Folks, as Kelly Kragen and Joee have pointed out, Estel needs his hair for his encounter with Edwen Nana, so I have made the necessary changes to give him his locks back. Joee, I already owe you a story (no, I have not forgotten). Kelly Kragen, I owe you one, too—but you will have to take a number and stand in line!
AzureDragoness and Kelly Kragen: Thank you both for your kind words. I hope each of you enjoys this update.
Kitsune: Yes, it does seem to be a recurrent theme.
Jebb: Yes, this time absolutely bald. Not merely trimmed, but completely hairless. And yes, I promise you that I shall indeed keep my eyes open for more tales involving Edwen Nana. I am sure she must be featured from time to time in the chronicles, for she is very important in Legolas' life.
Lyn: Oh, dear, there is going to be more loss of hair in this chapter. However, you may find it more acceptable because it comes about for a very good reason.
Farflung: Yes, they should think more about the consequences of their actions; on the other hand, it's a lot more fun when they don't! Hmm, I like the idea of Elrohir falling in love for real with an Elf maiden and then having Erestor and the others dangle the skeletons over his head.
Athena Diagon Cat: Now! Now! Don't be too hard on the young Men of Lake-town. They had a tacit understanding with the young Elves of Mirkwood that they could snip off the braids of any Elf they caught. It isn't their fault that they didn't know that Erestor wasn't in on this game!
Joee: Yes, there goes their hair again. Will they never learn? (Hope not; life would be a lot less interesting for me if I didn't have their adventures and misadventures to write about.)
Gilraen: About the sword and the sheath—wish Elrohir were here to explain 'things', but here goes: The word 'vagina' is Latin for sheath, so enterprising (or just plain silly) writers have for centuries enjoyed writing puns about men inserting swords in sheaths. When a warrior 'puts up his sword', he replaces it a sheath, but of course there are other long, narrow, pointy objects that warriors can 'put up'. O.K. I'm blushing now. Serves me right for using those puns in the first place.
Dragonfly: Yes, it's kind of hard to wrap one's mind around a bald Haldir.
Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against the lids until he saw stars. When he cautiously opened his eyes, the scene had not changed. Lined up in front of him were creatures who would not have been recognizable as Elves were it not for their pointed ears.
"And you did this why?" he asked faintly.
"We owed it to Erestor," said Legolas.
Thranduil considered asking Legolas to explain why he thought the young Elves had owed Erestor their hair, but he decided against it.
"I probably do not want to know," he said to himself. Instead, he ordered Legolas, Tawarmaenas, and their Greenwood compatriots to the lading dock for the next fortnight. As for the Rivendell Elves, Lord Elrond ordered them to the stables—"and not to ride but to clean the stalls!"—and acting in the place of Celeborn and Galadriel, the Lord of Imladris assigned the Lórien brothers to skivvy duty in Thranduil's kitchens.
After the young Elves had obediently trooped off to their respective assignments, Elrond reassured Thranduil that this sort of thing was to be expected.
"Thranduil, I cannot even begin to recount the number of times that Legolas has lost his hair in whole or in part. It has been cut off and burnt off, as well as dyed every color imaginable. Fortunately, hair does grow back. If you would assign me a guide familiar with the best spots to gather medicinal plants, I shall collect some roots that may be used to prepare an ointment that encourages the quick regrowth of hair."
"Thank you, Elrond. I would be very grateful if you would do so. I myself will conduct you through the forest. I think 'twould do me good to be free of the Great Hall for one day. Gilglîr will be able to manage, I am sure."
Elrond agreed to shortly meet Thranduil at the entrance to the Great Hall, and he went to Glorfindel's chamber to tell him that he would be gone for the day.
"Glorfindel, Thranduil has of course left Gilglîr in charge, but would you mind stopping by the stables from time to time?"
"The stables? Why the stables?"
The younger members of our party have been assigned to clean the stalls each day for the next fortnight."
"Oh, and why?"
"They shaved their heads."
"Is that all?"
"Oh, probably not. I am sure there is something behind this tonsorial escapade. Erestor had his hood up the last time I spoke to him, but it seemed to me that the hair that usually frames his face was very much reduced in quantity."
"Oh ho! No wonder he has gone off to Lothlórien! And you think Elladan and Elrohir had something to do with this?"
"Yes, as well as Legolas and several other of the young ones. There were a great number of bald Elves in Thranduil's presence chamber just now."
With that, Elrond departed, and Glorfindel made his way to the stables to check on the progress of the miscreants who had been assigned to clean it. They were in fact very nearly finished, for, as Thranduil's stables were kept in very good order, there had not been much to do.
"Glorfindel," called Elrohir when he saw the balrog-slayer enter the stables, "may we do as we like as soon as we have finished here?"
Elrond had left them no other task, so Glorfindel grudgingly admitted that the young Elves would indeed be at liberty.
"But that does not mean that you may 'do as you like'," he hastened to add. "Pray show some judgment!"
"Oh, we will," Elrohir assured him. "Once Legolas and the others have completed their duties, we are going to go riding, and we will be very sure to keep to the paths that are clear of spiders. The area to the west has lately been swept by scouts and is quite safe."
"It was quite safe when the area was swept by scouts," observed Glorfindel. "Do remember that spiders have legs and are liable at any time to stroll into areas where they have not been previously known to dwell. Perhaps," Glorfindel added, "I should go along with you as an escort."
The young Elves exchanged dismayed looks.
"Oh, that won't be necessary," Elrohir said quickly.
"Estel is going with you, is he not?" said Glorfindel. "As Erestor is no longer here, it is I who should look after the lad."
"We can look after him," argued Elrohir.
"Trust him to your tender mercies?" said Glorfindel dryly. "I think not, Elrohir. Elrond would take it ill if he were to return hairless."
And so it was that after the noon meal a very lively group of young Elves sallied forth from the Great Hall and rode off into the forest of Mirkwood. A rather more subdued balrog-slayer brought up the rear, keeping a sharp eye on Estel, who trotted along on his pony with an excited expression on his face. Finally he was going to get a good look at the fabled forest. Would it be too much to hope that they would encounter a spider? He had been disappointed that during the ride into Mirkwood the only signs he had seen of these creatures were the remnants of several shredded webs which waved forlornly in the occasional breeze that found its way to the forest floor. Perhaps he would have better luck today.
The first several miles went very well, but then Estel's pony suddenly stumbled. Estel had become an excellent rider and did not even come near to being unhorsed. After all, he was the lad who had clung like a burr to Glorfindel's great stallion when he was little more than a toddler—a feat that few Elves would be able to duplicate. Still, although Estel was uninjured, it was clear that the pony had gone lame. Estel dismounted, and Glorfindel examined the pony's leg.
"We shall have to slowly lead the pony back to the stable," he said. He straightened himself and addressed Elrohir.
"See," he said teasingly, "if I hadn't come along, one of you would have been forced to return to the Great Hall.
Elrohir was indeed now glad that the balrog-slayer was with them. Estel, however, was indignant. Did Glorfindel think him a baby!?
"I can make my way back by myself!" he declared. "We are only a few miles from the Great Hall, and the paths are well marked. You can go on with the others, Glorfindel."
"Nay," said Glorfindel. "I would much rather go back with you. Besides, if I do not go back with you, what will you do when you arrive at the Hall? None of your friends will be about."
"I would tend to my pony," said Estel stoutly.
"True, but I can help you at that. I have some skill with horses, as you well know. I will be able to show you how to prepare and apply the poultice."
Estel was always eager to learn more about the care of horses, and his attitude changed in a trice.
"Oh, good," he exclaimed. "I should like that very much!"
So, Estel leading his pony and Glorfindel his horse, the two bade farewell to the rest of the company and began to slowly trudge back toward the Hall. Estel was one who recovered quickly from disappointments, and he chattered gaily to Glorfindel, who listened to him with patience and good humor. Both boy and balrog-slayer were thus happy and relaxed when suddenly pony and horse reared and pulled the reins from their hands. Both steeds dashed off, even the pony, for all he was lame. Stunned, Elf and boy looked after them as they disappeared down the path that led to the Great Hall.
"I wonder what made them do that?" Estel was beginning to say when Glorfindel urgently cried, ""Estel, into that tree! No, wait"—spiders could climb—"into that hollow log yonder!"
Estel scrambled into the opening in the log, which was too small, Glorfindel hoped, to admit a spider, and the boy squirmed about in an effort to see what had alarmed the balrog-slayer so. He was not a child prone to nightmares, but what he saw haunted his dreams for many a night.
Estel had gotten his wish, and now he wished he hadn't. Two spiders hovered above Glorfindel, fangs oozing venom. Glorfindel fended off one with his sword, the other with his knife.
If it had been any Elf other than Glorfindel, the spiders might have supped very well that day. But this was the balrog-slayer, and he was not easily daunted. He was also the one who had trained Legolas in two-handed fighting, and to Estel it seemed as if Glorfindel's hands could operate independently of one another. Thrust with the knife. Parry with the sword. It was the spiders who began to tire before Glorfindel did.
Still, in the course of the battle Glorfindel had been retreating slightly without even being aware of it, and suddenly he backed into an obstacle. When he tried to step to the side, he realized that he was fixed in place. He had retreated into a spider web, and his cloak and his hair had become ensnared in its sticky silk. Glorfindel did not panic, however. It was one of the spiders who now made a fatal mistake. Perceiving that the Elf was trapped in the web, the arachnid became overconfident and reared up, exposing its vulnerable underside. With all his strength, Glorfindel thrust at him with his sword and drove his weapon deep into the spider's belly. Mortally wounded, Glorfindel's sword embedded in its body, the spider staggered back and dragged itself off into undergrowth. As for the second spider, Glorfindel let fly his knife, which buried itself in one of its eyes. Screeching, it scuttled after his companion. Glorfindel had bested his foes, but he was now weaponless.
"Estel," Glorfindel gasped, "give me your knife. Quick!"
Estel crawled out from the hollow trunk and drew the small blade that he always carried, handing it to Glorfindel, who began to hack at the web. He could not make much headway, however, so awkward was his position. His back was to the web, and he had to reach over his shoulder with the knife to cut at it. This did not allow him to press down with very much force.
"I could try," offered Estel.
"No!" declared Glorfindel. "Do not come near! I do not want you to become trapped in this web as well."
Glorfindel stopped slashing at the web and considered. The sticky strands of spider silk were thick and strong, but Glorfindel knew that even with Estel's little blade he should eventually be able to cut through them. The problem was that, given his awkward position, he did not know whether he would have enough time. The spiders had retreated, but perhaps they would alert their fellows. Soon the forest might be swarming with spiders.
"Estel," he called, "I want you to draw near, but be sure to keep my body between you and the web."
Estel did as he was told.
"Now take the knife and cut my hair free of the web."
"Your hair?"
"Aye, and cut it as near to the scalp as you can so that you keep your hands as far away from the web as possible."
Standing on tiptoe, Estel reached around behind Glorfindel's head and began to saw away at his hair. Soon the balrog slayer's head was free. Now Glorfindel unfastened his cloak and slipped out of it, leaving it hanging in the web. Then, seizing Estel's hand, he hustled him away from that place. With no pretence of grace or dignity, they ran for the Great Hall as fast as their legs would carry them. Elrond and Thranduil had by then returned and were sharing a glass of wine in Thranduil's private chamber. Glorfindel and Estel burst in without ceremony.
"Thranduil," exclaimed the balrog-slayer, "there were at least two spiders within an easy walk of the Hall. Their web was not far off the path. And a party of young Elves, your son among them, has gone out riding!"
Thranduil's glass dropped from his hand, shattering upon the floor, and he ran from the room shouting for Gilglîr. Within minutes a force of Mirkwood Elves, Thranduil and Elrond at their head, had ridden out in pursuit of the riding party. And in the days to follow the Mirkwood Elves would relentlessly hunt out every spider nest as far west as the plain, as far east as the Long Lake, and as far south as Dol Guldur. It would be some time before Northern Mirkwood was again menaced by arachnids.
Once the rescue party had departed, Glorfindel handed Estel over to the care of Edwen Nana, who had been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to mother the lad ever since his arrival at the Great Hall. And mother him she did—but this one time Estel had no objection to being cosseted.
"Look at your hair! It wants washing," Edwen Nana exclaimed. "And a thorough combing out as well —I do believe there are burrs in the center of those knots!"
Edwen Nana ushered Estel into her chambers and, just as she had done for Legolas, she drew him a bath. Thankfully, she allowed him to undress himself and waited until he was in the water before she arrived to carry off his dirty clothes. As Estel was undressing, he discovered to his chagrin that his leggings were rather wet around the seat. So frightened he had been that this fact had earlier escaped his notice. To his relief, however, Edwen Nana tactfully forbore commenting upon this peculiar dampness. Instead, she merely brought in a set of fresh clothes that she just happened to have on hand.
"Lately I have been occupying myself with sewing a set of clothes that I believe will fit you very well. Isn't that a fortunate happenstance?"
Estel agreed that this was fortunate indeed and soon, clean, clad, and fed, he was asleep, with Edwen Nana watching over him in case he should wake during the night, which in fact he did several times—and very pleased he was to have someone in the room to rub soothing circles on his back.
"I am glad," he mumbled to himself on one of these occasions, "that I am not a warrior just yet."
Meanwhile, Thranduil and Elrond and the rest of the searchers had hunted up the young Elves and were escorting them back to the Great Hall. During the hasty return to the Hall, the young Elves were told only that there had been a spider attack and that no deaths or injuries had resulted. And so when Legolas and his friends entered the presence chamber, they were surprised to see Glorfindel there nursing a glass of wine, his long hair shorn near to the scalp.
"Glorfindel," exclaimed Legolas, "what has happened to you!?"
"I lent my hair to a spider's web—aye, and my cloak as well."
"Where is Estel!?" cried Elrohir, alarmed.
"I believe," said Glorfindel with a smile, "that by now he has probably succumbed to the kindly ministrations of Legolas' Edwen Nana."
Legolas, too, smiled for a moment, but then he insisted on hearing the whole story from beginning to end. Glorfindel told the tale with great verve, dramatically recounting each thrust and counter-thrust, and the younger Elves found his account to be quite exciting indeed. Since no one had suffered any permanent harm, they felt themselves licensed to dwell on the heroic nature of the encounter, and they were soon cheerfully discussing Glorfindel's exploits among themselves, hoping that they, too, could someday lay claim to such a deed.
As for Elrond, however, as he listened he could not prevent his hand from straying again and again to his head, as if he were reassuring himself that his hair was still attached. Indeed, Thranduil that night seemed to be suffering from the selfsame tic. And both shuddered from time to time at the thought of what might have happened had Glorfindel not ridden out that day. Had either Elf been mortal, no doubt they would have sported at least a few grey hairs by the end of the balrog-slayer's tale. However, it is only human, Dwarf, and Hobbit parents who suffer the turning of their hair.
Yet, grey hair or no, the fears that Elven parents feel are no different and no less severe than those experienced by mortals. Thranduil was even more tender than usual later that night when he went to 'tuck in' Legolas. (Neither of the two would use that term, but that was in fact what it amounted to.) Thranduil sat long by Legolas' bed, talking of this and that, reluctant to give over the sight and sound of his son.
"Glorfindel has sacrificed his hair," Legolas at last ventured.
"Ye-es," said Thranduil cautiously.
"Will he have to henceforth clean the stables with the other Rivendell Elves?"
"Glorfindel sacrificed his hair for a good cause. Can you say the same?"
"We did it so that Erestor would not feel so bad. His hair was shorn, but we thought, if we did something even worse to our own hair, his would not look so bad by comparison. Everyone would stare at us, and he would not feel conspicuous. Of course," he added ruefully, "we did not know he meant to depart the very next morning, else mayhap we would have chosen another way to express our sympathy."
"And how did Erestor's hair come to be shorn?"
"We went barrel riding, and Erestor gave chase. He was caught; we weren't."
"I think," said Thranduil, "that it is time for the barrel-riding to be brought to an end. You have had your fun; now cease tormenting the Lake-men."
"Yes, Ada. We will no longer go barrel-riding. We have hit upon a new means of amusement."
Thranduil was instantly suspicious.
"Pray tell, what form shall this new amusement take?"
"Oh," said Legolas casually, "we mean to rope and ride arachnids."
Thranduil opened his mouth to let out a roar but then caught sight of the teasing look on Legolas' face.
"You scamp," he growled, "is there no end to your tomfoolery!?"
"No," said Legolas innocently. "Do you want there to be?"
"Of course not, my son," said Thranduil gently as he leaned down and kissed Legolas upon his forehead. "All the same, I am glad that there are no windows in your room! Elrond has told me all about your many escapes."
"Actually," said Legolas, "Most times I did not really need to go out the window. There were always any number of ways that I could have escaped Elrond's Hall."
"Then why did you almost always flee out the casement?"
Legolas considered.
"It was the principle of the thing," he said slowly. "I could have gone in and out the door most days, but, well, that wasn't romantic enough for me."
Thranduil had to laugh.
"That is a notion you have gotten out of a book," he teased.
Legolas admitted that was so and laughed as well. Then he changed the subject.
"Ada," he said, a little anxious now, "how much longer will my friends be staying?"
"At least a fortnight," teased Thranduil, "for that is their term of punishment."
"Oh, I am glad!" exclaimed Legolas. "I mean," he added hastily, "I am not glad that they have penalties to serve out, but I am glad that they are staying at least that much longer. You don't suppose that the penalties could be remitted, do you? That way we could spend more time together before they must return to their own lands."
Legolas looked appealingly at his father
Thranduil shook his head.
"Oh, no, you won't get out of things so easily. This is no window you can climb through!"
Thranduil gave his son a second kiss and then, reluctantly, he arose.
"You and I both have guests to entertain tomorrow. Good-night, my son."
"Good-night, Ada."
In Lothlórien, Gandalf snorted with mirth as he gazed into Galadriel's mirror
"Are you pleased with what you see, Mithrandir?" said Galadriel softly.
"Very much so, my Lady. Thranduil appears to be surviving his initiation into parenthood—and considering that his offspring is Legolas, that's saying a lot!"
"Good. Now away with you! And do not be troubling me every few months for a glimpse of Legolas. I come to this Glade to consider matters of great import, and hairless Elves are not numbered amongst my concerns."
"When his hair grows back, then?" teased Gandalf.
"You are as much a scamp as Legolas is!" declared the Lady. "But," she added thoughtfully, "I would no more have you change than Thranduil would have Legolas do so."
She did not, however, add, "for then you should be like Saruman."
Aloud she said, "I have prepared an ointment that Erestor may rub into his scalp. Pray carry it to him."
Gandalf gratefully accepted the bowl from her and turned to leave the glade. It was then that Galadriel noticed something odd about the new grey robe that he sported.
"Mithrandir," she called, "are you aware that there is a flock of crows betwixt your shoulder blades?"
"A flock of crows, my Lady," replied Gandalf, puzzled. "How could that be? Do you speak in riddles?"
"Nay, Mithrandir, I do not. Embroidered on your back is a large number of birds—the work is very elegant I must say. Is this to signify that you are Gandalf Stormcrow, as some amongst the Rohirrim call you?"
Gandalf shook his head smiling.
"I have escaped Mirkwood with my hair, but I have not escaped altogether. Those birds would be Edwen Nana's doing."
"Legolas' foster mother?"
"Aye, and a most redoubtable lady she is! Well, well, in truth I have gotten off lightly. At least she did not try to bathe me!"
"Indeed! For that we must be grateful. Stay well, my friend."
"And you, my Lady."
With that Gandalf strode from the Glade. As for Galadriel, she waited a decent interval, and then, had anyone happened by, they would have witnessed a sight most unusual: Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, bent over double, laughing her—well, laughing very hard indeed! Perhaps Elrond was correct; perhaps the end of the Third Age did draw nigh!