Thanks to the following reviewers: Joee, Legosgurl, and Karri.
Elrond stood on the balcony of his chamber. In his hand he held a small object that he studied with interest.
"What do you gaze upon so intently?" said Glorfindel, coming to stand by his side.
"A piece of bark."
"It must be a singular piece of bark, for you seem riveted by it."
In answer, Elrond handed Glorfindel the bark. The balrog-slayer looked at it and shrugged.
"A piece of bark."
"Turn it over, my friend."
Glorfindel did so.
"Runes for the letters 'G' and 'A'."
"You are very observant," said Elrond dryly.
"How came you by this?"
"A crow delivered it just now."
"And what do you make of it?
"That you have no need to go in search of Anomen, as would otherwise have been the case."
"Your reasoning?"
"Anomen followed Mithrandir, who has caught him out and will now keep the scamp by his side until he returns from Isengard."
Glorfindel nodded.
"Like as not you are correct. Well, I intend to make the most of this surprise gift of unencumbered time. I shall go dally in the garden for awhile."
Elrond raised his eyebrows.
"Dally?"
"Yes," replied Glorfindel. "Dally. Do tell the Gardener that he needn't attend to the garden today. If there is any deflowering to be done, I shall see to it."
"Be certain that you do not pluck any buds before their time, my friend," smiled Elrond.
"Of course not," Glorfindel replied airily as he strode away. "Where would be the pleasure in that?"
Elrond shook his head ruefully as the balrog-slayer vanished out the door.
"I don't wonder at his having survived a balrog," he muttered, "but his having eluded all those irate fathers all these years, now that is a true marvel."
Gandalf and Anomen were certainly not anywhere near a garden at this point, but they were enjoying their own version of dallying, although it was not one that Glorfindel would have recognized. Anomen was delighted to have Gandalf's full attention as they walked, and the youngling was peppering the wizard with questions. Gandalf, for his part, was on no portentous errand that demanded the marshalling of all his energy and wits. It was therefore with the greatest of patience and good humor that he answered each of Anomen's queries, and at great length, too. Only the approach of darkness put a stop to the exchange.
"Well, Anomen," said the wizard, "we had best stop and make camp. You go gather sticks whilst I lay out our gear."
The latter task was a simple one. Anomen had run away without gathering together any of his possessions, so there was only Gandalf's kit, which was minimal, for this trip was to have been a short one. The wizard had slept wrapped in his robe the previous night and meant to do so again, thus leaving his lone blanket to Anomen. Gandalf also was carrying only the one cup, bowl, and spoon, but he had good-naturedly been sharing them with the elfling. Anomen would drink from the cup whilst the wizard supped from the bowl, and then they would trade. So now the wizard leaned his staff against a tree and shook out the bedroll before laying it on a spot that seemed clear of roots. He then placed the bowl, cup, and spoon upon the ground next to a spot that he began to clear of leaves so that a fire might be kindled there.
As he worked, he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him.
'Ah, the lad has made quick work, to be back so soon', he said to himself. At that very moment, something very hard crashed down upon his head, and he fell forward onto his face. He was dimly aware that someone had come to stand upon his left, but also to his right, and at his head. He warily peered out through his eyelashes and found himself staring at a pair of largish boots not of elven design.
'Dunlendings', he groaned to himself.
One of the Dunlendings reached down and, gripping his cloak, pulled him to feet.
"What have we got here?" the Man snarled. "A trespasser, is it? What'll ye give us to let ye off this time?"
"You may take anything you wish," said Gandalf calmly. He prayed the Men would rob him and begone before Anomen returned to the camp. There was ill-blood between the Dunlendings and the Elves, and Gandalf did not doubt for a minute but that they would beat the lad or, worse, carry him off to sell him to the Southrons.
"Oh, we may take anything we wish, may we?" sneered the Man. "Very obliging of ye, especially considerin' ye don' have any choice in the matter." He nodded at his companions. "What we got there?"
One of the Men answered, his voice disgusted.
"Cup, bowl, 'n' spoon, but they's all wood. Camp kettle's metal, anyway. Flint'n'steel. His knife. Blanket, but made of coarse stuff. The clothes he's wearin', of course, but they don' look any finer than his blanket.
Fortunately, the Men were quite unable to see upon Gandalf's finger the Ring of Narya that Círdan had entrusted to the wizard upon his arrival at Mithlond. Just to be sure, though, Gandalf mustered all the power he could without recourse to his staff to prevent the Men from inadvertently catching sight of that most valuable of rings.
Furious at how slender their haul was, the Man gripping Gandalf's cloak raised his hand to strike the wizard, but the third Man called out, "Hold up, there. We weren't expectin' to encounter anyone this day, so any loot we gather is a gift, like. But we may be able to do even better, if we play our cards right. Those Southrons what came through yesterday said they'd pay fer any prisoners. Any prisoners! They didn't say only young and strong ones."
"But what could they do with an old Man?" growled Gandalf's captor.
"I don' know," replied the third Man. "But what does it matter? That's the Southrons' affair, not ours! As long as they pay, I care not!"
"True," agreed the Man clutching Gandalf's cloak. "Very well, let's hurry and catch up with those traders. You'd better leg it, old Man," he snarled at the wizard.
"I am sure I shall try," replied Gandalf. "May I have my staff? I could walk faster with its aid."
But to make use of the staff, the wizard would have to have his hands free, and his captor had no intention of leaving him unsecured. The Man pulled Gandalf's hands behind his back and tightly bound his wrists. Then he yanked him forward, and off they marched, leaving Gandalf's staff still resting against the tree. Everything else they took. Such was the impoverished state of Dunland that even a wooden spoon had value—but not, apparently, a staff that looked like a length of wood that anyone could pick up from the forest floor.
Their departure had not been unmarked. Anomen had finished collecting firewood, but, hearing voices, he very wisely had forborne entering the clearing. Instead, he had crept up to its edge and seen all that had transpired. He had understood at once that the Men did not realize that he was about, and he resolved that they should not. This was very brave of him because, if he had shown himself to the Men, they would have taken him prisoner, but they would have also taken pains to keep him alive. Now he was a youngling in the middle of the Wild with no blanket, no food, and no way of obtaining either. He could not even kindle a fire to keep off the wolves at night, for the thieves had taken Gandalf's flint and steel. But, whatever the risk to himself, he was resolved to stay at liberty so that he could watch for an opportunity to assist his belovéd wizard.
'First', he said to himself, 'I must summon help. I shan't go myself, for if I did, the Men would have too much of a head start. I am afoot, and I should have to walk the entire distance—and I wouldn't be able to walk very quickly, for I should be hungry and cold. No, I shall not go myself'.
Anomen hunted about for a piece of bark and the sharpest rock he could find. First he scratched the runes for 'M' and 'A' upon the bark; then he broke it into two pieces, the 'M' on one half, the 'A' on another. That finished, he called again for his bird friends. A crow soon appeared, but Anomen did not leave off calling until a second one arrived. To each Anomen gave a piece of bark. Together the two birds rose into the air and winged toward Rivendell.
That done, Anomen picked up Gandalf's staff and stole off in the direction that the Men had gone. The elfling could not know it, but while he had been deciding what to do, Gandalf had been undergoing his own internal debate.
'Did I do wrong', the Istar had worried, 'in not calling upon Anomen to come out of hiding? He has been left on his own in a dangerous place. It might be better if he were here, with these Dunlendings. It is true that the Men would wish to sell him to the Southrons, but he would be fed and protected, and he could be on the lookout for an opportunity to escape when conditions are more favorable to his survival. No! no! no! I am talking nonsense! It is better than he is at liberty. Anomen is a resourceful youngling. Why, he journeyed from Greenwood to Rivendell, quite a feat for someone of his age. Surely he shall be able to make his way back to Rivendell this second time. Yes, I am certain of it'.
Preoccupied with such thoughts, Gandalf felt no concern at all for himself, even though his situation was a fairly dire one. It is true that the Dunlendings hoped to find a buyer for him, but they were being excessively optimistic. Any Southron trader worth his salt would have taken one look at the skinny old wizard and concluded that he would be unlikely to survive the march south. Here the trader would have been mistaken, for Gandalf was far tougher than he looked. But it mattered not how strong he was in deed; all that mattered was whether a trader would deem him worth the risk of several copper coins—and Southrons were not known for throwing their money away. And if the Southrons would not pay for him, the Dunlendings, anxious to profit in any way possible, would crush his skull and strip him of his boots and clothes, then toss his body aside to fatten their pigs.
Knowing this to be the case, Gandalf was all the gladder that Anomen was not by his side.
'I should not want the lad to see me come to such an end', he thought. 'Even should he escape later, or be rescued by Elrond's folk, he would never again take joy in Middle-earth. No, he would fade, unless he could be quickly gotten to the Grey Havens—and even then I am not sure that he would survive'.
The wizard glanced anxiously over his shoulder.
"I do hope', he said to himself, 'that Anomen is making for Rivendell'.
"Here, you," snarled the wizard's captor. "No malingering. March on!"
With that, the Man gave Gandalf such a shove that the wizard stumbled and nearly fell. Catching himself, he looked straight ahead and strode on.
Shadowing Gandalf and his captors from the safety of the scrub, Anomen was all the more resolved to do something to rescue his wizard.