Thanks to the following reviewers: Krissy Wonder, Keji, Avion Jade, AlabrithGaiamoon, Windwraith, Lilandriel, Elfinabottle, CAH, and Opalkitty. 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.

Beta Reader: Dragonfly.

Chapter 9: Pipe Weed and Pepper

Mithrandir sat on a bench smoking his pipe, but the pastime was not providing him with its usual pleasure. He tried sending smoke figure after smoke figure across the garden, but he could succeed in blowing naught but misshapen ships and deformed dragons. He was just about to give up in disgust when he heard voices nearby.

"Nomie," piped one voice, "where are you going?"

"I am going to the stable to meet Nenmaethor and the twins. Glorfindel has promised that we may ride with him as far as the Third Bridge."

"But I want you to play wit' me!"

"I shall play with you when I return, Arwen. It will still be light, for, remember, we only ride as far as the Third Bridge. I shan't be gone long."

"I don't want you to be gone at all," pouted Arwen. "Ever!" she added. Mithrandir arose and circled the bush that hid the speakers. "Well, Arwen," he said genially, "an old codger like me may not be as much fun as a lively young Elf like Anomen, but if you will let go his tunic, I will try my best to entertain you."

Arwen was indeed gripping a handful of Anomen's tunic within her little hands, and the lad was trying to gently peel away her fingers. At the sight of the wizard, Arwen did not immediately release her captive. "What will you do?" she demanded skeptically.

Mithrandir inhaled a mouthful of smoke and exhaled a pony that galloped down the path toward a rose arbor. Arwen let go at once and darted after it. "Apparently I just needed an audience," said the wizard cheerfully. He winked at Anomen. "Be off with you, lad. I shall see to your sister."

"Hannon le!" called Anomen over his shoulder as he dashed off.

For the next several hours Mithrandir filled the garden with whole cavalry of horses, as well as oliphaunts, dragons, deer, and unicorns. The latter were mythological creatures, of course, but none the less entertaining for that. By the time Anomen returned from riding, Arwen was sound asleep upon the greensward, having worn herself out in pursuit of the airy creatures. "Did you have a good ride?" asked Mithrandir as he stooped to lift Arwen.

"Oh, yes," enthused Anomen. "It was so grand to be allowed to ride past the Second Bridge. We passed a wondrous tall waterfall. The spray that arose at its base made creatures very like your smoky ones. And the glade watered by that mist, why, Mithrandir, that glade was teeming with flowers."

"Teeming, eh? I've never thought of flowers as 'teeming'."

"I know it does sound odd," admitted Anomen as he walked alongside the wizard. Unconsciously, he took hold of one of Arwen's hands where it dangled and intertwined his fingers with hers. "But 'swarming' sounds even odder, don't you think? It makes me think of insects, not flowers."

"But 'teeming'," rejoined the wizard, "makes me think of fish. Have you ever heard the phrase 'fields carpeted with flowers'? Wouldn't that do?"

"I have heard that phrase," admitted Anomen, "but, no, it wouldn't do. A carpet is not a living thing. That's why I chose 'teeming'. I felt as if the flowers were multiplying before my eyes, so alive that glade was! I should not have been surprised if the wild roses had commenced to dance around the fairy ring at its center. Perhaps that is what a fairy ring is, Mithrandir, a place where the flowers dance at night when we are not looking."

"Do you know, Anomen," said Mithrandir, smiling, "that some Men think fairy rings are where Elves come out to dance under the full moon."

"Well," replied the elfling gravely, "the part about the full moon makes sense, I guess—at least from the point of view of the humans. If they were going to dance about fairy rings at night, I suppose they'd pick a night when the glade would be well lit. Otherwise they'd be tripping over toadstools, wouldn't they?"

By then they had reached Elrond's chamber, and Mithrandir merely smiled at the lad and nodded. He was glad he was spared answering aloud, for he feared he might laugh at the young one's quaintly serious manner.

"Hullo, my friend," he called from Elrond's door, which stood open to admit a breeze on an otherwise sultry day. "I have got something of yours."

Elrond came to the door, and the wizard carefully transferred his slumbering charge to the arms of the Elf.

"She is all tired out with chasing phantasms," Mithrandir explained. "I entertained her with my smoke creatures whilst Anomen was riding. Else she would not have allowed Anomen to depart."

Elrond smiled, but it seemed to Mithrandir that the gesture was somewhat lacking. "After you have tucked in Arwen for that night," the wizard said carefully, "I shall return and share a glass of wine with you—unless, of course, you would rather be otherwise occupied."

Elrond shook his head. "You know that you are always welcome in my chambers, mellon-nîn."

Mithrandir turned to Anomen. "Well, then, I shall return after I have delivered this lad to the library. Erestor has been making indignant noises at how long Anomen has been away from that place. Something about some pages of a chronicle not having been copied properly, I believe."

Anomen grimaced but released Arwen's hand and transferred his own to the wizard's. "Do reason with him, Mithrandir," the elfling begged. "I merely skipped over a page that was dreadfully boring. It was a list of the kings and chieftains of Arnor and Gondor. I don't see why I should have to memorize such a tiresome list. What is it to me whether Arvedui begat Aranarth, or Aranarth Arvedui?"

"You have no way of knowing," rejoined the wizard, "whether such knowledge will or will not prove useful; therefore, it is the better part of wisdom never to reject such learning as is proffered you."

Anomen sighed but forbore arguing a point that he knew he would never win. Still hand and hand with the wizard, off he went.

Mithrandir returned still smiling but also still cautious. Something was troubling the elf-lord, he knew. He found Elrond standing on the balcony, glass in hand. The elf-lord gestured to a second glass that rested upon the banister.

"Well, Mithrandir, have you come to question me about my ill humor?" the Elf said wryly.

"You do seem rather more melancholy than usual."

"I have been troubled by bad dreams, my friend, and your mention of Arwen not wanting to let Anomen go reminded me of them."

"Bad dreams?"

"Nightmares. In them a certain person appears and claims to be Anomen's father and insists on taking the lad away to—another realm."

"I see why you are so troubled," said Mithrandir gravely. "There is many an Elf who would be upset were that to happen—not just Arwen!"

"Indeed, that is so."

"But such a scenario is of course merely a hypothetical one."

"True," agreed Elrond.

"Then let us talk of it no further this night."

The two friends talked lightly of other matters until the moon rose. Then Mithrandir excused himself and went to the chambers that were set aside for his use when he visited Imladris. Outside his door stood a basket in which, neatly folded, were some of his clothes newly come back from the laundry. Mithrandir picked up the basket and carried it inside. On top lay a nightdress, a garment that he wore only when visiting Rivendell. Mithrandir unfolded it and looked at it with appreciation. It was a pleasure to have the opportunity to wear such an article. Usually the wizard slept rough, under hedgerows and overhangs or in the middle of haystacks, with his cloak wrapped tightly around him. On the occasions when he sheltered in a shed or outbuilding he might sometimes strip down to his leggings and under tunic, but it was rare that he had the luxury of donning a garment expressly designed for sleeping—and clean, too!

"Doesn't take much to keep me happy," Mithrandir said cheerfully as he shed his day clothes and pulled on the nightdress. He placed his clothing to be washed in the basket and set it outside the door for the servant to collect, and then he happily crawled into the bed. He lay on his back and flung his arms and legs outward just to revel in the sensation of stretching out upon a large mattress. No curling up to squeeze beneath the scanty shelter of a bush! In this setting of comfort, the wizard was soon asleep.

He was in comfort, yet not altogether comfortable. He had told Elrond that, the case being hypothetical, they ought not to consider the notion that a certain someone would lay claim to Anomen. Yet once asleep, the wizard was unable to follow his own advice. Dream-Mithrandir found himself back in the garden. Out of sight behind a bush, he watched as a certain King of Mirkwood took a turn around the garden. Curiously, this Elf would stop every few seconds and slap at his neck. "Ow!" he would cry fretfully. "Bother these horseflies!"

Now in point of fact visitors to the garden had never suffered from the depredations of horseflies, and Mithrandir's curiosity was aroused as to why that retreat should have suddenly become infested by these malevolent creatures. He crept nearer, until he spied the actual cause of Thranduil's discomfort. Hidden behind the statue of Gil-galad knelt two small figures. In their hands were slingshots, and by their knees lay a pile of acorns.

Mithrandir slipped around behind these culprits and pounced, collaring each by the neck. "Do you want to cause a diplomatic crisis?" he hissed. "He is taking Anomen away," Elrohir hissed back, his voice as vehement as it was soft. "He's a rotten Elf, and I hate him!" Elladan said nothing, but when he looked at Mithrandir his eyes were filled with tears.

"Hate is a powerful and unpredictable emotion," Mithrandir warned. "It is dangerous to unleash it even in the face of foes who may deserve it at our hands; how much the less then should we be eager to unleash it in the face of our allies."

Both elflings looked down at their feet, although Mithrandir sensed that Elladan was the more abashed of the two. The wizard sighed. Elrohir's fierce nature would make him a great warrior someday—or it would be the death of him. He would rush headlong into a situation beyond his control, and if that happened, Mithrandir hoped that no others would die as a result. However, he suspected that at the very least Elladan would be drawn into the slaughter. Elrond had been parted from Elros, but his sons would never be similarly parted. Live or die, they would remain together.

Mithrandir shook off his reverie and frowned at the two elflings, counterfeiting irritation. "Get you gone lest I tell your father what mischief you would do," he growled. The wizard released his hold on the elflings' necks and laughed to himself as they turned tail and scuttled away. 'That should make them behave for an hour or two', he chortled. Then he coughed to alert Thranduil to his presence and stepped into the open.

"Thranduil," he said, bowing politely, "I hope you find the garden pleasant."

"'Tis a pretty place," Thranduil answered, "but the insects torment me."

"I think you will find that a slight change in the weather suffices to rid the garden of those pests."

Thranduil rubbed the back of his neck and looked about, surprised to find that what the wizard said was true. "I believe you are correct, Mithrandir. They seem to have vanished of a sudden. And I was just about to give up and go inside."

"Oh, I wouldn't do anything rash, Thranduil." The Istar sat down upon the end of a bench and with a gesture invited Thranduil to take a seat as well.

Thranduil had become instantly wary when the wizard had urged him not to 'do anything rash', but he sat down nonetheless.

"I suppose," the King said carefully, "that you would also wish that I not do anything hasty with regards to Anomen." Mithrandir opened up his mouth to reply, but before he had uttered a word another person arrived in the garden. Around the corner trotted little Arwen. In her hands she clutched a 'bouquet'—a bunch of wilted flowers, stems broken, leaves trailing, that had been stuffed in her pinafore and then removed to be presented to her favorite wizard, 'Mith'. She stopped and scowled when she saw Thranduil. Then, when Mithrandir smiled at her, she went up to the wizard and proffered her gift. "I picked these for you, Mith. Aren't they pretty?"

"They are beautiful," the wizard said solemnly. Arwen beamed, but her smile vanished as she turned to Thranduil.

"I did not pick any flowers for you," she announced, "because you are a bad, bad Elf. You want to steal Nomie. Bad! Bad! Don't you know that stealing is wicked?"

"Now, Arwen," began Mithrandir, "he is not exactly stealing him. He is—"

"He is taking something that does not belong to him," interrupted Arwen. "That's stealing. Erestor says so."

"Well," Thranduil said dryly. "Erestor says so. That's settled, then."

"You see," crowed Arwen, who was too young to have any grasp of irony. "Even the bad, bad Elf knows he is taking something that does not belong to him!" Then, to Mithrandir's shock and Thranduil's amusement, she stuck out her tongue at the King before turning her back and marching off triumphantly.

"She doesn't usually behave that way," Mithrandir said apologetically. "Really! She is a good lass—not at all like her brothers. She's more akin to Haldir, actually—sometimes I think she's a changeling—although, as she is Galadriel's granddaughter, perhaps—"

"You are babbling, Mithrandir," said Thranduil. Mithrandir realized that Thranduil was smiling, and he gaped at the King. Thranduil's smile turned to a grimace.

"Does everyone hereabouts think me so devoid of kindly feelings that I cannot be amused by the antics of a little elf-maiden? Am I believed to be such a demon?"

"Er, um," began Mithrandir, who really wanted to avoid giving an honest answer. His hesitation provoked a bitter laugh from the King.

"He is my son, Mithrandir. My son. Is it so horrible for a father to want his son?"

"No, Thranduil, it is not. But I will speak bluntly: There was a time when you did not want your son. Dare you deny that?"

The anger left Thranduil's eyes, and his shoulders slumped.

"I cannot deny that," he said softly, "but I swear to you, Mithrandir, that I am not that king. I am someone else altogether."

"You may be someone else altogether, but you still must deal with the consequences of your former actions. First, your son does not wish to accompany you to Greenwood. Second, there are those here who love your son—who have loved your son for many turnings of the seasons. They will suffer when they are parted from him. Do not ask me to discount their pain even as I acknowledge yours."

Thranduil hung his head as Elladan and Elrohir had done earlier, and Mithrandir's heart softened. He laid a hand upon Thranduil's shoulder.

"And I do not deny your pain, Thranduil—truly I do not."

Thranduil nodded. Then he looked up and smiled wanly.

"Little Arwen spoke the truth," he said sadly. "Legolas does not belong to me—at least not altogether to me. It seems there are others who have a claim on him."

"Thranduil, someday that would have been true even if this rift between you had never been."

"Agreed, but that is little consolation."

"Even a little consolation is better than none, is that not so?"

Thranduil shook his head, his eyes rolling.

"Mithrandir, I am truly glad that you do not sit on the other side of the table whilst I negotiate trade treaties. You mince words as if they were rare spices."

In his bed, the sleeping Mithrandir sneezed again and again. "Pepper," he muttered. "Pepper." He sat up, his eyes streaming. In the light from the moon, he saw dark specks scattered all about his linen. By the bed, on its side, lay a pepper shaker. No doubt it had been abandoned in haste when the wizard first sneezed.

"Elrohir!" roared the wizard. "Elladan! Anomen! I shall find you, and I shall pepper your hides!"

In his chamber, Elrond groaned into wakefulness. "What now?" he moaned. Grumbling a little, he arose and went to the window. From the garden came giggles. Elrond listened carefully. "All three of them," he smiled at the last. "Elrohir, Elladan, and, yes, Anomen. Up to their usual mischief, praised be the Valar." With that the elf-lord returned to his bedstead. And Mithrandir, too, resettled himself in his suddenly comfortable bed. "All things considered," he murmured as drew the duvet to his chin. "All things considered, I'd rather it be this way as not. Yes, I would gladly endure repeated dosing with the pepper pot—and a great many other things, too!—if only things could remain as they are. I do not want Anomen to be gone at all," yawned the wizard as sleep took him. "Ever!"