Farflung Mae govannen, mellon-nîn! Yes, I am going to have a grand time teaching that Tolkien class. Ah, great minds think alike: as I was writing about the cascade of shelves, I also remembered that scene in the Mummy. There is a send-up of that scene in a later installment of the Mummy, where the son knocks over a series of scaffolds in a tomb. About the book: I suspect it was naughtier in Erestor's mind than in reality. He is a typical censor, finding licentiousness where there is none. I agree with you about Gandalf's singing in the movie. I found it quite pleasant. To the discerning ear of an elf, however, it would no doubt be unsatisfactory.

Dragonfly: You're right: it was hoping for too much that the Southrons would leave behind anyone who might enable them to turn a profit. Besides, what would happen to the story if the Southrons just said 'never mind' and walked off?

Kel Yep. I see bad things arisin'.
Emma: Yes, poor Anomen, indeed! Mwah hah hah!
Joee I'm cudgeling my brain trying to figure out some way to get Legolas into Shelob's lair. So far nothing has occurred to me.
Legosgurl So you live close to Scotland. My daughter and I will be in London in August, but we won't be anywhere near Scotland. Darn.
Karri: Dire, eh? Yes, I like dire.

Beta Reader: Dragonfly

Chapter 4: Forced March

The Southrons were entering the clearing from all sides. Gandalf brandished his staff, but he was afraid to use it.

'I dare not cast a spell', he thought to himself, 'not while I am holding Anomen. It could be fatal for him to be exposed any further to my power'.

Yet putting Anomen down seemed to be out of the question. Gandalf feared that, whilst he fought off some of the Southrons, others of them might lay hold of the elfling and spirit him away.

As he hesitated, the Southrons covered the distance between themselves and Gandalf. One of them seized the wizard's staff and tossed it aside without sparing it a further glance.

"You'll be sorry if you cudgel me, grandfather," he said coolly. Then he turned to his fellows.

"Those cursed Dunlendings have brought us out on a fool's errand," he complained. "All I see here is an old Man and a sick boy."

Gandalf realized with relief that Anomen, wrapped in the blanket as he was, had not been recognized for an Elf.

The Man walked over to the Dunlendings and stared at their bodies.

"What has happened here?" he wondered aloud. "I see no wound caused by arrow or sword."

"They suffered from the same illness as afflicts this boy," Gandalf said quickly. "Quite a dreadful disease, really. If you do not want to catch it, you should hasten away."

"Oh, we'll hasten away all right," retorted the Man, "but you and he will hasten with us. I don't want to catch whatever sickness the boy has, but as you are about, you shall carry and nurse him. Generally a sick brat would be too much of a bother, but it cannot be denied that the price is right, seeing as how there is no longer any need to pay the Dunlendings for him. We may as well see if he can survive the trek south. If he doesn't, we will have lost little by it, having risked neither our money nor our lives. Now move along, old Man."

The Man gestured in a southerly direction, and Gandalf had no choice but to obey. If he disputed with the Man, he risked his discovering that Anomen was an Elf. Then the Man would be all the more set on carrying Anomen south. As in all matters economic, the rarer a commodity, the more valuable it is.

For hours Gandalf trudged south, cradling Anomen in both arms now that he had lost his staff. At last Anomen regained consciousness and began to lift his head to look about.

"Put your head down," Gandalf said softly.

"But Mithrandir," Anomen began to say.

"Whisper!" Gandalf commanded, doing so himself.

"But Mithrandir," whispered Anomen. "I am better now. You needn't carry me."

"You must pretend to be no better," said Gandalf.

"Why ever should I pretend to be ill?"

"I do not want those Southrons to draw near you. As long as they think you are ill, they will keep their distance."

"Southrons?" said Anomen, frightened now. He had known that the Haradrim were about, but to actually be in their hands was a terrifying turn of event.

"Yes. You were unconscious when they came to the clearing and took us prisoner."

Anomen lay quietly for quite some time. At last he timidly spoke up again.

"Mithrandir?"

"Yes, Anomen?"

"The Southrons are not known for their charity."

"Quite true, my lad."

"So if we are alive, it is because they think we will be of use to them."

"Also true."

"Mithrandir, if I continue ill, they may decide that I am of no value. I will be nothing but a bother to them, and, and—"

"I had thought of that," Gandalf said gently. "You must only pretend to be dreadfully ill until we are permitted to rest. Then, whilst I busy myself over you, I shall make shift to undo your braids so that your hair will cover your ears. Aye, and I will contrive to smear dirt upon your face. Then you may begin to 'recover', although do not do so too quickly, lest you arouse suspicion."

"I will be careful," promised Anomen, greatly relieved.

A little while later, the Southrons called a halt, and Gandalf did as he had promised. As the wizard fussed over the elfling, he undid his braids. "Remember, Anomen," he whispered as he rubbed dirt onto the elfling's face, "you must keep your ears covered. "If these Men realize that you are an Elf, they'll guard you ever so carefully."

Gandalf finished disguising the elfling as best he could, and a grubby Anomen, his hair hanging loose, sat up and drank a little water and nibbled on some bread. One of the Southrons, the leader apparently, nodded approvingly.

"Good. I was beginning to think that the brat would be more trouble than he was worth. He still looks somewhat feeble, though. Lucky for you, old Man, as you may continue to look after him for the time being."

"Anomen," Gandalf said urgently after the Southron strode away, "remember not to recover too quickly!"

"Oh, I won't!" Anomen declared fervently.

When the Southrons ordered them to resume marching, Gandalf decided that he would carry Anomen pick-a-back.

"They will think you strong enough to hold me about the neck, but not so strong as to be able to walk. That would be best, I think."

In that fashion they marched on until nightfall. When they made camp, the leader ordered Gandalf to go into the surrounding forest to collect branches for the fire.

"But who will look after my grandson?" Gandalf protested.

"You needn't concern yourself about him, grandfather. We'll keep him safe."

Anomen made a great show of bursting into tears.

"I want my Gran'pa," he wailed piteously. "I want my Gran'pa!"

"Oh, very well," said the Southron, disgusted. "You may have your precious Gran'pa for the time being."

It was a very good thing for Gandalf that Anomen had made such a fuss, for, while they had been marching, the Southron had been reconsidering his decision to allow him to continue to care for Anomen. The 'boy' was alert, he was able to eat, and he had strength enough to cling to the old Man's neck. Perhaps the brat had recovered sufficiently so that they might dispense with the old Man, who would probably eat food of greater value than the few coins he might bring when they arrived in Harad. Thus, if Gandalf had gone into the woods, the Southron would have sent Men after him to cut his throat. But Anomen's ploy had forced him to give over that plan.

"The brat would have made himself sick again if he had kept up his wretched crying," the Southron muttered to one of his Men. "We'd best wait a few days before we get rid of the grandfather. Then we'll crush the old Man's skull while the two of them are sleeping. After we will drag the carcass into the woods and in the morning tell the boy that the old Man has run off. He'll cry the less because there will be no one about to cry for."

The Southron was adept in his trade. This was not the first time he had done away with captives he deemed unlikely to bring a profit in the slave market. By doing so, not only did he save on the cost of feeding supernumerary prisoners, but he also forestalled ugly scenes when children were separated from their families, for the children would have already done crying by the time they were auctioned off. Too demoralized to do otherwise, the youngsters would accompany their purchasers numbly, without creating the slightest fuss. Excellent business practice, really.

A hubbub arose at the front of the column. They had arrived at a rendezvous point, a camp where other Southrons awaited with their captives. As they entered the camp, both Anomen and Gandalf saw at once that there were no elderly prisoners.

"Mithrandir," Anomen whispered, "if you see a chance to slip away unnoticed, you had better take it."

"I will," Gandalf replied, "but only because I can now be of greater use to you if I am at liberty. I shall not go far but shall carve a new staff and then lurk about waiting for an opportunity to free you."

The Southron was giving orders to one of his Men.

"See that the boy is well-fed," he commanded.

"And the old Man?"

"Oh, I don't care about him," the Southron coolly replied. "If there are leftovers, let him have them."

The leader walked off, and his Man brought a bowl of stew to Anomen. Gandalf addressed him humbly.

"May I go aside to make water?"

Knowing that his leader had no interest in this prisoner, the Man nonchalantly replied, "Do what you will, old Man."

Gandalf winked at Anomen, arose, and went into the forest.

Several hours later, the Southron leader came by to check on his captive.

"Where is the old one?" he asked casually. His Man laughed.

"He begged leave to go aside to make water a long while ago. He never returned."

The Southron looked at Anomen, who sat there stoically. "Well," the Man chortled, "it seems that the old Man was not so loving a grandfather after all. You do well not to waste tears over his loss."

With that, the Southron strolled away.

While the Southron was congratulating himself at having gotten rid of the old Man with so little fuss from the boy, Glorfindel and his scouts were coming upon the spot where the Haradrim had seized their prisoners. Taurmeldir surveyed the scene before them. "Not much left," he said tersely.

Glorfindel dismounted from his horse and knelt beside a leg bone from which a scrap of cloth trailed.

"The scavenging beasts are as starved as the folk in this place; when they happen upon a carcass, they leave little behind. Still, although the evidence be scanty, I do not believe that these bones are those of either Anomen or Mithrandir. The bones belonged to adults—that is certain. That would rule out Anomen. And these scraps of cloth, they are dirty and stained so that their true color is hard to tell, but they seem more brown than grey. That would rule out Mithrandir."

He arose and walked over to a skull. He bent down and picked it up.

"A little hair still clings to it. Brown, not grey."

He examined the two other skulls. Again, brown hair, not grey.

"Yet Anomen and Mithrandir were both here," said Taurmeldir, pointing at the tracks.

Glorfindel nodded.

"Yes, and a great many Men, more than these three."

The balrog-slayer looked closely at the ground.

"The earth is scorched hereabouts, but the only burned sticks are those in that fire ring over yonder. It is as if the soil itself caught fire."

He bent down and picked up a gnawed boot.

"Scorch marks on this boot, too. Look here: this looks very like the mark left when a Man has been struck by lightning, with the bolt exiting from the foot. Yet I do not think these Men were felled by lightning."

"Perhaps by Mithrandir's staff?"

"Aye—look here!"

Glorfindel bent down and retrieved a bit of rope that lay at the base of a tree.

"This rope has been cut. Elrond believed that Anomen was at liberty but that Mithrandir was constrained in some fashion. I would venture that this rope was used to bind our wizard, and I'll wager that it was Anomen who crept up and cut it."

"But if Anomen freed Mithrandir, why have we not encountered them? Surely once they escaped they would flee toward safety."

"I fear Mithrandir was taken a second time. This boot is of Dunland make, but those tracks leading away from the clearing were made by Southrons."

Taurmeldir looked grave. It was bad to be captured by Dunlendings but worse to be taken by Southrons.

Glorfindel searched about until he found Mithrandir's staff in the bush into which it had been cast by his captors.

"Ai! He will be able to make little use of his magic now," the balrog-slayer said somberly. He continued to search until he found one of Mithrandir's prints amongst those of the Southrons.

"Yes, it is as I feared: Mithrandir is a prisoner of the Haradrim."

"What of Anomen?"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"I see none of his prints leading away from the clearing."

"Perhaps," Taurmeldir said hopefully, "he has taken to the trees."

"Perhaps," Glorfindel said thoughtfully. "But he is very small in size. He could have been carried off. One thing is certain: wherever Mithrandir is, there will he be as well. If the young one be not a captive, then be sure that he is dogging the steps of the wizard and his captors. Anomen would not leave him! So let us follow Mithrandir's trail, knowing that by doing so we will be following Anomen's as well."

The Elves hastened onward. They did not believe the Southrons to be very far ahead, and they intended to ride as long as the light held out.

Gandalf, meanwhile, was intent upon transforming a long piece of wood into a staff. The fashioning of a staff is no trivial matter, else Gandalf would have seized the first stick he happened upon, set the camp ablaze, and fled with Anomen in the confusion that resulted. Instead, the chosen piece of wood first had to be coaxed into becoming a conduit for the power of the wizard. Lacking a knife, the wizard was scrambling about looking for a piece of stone that might serve for shaping the wood. For a long time, he found only unsuitable rocks.

"Pah," he muttered, casting aside a chunk of shale, "useless. No way to get a sharp edge out of this. Couldn't even use it as a hammerstone: it would shatter at the first blow."

The wizard kept up the search, examining and rejecting dozens of rocks. At last he found what he was looking for: a large chunk of flint.

"Oh ho!" he exclaimed. "Now here is something like!"

The Istar sat cross-legged, his cloak spread between his knees. With a piece of granite, he carefully struck off an edge from the chunk of flint, knapping the fragment until he had fashioned a passable scraper. Then he set to work stripping the chosen stick of its bark. Bent over the nascent staff, as he worked the Maia began to chant the words that would change it from a mere assemblage of woody cells into an extension of the wizard himself. Suddenly, however, he ceased both chanting and scraping. He had heard hoof beats.

"Blast," he muttered. "This staff is not altogether ready. Well, I may have to use it nonetheless."

The wizard ducked into a thicket and warily awaited the arrival of the horses. All at once it occurred to him that the horses were approaching from the north. Could these be Elrond's folk, come in search of a wayward elfling? Perhaps, but the wizard was not about to show himself until he was certain. Suddenly the hoof beats were stilled. Gandalf strained to hear or see further, but all was still.

"It is ridiculously easy to creep up on you," came a voice at his shoulder. Gandalf nearly leapt out of his robe.

"Glor-fin-del." the wizard growled.

"Yes?" the balrog-slayer replied innocently. But then he abandoned his light-hearted manner and turned to the business at hand.

"I had thought you were a prisoner and Anomen perchance a prisoner as well. Yet I find you at liberty. Is Anomen safe as well?"

Gandalf shook his head.

"Not yet. He is held in a Southron camp. I have but lately slipped away from that same camp and was devising a staff so that I might effect a rescue. But how did you know I had been taken?"

"Anomen sent a message by two crows: two matching pieces of bark, one with the rune for 'M' scratched upon it, the other marked with the rune for 'A'. Elrond took that to mean that the two of you had been separated one from the other and that you had been captured."

"Clever lad! I wonder he did not mention it to me—but then he has had a rather trying time of it so no doubt it slipped his mind. Indeed, I am surprised he remembers his own name, for he was forced to hold my staff whilst I cast a spell. Rather like being struck by lightning, don't you know—which is why, by the by, that wizards don't run about curing all the world's ills by brandishing their staffs and muttering incantations! Magic is to be wielded sparingly, if at all."

Glorfindel smiled.

"Ah, yes, your staff. You will be happy to know that we found it in a clearing near to the bones of some Dunlendings. Was that your doing?"

"Yes, that was the outcome of the spell I was speaking of just now. I was not trying to take their lives but was merely trying to be sure of getting the job done. As it happened, I used more power than was necessary."

"I hope you do not lose any sleep over it."

"No, I will not. I did the best I could in a dispute that the Dunlendings themselves precipitated. But we can talk of that matter later. Let us discuss the business at hand. I had thought I would only be able to rescue Anomen, but now that you and your warriors are here, we should be able to liberate all of the captives."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"It is not our affair, for they are Men. We have come to aid you and Anomen. That is the sole charge that was laid upon us."

"For shame, Glorfindel," scolded Gandalf. "I am no Elf. Yet Anomen put himself in peril on my behalf. He would not be in that camp had he not insisted on helping me. And Anomen is no Maia, yet I was preparing to rescue him. Let Free Folk help one another, regardless of race."

"Next you will have us rushing to the aid of Dwarves!" exclaimed Glorfindel.

"And why not?" rejoined Gandalf. "Elf helping Dwarf; Dwarf helping Elf. That would be a delightful state of affairs. Now, will you help me? That is to say, will you not help those captives? Many of them are children, by the way."

"Very well," agreed Glorfindel, his reluctance overcome at the thought of younglings, even human ones, enslaved by the Haradrim.

As Gandalf was arguing with Glorfindel, Anomen was patiently awaiting rescue in the Southron camp. He was confident that Gandalf would return for him, and he was therefore a most placid prisoner, much to the delight of his Southron captor.

"There's a good boy," he said approvingly as Anomen, ordered to eat, obligingly scraped his bowl clean. "You continue in this fashion, giving me no causing for complaint, and I promise to sell you only to a good master, one who will beat you only when necessary and not for entertainment."

Anomen supposed he was expected to be grateful, and so he thanked the Southron. Then, distractedly, he lifted his hand to his ear and scratched it. The Southron stared in disbelief.

"An Elf," he whispered, looking around hastily to make sure that no one else had seen Anomen's pointed ears. He did not want to be murdered for his prize. "Cover your ears," he ordered, his voice low and urgent. "And come with me at once. Don't make a sound!"

The Southron led Anomen into the forest.

"Now, my lad," he said once they were out of hearing of the camp, "as you are an Elf, perhaps I did wrong in not sending someone to search for your grandfather when the poor agéd Man became lost in this forest. He had a beard—that is why I behaved so. I never should have treated him so, but I had not known Elves to have beards. Howsoever, beard or no beard, he is your grandfather and therefore no ordinary mortal. And so I have done wrong. Oh, yes, I freely admit it! But I will make amends. Yes! I certainly will. Call him, my lad, and you and I will see that he is as well fed as ye have been just now."

Anomen remained silent.

"Now, my little lad," wheedled the Southron, "I know you must be angry because you think your grandpapa ran off and left you. But you shouldn't feel so! Undoubtedly he lost his way in the woods and couldn't find his way back to the camp. But if he should hear you call, he would know which way to come running. Come! there's a good lad! Let's hear you give a shout. Think how joyful your grandpapa will be to hear your voice again."

Still Anomen remained silent. The Southron tried again.

"You don't want your grandpapa to starve alone in the woods, do you, lad? No! I am sure you do not! That would be dreadful! Call him, my lad, and you will save him from that fate. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?"

Anomen said not a word. The Southron, now having used up his small stock of patience, decided to try a different tack in order to recover the suddenly valuable old 'elf'. He gripped Anomen by the shoulders so tightly that for days afterward the marks of his fingers could be seen on the elfling's skin.

"I am trying to be kind to both you and your grandfather," he snarled, "but you seem determined to try my patience. Call him, or you will pay dearly for your stubbornness."

Anomen's eyes filled with tears, but he clamped his mouth shut and made not a sound. The Southron released one of his shoulders and with his free hand clouted Anomen on the side of the head.

"Call. Him. Now." Each word was punctuated by a blow.

Gandalf stepped forth from behind a tree.

"Ah hah," crowed the Southron, "lucky for the brat, you still have some feelings for him. Now take off that ridiculous hat so that I may see your ears."

His eyes fixed upon the wizard, the Southron released his hold on Anomen, who collapsed to the ground.

"Anomen," Gandalf called in the Sindarin tongue, "close your eyes tightly and do not open them until I tell you."

"So you are an elvish wight," gloated the Southron, who could not speak elvish but recognized the sound of it.

"I am certainly no mortal," rejoined Gandalf, pointing his staff at the Man. From its end shot a dazzling light that enveloped the Southron, turning him instantaneously into a fireball that was thrown fifty feet through the air. The blazing fireball landed upon the ground and burned brightly for several more seconds before it died down, leaving behind only grey ash and a few fragments of scorched bone.

"Oops," said Gandalf cheerfully.

Glorfindel emerged from the forest and raised his eyebrows after the fashion of Elrond.

"Becoming rather fond of that maneuver, are we?" the balrog-slayer commented dryly.

"I will admit that I need to refine my technique somewhat," replied Gandalf insouciantly.

"Yes, especially as you have now deprived us of the advantage of a surprise attack."

"Oh, I think not. There are quite a few trees between us and the camp. Moreover, I hope you notice that I sent that villain flying away from the camp, in a northerly direction. You and your scouts will find the surviving Southrons quite oblivious to your presence. And now, if you will excuse me, I need to tend to my grandson."

"You are not going to join us in the attack on the camp?"

"My dear Glorfindel, how many lightening bolts do you think I pack in this spare frame of mine? No, I have done my part, and now it is your turn."

The balrog-slayer shook his head but smiled as he vanished back into the woods to issue commands to his scouts. As for Anomen, Gandalf bade him open his eyes, and the elfling at once launched himself at the wizard, throwing his arms about his waist and looking up at the Istar with a beatific smile.

"Here, now," growled the wizard, "you needn't turn that innocent, blue-eyed gaze toward me. I am proof against it, I assure you!"

But Gandalf, for all his gruffness, could not disguise the twinkle in his own eye, and Anomen, with his excellent elven vision, did not fail to notice this fact. And so, after the requisite display of sternness, the wizard returned the hug, and with interest.