Thanks to the following reviewers: Farflung, who has made it as far as Chapter 7 and looks to be catching up with me, Krissy Wonder, Elfinabottle, Windwraith, Keji, Avion Jade, Dragonfly, 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.
Folks may notice that the ending of this chapter is not consistent with what they remember of the ending of Chapter 4. If you go back to Chapter 4, you will see that I have revised the final paragraph to remove the inconsistency.
Beta Reader: Dragonfly.
Chapter 11: Sliding Out Of Trouble
Glorfindel the Twice-Born was enjoying a lovely dream. In it he stood upon the training field as Anomen shot off his allotted arrows. Every arrow hit the target dead center. When Anomen finished, Glorfindel praised the elfling unreservedly. "You have a natural talent, my lad," he said to the elfling, "and you have augmented it through diligence and hard-work. Some day you will be the best archer in Middle-earth. Indeed, I believe it possible that you are already the best archer."
"Whether I be the best archer or no, I have benefited from the best teacher," Anomen replied promptly. "You have taken great care in my training. Indeed, you have been like a father to me."
With that, dream-Anomen flung his arms about the weapons-master and hugged him fiercely, and Glorfindel returned the gesture unashamedly.
A shaft of sunlight fell upon Glorfindel's face and roused him. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking about with a slight expression of surprise upon his face, "Do you know," he murmured to himself thoughtfully, "I am glad the Valar allowed me to return to Middle-earth. I was not at all certain that I wanted to come back, for it seemed to me that Arda was full of pain and that all that I loved were lost to me. But Anomen, he has been like a son to me. I am glad I came back, if only to have had the privilege of helping raise that lad."
The balrog-slayer arose and continued thinking whilst he dressed.
'I do believe', he said to himself, 'that I should take Anomen scouting. He has worked very hard, and he deserves a day away from the training fields—and from the library, too,' he added, grinning at the thought of the indignant look that was sure to cross Erestor's face when he learned that his best pupil would be absent, leaving the tutor alone to cope with the combined 'efforts' of Elrohir and Elladan, augmented now by Nenmaethor, who—alas for Erestor—was no longer shy and diffident. Anomen and the twins had taught him too well!
Glorfindel had no sooner seated himself at the breakfast table than he announced that he desired that Anomen accompany him for the day. "It is time for him to turn more of his efforts toward scouting, don't you agree, Elrond?"
"As always," Elrond said, "I defer to your judgment in matters of military training. If you think he had better spend his day in the forest, then that is what he shall do."
Elladan and Nenmaethor looked envious, Elrohir jealous, and Arwen disappointed—but not as disappointed as Erestor, who immediately began to protest.
"A day spent in the forest!" he spluttered. "But there are books to be read, exercises to be written, and sums to be added."
"Said books, exercises, and sums will keep," Elrond replied calmly, returning his attention to his plate. Erestor saw that there would be no changing the mind of the Master of Rivendell. Sighing, he picked at his own food, wondering the while how he would endure a morning sequestered with Nenmaethor and the twins. Erestor had learned from bitter experience that Anomen's presence had a calming effect on the other elflings, and his absence the reverse. The tutor shot an annoyed look at Glorfindel, who did his best to look as if he couldn't possibly guess at what was upsetting Erestor so.
Meanwhile, Anomen was excited but a little apprehensive as well. He was glad that Glorfindel thought him ready to spend more time on scouting, but the balrog-slayer was as exacting in the field as Erestor was in the classroom, and Anomen hoped he would not disappoint the Elf. Elrohir guessed that Anomen would be feeling this way, and he opened his mouth to tease his foster-brother. Glorfindel forestalled him, however.
"Elrohir," that Elf called, "since Anomen and I will be in the forest, you and Elladan will be in charge of the younger novices."
Elrohir's jaunty look vanished, replaced by an expression of alarm. He had played quite a few tricks on the little elflings, and he feared they would see Glorfindel's absence as an opportunity for payback. Apparently Nenmaethor thought so, too. "I'll be in Elrohir's group," he eagerly volunteered, grinning wickedly. 'Ai', thought Elrohir in dismay, 'Nenmaethor means to be the ringleader. Oh, I wish I had not teased him yesterday when he lost his arrow in the bushes behind his target'. He looked to his father, but Elrond ignored Elrohir's silent plea for help. Whatever torments were visited upon Elrohir today, as long as no safety rules were violated, the Master of Imladris would not intervene. Perhaps, Elrond thought, Elrohir would learn a lesson—not very likely, he knew, but not absolutely impossible, either.
After breakfast, Anomen accompanied Glorfindel to the armory. The balrog-slayer of course had his own weapons, which he kept at the ready in his rooms, but Anomen was a novice, and such 'weapons' as he kept in his chamber were more useful as toys than as arms. Glorfindel walked up and down the rows of unstrung bows, stopping ever so often to pick one up and study it, flexing it and going through the imaginary motions of knock-draw-release. At last he selected one a little larger than the bow Anomen used on the practice field. "Let me see how you do with this one," he commented as he handed the bow to his pupil.
Once again feeling a mix of pride and apprehension, Anomen followed Glorfindel outside. "String the bow," Glorfindel commanded. Anomen obeyed and then Glorfindel pointed at a tree. "Do you see that broken branch on the tree yonder? You do? Good. Bring it down."
Glorfindel expected Anomen to carefully sight his target. Instead, his motions fluid, the elfling drew, nocked, and released his arrow so swiftly that Glorfindel could scarcely distinguish one act from the next. The dangling branch, its connection to the tree neatly severed, plummeted to the ground. "That bow will do, seemingly," deadpanned the balrog-slayer. Anomen, too, kept his face straight, but he knew that his teacher was gratified by his performance. The two walked on toward the stables, this time Anomen striding by the side of the balrog-slayer rather than trailing several paces behind.
In short order, the two were riding forth from Rivendell, Anomen on his pony and Glorfindel on the great warhorse that nobody dared mount save the balrog-slayer. They entered the woods, and Glorfindel, rather than instructing Anomen in the signs, asked the elfling to tell him the story of what had taken place in the forest over the last several days. The balrog-slayer knew that Anomen already had good tracking skills, and he was not about to waste time teaching the lad lessons he had already learned.
"An owl hereabouts has been feasting upon mice," Anomen said, pointing to the scat at the base of a tree. "And deer have recently crossed this path."
"How many deer?" asked Glorfindel.
Anomen dismounted to better study the spoor.
"Three," he said at last. "One set of tracks is smaller than the others. As for the other marks, there is one animal has a chipped hoof, and another that does not."
"Did they pass at the same time?"
"No," said Anomen. "The deer with the chipped hoof passed later. His prints are sharper than the others, which have seen at least one rainfall. Then, too, his prints overlay theirs, but never the reverse."
"You say 'his'. A buck, then?"
"Yes, he roams alone and his prints are the deeper, as one would expect of a buck. The other two sets like as not were made by roe and fawn. If I wanted a deer, I would not follow that trail. I would follow the buck."
"And do you want a deer?"
"Fresh venison would be good."
"Lead on, then."
Anomen and Glorfindel set loose their horses to graze in a nearby meadow, and they began to hunt in earnest. Glorfindel noticed with approval that Anomen kept his gaze directed several paces ahead of his feet. It was neither necessary nor desirable to examine every inch of ground. Instead, a good tracker would glance ahead and try to descry the furthermost evidence of his quarry's passage, moving quickly from one spoor to the next. Glorfindel was also pleased to see that when they came to a patch of hard ground, Anomen would quickly pass over it and try to pick up the trail again in softer soil. Again, it was a matter of marshalling one's time and energy.
Ahead, Anomen suddenly tensed.
"Lord Glorfindel," he whispered, "we are not the only hunters in this forest." He gestured for Glorfindel to join him and pointed forward to a print pressed into the ground ahead of him. It was the mark of a boot such as was not worn by any Elf. That was plain to see both from its design and from the depth of the print. This was a heavyset Man, not a graceful Elf.
"Poacher," growled Glorfindel. "Well, tracking a poacher is its own sort of pleasure, although the outcome generally does not include a good meal. Go on."
Anomen took a breath and then resumed the hunt, his quarry now a Man. This prey was even easier to follow than the buck had been. Anomen found numerous footprints. The Man's passage was also marked by broken branches and trampled ferns. It was not long before the Elves could hear the Man. "He breathes so loudly," whispered Anomen, who now had to repress a giggle, "that I could shoot him in the dark." Glorfindel quelled his levity with a look.
"He may be noisy, but he may also be dangerous. Approach him as if he were a wounded wolf."
Anomen suddenly realized that Glorfindel meant for him to apprehend the poacher on his own, and he trembled a little. He took another steadying breath and moved stealthily forward while Glorfindel lagged deliberately behind. Anomen knew that the balrog-slayer would come to his assistance if he faced genuine peril, but the older Elf meant to keep his presence hidden from the poacher so that he could see how well Anomen would manage a foe who was confident that he faced only one opponent, and a young one at that.
Anomen moved forward until he could see the poacher, who held a bow at the ready as he stared intently into the undergrowth. The deer was very close, and the preoccupied Man, listening to the rustling of his quarry, was unaware of the silent approach of the Elves. Anomen eased an arrow out of his quiver and nocked and drew his bow. His preparations complete, from the cover he challenged the poacher.
"Drop your weapon, human. You are trespassing in the lands of Lord Elrond of Imladris."
The Man whirled about and looked for the source of the voice. Anomen was well hidden, but the human guessed from his voice that he was very young. The Man grinned. Maybe he could bag an Elf as well as a deer. Southrons who had passed through his village a fortnight ago had offered to pay well for any Fair Folk delivered as captives. What the Haradrim wanted with Elves the Man did not know, nor did he care. Profit was all. As usual, times were hard in Dunland.
"Come out, boy," the human wheedled. "You are lost, I wager, or you wouldn't be out here alone. Come out, and I will lead you to a village where your presence will gladden the hearts of many."
This latter statement was true, of course, although for the most distasteful of reasons, as Anomen well knew.
"Do not speak foolishness, human," Anomen replied. "It is you who are lost, although mayhap you know it not."
As Anomen uttered these words, the Man made sure of his location, and he lunged toward the elfling's hiding place. Without flinching, Anomen at once released his arrow, which passed through the Man's sleeve, pinning his arm to a tree. The human, however, quickly tore free and sprang forward, thinking that he could reach his foe before the young Elf had a chance to draw and nock a second arrow. He was brought up short, however, by the sight of a shaft aimed directly at his chest. Anomen had stepped clear of the brush, and he captured the Man's eyes with a gaze that did not blink.
"Move another step, and you will die," Anomen said resolutely. "I will cut you down like the warg I have but lately slain."
The Man gaped. Anomen's steadfast gaze and his steady grip upon the bow convinced him that the youngling spoke the truth both about his present intentions and his past conquests.
"Put down your weapons," Anomen instructed him. "All of them."
The Man complied, dropping bow, quiver, and knife upon the ground.
"Now leave these lands and never return."
"But my weapons!" protested the Man. "How shall I defend myself as I journey?"
"You cannot," replied Anomen coolly. "I suggest therefore that you make for your own land with all the speed you can muster. Swift flight shall be your only avenue of escape. Now go!"
The Man turned and fled, bulling through the undergrowth in his haste. Anomen lowered his bow. He jumped a little when Glorfindel laid an arm upon his shoulder. "Well done," was all the weapons-master said. His words were few, but the tone of his voice conveyed the depth of his approval.
Anomen and Glorfindel gathered up the Man's bow, quiver, and blade and returned to their horses. The day's lesson was an end. They would bring back no fresh venison, but the taste of victory over the poacher was very sweet.
"Anomen," Glorfindel said as they rode. "Would you have shot the poacher had he not yielded?"
"Not today, for there was no need. Had the poacher called my bluff, I could have easily evaded him and left his punishment in your hands. But had I been alone, then, yes, I would have shot him. Such a one cannot be permitted to return to his village unscathed, there to encourage others to recklessly invade the lands of the Elves."
"A wise answer," said Glorfindel, impressed. "There are some novices who would have slain the wretch out of fear that they would have otherwise lost face in the eyes of their master. Your reasoning, however, is good, and your motives pure."
They rode in silence the rest of the way. Then, once they had arrived at Rivendell and seen to their horses, Glorfindel spoke again. "You need not return your bow to the armory," he said offhandedly, as if it were a matter of no great import. "You may have the keeping of it. I do not doubt but that you will guard it as carefully as any warrior would."
Anomen was thunderstruck. This was a full-sized bow, not a toy such as elflings were permitted to keep to play with in the garden.
"I believe," Glorfindel continued, "that you may as well also have the care of a sword and a shield and a warrior's knife. Mind that you keep them polished!"
"I will," promised Anomen. Suddenly, impulsively, Anomen flung his arms about the weapons-master and hugged him fiercely. Glorfindel was startled at first. It seemed like a moment from a dream. After a moment's pause, though, Glorfindel returned the gesture unashamedly.
"You are a good lad," the weapon's master said, "and I love you."
Anomen had been thunderstruck before; now he was doubly so. "I, I, I," he stammered, not knowing what to say. After a moment, though, he had an inspiration. "I love you as well," he said simply. Glorfindel smiled and gave Anomen a teasing tug on one braid as he released him. "Well, now that we have surprised each other thoroughly, we had best walk on to the Hall. Elrond will think that we are eating in the field, and no one will put aside a plate for us."
After a day spent tracking, Anomen was hungry, and he had no desire to miss supper. He returned the balrog-slayer's smile, and the two walked side by side toward the Great Hall. Just before they reached it, Glorfindel said, "Anomen, when you are on the training fields with the other elflings, you must address me as 'Lord Glorfindel'. I do not wish any of the elflings to believe that you will benefit from any favoritism on my part. On other occasions, when no other elflings are present, you may simply call me 'Glorfindel'.
Anomen nodded. Glorfindel's request made sense to him. Whenever Elrond stood before an assembly acting formally in his capacity as lord of Imladris, Glorfindel addressed him as 'Lord Elrond'. When amongst family and close friends, however, Glorfindel omitted Elrond's title. Glorfindel was asking Anomen to do something similar.
When the two entered the dining hall, therefore, it was as it always had been. Glorfindel strode in the lead, and Anomen followed several respectful steps behind. Glorfindel went to sit on the right hand of Elrond, and Anomen slipped into his seat between Nenmaethor and Elladan. (Elrond knew better than to allow Anomen to sit next to Elrohir, as disaster invariably ensued.)
"You are only just in time, my friend," said Elrond. "I was about to eat your portion."
Elrond was in fact joking. Anomen, however, had indeed stood in danger of forfeiting his share. Elrohir, Elladan, and Nenmaethor had been eyeing both the platter in front of them and each other, each elfling calculating when it would be best to make a move. Anomen's arrival, however, had forestalled them. Elrohir collapsed back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.
"I shall starve," he moaned.
"I don't see how," grumbled Elladan, "when you have eaten both my roll and Nenmaethor's."
"I needed both," retorted Elrohir. "For I am weary with much care," he said loftily, adopting the manner of an adult. "The elflings I warded today were as wicked as Orcs—and that includes you, Nenmaethor," he added, reverting to a childish tone—a peevish one, too.
The other elflings giggled at his brief attempt at sounding like a grown-up, and Elrohir tried to look aggrieved but could manage nothing better than a pout.
The adults, meanwhile, were discussing Anomen.
"How did your pupil fare today?" asked Elrond as he sipped from his glass of Dorwinion wine.
"Superlatively, as usual," replied the balrog-slayer.
"That is to be expected," observed Erestor, "for he has been well-taught." Whatever his differences with Glorfindel, the tutor was at heart honest and generous and therefore did not hesitate to give credit where credit was due.
"He more than repays my efforts," replied Glorfindel, "so I cannot demand recognition for his performance."
"You do yourself an injustice, Glorfindel," observed Mithrandir. "Even the most talented pupil may turn out poorly if he does not receive proper guidance. You have taken great care over his education—as has Erestor—and the results are obvious to all."
Erestor, always the quicker to show his emotions, smiled gratefully at the wizard, while Glorfindel merely inclined his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. The meal now being at an end, the Elves arose and made to leave the chamber. As they reached the door, they were joined by Arwen, who attached herself to her father.
"Ada Ada Ada," she chanted, seizing hold of Elrond's sleeve.
"Yes, child," he said indulgently.
"Ada, may I go berry-picking tomorrow?"
"I have some matters to attend to in the morning, Arwen, but after lunch I will take you."
"No no no! I want Nomie to take me."
Elrond looked at Glorfindel.
"I can spare the lad," said the weapons-master. "More to the point, I suppose, his skills will not suffer for a day spent in childish pursuits. Besides," he added with mock severity, "I shall merely demand the more of him the day after."
"Very well," said Elrond, smiling. "Arwen, after Anomen has completed his lessons in the library, he will take you berry-picking—if he wants to, that is. Have you asked him?"
"Oh, he will go," said Arwen confidently. "He likes to make me happy, and if he says no, I shall cry."
"Arwen!" exclaimed Elrond, caught between a laugh and a frown. He had to disapprove of Arwen's plan at playing the martyr. At the same time, though, he could not help but be amused at her carefree confidence in her dramatic abilities and their probable effect upon the unfortunate Anomen. Innocent of her father's equivocal feelings, however, Arwen was already dancing away to tell Anomen that they would go berry-picking on the morrow.
"I pity the youth whom Arwen picks as her betrothed," laughed Glorfindel, "for she will have him wrapped around her little finger—nay, around even so little as a single strand of her raven hair!"
"That will be Anomen, I suppose," said Erestor.
Mithrandir shook his head. "No, it will not be Anomen," he declared emphatically.
"Oh ho!" teased Glorfindel. "Has Galadriel gifted our wizard with some of her foresight?"
"It needs no especial power to see that Arwen will not choose Anomen. He is her brother in deed and in name, and only an Orc or a Troll would mate a sibling. Not even amongst Men is such a thing done."
"True," agreed Elrond, but he sighed as he spoke. "Pity," he mused. "The match would have been an advantageous one, given his parentage—um, I mean, pity we know nothing of the lad's parentage," he finished lamely, faced with the horrified faces of his friends. Given their recent collective nightmare, it was inconceivable to them that Elrond would be so foolish as to allude to a certain Elf from Greenwood.
Arwen, meanwhile, was prattling to Anomen, who had retired to the garden and was oiling the haft of his newly-gifted dagger.
"Anomen, you must take me berry-picking tomorrow after lunch. Ada says you may."
"I shall have to ask Glorfindel as well, 'Wen."
"Oh, he has already said yes."
Anomen considered. Normally he would have been delighted to take Arwen berry-picking. Now, however, he thought longingly of his newly-acquired weaponry. He had planned to spend the morrow polishing his shield. In the end, though, his love for Arwen won out. 'After all', he consoled himself, 'I can always bring my shield with me and polish it whilst Arwen picks her berries'. He spoke aloud.
"Yes, Arwen. I shall be glad to take you berry-picking."
The little elf-maiden at once scurried off to tell the Cook that it was necessary that he prepare pie crusts on the morrow. The Cook agreed with a forbearance that he rarely exhibited when her brothers were in the vicinity of the kitchen. Perhaps Arwen always found the Cook in good-humor because, instead of stealing sweets, she always begged for them with disarming frankness.
After breakfast next morning, Anomen slipped his dagger into its sheath and, shouldering his shield, went to join Arwen at the gates of Rivendell. He smiled when he saw her, dancing from foot to foot, a pail clutched in each chubby fist. "Pie for me, pie for you, pie for Elladan and Elrohir, too," she sang.
"No pie for Ada and Nenmaethor? Or for Mithrandir and Glorfindel and Erestor?"
Arwen considered. "Pie for Ada, Nenmaethor, and 'Mith," she said at last. "No pie for 'Restor and Glorfin'."
Anomen winced at the sound of 'Glorfin'. He was glad that someday Arwen would grow out of her lisp and babyish speech.
"Why no pie for them?"
"Because I heard them say that tomorrow they will make you work very, very hard."
"I don't mind, Arwen. Or, at least, I don't mind very much. The harder I work, the more I learn."
"You are sure you don't mind?"
"I am sure," Anomen solemnly assured her.
"Very well, then. Pie for everybody. But," she added mournfully, "that means we shall each have only a very tiny slice."
"Not if you fill both those buckets," Anomen pointed out. "If you do, there will be more than enough berries for two pies.
"Good! You and I shall share one. The others may share the second."
"You and I should be sick if we shared one pie between us. You don't really want to be ill, do you, Arwen?"
"Noo-oo!"
"Good. I have an idea: the elflings share one pie; the adults share the other. That will allow plenty for all, don't you think?"
Arwen agreed that this would be a grand solution. They were now drawing near the berry-patch. It was a little further from Rivendell than the one the elflings usually frequented, but Arwen had insisted upon the change. "That one has been picked over, 'Nomie," Arwen had complained when he suggested they go to their usual spot.
The berry patch was on the east side of a knoll. Approaching from the west, the two elflings breasted the top of the hill. Anomen found a comfortable log to perch upon, one that would allow him to o'erlook the entire eastern slope, down to the thicket at its base. He drew out a rag and tin of grease and began to vigorously polish his shield, even though, in fact, it was already so shiny as to set the sun to shame. Arwen, meanwhile, began to work her way down the slope, singing all the while. As Anomen worked, he kept track of her by her warbling, and for good measure he raised his head from time to time to be certain of her whereabouts. The berries hung thick upon the bushes, which until now had been safe from the depredations of greedy elflings, and Anomen saw that both pails were filling rapidly. He was glad, as he looked forward as much as Arwen to demolishing his share of the pie. He began to whistle. Perhaps this is why he did not immediately notice that Arwen had fallen silent. When he did realize that this was the case, he instantly looked up from his shield and sought her with his eyes. She had reached the thicket at the base of the slope. She was standing erect, staring at the thicket, and Anomen saw that she had dropped her buckets, which lay by her feet, ignored, the berries spilled carelessly into the weeds. Instead of the pails, Arwen clutched a stick as if it were a club, gripping it with both hands and brandishing it as if she were about to strike at foe. Anomen sprang to his feet and gazed hard at the thicket in front of Arwen. As he watched in horror, the head and shoulders of a beast emerged that he knew all too well. Warg! "My bow!" Anomen cried aloud. "I haven't my bow."
Acting on instinct, Anomen flung his shield to the ground and leaped upon it as it began to slide down the hill. This sudden movement captured the attention of the warg, and the startled beast froze, staring confusedly at the unusual creature that was hurtling toward it. Anomen reached the bottom of the hill whilst the warg still hesitated. He kicked his shield up into the air, caught it, and hurled it at the warg. It caught the surprised animal upon the throat, very nearly decapitating it. Anomen was taking no chances, however, and so for good measure he drove his blade into the body of the beast. Then he dropped upon his knees and threw his arms around Arwen, who, still clutching her stick, had gone perfectly still.
For a long time the two elflings remained thus, neither capable of speech. Arwen recovered first.
"I dropped all my berries," she said mournfully.
This statement, a non-sequitur if there ever were one, struck Anomen as somehow hysterically funny. He began to giggle uncontrollably whilst pounding upon the ground with feet and fist. Arwen of course imitated him until Anomen suddenly left off giggling and began to cry. All the motherly instincts in Arwen's body awoke at the sight of Anomen sobbing.
"There, there," she said soothingly, patting Anomen upon the head. "There, there. The nasty beast is all gone. There, there. Let's go home. I'm hungry."
Anomen began to giggle again as Arwen veered from motherly to childish and back again. At last, with an effort, he regained control of himself. They had best return to the Hall at once. What if there were another warg thereabouts? He rose to his feet.
"Never mind about the berries, Arwen. The Cook will understand, and there is another patch, to the south, that we may visit to replace the berries you have lost."
He drew his knife from the beast's carcass, wiped it upon the grass, and sheathed it. Then he slung his shield over his shoulder and proffered a hand to Arwen.
They walked swiftly, for Anomen was anxious to regain the Hall whilst the sun was still high above the horizon. Arwen was forced to take two steps for every one of Anomen's. Eventually she came to a halt, tugging on Anomen's hand.
"Nomie," she whimpered, "I'm tired."
Anomen tried to pick her up but found he could not manage both her and the shield. He put down both and looked back and forth between the two. He had a sudden inspiration. He took off his belt and fastened one end around the handhold on the shield. "Sit in the shield, Arwen," he instructed. "I shall pull you as if it were wintertime and this a sled."
"You will scratch the shield," Arwen pointed out, "and Glorfindel will be angry."
"The shield is already scratched from sliding down the hill," Anomen answered. "A few more scratches will not signify."
Arwen crawled into the concave side of the shield. Anomen handed her his sheath, which he had removed when he took off his belt. Then he took hold of the free end of leathern strap and began to pull his shield with its now giggling passenger. Making good time, they neared the Hall when it was still full daylight. Anomen halted. Although he had not feared to add additional scratches to the shield, he did not want Glorfindel to actually see him using it as a sledge. Arwen had had a good rest, and since they were so close to the Hall, Anomen felt safe enough to slow to a pace that the elf-maiden could more easily handle.
So it was that Arwen walked into the garden under her own power, if a little worse for wear. Glorfindel and Elrond were taking a turn around the grounds, and from afar they caught sight of the two elflings and hastened toward them. Arwen, they observed, was disheveled, and she had lost the berry buckets. Anomen, too, was disheveled, but what the Elves noticed the most was his shield. It was covered with dirt and scratches. As they neared the younglings, Glorfindel in particular eyed the shield in anger and disappointment. He had thought Anomen ready to taking on the responsibility of caring for the weapons of a warrior. Apparently, he thought, he had been wrong. The weapons-master opened his mouth to sternly rebuke Anomen, but before he could speak, Arwen began to prattle.
"I was almost eaten by a wolf!" she cried. "A big, ugly wolf with yellow teeth and a hump on its shoulder. But Anomen slid down the hill and slew it."
"Slid down the hill?" said Elrond.
"On his shield! He slid down the hill on his shield, and then he hit the wolf with his shield and then he stabbed the wolf with his knife. It is lying there still. Ada, you must go and see it before the crows eat it. It is the biggest wolf I have ever seen. It is as big as, as, as—an oliphaunt! Yes, an oliphaunt!"
"Warg," said Anomen softly to Elrond so that Arwen might not hear. Elrond nodded and turned to Glorfindel, speaking equally softly.
"My friend, will you backtrack the young ones and study the body of this warg and its trail? We must learn as much as we can about this latest incursion."
"Aye, Elrond," said the balrog-slayer. His face was still grim, but not with anger at Anomen. Had he the luxury of time, he would have praised the lad and proclaimed his deed throughout Imladris. That would have to come later, however.
An hour after dusk, Glorfindel returned from the forest. Under his arm was a large bundle that he delivered to one of the workshops before disappearing into Elrond's chamber for a long discussion with the elf-lord. The next day troops of Elves departed from Rivendell to strengthen the patrols on the borders to the east.
A month later, as Elrond's household assembled for the day-meal, Glorfindel entered the dining hall with an awkwardly-shaped bundle under his arm that he slipped underneath the table. At the conclusion of the meal, Elrond arose and called for silence.
"No doubt you all know that two fortnights ago my daughter Arwen was attacked by a fell beast."
There was a murmur of assent.
"You have also heard that Anomen, although he had neither sword nor bow, succeeded in slaying the beast through his wits and his courage."
Another murmur, louder this time and mingled with a few shouts of 'well done!' Elrond gestured for Anomen to arise and nodded at Glorfindel, who stood and pulled out the bundle from under the table. He opened it and held up a leather jerkin of the sort that served Elves as armor. It was flexible but would repel all but a direct sword thrust. It was smaller than the usual jerkin, however, of a size suitable for an elfling.
"This jerkin," declaimed Glorfindel, "was cut from the pelt of the beast Anomen slew." He bowed toward the elfling and proffered the jerkin to him.
The room erupted into cheers, and Anomen's friends began to pound rhythmically upon the tables as the elfling accepted the prize and stammered out his thanks. Then he turned to resume his seat. "Wait, Anomen," called Elrond. Anomen halted, confused, and Glorfindel now pulled out a pair of vambraces.
"An archer should never lack vambraces," declared the weapons-master. More cheering and table-pounding. Anomen again stammered out his thanks and made to take his seat, but Elrond, who no longer tried to hide his smile, again stayed him. Glorfindel pulled out an elegantly tooled quiver.
"An archer should have a quiver, too, is that not so?" said Glorfindel, who, like Elrond, was smiling.
Anomen was now incapable of speech. The very walls seemed to be trembling as folk cheered, clapped, pounded the tables, and stomped their feet. The elfling managed a nod and again tried to regain his seat. Again Elrond stayed him, and the elf-lord gestured for silence so that Glorfindel could continue.
This time Glorfindel produced two sheaths, likewise elegantly tooled, one a large scabbard for a sword and the other a smaller holder for a knife.
"We all know," Glorfindel said to the assembly, "that Anomen is not only a superb archer but also highly skilled with blades both large and small. No, wait." Glorfindel held up his hand as the Elves once again began to cheer. The weapons-master produced one last object, a belt adorned with mithril fittings. "One who would bear sword and knife also must possess a sturdy belt on which to fasten sheath and scabbard."
"How, how is this possible?" Anomen at last managed to stammer.
"It was a very large beast," deadpanned Elrond. "I have it on excellent authority that it was as big as an oliphaunt."
Laugher mingled with cheers, but none of the merriment was unkindly meant. Instead, all were glad for the elfling who had had so little when he first came to Rivendell. Indeed, he had had nothing—no possessions and, worse, no confidence. Now he stood before them a hero. Or sat, actually, as he had at last succeeded in retaking his seat.
That night Nenmaethor composed a new letter to his parents, in it excitedly describing the latest exploits of his friend Anomen.
"He has slain another warg," he wrote, "and this time single-handedly and in the cleverest fashion, for he carried neither bow nor sword but only a shield and a dagger. Everyone lauds his courage and cleverness, even Elrohir, who sometimes likes to tease him and others." (Unstated in the letter: Nenmaethor was one of the 'others'.)
Several weeks later, the missive arrived in Greenwood. Reading it, Penidhren exulted in his wisdom at leaving Nenmaethor in the company of an elfling who was so clearly destined for greatness. He carried the letter about with him for days, sharing it with friends, peers, acquaintances, visitors, servants—in short, with anyone who was polite enough to listen or unlucky enough to lack an excuse not to. One day he stood in the alcove of a corridor in the Great Hall, surrounded by warriors who had but lately returned from patrol and who had therefore not yet had the honor of listening to a reading of Nenmaethor's account of Anomen's feat. As this was their first time hearing it, they were suitably impressed by the exploits of the elfling who could slay a warg single-handedly.
Unbeknownst to Penidhren, however, his audience extended beyond this cluster of warriors. Thranduil was walking down the corridor, and as he approached the alcove, he heard excited voices. Curious, he slowed down to hear what was being said.
"I must say, Penidhren, that you made a wise choice in leaving your son in Rivendell. This friend of his sets an excellent example for a young Elf."
"Oh, but there's more," said Penidhren, lowering his voice for effect, but not speaking so softly that Thranduil could not hear. "I have it on excellent authority that the lad is the son of Glorfindel."
"No! Glorfindel the Twice-Born?"
"Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer?"
"Yes," said Penidhren smugly. "My Nenmaethor is the companion of the son of Glorfindel Twice-Born, mighty Balrog-Slayer. He is called Anomen because various complications prevent Glorfindel from acknowledging the lad outside Elrond's circle. But if you saw him, you would have no doubt. Brilliant-blue eyes he has, and golden hair. Excellent with sword, knife, and bow, just like his sire. He may have no name, but it's certain he has a father."
Thranduil stood stock still in his misery. His son would have looked so, his eyes blue, his hair golden, and if he had been raised as he ought to have been, even now warriors might have been gathered in praise of him. 'I would give anything—anything!—if only that lad could have been my own', he thought mournfully. 'And I would not have hesitated for a moment to acknowledge him as such, no, no matter what the complications might be. I would proclaim to the four corners of my kingdom: This is my son. I am proud of him. I am proud of him, and I love him'.
Head downcast, Thranduil retreated back up the corridor. He returned to his chamber and threw himself sadly upon his bed, for he knew that the son that he longed for could exist only in his dreams.
This is the final chapter of this particular elfling tale. I haven't worked on Parallel Quest for a while, and I've been really neglecting The Exiles of Sirion. I plan to devote some time to them in the near future. It may be a little while before I post to either story, however. My daughter and I are leaving tomorrow morning to visit the grandparents in New Jersey and spend some time in New York City. Ta ta!