and a goodly amount of bread. That's dry, but better stale than moldy, I always say."

Gandalf handed Anomen a strip of meat. The elfling tore off a bit and handed it back.

"Anomen, you must eat more than such a tiny mouthful."

"But the food must last us for several days. And you must eat as well."

"Nonsense! I'm a tough old bird. I can live on nothing but air for days at a time."

"You don't want to lie to me!" Anomen said with pretend severity. "But, truly, Mithrandir," he continued, putting on his most innocent smile and opening his blue eyes very wide, "if you fall ill, what shall happen to me? You need to keep up your strength on my account, even if not your own."

Gandalf nodded.

"Very well," he said with mock gravity. "I will join you in your repast."

Each solemnly chewed and swallowed a bit of the tough meat. Then Gandalf decreed that they should sleep for several hours.

While the two fugitives rested, far away to the north, others were stirring. The Orcs who had been sent north by Saruman had been promised extravagant rewards should they be the ones to capture the golden-haired elfling.

"Three meals a day, and fresh meat at every one of them," Saruman had told them. "And, as a special treat, you may dine upon the elfling when I have finished with him."

This was, of course, a lie, for Saruman meant to murder the Orcs and keep the elfling for himself. His servants did not know this, however, so Saruman's words had the desired effect. They hurried north as fast as they could scuttle, and they intended to let nothing stand in their way. They were resolved to cut through anyone—Dwarf, Man, or Elf—who might stand between them and their prize. Fortunately, the Dunlendings were very practiced at fleeing or hiding from foes, so thus far no innocent blood had been shed, but now the Orcs were drawing near to the Elves under Taurmeldir's command who were traveling southward. And, of course, trailing just behind the elven warriors was a small band of three elflings in complete ignorance of the approaching peril.

As Haldir found himself still alive after spending several days with the twins, he was beginning to let down his guard just a little.

'This excursion has not been so very dreadful', he said to himself, 'although a bit of fresh meat would be nice. The smoked meat in our packs is tough and not very flavorful'.

In point of fact, Elrohir and Elladan had been thinking along similar lines, and now Elrohir was about to propose a solution.

"Taurmeldir's scouts have been hunting along the way; they haven't wanted for venison," he observed. "And of course they have lit campfires every night in order to cook their winnings."

"True," said Haldir gloomily, "and we could bring down small game with our bows, but it wouldn't do us any good, because we can't light any fires."

"But I think it would be bad if we continued to eat naught but smoked meat," opined Elladan. "We will fall ill, I am sure, from subsisting on such a poor diet."

"Ah," said Haldir hopefully, "I suppose that means we must return to Imladris."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," said Elrohir cheerfully. "As we dare not prepare fresh meat, we must find some other way of acquiring cooked dishes."

Haldir looked at him, puzzled. Either one cooked one's meat or one didn't. What other way was there?

"Yes," agreed Elladan. "We must contrive to lay our hands on well-dressed venison grilled to a nicety."

"I suppose," said Haldir sourly, "that such a dish grows on trees, ripe for the picking."

"Haldir is being ironic," said Elladan, feigning surprise.

"No," said Elrohir, wrinkling his brow in mock thoughtfulness. "I would say he is being sarcastic."

"Well, ironic or sarcastic, he has hit the mark."

"Oh, you are Galadriel's grandsons," huffed Haldir. "You speak just about as clearly as she does!"

"That's Lady Galadriel to you," retorted Elrohir, but he and Elladan nonetheless pretended to take his words as a compliment, bowing in exaggerated fashion. Haldir took no notice and went on.

"What do you mean, I 'hit the mark'?" he demanded.

"We-ell," said Elrohir, "when Taurmeldir's scouts finish eating, often there is food left over. They put it in bags and hang it from trees so the foxes and the wolves don't meddle with it."

"And you are proposing?" snapped Haldir.

"You are a Lothlórien Elf, and Lórien Elves live in trees," observed Elladan. "It should be an easy enough matter for you to find your way into one of those trees in order to snag a bag of savory, cooked venison. Mmmm, I can already taste it! What a feast you shall provide us!"

"And when the bag is missed?" demanded Haldir.

"Oh," said Elrohir cheerfully, "the theft shall be put upon raccoons."

"I hope," said Haldir gloomily, "that I am not mistaken for a raccoon whilst in the trees. I have no mind to be riddled with arrows."

"No one would waste an arrow on a raccoon," Elladan assured him. "Someone might fling a chunk of wood in your direction, is all."

"Oh, wonderful," snorted Haldir.

"Why, Haldir," grinned Elladan, "more irony!"

"Sarcasm," pronounced Elrohir, eyes dancing with mischief.

"I'll give you sarcasm," growled Haldir, but as he spoke he suddenly realized that there was a good chance that he would be discovered—and that would put an end to their little expedition.

"Very well," he said, "I will do it. But do not blame me for the outcome!" he added with unexpected cheerfulness.

Elrohir and Elladan looked suddenly suspicious, but it was too late: Haldir had already leapt to his feet and was stealing toward Taurmeldir's camp.

When Haldir, followed by Elrohir and Elladan, arrived near the edge of the camp, he quickly located one of the trees that the Elves were using as a food cache. Quickly he climbed up to limb from which the sack dangled and he began to inch along it toward his prize. Just then, shouts broke out.

"Haldir's been spotted," hissed Elladan. "Quick! Up into a tree."

The twins chose a tree of their own and quickly scrambled into it. But from this new vantage point, what they saw astonished them. Orcs were pouring into the camp, fierce Orcs, reckless Orcs, and they were overwhelming the small force of lightly-armed Elves, which was, after all, a search party and not a war party. "Retreat," Taurmeldir shouted above the din. "Retreat!"

Vaulting onto their horses, Taurmeldir's scouts galloped underneath the hiding places of Haldir and twins and headed north. The elflings were too bewildered to cry out to their kinsfolk, and before the elflings could descend and attempt to follow them, the Orcs began to march by in pursuit. The elflings stared at each other in consternation. They had ended up on the wrong side, with Orcs standing between them and their home!

Matters were about to get worse, however—much worse. They were, of course, in Dunland, and not all the trees in that land were on good terms with the Elves. In fact, quiet a few had malicious hearts. Just as the last Orc was passing underneath Haldir's tree, the nasty shrub decided to jettison the branch upon which Haldir crouched. Crack! The bough snapped, and Haldir plummeted to the ground. The Orc turned and saw—

"An elfling what's got golden-hair!" he bellowed.

The goblin reached out a long arm and snagged Haldir. Horrified, Elladan and Elrohir at once abandoned their own perch, leaping onto the Orc and knocking him over. Then each twin grabbed one of Haldir's arms, and between the two of them they pulled the befuddled elfling to his feet. The other Orcs had turned at their comrade's shout, and now the entire band was running full tilt back toward the elflings. Their home was to the north, but they had no choice. With Haldir still supported by the twins, the three began to stumble toward the south, with two score of Orcs in pursuit. Unaware of what had just transpired, Taurmeldir and his Elves, however, continued retreating north. They intended to alert Elrond as to the presence of a large band of Orcs. As they hastened toward Rivendell, it is a pity that they did not study the ground at their feet. If they had, they would have discovered signs that three elflings had been following them south. Ai! As they retreated, those traces were soon overlaid by their own prints. Onward the scouts rode to the north, and onward the elflings ran to the south.