Joee: I should have known you would want to see Aragorn torment Erestor by posing that word problem. You are incorrigible!
The essence of popsicles: Yes, Aragorn sings at those two points, and now we know how he was able to do so!
Kelly Kragen: Oh, great! both you and Joee want me to show Aragorn posing that word problem to Erestor! (Author runs away and hides.) About 'maths': it's dialectical. UK dialects of English use 'maths'. US dialects of English use 'math'. It's kind of like the way 'jumper' in a UK dialect means a pullover sweater whereas 'jumper' in a US dialect usually means a sleeveless dress worn with a blouse underneath. The versions of English have been slowly and steadily diverging. If the divergence ever becomes great enough, voila! different languages altogether. However, because of the printing press and the invention of radio, television, and etc., that won't be happening for a looooong time.
Dragonfly: Yes, I love seeing Big Bill Ferny getting his comeuppance.
Grumpy: Hmmm, I wonder if I should write a story in which Aragorn adopts the misguided notion of trying to woo Arwen by singing to her.
Beta Reader: Dragonfly, diva of Diet Dr. Pepper.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! THIS CHAPTER IS VERY SILLY AND TAKES GREAT LIBERTIES WITH THE PERSON OF GANDALF THE GREY. IF YOU PREFER YOUR WIZARD PURE AND CANONICAL, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER! (On the other hand, the chapter does not exceed PG-13, and at least one line was funny enough to cause my Beta Reader to snort Diet Dr. Pepper out her nose. Sorry, Dragonfly, couldn't resist including that detail.)
Chapter 43: Fireworks, Gandalf, Fireworks!
At about the time Aragorn and Legolas were wrestling over the matter of Aragorn's singing voice, or lack thereof, Gandalf the Grey was strolling up to the entrance of the Great Hall of King Thranduil of Mirkwood. He was well known there by now, and the guards readily admitted him to the comfort of an antechamber whilst they sent word to Gilglîr of the wizard's arrival. The Seneschal, hoping that Gandalf had news of Legolas, hastened to greet him.
"Mithrandir, mae govannen, mellon-nîn!"
"Thank you, Gilglîr. It does this old Man good to receive such an open-hearted welcome."
"Old Man? I see no old Man before me but a wizard at the peak of his powers!"
"And therefore an old Man. You needn't flatter me, Gilglîr."
"Ah, but compared to Elrond and Thranduil, you are a mere child, Mithrandir."
"Only with respect to my present form. I have not always been a Man; no, nor will I always be one."
"I have always wanted to ask you, Mithrandir, if it wouldn't be too impertinent, whether you mind being a Man."
"There are worse things than being a Man."
"True, but don't you sometimes wish that you had been given another form?"
"If you mean, do I wish I had been sent to Middle Earth as an Elf, no, I don't."
Gilglîr could not hide his surprise. It seemed to him that being a graceful and immortal Elf would be far preferable to being a clumsy and mortal Man.
"It is true," Gandalf went on, "that Elves are more powerful and agile and have keener senses. It is also true that they do not suffer from the elements as Men do. However, if I were an Elf, I could hardly go about amongst Men as I do, and my mission is more to Men than to Elves."
"So it is more convenient for you to be a Man."
"Yes."
"But if you could have chosen," began Gilglîr.
"Then I probably wouldn't be here at all," said Gandalf sharply.
Gilglîr wisely let the matter drop.
"You have come from Imladris, have you not, Mithrandir?"
"Yes, by way of Lothlórien."
"Legolas accompanied you to Imladris."
"True."
"You have news of him?"
"Yes."
"Thranduil will be glad of that."
"Perhaps," said Gandalf noncommittally.
"But you left Legolas well, did you not?" said Gilglîr, beginning to be a little worried.
"It would be more accurate to say that Legolas left me well."
Gilglîr looked alarmed.
"Then he departed Imladris before you? Was he alone?"
"No, he is accompanied by Aragorn."
"Aragorn?"
"Ah, I had forgot. You know him as Estel."
"Estel? Oh, yes, that dear little man-child."
"He may still be dear to some, but he is no longer little."
Gilglîr digested this bit of information, trying to decide if it was good news or ill.
"So," he said slowly, "Estel is a Man."
"Yes, he is of Man kind, and he is for all intents and purposes full-grown, so he is a Man in that sense, too."
"Is he a skilled warrior?" asked Gilglîr anxiously.
"An excellent fighter with both sword and bow."
"But not reckless?"
"No, not at all reckless."
"So he is not likely to lead Legolas into danger."
"I did not say that."
"Mithrandir," cried Gilglîr in frustration, "I hope you know that if Estel gets Legolas into trouble, you are going to be in a great deal of danger yourself! Thranduil will be furious."
Gandalf did not look at all disconcerted.
"My friend, Thranduil could not possibly do anything worse to me than I have already experienced during my centuries in Middle Earth. Starvation. Bone-chilling cold. Blows to the head. Broken bones. Sword thrusts. A tumble off a cliff. Warg bites. Troll breath. Goblin spittle."
"He'll, he'll, he'll—set your beard on fire, that's what he'll do," spluttered Gilglîr.
"Singed beard? Pah, that's nothing! Lost my eyebrows once, too. Particularly nasty dragon, that was."
Gilglîr had a sudden inspiration.
"I know what the King will do," he said darkly. "He holds in reserve a torment far worse than any of these."
"And what may that be?" said Gandalf carelessly.
"Edwen Nana!" proclaimed Gilglîr triumphantly.
Gandalf blanched. Seeing his reaction, Gilglîr could not help but burst into laughter.
"No, no," he hastened to reassure the wizard. "Thranduil would not do anything so dreadful as that! But mind you," he added, "if he did, it would be no more than you deserve!"
Gandalf had recovered his countenance by then and swore that he was more than a match for the elven nursemaid. Gilglîr thought otherwise but let the matter drop, and the two friends strolled off toward Thranduil's private chamber.
"Ah, Mithrandir, my friend," beamed Thranduil when Gilglîr announced the wizard. "You are very welcome here!"
"Thank you," the wizard replied. "And I am very glad to be here, very glad indeed."
"You have but recently come from Imladris, is that not so?"
"That is true."
"Whilst you were there, you must have seen much of my son."
"That is also true."
Thranduil waited expectantly for Gandalf to tell him of his son, but the wizard made no move to do so. Several minutes passed during which the Istar stood cheerfully before the fire, stretching his hands toward its warmth. At last Thranduil cleared his throat.
"Mithrandir, I don't suppose there is anything you'd like to tell me."
"Tell you? About what?"
"My son!" exclaimed Thranduil in exasperation.
"Ah, yes. Legolas, of course. He is probably well."
"Probably?"
"My dear Thranduil, as he is no longer in my company, I can no longer speak with any certainty. He was well when we parted. I can say nothing further on that score."
"Gilglîr," Thranduil said in a threatening tone, "fetch Edwen Nana here. Be sure that she brings with her the staff she has been treasuring up these many months."
"Of course," Gandalf resumed hastily, "although it is true philosophically speaking—particularly in terms of epistemology—that I can give you no certain news of your son, speaking as a practical matter, I can probably satisfy your curiosity. But you must remember that I can speak only in terms of possibilities and probabilities! What would you like to know?"
"Of his well-being and whereabouts—and in plain speech," growled Thranduil.
"As I have said, he was well when we parted, and it is both possible and probable that he is still well, as he is quite healthy and was not traveling toward exceptionally dangerous regions. Remember, however, that I cannot be cert—"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Thranduil impatiently. "These regions—what are they called?"
"He means to visit both Bree-land and the Shire."
Thranduil wrinkled his forehead. He was not particularly familiar with the lands of mortals, save for the ones closest to his own kingdom.
"Bree-land? Shire?"
"The Shire," said Gandalf. Thranduil ignored the correction.
"Mithrandir, where are these lands in relation to Imladris?"
"Not far."
"I mean in terms of direction!" cried Thranduil.
"Oh, well, if that's what you mean—to the west."
"To the west! But that would carry him further from Greenwood. Why is he not journeying east, as you have done!?"
Gilglîr decided it might be time to interject himself into the debate.
"Thranduil, we have talked about how desirable it is for a future king to familiarize himself with various lands and peoples."
"Yes—hereabouts. He ought to be well acquainted with Erebor and Esgaroth because we have dealings with the folk of those lands. But Bree-land and Shire? What are they to us?"
"Unlikely as it may seem, Thranduil," said Gandalf, "it will someday be vital that Legolas be conversant with and comfortable amongst many peoples, and not Elves alone."
"He will be King of Mirkwood, not of Bree-land and Shire," growled Thranduil. "Why should he go amongst these foreigners? Let his servants take that duty upon themselves! No, I see no reason for Legolas to set foot outside the boundaries of this land. And, truly, Mithrandir, I take it ill that you encourage his wandering when you know that I am opposed to it."
"I did nothing to encourage him, Thranduil."
"Perhaps not, but I warrant you did nothing to discourage him."
"True enough, but I am under no obligation to act as your agent with regards to your son."
The two friends were at a stalemate and glared at each other for several minutes. At last Gilglîr carefully cleared his throat.
"If you two will stop staring daggers at each other, we might proceed to the dining hall. I am sure the Cook has prepared an excellent repast."
"A most worthy plan," cried Gandalf promptly. "It has been several days since my last good meal. I trust, Thranduil, that your larders are as well stocked as usual. And your wine cellar, there is no dearth there, I hope."
Still exasperated, Thranduil shook his head, but the tension was broken. The Elf had been standing rigid, but now he relaxed his shoulders and smiled wanly at Gandalf.
"Mellon-nîn, why do you take such delight in these verbal sparring matches?"
"Keeps my wits sharp," replied the wizard.
"Ah, but have a care that someday the retort you receive does not take the form of a sword thrust! A tongue can be sharp, but our enemies prefer to wield other, deadlier weapons."
"But you are not my enemy," Gandalf pointed out.
"Have a care you do not make me one," warned Thranduil. He smiled as he spoke, but his voice carried a warning.
Gandalf regarded him gravely.
"No, I would not want you as my enemy."
"I am glad to hear you say that, as I should be sorry to number myself amongst your foes."
"Of which you already have too many," offered Gilglîr.
"All too true," conceded Gandalf.
By this time they were nearing the dining hall, and they were joined by Tathar, Tawarmaenas, and Edwen Nana.
"Mithrandir!" cried Tawarmaenas in delight. "Now we shall hear news of Legolas, is that not so!?"
Mindful that Edwen Nana was glowering at him, Gandalf hastily replied that, yes, he had news of the Prince. Thranduil and Gilglîr both smirked at his discomfort. The party proceeded into the dining hall, where Gandalf, between mouthfuls of a meal that was indeed first-rate, both for the quantity and the quality of the food, regaled his tablemates with droll accounts of the doings of Legolas, careful to minimize any details that would suggest that the young Elf had ever been in any real danger. Thranduil, however, who was nothing if not shrewd, was able to gather that his son had by no means been out for a stroll in the park.
"Soooo, Mithrandir," he said at last, "you and Legolas shared a horse for a time. Why was that?"
"Oh," said Mithrandir casually, "there were not enough horses to go around."
"But Legolas can run so lightly, I am surprised he did not simply keep pace with the horses whilst on foot. You were, after all, in the Misty Mountains, and on such broken terrain, the horses could hardly have been galloping. Indeed, Legolas could have probably gone faster afoot than on horse."
"Oh, very well, Thranduil! As you have so astutely surmised, Legolas was injured."
"But why was he not simply given a horse? Were you injured, too, so that you were in need of a mount as well?"
Mithrandir sighed resignedly.
"Aside from the indignity of an arrow through my hat, I suffered no wounds. As for Legolas, his injury was in itself not serious, but it became infected. I assure you that, once Elrond and I had tended to it, he improved steadily and was soon out of danger."
"You and Elrond tended to him?"
"Yes. I reached him first and cleaned and rebound his wound. Later Elrond came out to meet us—he had been summoned by Estel—and he carried with him a great stock of herbs and nostrums. Legolas improved quite rapidly once Elrond reached our camp and was soon altogether out of danger."
Mithrandir looked about the table as he spoke and was surprised to find Edwen Nana smiling at him. Apparently the nursemaid was touched at the thought of the wizard riding with an injured Legolas carefully held before him. Gandalf was a little taken aback to find himself in the good graces of the redoubtable elleth, but after a moment's hesitation, he sent a wan and wary smile her way.
Later that evening he was poking at the fire in his chamber when he heard a knock upon the door.
"Enter," he called. The door swung open, and there stood Edwen Nana.
"Ah," he said a trifle nervously, "to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Madam?"
"Now, Mithrandir," she said severely, "you know that it is my office to look to the comfort of all guests and to see that they have all that is needful."
"Of course, Madam. I had forgot."
"May I come in?"
"You do not have a staff anywhere about your person, do you?" asked Gandalf anxiously.
"I believe you are the only one equipped with a staff at the moment," said Edwen Nana demurely.
"Ah, in that case, do come in," said Gandalf. "And shut the door behind you," he added, a gleam suddenly kindling in his eyes.
Once inside, Edwen Nana looked disdainfully upon his attempts to mend the fire.
"Truly, Mithrandir, you are like to smother that fire rather than revive it. Let me see to it."
Gandalf meekly stood aside, and soon the elleth had the fire crackling merrily once again.
"There," she said triumphantly. "Now I will tidy up your room a bit."
"Truly, Edwen Nana, you needn't trouble yourself."
"Hmmph!" she snorted. "If I don't, soon you will be unable to walk about this room without stumbling. If you are such a powerful wizard, why cannot you command your garments to fold themselves?"
"Madam," Gandalf said with great dignity, "I do not concern myself with trifles."
"Then whatever are your powers good for, I'd like to know!? Those 'trifles', as you call them, are what make life tolerable. Warm, hearty meals. Water for bathing. Comfortable clothes. Clean shelters in good repair. No one writes poems about such as these, but take them away, and we may as well cast in our lot with the Orcs. Indeed, if it be true that Orcs and Elves share a distant kinship, then I believe it is altogether likely that an Orc is none other than an Elf ill-bred, ill-fed, ill-clad, and ill-housed."
"Madam!" exclaimed Gandalf, shocked. But as he spoke, he could not help but wonder whether there was any truth to what she said. He also had a sudden vision of what would happen were the nursemaid to be presented with an injured orcling.
"She'd probably tend to it," he mused to himself. "Bathe it, dress its wounds, feed it nourishing food. And the Valar help anyone who tried to do it harm whilst it was in her care!"
Aloud he merely said, "I do not wish to denigrate your skills, Edwen Nana, but my mission is rather important, and it prevents me from being ever mindful of more mundane matters."
"Yet if no one looked to these supposedly mundane matters, you would be incapable of performing your precious mission. Wizard though you be, an Orc would make short work of you if you were fainting from hunger."
Gandalf was forced to acknowledge the rightness of her claim. Nettled at having to yield a point, he snatched up his staff and pointed it at the fire, causing the flames to roar fiercely.
Edwen Nana scoffed at the display.
"Really, Mithrandir, is that the best you can do—causing a flame to flare briefly?"
"This chamber," Gandalf retorted indignantly, "is much too small for a proper demonstration of my powers. Were it larger, you would see some fireworks!"
"Fireworks, Mithrandir? You lack imagination. Surely you can see that this chamber is large enough for an exhibition of fireworks."
Gandalf arose to the challenge. He was still holding his staff, and now he used it to extinguish the fire, throwing the chamber into darkness. Not intimidated in the least, Edwen Nana felt about the room until she laid her hand upon Gandalf's staff, and a wrestling match ensued.
The next morning Gandalf arrived late for breakfast. This in itself was not remarkable, for Gandalf was not known for being on time (although he always insisted that a wizard was never late and never early but arrived exactly when he meant to). Oddly enough, however, Edwen Nana arrived late as well, and this was not a common event. Moreover, she was not her typically well-groomed self. Her hair was unusually disheveled. As for Gandalf's appearance, well, he was habitually disheveled, but this morning he seemed even more so, although that would have hardly seemed possible.
As the day progressed, it was noticed that both wizard and elleth seemed rather tired for individuals who had each presumably retired at a decent hour. At the end of the day, after the evening meal, Thranduil invited family and friends to his private chamber, where Gandalf and Edwen Nana, once they were settled into comfortable chairs, both promptly fell asleep.
"Uncle," said Tawarmaenas worriedly, "you don't suppose Mithrandir and Edwen Nana are ill, do you? They have both seemed rather weary today. Nana did not even notice that you spilled wine upon the tablecloth, and Mithrandir did not rise to the defense of the Lord of Imladris when you scoffed that he wears his diadem more than is needful."
Thranduil looked carefully at the two sleepers. They both looked very relaxed, hardly what one would expect if either were in discomfort. Moreover, even in their sleep, they both sported identical smiles, expressions that were a mix of silly and satisfied.
"They certainly do not appear to be unhappy or in pain," observed the King of Mirkwood.
Just then Edwen Nana stirred in her sleep and murmured something.
"Fireworks, Gandalf, fireworks," she said, her smile growing wider.
Tawarmaenas looked mystified, Thranduil horrified, and Gilglîr and Tathar edified.
"I did not know that Nana ever addressed Mithrandir by his mannish name," said Tawarmaenas, "and I did not know that he had ever put on a display of fireworks in her presence."
Tathar made a choking sound, and Gilglîr hit him between the shoulders, although perhaps rather harder than necessary.
Now Gandalf moaned a little and shifted in his chair.
"Uncle," cried Tawarmaenas, alarmed, "truly, Mithrandir is ill! He is moaning!"
Gandalf groaned.
"And groaning!"
"Mmmmmm," moaned Gandalf.
"Uncle!"
"Oooooooh," groaned Gandalf.
"UNCLE!"
Tawarmaenas was staring at Gandalf in a panic. As for Tathar, he was now bent completely double, clutching at his belly as if he, too, were in pain. Gilglîr spoke then, his voice carefully controlled.
"I think, Thranduil, that we should send these two young Elves away so that we may properly deal with, ah, whatever ails Mithrandir and Edwen Nana."
"YES," cried Gandalf, "Oh, yes!"
With that, Gilglîr seized both Tathar and Tawarmaenas by the tunics and bodily thrust them from the room, Tathar protesting all the while. Once Gilglîr had forced the younger Elves out the door and shut and locked it, he picked up the heaviest tome he could find, and, standing between the chairs of the two sleepers, he dropped this volume from shoulder height. Edwen Nana and Gandalf both startled awake.
"I was having a good dream," muttered Edwen Nana, aggrieved.
"A very good dream," agreed Gandalf, similarly aggrieved.
Thranduil finally found his voice.
"Mithrandir, I'm shocked! shocked to find that love-making is going on in here."
"Ah, that reminds me, Thranduil," interrupted Gilglîr. "The elleth who has but lately joined the seamstresses sends word that, yes, she would be glad to spend another night 'measuring' you, given the difficulty of ascertaining the exact length of the body part in question."
Elves are not much given to blushing, but it is a delightful fact that, when they well and truly do, the rosy color extends to the very tips of their pointed ears. This was now the case with Thranduil.
"Oh ho!" teased Gandalf, "you had better not round up the usual suspects, lest you be caught up in your own net!"
"But, Mithrandir," Thranduil protested, "your behavior has been undignified."
"In case it has escaped your attention," said Gandalf calmly, "I have been sent to Middle Earth in the form of a Man. The Valar are in the details, and I come fully equipped in all things."
"Do not speak to me of 'things'!" spluttered Thranduil.
"Your pardon. I intended no pun. What I meant was, the Valar sent me to Middle Earth as a Man, and how can you fault me for behaving like one?"
"Well, you could be a little more discreet," grumbled Thranduil. Suddenly he smirked. "Indeed, yes!" he continued. "You could be very much more discreet. For shame, Mithrandir, at the state of your garments! One would think you a man-child but newly introduced to leggings and still inclined to mess them upon occasion."
Nonplussed, the wizard looked down his front and was dreadfully disconcerted to discover that Thranduil was quite correct about his clothing—it was embarrassingly evident that he had 'messed' them.
Edwen Nana had been keeping uncharacteristically quiet during this entire exchange, but at last she saw scope for the exercise of her talents.
"Now don't you fret, Master Mithrandir," she reassured the mortified wizard. "I'll mend your situation. Just you let me take you in hand."
"I mean," she added hastily at a snort from Gilglîr, "I'll see to his wardrobe. Mithrandir," she continued, turning again to the Istar, "I'll have you out of your clothes in no time."
At this, both Gilglîr and Thranduil guffawed. Gandalf was now blushing as furiously as Thranduil had been earlier. He drew his robes tightly about him, and, mustering the tiny shred of dignity that still remained to him, he stomped from the room, making for his own chamber with all possible haste. Edwen Nana scurried in his wake, apologizing profusely. Whether she did 'take him in hand' is not known, but Mithrandir did appear at breakfast the next morning in new garments, not only a new robe, but also a new tunic and fresh leggings.
For the remainder of the wizard's stay in Mirkwood, Thranduil perhaps took excessive delight in periodically making a great show of asking Mithrandir whether he didn't need a change of leggings. Each time the poor wizard would involuntarily glance down his front and then raise his head scowling. Thranduil only left off tormenting the Istar when Gilglîr warned him that the wizard looked as if he could barely restrain himself from setting the King's leggings on fire.
"Very well," said Thranduil. "I'll let the matter drop. I suppose I've properly paid him back for all the worry he has caused me on account of my son."
"Indeed, you have, Thranduil—more than paid him back!"
It must be noted that from this time on, whenever Legolas absented himself from Mirkwood, Gandalf did dispatch regular messages to Thranduil apprising him of his son's health and well-being. Of course, there was one time when Gandalf abandoned this practice. That would be the occasion when Legolas, Gandalf, and seven others journeyed far to the south. However, no doubt Gandalf could be excused for this lapse, as his own health and well-being during this time were hardly assured. In any event, so relieved was Thranduil when his son at last returned from this quest, that he never spoke a word of rebuke to the wizard. It was, however, noted that on that occasion the King presented Gandalf with two score pairs of snow-white leggings, a gift that seemed equally amusing to both the giver and the receiver. Whether this gift be coincidental or not, I leave you to judge.