This is a one shot (I think).  To those readers who haven't been following 'The Nameless One' series, the Elf referred to as Anomen is in fact Legolas, who in the series spends several centuries being fostered by Elrond at Rivendell.

"I think," said Erestor one evening, "that Estel has acquired another pet."

"Oh," said Elrond, pouring himself a glass of wine, "and what makes you believe that?"

"At mealtime, haven't you noticed how much food Estel has been stuffing into his tunic—much more than even he could eat!?"

"I had," said Elrond calmly.

"And," added Glorfindel, "the Cook but yesterday complained to me that Estel is raiding the kitchen more frequently and more boldly than ever before."

"Probably another wolf cub," said Elrond, taking a sip of his wine and exhaling appreciatively.  Especially good vintage, this one. 

"I do not believe so," Erestor was saying.  "Unless wolves like grapes and apples and pears and cheese and bread.  For Estel has not been purloining meat alone."

"Not only that," added Glorfindel, "but when he does lift meat, he steals only cooked cuts, never raw slabs.  I am sure that if it were a wolf he would not be so discriminating."

"Hmm," said Elrond, mildly interested but not so much so as to be moved to abandon his drink to go investigate.

"I wonder," said Erestor thoughtfully.  "Elrond, do you remember those salt merchants we met in Gondor, the ones with skin brown as polished ebony whose hair was curled so tightly that they carried combs of a special design with which to dress it?"

"Yes, their land was further south even than Harad.  They said their homes were so distant that the very stars above differed from ours."

"Exactly.   I asked them many questions about their land so that I could add what I learned to the lore books.  Among other things, they told me of the many curious animals that dwell there.  One of them was particularly noteworthy: a tiny creature with a face and hands like a Man's but furred and with a tail and, moreover, with fingers instead of toes upon its feet.  The salt merchants told me that sometimes this creature is kept in their households as a pet and that it eats the selfsame food as the Men themselves.  Do you suppose Estel could have acquired such a creature?"

"But how?" asked Glorfindel.

"He but lately returned from an excursion to Dunland."

"Dunland is south of here, but still very far from Harad, and farther still from the land of the salt merchants," observed Elrond.

"True, but the creature could have passed through many hands before coming into the possession of one of the traders who from time to time passes through Dunland."

Elrond shook his head, smiling.

"Possible, but not probable.  No doubt there is a more ordinary creature hidden in Estel's room."

"Why do you think that it is in Estel's room," asked Glorfindel.  "I have heard no barking other than that of Gwaurant, whose voice I know perfectly well.  Nor have I heard any other strange noises coming from his room.  Perhaps this new pet is hidden in the forest, and Estel is carrying food to it.

"No," said Elrond.  "It is certain that it is in Estel's chamber, hidden in the wardrobe or under the bed.  For Estel these past weeks has been insisting on tidying his own room.  He makes up his own bed and changes the bed linen himself.  He carries his dirty clothes to the laundry and fetches back his clean ones.  He has even taken to emptying the chamber pot.  Clearly he must have some reason for wishing no one to enter his room."

"What do you intend to do about this behavior of his?" asked Erestor.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That is correct.  The creature, whatever it is, is bothering nobody, and it is hardly a crime to keep one's room clean."

Erestor, however, was not as sanguine as Elrond.  To be charitable, he was gifted with curiosity; to be blunt, he was nosy.  So it was that one day he was passing by Estel's room and on impulse he opened the door and peaked in.  He saw nothing.  He crouched down and peered under the bed.  Nothing aside from several clumps of dust (apparently Estel's concept of cleaning extended only to visible surfaces).  He arose and glanced toward the wardrobe.  Crossing the room, he laid his hand upon the knob.

At the same time that Erestor was prying into Estel's affairs, Elrond was in his private chamber perusing a letter that had just arrived from Arwen.  Suddenly he heard shouting in the hall outside.

"Orcs!" someone cried.  "Orcs!"

Elrond leaped to his feet as the door was flung open by a breathless Elf.

"My Lord, we are under attack!"

"Where has the blow fallen?" asked Elrond briskly.

"Within the Hall itself!"

Aghast, Elrond spun about and seized his sword.  How had Orcs been able to creep so close as to enter Rivendell!?  He leaped into the corridor and raced down the hall, heading toward the spot where the uproar seemed loudest.  As he ran, servants pointed in the direction that the invaders had gone.  The trail led to the kitchen.  As Elrond reached it, panicked skivvies came pouring out.  "Orcs!  Orcs!" they shrieked.  Cautiously, Elrond slipped into the room.  Pots and broken crockery lay scattered everywhere, although whether thrown to the floor by the goblins or cast aside by panicked servants, Elrond could not tell.  Elrond stepped further into the room, trying not to slip on the broken eggs and the puddled oil.  Something clanged to the ground and rolled.  The noise came from the far side of a cupboard.  Holding his sword at the ready, Elrond edged around the corner.  He saw nothing.  He heard a slight noise at his feet.  Quickly he glanced down.  To his surprise, he beheld a tiny little Orc looking up at him, his face covered with flour and streaked with jam.  He barely reached to Elrond's knee.  Oddly, he was dressed in elven clothing.  In fact, his tunic and leggings looked suspiciously like a pair that Estel had grown out of.  In one hand the little goblin held a biscuit, in the other a scone.  He grinned up at Elrond, showing a set of sharp, pointy teeth, and crammed the biscuit into his mouth.  "Bass," he mumbled around a mouthful of cookie.  "Maer bass."

By now Glorfindel had arrived, having been hastily summoned from the training fields, and, an incredulous expression upon his face, he stood beside Elrond looking down at the goblin.

"Elrond, have I gone mad, or did that creature just say something in elvish?"

"Perhaps we have both gone mad, for I too thought I heard him say something in our tongue."

"Would it perchance have been something along the lines of 'Bread.  Good bread'?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I thought it to say."

By now the Orc was chewing on the scone.  He gulped it down and looked up hopefully.

"Bass.  Maer bass, saes."

Glorfindel and Elrond exchanged bewildered glances.

"He said 'please'," Glorfindel pointed out.

"Um, yes," said Elrond uncomfortably.  What was one to do when an Orc said 'please'?  He looked around and spied a pie cooling upon a shelf and handed it down to the little Orc.

"Hannon le," said the Orc.

An Orc that said not only 'please' but 'thank you'?  Elrond felt dizzy.  He heard steps behind him, and someone cleared his throat.

"Elrond," said Erestor timidly.  "I am so sorry about this dreadful mess.  When I opened Estel's wardrobe, I was so startled that I could do nothing but stare as this goblin hopped out and darted for the door."

"Estel's wardrobe?" said Elrond.

"Aye, Estel's wardrobe."

"This is Estel's 'pet'?"

"I believe so, Elrond."

Elrond sighed.

"Erestor, will you please see that Estel is sent to my chamber."

"I think he is out in the garden with Gwaurant.  I will fetch him at once."

But before Erestor could take a step, barking was heard, and Gwaurant bounded into the room, racing straight toward the goblin.  Elrond made a futile grab for the dog, but Gwaurant got by him and leaped onto the small Orc—and licked its face clean.  The Orc, for its part, threw its arms around the dog and licked his snout.  The two were obviously well acquainted.

Hard on the heels of Gwaurant came Estel, flushed and panting.  He ran straight up to the goblin and began to scold him.

"You are not supposed to be here," he lamented.   "Now we are both in for it!"

In reply, the goblin grinned, let go of Gwaurant, threw his arms around Estel, and, yes, licked his face.

"I suppose," Elrond said dryly, "that this explains why Estel's face has been so shiny and clean these past few days.  Now he has not only a dog but a goblin to remove the crumbs from his cheeks and the sauce from his chin."

"Yet he is still saucy," cracked Erestor, making a feeble attempt at humor, for he still felt embarrassed at having unleashed the goblin on the household—for one thing, once the story got out, it would be obvious to all that he had been prying.

 Elrond ignored the pun.  "I think," he said sternly, "that we should all retire to my chamber to discuss this matter.  Estel, you bring along your, um, 'pet'."  With that, the Lord of Imladris turned abruptly and strode from the room, followed by Glorfindel and a shamefaced Erestor.  Estel grimaced at the thought of what was to come but obediently took the little Orc by the hand, and the infant goblin, likewise obedient, allowed itself to be led to Elrond's chamber.  Once there, without being told, it seated itself upon a footstool and began humming a song that sounded amazingly like the first few bars from the 'Lay of Lúthien'.  "I am going mad," thought Elrond.

Shaking his head, he commenced.

"Whence came this creature, Estel?"

"From Dunland."

"Pray be a little more precise in your answers, Estel."

"Yes, Ada.  When Glorfindel took me on patrol last month, we went to a place where the scouts had previously encountered and slain a band of Orcs.  Glorfindel said he wanted to determine which direction the band had been traveling.   Whilst he was studying the ground for signs, I needed to make water, so I stepped behind a tree.  There sat the little goblin.  He looked very pale.  I am sure that it had been several days since he had had anything to eat and drink."

"Why did you not tell Glorfindel of your discovery?"

"Because I feared that Glorfindel would have slain him forthwith."

"And with good reason.  You have called it a goblin; therefore it is plain that you do know that it is an Orc."

"Yes, Ada, but he was so little—even littler than he is now.  That's how I managed to bring him back.  I wrapped him in my cloak and hid him in my saddlebag."

"You should not have done that, Estel.  You should have informed Glorfindel.  At the very least, if you couldn't bear that Glorfindel should slay him, you should have left him where he was.  Arda would have provided for him."

"You mean," said Estel accusingly, "that he would have starved or died of thirst or been torn apart by a wild animal."

"Yes," Elrond replied calmly, "for that is the fate of young animals that have the ill-luck to lose their parents.  Countless orphaned fawns and cubs are perishing even as we speak."

"Ada, is it true that Anomen has no mother or father?"

"I am his father."

"But not by birth."

"That is so," agreed Elrond, suppressing a smile.

 "Is it also true that Mithrandir found him in the woods, and that he was hungry and cold, so much so that he felt dizzy and weak?"

"That is true as well," conceded Elrond.

"I suppose," said Estel, "that Anomen would have died if Mithrandir had not decided to bring him to Rivendell."

"Possibly."

"Aren't you glad that Mithrandir was so kind as to trouble himself over a little lost Elf?"

"Of course.  And I know what you want me to say: that taking up the Orc was the same thing as rescuing Anomen.  But that is not so."

"I don't see why not!"

"Estel," Elrond said patiently, "surely you can see that the creature is dangerous.  Did you not notice its sharp, pointed teeth?"

"Wouldn't want to man-kiss that one," muttered Glorfindel, who had been intently listening to this exchange.

"Glorfindel," hissed Erestor, "this is neither the time nor the place to discuss man-kissing."

Estel of course made a mental note to ask Elrohir and Elladan about 'man-kissing', as it was obviously something Erestor did not want discussed.  For the time being, though, the boy was intent on pleading the case of his 'pet'.

"Gwaurant has sharp, pointy teeth," he argued, "and you let him stay in the Hall."

"Gwaurant has not been bred to hunt Elves and Men.  Indeed, his nature makes him amenable to living amongst us.  As he is a wolf, he is inclined to defer to those who are higher than he in the hierarchy of the pack, you amongst them.  I do not fear that Gwaurant will turn on you someday.  As for this Orc, however, I have no such assurance."

"But, Ada," begged Estel, "the Orc is much too little to have learned to hurt anyone."

"It is not a matter of learning," Elrond replied.  "Orcs are bred to kill.  It is what they do.  It is what they are."

"Why do we bother to train our horses, as well-bred as they are?" argued Estel.  "Why does Erestor trouble to teach me?  Everything does not depend upon bloodlines, else such training and teaching would be either fruitless or unnecessary."

Elrond grew impatient, partly because Estel had a point and Elrond was not sure how to counter it.

"That will do," he said firmly.  "This discussion is at an end.  Return to the kitchen and help repair the damage wrought by the Orc.  Glorfindel, Erestor, and I will decide what ought to be done about this matter."

Estel looked longingly at 'his' Orc but obeyed.  Head down, feet dragging, he reluctantly departed the room.

 After Estel had left, the elf-lords carefully avoided looking at the little Orc.  No one seemed eager to speak.

"I suppose," said Glorfindel at last, "that the best thing to do would be to cut its throat."

"That would be much too cruel," exclaimed Erestor.

"Very well, Erestor," replied Glorfindel.  "We'll knock it on the head and then cut its throat."

"No!"

"Put it in a bag and drown it."

"Elrond!!" protested Erestor.

"Since when have you been so tender-hearted, Erestor?" growled Glorfindel.  "Fine.  Let us take it far away and leave it to perish of hunger and thirst."

"I think," interjected Elrond, "that we must keep Estel in mind.  He views this creature as his pet.  Whatever we do, we must strive not to inflict pain upon it or do away with it in such a fashion as to horrify the young human."

"I know of no way of killing a creature that is not in some respect horrifying," said Glorfindel in frustration.

"I could administer a potion that would render it unconscious," Elrond pointed out.  "Then it would feel no pain."

"No!" shouted Erestor.

Both Elrond and Glorfindel stared at him in amazement.

"We cannot kill this creature; it is innocent of any crime."

"Innocence or guilt is not the issue," said Elrond calmly.  "It is dangerous and must be put down as we would put down a rabid wolf—aye, Gwaurant himself we would destroy if he threatened our lives."

"You would not put down Gwaurant until he showed sign of disease," argued Erestor.

"The mere fact that it is an Orc is sign enough," retorted Elrond.

"Not necessarily.  Look you, this creature walks upon two legs and understands at least a little language and may be capable of understanding more.  It has something in common with us.  See its—no, his—ears.  They are pointed, like ours.  What if it is true—what if there is a kinship between Orcs and Elves—remote, yes, but kinship none the same?  Would you slay in cold blood this young one because he has had the misfortune of being descended from Elves who were captured and tortured by the Dark Lord?"

Elrond hesitated before answering.  When he answered, he sounded almost plaintive.

"But, Erestor, what would you have me do?  Surely you do not wish it—him—to remain in Rivendell.  That would be inconceivable!"

"No more inconceivable than the welcome you give some of your other guests!  You know what the Mirkwood Elves think of your penchant for befriending Dwarves, don't you?"

Elrond grimaced.  He knew.

"And then there's Gwaurant, Elrond, who is nothing but a wolf and yet is now loved by all."

Elrond considered for awhile and then shook his head.

"Dwarves are not inherently evil; nor is Gwaurant.  But Orcs, it is their nature to be wicked."

Glorfindel unexpectedly came down upon the side of Erestor.

"Even an Elf who is treated badly can turn our badly.  How do we know that each and every Orc would be wicked absent ill treatment?  Even their ugly appearance might be lessened given better usage."

Elrond wondered which of them had gone mad.  Yet he could not deny that they had had a point: if evil could be found within an Elf, was it not possible that good might be hidden within an Orc?  Thoughtfully, he glanced over at the little goblin, who sat quietly watching.  Suddenly Elrond had the uneasy feeling that the creature had understood each and every word that had been uttered.  The elf-lord had observed Dunlendings slaughtering cows, and he knew that the animals did not understand their fate.  He was not so sure that the small Orc was so oblivious.

"You have advanced several powerful arguments, Erestor, but I am responsible for the safety of my people."

Erestor opened his mouth to speak, but Elrond held up a hand to silence him.

"This creature is very tiny, and I deem that it poses no immediate threat.  Thus he may remain in Rivendell for a little while, until he is larger.  But he must sleep in his own chamber at night, a comfortable one but without windows, and the door must be bolted from the outside.  And when he has grown large enough to fend for himself, he must be taken far from Imladris and left to live on his own.  Somewhere in the Misty Mountains will do nicely, I think, but not too near any of the passes that we rely upon when we journey to Lórien.  That is the best I can offer, Erestor."

Satisfied, Erestor nodded.  It was really all that he had expected.

Over the next year, the chronicles record several peculiar developments.  Each morning the Orc, whom Estel had named, disconcertingly enough, Gwanur, 'Kinsman', would shamble to the library and patiently listen to the stories that Erestor would read to him.  The Orc even began to pick out a few words on his own, although it was obvious that he had no great gift for reading.  Each afternoon, a little more animated, the goblin would follow Estel to the training fields, where the human would give him archery lessons.  "Someday," Estel told him, "you will need to hunt for your dinner."  For good measure, Estel showed him how to set string traps, catch fish, and gather roots and berries.  He also taught him how to skin and dress game and how to kindle a fire upon which to cook meat.

During all this time, Gwanur never gave anyone cause to complain.  He was invariably polite (although his table manners left something to be desired as he never developed the knack of chewing with his mouth closed) and he took naturally to serving others.  In this, perhaps his bloodline did run true, for over the millennia Orcs had been bred to serve.  In any event, Estel discovered that the goblin liked nothing better than to spend his free time hauling wood and water for the Cook, and as the Cook had no objection, neither did Estel.  After all, the boy could not spend all his time with the Orc, and he was glad to know that the creature was content in his absence.  Gradually, Gwanur spent more and more time in the kitchen, and the Cook began to employ him in all kinds of tasks, from peeling potatoes to stirring soup.  As Erestor observed, neither the potatoes nor the soup seemed to suffer by it.

Orcs grow fast, and at the end of the year, Elrond decreed that Gwanur was big enough to fend for himself.  From the steely look in Elrond's eye, Estel knew better than to argue.  The goblin was no longer helpless, and Elrond had already made it clear that, once Gwanur had reached Orcish adolescence, the Elves would no longer be obliged to shelter him.  Sadly, Estel and Erestor set about making plans for a journey through the Misty Mountains.  They pored over Erestor's maps in search of a secluded place, one not too near the paths traveled by Men and Elves, but also one well-watered, with abundant game and trees that would provide cover and shelter.

"Wouldn't that be a good spot?" said Estel, pointing to a place safely south of one of the Lórien passes.

Erestor shook his head.

"The scouts who returned last week report that a particularly nasty Troll has moved into a cave in that area.  Even though Elrond believes Gwanur is big enough to fend for himself, I think he may be small enough to tempt a Troll who would not have the courage to attack a larger goblin."

It was true that Gwanur was rather short and thin for an Orc of his age.  He had always had plenty to eat, but perhaps, thought Erestor, the foods that were served at the tables of Elves were not the right sort for a goblin.  Mayhap it took foul viands and fell meats to properly nourish such a creature so that he might attain his full height.  And perhaps, Erestor added to himself, the goblin's character had also not been 'properly' fed—certainly he behaved more like an Elf than an Orc.  Indeed, over the past year Erestor had had more cause to reprimand the boy Estel than the goblin Gwanur!

But Erestor was forced to push such thoughts aside.  After discussing and dismissing several possible homes for Gwanur, he and Estel at last settled upon a place far to the north, on the edge of the Northern Waste.  Doggedly, they set about packing provisions for the journey, and the day came for the boy, the Elf, and the goblin to depart from Rivendell.

The Cook came running out as they left the Hall.

"Here," he said, thrusting a bag at Gwanur.  "I have baked you your favorite biscuits, enough to last you for several weeks, I hope, if you do not eat too many at a time."

"Hannon le," said Gwanur.  "I will be careful of them.  I suppose when they are gone there will never be any more," he added wistfully.

"No, I suppose not," said the Cook, "but you remember what I have taught you about flavoring meat.  If you do, you'll have many a fine meal, biscuits or no biscuits.  And, here, take this."

The Cook handed Gwanur a small saltcellar.

"I don't know whether you'll ever have a chance to refill it once you've emptied it, but you never know.  Keep it handy against that day."

"I will," promised Gwanur.

After departing Rivendell, the curious threesome of boy, Elf, and Orc traveled steadily north for several days.  At last they drew near the site that had been fixed upon for Gwanur's abode.  Erestor had been worrying about Gwanur's prospects for survival if he should ever encounter any of his own kind, and he offered what counsel that he could.

"Gwanur," he said, "if you should ever meet any Orcs, they may wonder how you came by the clothes that you are wearing.  Tell them you stole them from an Elf.  Preferably from a dead Elf," he added.

Gwanur looked uncomfortable, but said that he would.

"And," continued Erestor, "if anyone should ask how you learned all the words that you know, tell them that you got them from a captive Elf.  Preferably," he added, "from one being tortured."

"Erestor!" protested Estel.

"I am only trying to safeguard his life," explained Erestor.  "Gwanur is no longer like other Orcs."  As he said that, he suddenly realized how true it was, and he also understood all too well the import of that fact.  How he wished that he had gone to Elrond and argued in favor of allowing Gwanur to remain in Rivendell!  He now doubted that Gwanur would ever have become a danger to the other residents of Imladris.  Moreover, by raising him, they had no doubt delayed his death by a year, but when the end came, the tragedy would be the greater, for Gwanur had grown into great self-awareness.  Ai! It was too late for such regrets.  Elrond would be furious if they returned with Gwanur.  Moreover, the sentries no doubt would turn Gwanur back at the borders of Imladris, and Erestor would never be given a chance to make his case.  Gwanur's fate was sealed.

At long last the threesome arrived at the chosen spot and stood without speaking, each unwilling to utter the inevitable farewell.  Finally it was Gwanur himself who bravely broke the silence.

"If you don't return soon to Rivendell," he said dryly, "the Lord Elrond may suspect that I have done away with you."

"Oh, wonderful," thought Erestor in despair, "an Orc witty and insightful enough to indulge in self-deprecating humor.  And we are condemning him at best to exile and at worst to a death unmarked and unmourned."

Estel's thoughts as he gazed wistfully at his erstwhile 'pet' were not as mature as Erestor's but were no less sad.  "Gwanur," he said to himself, "really isn't bad looking for an Orc.  Indeed, were it not been for those pointy teeth, there were times when he might have been mistaken for an Elf—a particularly ugly one, of course, but an Elf nonetheless.  I wish Ada could have seen that."

Regardless of the regrets that all felt, at last farewells were spoken, Estel and Gwanur exchanging hugs and Erestor putting dignity aside to lay a hand upon the goblin's shoulder as he wished him well.  Then Elf and boy set out on the return journey, Estel looking back from time to time as he sadly trudged after Erestor, who himself had to exercise great self-restraint, else he too would have been casting glances behind him.

The next year passed uneventfully for both Estel and Erestor.  Estel moped about for several weeks, but Erestor thought himself too dignified to allow himself the luxury of showing his sadness.  Eventually, Estel, too, appeared to have recovered, and then Erestor thought himself too occupied in dealing with his japes to indulge himself overmuch in brooding over the fate of Gwanur.  Estel was forever getting into mischief or bringing up difficult subjects or asking embarrassing questions.  For example, one day he remembered a topic that had arisen on the day Elrond had discovered Gwanur in the kitchen.  Estel had never gotten around to asking Elrohir and Elladan about it, and so one day he casually brought it up during lessons.

"Erestor," he said, "what's man-kissing?"

Erestor turned a bright-red all the way to the tips of his pointed ears, and the only information Estel could get out of him was something about how he'd better mind his tongue.  It was obvious to Estel that on the subject of 'man-kissing', Erestor wanted Estel to keep his mouth shut.  "This time," the boy resolved, "I really must remember to ask Elrohir and Elladan."

Still, even considering the crises presented by Estel, life was in the main calm, so much so that Erestor found himself getting restless.  Perhaps without realizing it he missed the added challenge of having a goblin to tutor.  At any event, one day, to Glorfindel's surprise and dismay, Erestor announced that he wished to accompany the balrog-slayer as he toured the borders of Imladris.  Vainly Glorfindel tried to dissuade him, but Erestor could not be swayed.  A fortnight later, a disgruntled Glorfindel rode out in the company of a satisfied Erestor.  "He is going to get into trouble," the balrog-slayer had grumbled to the Lord of Imladris.  "You know he will, Elrond."

"I know nothing of the sort," retorted Elrond, who as usual was more amused than not at the sniping that went on between the two friends.

 At first, Glorfindel's fears did seem to be unfounded.  Erestor stayed close and did not do anything foolish.  Glorfindel began to relax and eventually found himself enjoying congenial conversations with his companion.

"Do you ever wonder," asked Erestor one night as they sat looking up at the stars, "do you ever wonder what became of Gwanur?"

"The little goblin?  Yes, but only occasionally."

"He wasn't a bad little fellow," said Erestor.  For an Orc, that is," he hastily added.

"Actually," mused Glorfindel, "I've known Men worse than Gwanur.  And certainly Dwarves.  Yes," he went on, "I would have preferred Gwanur's company to that of several Dwarves of my acquaintance."

Erestor certainly agreed.  He pressed on.

"Sometimes," the tutor said, "I think we did an injustice when we sent Gwanur away."

Glorfindel, however, was not willing to go so far.  Elrond had decided that Gwanur had to be sent away, and in all matters Glorfindel would loyally defend the judgment of the Lord of Imladris.

"Erestor, for all Gwanur was pleasant and inoffensive, he was still an Orc.  We couldn't be expected to harbor him once he was old and large enough to look out for himself."

Erestor let the matter drop.  As he was to take the first watch that night, he arose and wrapped his cloak around him.  Bidding Glorfindel goodnight, he slipped into the tree line and took up his post.

The first hour passed uneventfully.  Then Erestor heard the sound of branches breaking, as if something were trodding nearby.  He glanced toward Glorfindel, who had instructed Erestor to wake him if anything should require investigating.  The balrog-slayer was deep in elven dreams.

"It is probably nothing," thought Erestor, "and not worth troubling him.  I'll just take a quick look about."

He stole deeper into the forest.  Again he heard the breaking of branches, a little further away this time.

"I'll merely venture a few more steps," Erestor said to himself, "and if I still see nothing, I will return to the camp."

He took perhaps a dozen more steps and then stood very quietly, listening intently.  He heard not a sound.

"Well," he thought, "it was nothing—some animal that wandered near and then retreated.  I'll turn back now."

Before he could act on that resolution, however, something struck him hard in the stomach, driving the breath from his lungs and knocking him to the ground.  Before he could recover or cry out, a large Orc was straddling him, one hand on Erestor's throat and the other clutching an upraised knife.  As the knife descended toward the elf-lord, he tried to replace the scene in his mind with the faces of his friends.  His eyes glazed over as his soul made ready to depart.

Several minutes passed.  Erestor felt no pain, but he was still held down by something heavy.  He allowed his eyes to come back into focus.  Literally a dead weight, the Orc was sprawled upon Erestor, its eyes open but lusterless.  The hand that had held the knife lay limp, the blade having fallen to the ground.  An arrow protruded from the back of the Orc.  Oddly enough, it was an Orcish arrow, but Erestor did not waste any time reflecting upon that peculiar fact.  Instead, he made shift to crawl out from underneath the dead Orc, a difficult task, considering that he was pinned down on his back and had to push with his elbows.  At length, however, he shoved and squirmed his way out from under the Orc, scrambled to his feet, and stumbled toward the campsite, where he at once roused Glorfindel.  The balrog-slayer immediately decreed that they break camp.

"Orcs are not solitary creatures," he observed grimly.  "They are like cockroaches.  If you see one scuttle across the floor, you know that you face an infestation. We had best make for Rivendell at once.  Later I will ride back to this place with a band of picked scouts.  Woe betide any Orcs who still remain upon my return!"

At first Erestor was too occupied with breaking camp and reaching safety to dwell much upon the circumstances surrounding the death of his would-be murderer, but at length he and Glorfindel had put enough distance between themselves and the camp so that the balrog-slayer was willing to permit them to slacken their pace.  Then it was that Erestor both described the incident in greater detail to Glorfindel and began to reflect upon its meaning.

"I wonder," Erestor said to Glorfindel.  "My assailant, an Orc, was himself slain by an Orc arrow.  You don't suppose that Gwanur—"

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Glorfindel.  "You and Estel released the little goblin miles from here.  Undoubtedly what happened was that you were saved by the clumsiness of an Orc who was trying to aid his comrade but shot him instead.  Besides," he added, "you know that it is highly unlikely that Gwanur still lives.  As he was raised by Elves, I suspect he ended up making a very poor goblin, one ill-suited to survive under harsh conditions in the wastelands."

Erestor knew that Glorfindel was being logical, a quality that he usually prized in himself and others, and he once again let the matter drop.  He would have liked to believe, however, both that Gwanur was alive and that the little goblin somehow had had a hand in Erestor's own survival.  It was a hopeful thought that he still cherished years later when he departed from the Grey Havens for the Undying Lands.

While Erestor and Glorfindel were hastening toward safety, back at the Orc camp a captain was giving a tongue-lashing to a smallish goblin who stood looking down at the ground, his expression unreadable.

"Yah little rat," snarled the captain.  "Yer surely the most worthless Orc wot ever walked this earth.  Six months we bin on patrol, and yah hain't succeeded in killin' a single Man er Elf.  Yah couldn'e'en bring down that Dwarf t'other day, even though 'e uz fair trippin' over 'is beard as 'e scuttled away.  And now yeh've gone and managed to shoot my best fighter in the back.  Why didja ev'n bother drawin' yer bow?  He surely coulda finished off that pointy ear wi'out any help from ye!"

The goblin said nothing.

"Yah maggot," the captain raged on, "for all yah talk so fine'n'Elf-like, ye'll never make a warrior.  From now on, yer goin' to stay in camp.  The only thing yer good for is haulin' wood'n'water.  Yes, that's it.  Ye'll be our skivvy—ye'll never agin 'ave a chance t'go inta battle.  That'll serve ye."

Still the goblin looked down silently at the ground, and the Orc captain stomped off in disgust.

One of the other Orcs spoke up then.

"He oughter do the cookin' too.  He's a rare cook, for all he's worthless on the battlefield.  Kin make the most rotten flesh tolerable, and plain meat downright savory."

So it was that year upon year the little Orc hauled wood and water and cooked for his fellow Orcs, all the while enduring without complaint their jeers at his clumsiness as a warrior.  However, this blundering little Orc did go into battle on one last occasion.  It was on the day when Sauron called out his remaining forces in order to crush a presumptuous band of Men (plus one each of Wizard, Dwarf, Elf, and Hobbit) that had had the temerity to challenge the Dark Lord at the very Gates of Mordor.  The victory of Sauron's legions was so sure that even an ill-natured Orc captain could have no objection when one lowly little skivvy insinuated himself into a band of warriors and slipped out to stand before the Gates.  There he somehow managed to get into the thick of the battle, where his ineptness figured in a most unexpected fashion.  The Orc captain had managed to get a bead on the Man who, from his garb and demeanor, seemed to be the leader of the humans.  But just as he released his arrow, the little goblin stepped directly into its path.  Pierced through, he fell dead and so never heard the oaths directed at him by the captain, who himself was cut down by a Dwarf's axe just minutes later.

So it was that, by an odd coincidence, Estel, now Aragorn, who years earlier had saved a goblin, lived to see himself saved by an Orc.  Strange indeed are the ways of Middle Earth.

One more curious note: As the small goblin collapsed to the ground, a saltcellar fell out of his pocket and lay on the dirt beside him.  It was a small saltcellar, to be sure, but, still, a very odd thing to be found on the body of an Orc.  Aragorn himself spied it and pocketed it and then commanded that the small goblin should be cremated separately rather than cast upon the pile of carelessly tumbled Orc bodies.  And forever after, when Aragorn flavored his meat, 'twas that saltcellar he would use.  Until the day he died, no one else was allowed to touch it, and when he laid himself down to take his final rest, it was in a pouch upon his belt.  What it meant to him, no one, not even Arwen, ever knew, for he took both the saltcellar and his reasons to the grave with him.