Meleth-nîn—My Love
Miluidî—Kind Lady (milui—kind, loving, friendly + dî—lady, woman)
Penidhren—Thoughtful One (pen—one + idhren—thoughtful, wise, pondering)
Mellon-nîn—My friend
Thanks to the following reviewers: Lilandriel, Joee, Dragonfly, Avion Jade, K'lara7, Windwraith, CAH, and Karri. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.
Chapter 4: Fathers and Sons
Between Elrond and Nenmaethor, Anomen was the beneficiary of the finest of care. Elves heal quickly, moreover, and so, given both Anomen's natural recuperative powers and the nursing he received, it is not to be wondered at that the young Elf was soon up and about. To everyone's relief and satisfaction, then, life seemed to settle back into its former routine. The most innocent of actions, however, soon led to new complications.
Messengers were sent from Rivendell to Lothlórien, and thence to Greenwood, with fair frequency, and whenever one set out Nenmaethor was sure to give him a letter for his parents. That is how it happened that news of the warg attack came to Thranduil's kingdom. "We did not send Tirndínen to Rivendell to be devoured by wargs," worried his mother Miluidî as she anxiously studied the latest letter from her son. "I think we ought to bring him back to Greenwood straightaway!"
"Where he may be devoured by spiders," her spouse Penidhren pointed out.
"Oh, spiders," Miluidî said dismissively. "They are as nothing when compared to wargs." Now it happens that Miluidî had no firsthand knowledge of wargs, but, as do many Men, she believed in the truth of this saying: 'better the devil one knows than the devil one doesn't'.
"Meleth-nîn," Penidhren argued, "it is quite true that our son—who now wishes to be called Nenmaethor, I hope you remember—has encountered danger whilst in Imladris. Yet he may encounter no less peril in Greenwood. Moreover, you must concede that the elfling in charge of his cohort proved adept in the defense of his wards."
"Yes, the elfling! What I want to know is why no adult was on hand. Questionable supervision, if you ask me."
"Elflings cannot always remain in the company of their elders, for if they did, they should never become elders themselves. And you must agree that it speaks well of Rivendell that one so young should prove so capable. This is the very reason that we sent Nenmaethor thence, that he should become as daring and resourceful as this Elf Anomen."
"He will have plenty of opportunities to become daring and resourceful right here in Greenwood. After all, we have got spiders."
Having pooh-poohed spiders as less dangerous than wargs, this part of Miluidî's argument was not really very sensible, but a mother is not required to be sensible in the defense of her offspring. Stubborn and indefatigable will generally do. Thus, no matter the arguments offered by Penidhren for leaving Nenmaethor where he was, Miluidî would not give over arguing in favor of his return.
"Meleth-nîn," Penidhren replied one day, "our son is learning to be a healer as well as a warrior. He will be invaluable to the king."
"He'll want healing himself if he remains in that dreadful place."
"He has become good friends with the lad Anomen. It would be a shame to part them so soon."
"There are friends to be had in Greenwood as well as Imladris—and our elflings descend stairs in the proper fashion. I would not have our son associate with ruffians!"
"A son of Elrond is hardly likely to turn out a ruffian."
"Do not be so certain! I have heard dreadful tales about that Elrohir. Perhaps this Anomen will be just like him."
"Judging from our son's letters, the lad does not resemble Elrohir in the slightest. Anomen seems a very thoughtful young Elf, and no one has ever accused Elrohir of that!"
"Thoughtful, you call it. Like as not Nenmaethor has mistaken a secretive disposition for an introspective one!"
Worn out by the interminable appeals of his spouse, Penidhren at last was forced to offer a compromise.
"I will travel to Imladris and see how our son is getting on. If his life or his prospects are indeed in peril, I swear to you that I shall bring him back with me when I return to Greenwood."
To Penidhren's dismay—although not, perhaps, to his surprise—his wife's words lost none of their urgency. "You must depart immediately," she exclaimed.
"I must first ask Thranduil's leave," Penidhren reminded her. For he was, in fact, one of the King's counselors—a lesser one, to be sure, but still obligated to seek the King's blessing before absenting himself from the kingdom. As soon as he might, he went to Thranduil's Presence Chamber and waited patiently whilst the King listened to the appeals and entreaties of his subjects. At last Thranduil had adjudicated all cases and sank back into his seat with a sigh. With a respectful demeanor, Penidhren drew near.
"My Lord."
Thranduil forced himself to raise his head. "Yes, Penidhren?" he murmured apathetically.
"My Lord, my wife is concerned about the safety of our son, who has journeyed to Imladris to receive weapons-training at the hands of Glorfindel. She desires that I should travel to Imladris to check on his welfare, and I would beg leave for this journey."
Apathetic no longer, Thranduil had winced at the word 'son', and his seneschal, Gilglîr, who stood nearby, watched anxiously, fearing that the King would react badly at a request that must remind him of his own lost child. "Your son?" the monarch said softly. "I did not know that you had a son."
Penidhren swallowed uneasily. It is true that he had never informed Thranduil of Nenmaethor's birth. In former years, it had been customary for courtiers to bring newborn infants into the King's presence, there to receive his blessing and a gift at his hand. This ceremony had been abandoned, however, soon after the disappearance and presumed death of the Prince. Now courtiers were careful to keep their offspring out of the way of the King. So successful were they that one would hardly know that any elflings dwelt within the Great Hall. The younglings were lodged and educated in quarters as far removed from Thranduil's as possible, and they were led in and out of the Hall via corridors that the King never trod.
Gilglîr stepped forward. "I believe, my Lord, that Penidhren's son was born when you were preoccupied by trade negotiations with the Dwarves of Erebor. Doubtless he did not want to distract you with news of a domestic nature."
"So thoughtful a counselor," Thranduil said sardonically. The King knew well enough why he never heard tell of any births within the Great Hall. He waved his hand languidly in a gesture of permission. "You have my leave, Penidhren. See to the safety of your son. As a father ought to," he added bitterly. Then he arose and strode from the room without another word.
"I am sorry," Penidhren said to Gilglîr remorsefully. The seneschal shook his head and clapped the other counselor upon the shoulder reassuringly.
"It is not your fault, Penidhren. Thranduil lives in a hell of his own devising, and he alone possesses the key to its door. Now go and prepare for your journey."
Whilst this conversation was taking place, far away in Rivendell the matter of sons and fathers was also a topic of interest. Nenmaethor had completed his archery exercises and was standing beside Elrond, who had come out to the training field at the request of Glorfindel, who wished to apprise him of the progress of his students.
As Elf and elfling watched, Glorfindel strode over to Anomen's position. Although Anomen mentored a cohort of younger elflings, he was still a pupil himself, and the balrog-slayer began to critique his performance. To Nenmaethor, Glorfindel seemed to treat Anomen with great strictness, much more so than the other elflings. Absent-mindedly, forgetting that Elrond stood by his side, Nenmaethor spoke his thoughts aloud.
"Glorfindel is ever so hard upon Anomen. He does not allow Anomen to overlook even the slightest mistake."
"Of course," Nenmaethor added hastily, becoming aware of Elrond's eye upon him, "that is only natural. I am sure Lord Glorfindel must be at pains not to show favoritism."
Elrond gave the elfling a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised slightly higher than the other. He supposed Nenmaethor might mean that Glorfindel could not be seen to treat one of Elrond's sons any differently than any of his other pupils. But that would make sense only if Glorfindel treated Elrohir and Elladan as strictly as he treated Anomen. But he did not. Surely Nenmaethor was acquainted with that fact, for the twins had lately returned from their visit to Lothlórien and the Greenwood elfling had had an opportunity to see that Glorfindel demanded more of Anomen than of either of Elrond's birth sons.
Elrond of course had long understood why Glorfindel demanded more of Anomen. Given the young Elf's skill with bow and knife, the balrog-slayer had greater expectations of him. Nenmaethor could not know that, however. Suddenly a smile quirked the corners of Elrond's mouth. 'I wonder', he thought to himself, 'what notion Nenmaethor has taken into his head about the relationship between Glorfindel and Anomen. Is it possible that he thinks Glorfindel is Anomen's father?" This was an amusing thought, and Elrond knew that he must twit Glorfindel about it at the earliest opportunity. After dinner, as the two friends stood upon a terrace enjoying the night's meteor shower, Elrond commenced.
"Glorfindel," the elf-lord asked gravely, "do you not wish that your weapon were sheathed more often?"
"Oh, yes, very much so. It is a great pleasure to sheath one's weapon."
"A great pleasure."
"Yes, an exceedingly great pleasure."
"And you never fail to avail yourself of an opportunity to so situate your weapon."
"Of course not, Elrond. Why ever would I?"
"Yet you are always willing to perform when called upon to do so."
"I should hope I would be!"
"It is not everyone who can hold himself erect after being called upon to perform repeatedly on so many occasions."
Glorfindel looked suspiciously upon his friend.
"Elrond, we are talking about swords, are we not."
"After a fashion, yes."
"After a fashion?"
"Glorfindel," smiled Elrond, "I will speak in metaphors no longer. There comes a time in an elfling's life when he realizes that, biologically speaking, it is not in fact necessary to be espoused in order to sire offspring."
"And your point is?"
"I very much suspect that your exploits off the field have become an object of speculation to at least one elfling," smiled Elrond.
"Oh ho!" chortled Glorfindel. "Truly?"
"I think so, and I also think that said elfling believes you to be the father of at least one youngling."
"Really? And of whom am I the progenitor?"
"Anomen."
"Anomen?"
Elrond waited expectantly for Glorfindel to laugh. Instead, the balrog-slayer became silent and grave.
"You do not find this amusing?" Elrond asked, surprised.
"No, I do not."
"Then I will say no more about the matter." Elrond at once turned the conversation in another direction entirely. "Ah," he observed, "that meteor has left an exceptionally long trail."
Later that evening, as Elrond lay drifting into elven dreams, he allowed himself to wonder about Glorfindel's reaction. "I suppose," he mused, "that Glorfindel may feel that speculations about his venereal deeds will detract from his dignity and authority. But, no, that can't be it at all! He was amused until he learned that Anomen was the elfling presumed to be his son." Still perplexed, Elrond at last fell asleep.
Several weeks later, Penidhren rode through the gates of Rivendell. Glorfindel and Elrond both being outside the Hall, he was greeted by Erestor. "The father of Nenmaethor," enthused Erestor, smiling. "I superintend the lad's education when he is not otherwise occupied by the Lords Elrond and Glorfindel. He is a delightful pupil—delightful! Why, he memorized the Silmarilion faster than any elfling I have ever taught, and the Silmarilion, I am sure you must know, is a very long tale!"
Penidhren hid a smile. Nenmaethor had had much to say in his letters about the lessons that he had to endure with Erestor. "I thank you for the care you have taken with my son," he said politely. "I am sure that you have been very thorough."
Erestor beamed. As everyone in Imladris knew, he prided himself on his 'thoroughness'.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Erestor summoned Figwit and bade him go to the garden and inform Elrond that a guest had arrived. Elrond quickly came into the Hall and welcomed Penidhren to Imladris. "I shall have a room prepared for you at once," the elf-lord declared. "And you must be anxious to bathe and change. Figwit, please take our guest to a bathing room where he will find ample hot water."
"If you please," Penidhren said politely, "I am very anxious to see my son. I shall be glad to delay my bath until after I have done so."
"Of course," agreed Elrond. "I myself shall escort you to the training fields, for no doubt that is where Nenmaethor will be at that time of day." Elrond was correct. At one of the training fields they found Nenmaethor in the middle of his archery exercises. Penidhren was careful not to draw attention to himself until his son had shot off all his arrows—with great accuracy, the Greenwood Elf proudly noticed—but then he stepped forward and waved, catching Nenmaethor's eye. "Anomen," said the young Elf excitedly, "my father is here. May I have leave to go to him?" Anomen gladly gave permission for his friend to leave the firing line, albeit with a bit of wistfulness. 'Would that I had a father who would journey from Greenwood to check on my progress', he thought to himself as Nenmaethor walked swiftly toward his father.
Penidhren greeted his son affectionately, with both hugs and kisses, and listened patiently as Nenmaethor rattled on cheerfully about all the events that had taken place since his last letter. Anomen of course figured in many of his tales, and Nenmaethor soon pointed him out. "Yonder is Anomen," he said, pointing to where his friend now stood adjusting the grip of an elfling archer.
Nenmaethor's father noticed straightaway that Anomen had golden hair, and this fact aroused the Elf's interest. Nenmaethor, mindful of his promise to Anomen, had never described his friend's appearance in his letters for fear that his parents might become curious as to Anomen's parentage. Perhaps it would have better, though, if Nenmaethor had provided something along the lines of a description. If he had, Penidhren would not have been so surprised at the sight of Anomen's golden braids, and then it is possible that his curiosity would have been the less. First, the color was exceedingly rare amongst the Elves of Imladris. Second, Penidhren had been under the impression that Anomen did hale from that place. So how did it happen, Penidhren wondered, that Anomen had hair of that hue? Who were his parents?
It was of course true that Glorfindel had golden hair, but Penidhren did not think of him straightaway. Glorfindel was famed throughout elvendom, and Penidhren had never heard tell of his having offspring. Instead, the Greenwood Elf considered whether he might have been mistaken in his belief that Anomen was an Imladris Elf. Perhaps Anomen had come from Lothlórien, where golden hair was common. Penidhren studied Anomen carefully. The Greenwood counselor had visited Lothlórien many times on behalf on King Thranduil, and he thought that he knew all the Lorien elflings. Yet Anomen did not resemble any of them. Still, the lad did remind him of someone—exactly who, however, he couldn't seem to drag forth from his memory. Nenmaethor's father wrinkled his face as he tried to recall who it was that most resembled Anomen.
After Elrond had guided Nenmaethor's father to the training field, he had gone to stand by the side of Glorfindel, who was contemplating with satisfaction how much the novice archers had improved over the past several months. Elrond placed his hand upon the balrog-slayer's arm and nodded toward Penidhren.
"Nenmaethor's father has come, mellon-nîn."
Glorfindel shifted his attention to the visitor and saw at once that he was intently studying Anomen.
"I understand from what Nenmaethor has said that his father is one of Thranduil's counselors," the balrog-slayer observed to Elrond.
"Yes," Elrond said simply. The two friends exchanged glances and as one began to walk casually in the direction of Penidhren and Nenmaethor. Soon they had drawn near enough to be able to overhear the conversation between father and son. The older Elf was trying to draw out the younger one on the subject of his friend.
"He seems an admirable young Elf," Penidhren was saying. "I am sure he has been well raised. Who are his parents?"
"He is the foster son of Lord Elrond," Nenmaethor answered evasively.
"Yes, but who raised him before he was sent here to be educated?" said the father, who thought that, as was not uncommon, Anomen might have been sent away by his parents to benefit from instruction in the household of a respected lord. After all, Nenmaethor himself had been packed off for that very reason.
"I do not know that he has ever dwelt anywhere but here," Nenmaethor answered.
Hs father was nonplussed. If Anomen was from Rivendell itself, then why would he have become a part of Elrond's household? Why could he not dwell with his parents and merely present himself upon the training field each morning to receive instruction in the bow and the sword? The Greenwood Elf stared hard at Anomen. If only he could remember the name of the Elf that Anomen resembled!
Elrond was thoroughly alarmed by now. Had Penidhren begun to suspect that Anomen had originally dwelt in Greenwood? If so, how far would his suppositions go? As one of Thranduil's advisors, Penidhren would be well-acquainted with the King's appearance. Would his thoughts tend in that direction? Even if they did not, at the very least, he was likely, upon his return to Greenwood, to let it be known that a mysterious Greenwood elfling might be residing in Rivendell. Questions would be asked. Beseechingly, Elrond looking at Glorfindel. The balrog-slayer gave an almost imperceptible nodded and went into action. He strolled directly up to Penidhren and his son. "Good day, Nenmaethor," he said. "Lord Elrond tells me that your father has come to visit. Shall I assume that this is he?"
"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," Nenmaethor replied proudly. "This is my father. His name is Penidhren, and he is counselor to King Thranduil."
"I am very glad to meet you," Glorfindel said to Penidhren, "for I have desired to tell you that you are blessed with a son who brings you great credit."
Nenmaethor's father bowed. "I thank you, Lord Glorfindel. If he does, however, I am sure that it is in part because of the excellent training he is receiving, both from you and from Anomen son of….?" Penidhren paused and looked hopefully at Glorfindel.
"Ah, yes, Anomen," Glorfindel began. "Any father would be proud to own him as a son. Truth be told, I would be glad to own him as my own, were it only possible. But," he continued, lowering his voice, "it is not always permitted to utter what one may desire to say. All sorts of—complications—might ensue." Here Glorfindel winked conspiratorially at Penidhren.
'Oh ho', thought Nenmaethor's father to himself, 'so that's the way of it! Glorfindel is the lad's father!' The Greenwood Elf smiled broadly at Glorfindel. "True, some things—some persons—are better left unacknowledged," he said, dropping his voice to a confidential whisper.
"Yes," Glorfindel whispered in return. "Let us imagine that a warrior has made enemies enough for a lifetime—for two lifetimes, even! If such a one had a son, he would not want it to be generally known, lest his child become the object of vengeance."
"Indeed, he would not!"
"I can well understand," Glorfindel said gravely, "why Thranduil would choose you as one of his counselors. You are wise and discreet." Here the balrog-slayer bowed low and took his leave, and returned to the side of Elrond, who had stood with his back to the little conclave but who had nevertheless overheard every word. "I am sorry to have had to impose open you, mellon-nîn," he said to Glorfindel regretfully as the two friends walked back toward the Hall.
"Impose upon me? Baugh! You have done no such thing. The only one imposed upon is Penidhren, and he was eager enough to jump to conclusions. Elrond, did you truly think it would trouble me to lay claim to Anomen? If it were ever to become certain that the lad has no blood-kin, then you would not long continue as his foster-father. Indeed, you would not, for I would at once make the ride to Lothlórien to petition Galadriel for the right to adopt Anomen as my son. And," the balrog-slayer added cheerfully, "she likely would have no trouble granting my petition, for I suspect that it shall soon be generally bruited about that he is my son."
"Do you not fear that you would have to race me to Caras Galadhon?" retorted Elrond teasingly.
"My horse is faster," deadpanned Glorfindel.
"Why, then," asked Elrond, suddenly growing serious, "were you so offended that night when I told you of the rumor that you had fathered Anomen?"
"I was not offended."
"You ceased laughing as soon as Anomen's name was mentioned. You did not seem at all amused!"
"True, I was not amused, but only because I was in fact moved by the notion of being Anomen's father."
"As Elrohir would say," observed Elrond ruefully, "I am a troll-brain. I should have known that you would not object to being known as Anomen's sire."
Glorfindel clapped his friend upon the shoulder. "Troll-brain, eh? I shall have to keep that epithet in mind for future use."
Later that evening, Penidhren, alone in his guest room, also gave some thought to the future. 'So Anomen is the son of Glorfindel', he mused. 'An Elf of such parentage may someday be a powerful ally for those who are his friends—and among them Nenmaethor. Yes, my son shall remain here, for it will be very much in his interest to do so'.
It was therefore a very satisfied and complacent Penidhren who set off for Greenwood a few weeks later. By this time all the members of his elven escort knew the 'secret' of Anomen's parentage, and as soon as they rode past the borders of Imladris, the matter came under general discussion. Penidhren listened to one such conversation that was taking place between the two Elves riding immediately ahead of him.
"I must say that I am relieved to know that he is Glorfindel's son. When I first set eyes upon the lad, I had the uneasy feeling that Thranduil's son had come back to life."
"Aye, or that his unhappy ghost had at last found a place to call home, as he did not have during life."
Listening to the others, Penidhren chuckled. 'That's it', he laughed to himself. 'Thranduil is the one Anomen reminded me of! How fortunate that I learned straightaway that Glorfindel is his father. Had I not, I might have embarrassed myself quite badly by blurting out some comment about the similarity in appearance between Anomen and the King. Pity, though', he added to himself, 'that the resemblance is a mere chimera, for the lad is a goodly one, and no one, not even a king, would hesitate to claim him for his own'.
Penidhren spurred his horse forward until he rode by the others. "You must be careful," he warned the Elves, "never to mention that Glorfindel's son bears a superficial resemblance to the King. Such knowledge would be hurtful to him, for it would remind him of his loss. Indeed, perhaps it would be best if, in the presence of the King, no mention whatsoever were made of the existence of this elfling."
The other Elves saw the wisdom of Penidhren's words, and thus it was that, although it became generally known throughout Greenwood that the mighty balrog-slayer had a son, news of this 'fact' was late in coming to the ears of Thranduil, and when the King did hear of it, it was under circumstances that did not arouse his suspicions. Thanks to Glorfindel, then, and a dollop of good luck, Anomen was able to continue leading his life undisturbed by inquiries from Greenwood. Meanwhile, the elders of Imladris were able to congratulate themselves on having avoided an awkward situation. For one could only imagine what unpleasantness would have ensued had Thranduil discovered that his son dwelt in Rivendell. A nightmare—that is what it would have been. A nightmare.