My stories sometimes track Tolkien's version of Middle-earth, sometimes Jackson's.

Thanks to the following reviewers of Episode 29 of Elfing Interludes: bella13446, CAH, Karri, and leggyrespect123. Also thanks to the following for reviewing earlier chapters: Dola for a review of Chapter 1, Lotrfn for reviews of Chapters 4 and 17, and UnnamedElement for a review of Chapter 2.

This chapter may incorporate incidents and/or quotations from the book and/or movie versions of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The chapter may also draw upon posthumous publications edited by Christopher Tolkien, such as The Silmarillion.

Arwen describes the color of Anomen's eyes and hair in "What's in a Name," Chapter 6 of "Elfling Interludes."

Texts of the Old English riddles and of the Old English poems "The Wanderer" and "The Ruin" are based on editions in the public domain. In addition, I consulted translations of the riddles and poems in the public domain when preparing my own translations.

Vocabulary

Note on the final sentence: "scyppenda Scyppend" literally means "Shaper of shapers." In Old English, one of the words for poet was "scop." The 'sc' was pronounced like the modern 'sh', and Sir Philip Sidney thought that the word was related to the modern verb 'shape'. So following Sir Philip Sidney's interpretation, a poet was a 'shaper', and the story ends with the advice that we should praise the creator of poets.

Byrnies—[iron] corslets/mail shirts (Old Norse via Middle English)

Cædmon—first English poet known by name, active mid to late-7th century CE

Camdene—Valley with Camps/Enclosures (Old English, campa 'camp' + denu 'valley')

Carch Faer—Tooth Fairy (Sindarin, carch 'tooth' + faer 'spirit)

Cyneweard—Royal Guard (Old English, cyne 'royal' + weard 'guard' [cf. 'warden'])

Cynewyn—Royal Joy (Old English, cyne 'royal' + wyn 'joy')

Cyþberht—Famous Bright (Old English, cyþ 'famous' + beorht 'bright')

Éastfæsten—East Fortress (Old English, fæsten 'fortress/fastness')

Engel—angel (Old English)

Eorre—Wrath (Old English)

Norþdæl—North Dale/Valley (Old English)

Mellon-nín—my friend (Sindarin, mellon 'friend' + nín 'my')

Samhain—All Hallow's Eve (Halloween) (Celtic, Samhna 'November')

Súþdæl—South Dale/Valley (Old English)

Tóþ Gást—Tooth Fairy (Old English, tóþ 'tooth' + gást 'ghost/spirit')

Þegn—retainer/thane (Old English)

Chapter 30: The Wanderer

"Don't stare," Anomen whispered to his foster-brothers, Elrohir and Elladan. "You are being rude."

The twins knew Anomen was right, but it was hard not to gape. Human traders visited Rivendell three or four times a year, and Rangers somewhat more frequently, but human children rarely set foot in the valley. Today, however, over a dozen man-children had arrived, part of a tribe of humans that had crossed the border without leave. Glorfindel's scouts had discovered the band and escorted the humans—adults and children alike—to Imladris. Now, in Elrond's presence chamber, the human's chief was begging the elves for assistance.

"My lord," he said humbly, "we have been forced to flee from a land where we have dwelled in safety for many generations. Some years were more prosperous than others, but always we felt secure and confident that, although the crops might be poorly one year, they would recover the next. In the meanwhile, folks in the next valley would lend us the wherewithal to survive, knowing that we would return the favor in due course."

"I gather, then," Elrond replied sympathetically, "that the crops have failed universally so that neighbor has not the wherewithal to aid neighbor."

The chief shook his head. "When it were best to rain, the clouds provided; when sunshine was needful, the orb smiled upon us. We leave a bountiful crop awaiting the reapers, but it will not be ours to harvest."

"You have been invaded, then?"

"Orcs or Men, I wonder," whispered Elrohir.

"After a fashion," answered the chief. "But not by foreigners. It is our erstwhile neighbors who will enjoy the fruits of our labor."

Elrohir and Elladan exchanged puzzled glances, and Anomen, watching Elrond intently, caught the slight quirk of one eyebrow, an almost imperceptible sign that the elf lord, too, was surprised.

"You have had a falling out with your neighbors, then?"

The chief nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"Perchance relations shall be mended, and then you may return to your land."

The chief shook his head sadly. "I fear not, my lord. Such things have been said and done that I do not think we shall ever feel safe returning."

"Then it must be a long and complex tale that ought to be told at length, over a meal. Lindir, please take our guests to the Hall of Fire, where they may wait in comfort whilst preparations are made to properly receive them."

Lindir bowed and then gestured to the humans, who trooped after him, weary yet hopeful.

Elrond turned to the elflings. "Elladan, inform the Master of the Baths that he needs must furnish hot water sufficient for our guests and then ask the Wardrobe Mistress to find them suitable garments, for their own are travel-stained. Elrohir," he continued, turning to Elladan's twin, "take a message to the Mistress of the Linens, that she should prepare rooms for our guests." Last he addressed Anomen. "I believe," he said, smiling a little, "that you are the only one of my sons who may safely approach our good Master Cook, for he swears that he spied your brothers running away from the kitchen just before he discovered a pie missing."

"I don't see how," Elrohir said slyly, "one could discover a pie missing—for then it should not be lost!"

"You must attend to the difference between a 'pie missing' and a 'missing pie'," their tutor, Erestor, interjected tendentiously. "Do notice that your father spoke the former phrase, not the latter. For what was discovered was the loss and most assuredly not the dish!"

"Now Erestor mentions 'dish'," Elrond said, "I do hope the dish in which the pie was baked will reappear. It is too much, I know, to hope for the recovery of the pie itself, but it would be sad indeed if the number of future pies were reduced for want of a pan." He looked pointedly at Elladan and Elrohir, both of whom blushed. Bowing deeply, the twins backed out of the room. Anomen lingered behind. Elrond looked at him encouragingly.

"What is it, Anomen?"

"Ada, are we to dine with the humans?"

"The young humans—and the young elves, too—must be fed a repast of bread and cheese and fruit straightaway, for it is very late and they ought not wait half-starved whilst the Cook prepares a full meal. You may share in that supper."

"Ada, I wouldn't mind making a meal of bread and cheese and fruit, but I want to hear the humans' tale. May I attend upon you tonight?"

Elrond smiled at the eager elfling. "I see no reason why you should not be present. Get somewhat to eat, and then make yourself useful by bearing dishes and serving at table. You may tell your brothers that they, too, may accompany you into the Hall."

But Elladan and Elrohir had no interest in waiting upon their elders in order to hear what they expected would be a tiresome tale. As soon as they had received their portion, they retired to their chamber, not deigning to break bread with their guests. Through Eärendil they were the great-grandsons of Tuor, and through Elwing, they were the great-great-grandsons of Beren, but although humans were numbered amongst their ancestors, they thought the bedraggled visitors to be beneath their notice. Anomen, however, took a seat on a bench in an outbuilding that had been hastily converted into a dining hall for the children. On one side of Anomen sat a lisping child who solemnly showed the elfling the gap where a tooth had lately been. On the other side sat an older child who at first cast wary sidelong glances at Anomen. His looks grew friendlier, however, when the elfling solemnly offered the younger lad a penny for his tooth when the little fellow mournfully lamented that he had not been able to leave his tooth under a pillow for the Tōþ Gāst.

"We have been traveling," the little human said sadly, "and I do not think he knows where to find me. For I have put this tooth under my bedroll every night, but always the tooth is still there in the morning."

"You take this penny," Anomen said, "and I will put the tooth under my pillow. See, I have a loose one, so the Carch Faer still comes to my chamber. So I will give you a coin, and I will get it back the next time the Carch Faer visits Rivendell."

Anomen opened his mouth and pushed at a tooth with his tongue. The tooth swiveled precariously, and both the lisping urchin and the older boy were impressed, although for different reasons.

"That was kind," the older lad whispered to Anomen, "for I am sure you know you will never be repaid. I certainly haven't got a penny to give you, and if my Granda had a spare coin, he would already have slipped it under my brother's bedroll."

Anomen noticed that the boy had not spoken of his father. The youngster caught the young elf's quizzical look.

"You are wondering why I spoke of our Granda instead of our Da," he said softly. "Our Da was slain in a raid. He was the chief. Now our uncle is the headman."

"But he hasn't got a penny, neither," the boy added sadly.

Anomen wished he had a great many more pennies then, but he had traded all but the one for a bracelet as a gift for Arwen on her birthday. Beyond that one penny, he could only offer the young humans his good will.

But it seems that his good will was worth something. The boy asked Anomen his name and shared his own, Cædmon, and that of his brother, Cyneweard.

Anomen had been taught that amongst some human tribes, a name may be guarded warily rather casually exchanged, and he appreciated the trust the boy was showing him. Soon elf and human were talking of such matters as are common to children, and the anxious crease between the boy's brows smoothed, its place taken by laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes. "Oh, yes," chortled the boy, "my little sister Cynewyn follows me, too. Once she tagged along when my brother and I went berrying. She promised she wouldn't be a bother, but of course she grew hungry and ate most of what we gathered. And after she gobbled up the berries, she was sleepy. I had to tote her home pick-a-back!"

The little sister in question crept near whilst Anomen and her brother were speaking. Cynewyn crawled into the lad's lap and hid her face in his tunic when Anomen smiled at her. The child peeked out from time to time, and at last, as Anomen and Cædmon continued to share stories, she sat up straight and looked frankly at the young elf.

"Your eyes have little pieces of the sky in them," she announced. Anomen smiled. He remembered the day that Mithrandir had brought him to Imladris and he had first met Arwen. The little elleth had told him exactly what this tiny human had just said—that he had little pieces of the sky in his eyes. He smiled even more deeply when the little girl continued, again speaking as Arwen once had. "Your hair is the color of a sunflower," she chirped.

Just then Lindir came to the door and beckoned to Anomen. "I go to wait upon my elders," Anomen said to Cædmon. "I hope we may speak again before you leave Rivendell."

The boy grinned, no longer looking like a refugee but like a lad who would enjoy swimming and running foot races. 'Perhaps tomorrow', Anomen thought hopefully, 'Erestor will grant us a holiday from lessons and I can spend the day with Cædmon'.

Walking a few respectful paces behind Lindir, Anomen entered the Dining Hall and went to stand behind Elrond's chair. He refilled the elf lord's goblet from time to time, and when the older elf nodded at an empty platter, Anomen would carry it to the kitchen to be heaped once more with bread or meat.

The humans' chieftain—Cædmon's uncle—was named Camdene. He sat in the place of honor to Elrond's right, and as Anomen stood quietly behind his foster-father's chair, he was able to listen to the conversation between elf and man.

"We lived peaceably for generations," Camdene was saying. "We grew enough for our sustenance and a little more so that we traded with villages in the other valleys, both the crops and the goods that we crafted during the winters, when the fields did not require tending. No village claimed mastery—all were on equal footing, and if one had more apples and fewer turnips, it would share the one in exchange for the other."

"All that changed," Camdene continued sadly, "one Samhain eve as we celebrated the harvest. Men from Éastfæsten marched into town. They carried bows and hand axes although it was the time for neither hunting nor hewing. We offered them food and fellowship, but they spurned both. Their chieftain, Eorre, declared that we must give a portion of the harvest so that we might be kept safe from danger.

"'From what danger?' my brother Cyþberht asked.

"'Fire and sword', Eorre answered.

"'It is long since we were visited by either', Cyþberht retorted. 'But our elders have taught us that in bygone days, when one village was threatened, the others would come to its aid. No need to set aside our winnings on perils that, should they come to pass, we may deal with in that manner'.

"'You are ill-advised, Cyþberht', Eorre sneered. 'When the wolf has eaten your sheep, it is too late to gather them in the fold'.

"'I saw wolf spoor at the edge of the meadow', Cyþberht replied steadily, 'and I tracked that wolf and slew it'.

"'Beware lest a wolf take you unawares', Eorre said darkly. He turned and stalked out of the village, his men swinging their axes and brandishing their bows as they marched after him.

"That night our barns were set afire. We saved our stock, but the grain and hay were lost. We sent ealdermenn to Norþdæl and Súþdæl, but their folk would not trade with us to make up for the loss. To the East we did not send."

"And so you departed your land to escape famine," Elrond said.

Camdene shook his head. "We were able to make do, if only just. We had meat enough, for we slaughtered the cows and ewes past breeding, as well as the steers and the wethers. Of the bulls and rams, we kept only a few to cover the females come spring so that we might rebuild our herds and flocks. Some of the meat we ate fresh; some we salted; some we smoked or dried. Besides meat, we had the wisdom of the agéd to sustain us. We had forgotten, as they sat dreaming in the chimney corners, that they knew how the ancients preserved themselves in times of dearth. My great-grandmother remembered a time when the rains had failed and the crops had shriveled in the field. That year her own great-grandmother left off nodding in her inglenook and showed her kinfolk how to leach the bitterness from ripe áccærnas, and now my Eldest Nana passed on her knowledge. From her, too, we learned to dig up the roots of the ærisc in the marshes, the þiustra in the fields, and the wududocce in the forests. Come spring she taught us to gather the roots of the ægwyrt and the fresh leaves of many plants: docce and and þiustra, and clæferwyrt, senep and cærse, and ægwyrt, feldwóp and cliðe."

Anomen listened intently, thankful now for Erestor's lessons in the mannish tongues. 'They ate acorns', he said to himself, 'and the roots of bulrushes, chicory, and wood sorrel. In the spring they dug up the roots of dandelions; and chicory and sorrel leaves they ate, and the leaves of clover, mustard, and cress, and of dandelions, plantains, and burdock'.

Anomen was impressed at the wisdom of Camdene's great-grandmother, but the chieftain had more to say.

"She told us that the stalks of cliðe, eorðnafela, and docce are good eating," the man continued, "and the seeds of senep and cærse. The flowers of the senep, too, and those of the ægwyrt."

'Stalks of burdock, asparagus, and sorrel', Anomen translated to himself. 'Seeds of mustard and cress. The flowers of mustard and the dandelion. I do not know why men farm, when so many wild plants are to hand!'

"Of course," Camdene was continuing, "foraging could only tide us over, for while the wild stuff was good eating, the quantities were small, scarcely enough for a village of our size. We tightened our belts and looked forward to the harvest. In the spring, we sowed the seeds that by good fortune were not in the granaries when they were set afire. Before the attack, folk had carried sacks of grain to the mill to be ground into flour. These we preserved for the spring planting—although many were the days that folk thought longingly of the bread that they might have eaten."

Now Anomen understood why the villagers could not have relied upon foraging indefinitely, and he felt foolish for having thought otherwise. It took time to gather a bucket of berries or a basket of mushrooms. The results were tasty but hardly the sort of provender that could sustain a village over a lengthy period. 'The foragers would have to go further and further afield, for they would quickly exhaust whatever foodstuffs were near to hand', he thought. 'And', the young elf reminded himself, 'wild foodstuffs are not always in season!'

Camdene was continuing his tale. "The seed sprouted, and both sun and rain favored the crop, each in sufficient quantities at the appropriate times. We looked forward to a bountiful harvest.

"But," he went on, his face growing grim, "the higher the grain grew, the more often we saw Eorre's men near the village. They were joined by men from the Norþdæl and the Súþdæl. For the villages in those parts now paid tribute to Eorre and came at his summons. Together, those men lurked at the edges of the fields. Our lads could no longer drive our herds to the best pastures, for first the boys were threatened, then they were beaten. Next outbuildings were set on fire and tools destroyed."

"Did you never consider paying tribute?" Elrond asked.

Camdene shook his head vehemently. "The men of the Norþdæl and the Súþdæl had paid the tribute, but the first payment had led to demands for a second and the second a third. Eorre's men had seized so much grain that the folk of Norþdæl and the Súþdæl were only a little less hungry than my folk. Sometimes, when we sent out foraging parties—well-guarded ones!—they would flush out lone men who had secretly crept away from the cowed villages to glean what they could for their families. These poor folk hoped to gather foodstuffs far from the eyes of Eorre's men, who would insist that they share their meager stores—for that is what the scoundrels called their theft: 'sharing'!

"But it was not only for that reason that we refused to pay tribute," Camdene went on. "I have said that the men from the Norþdæl and the Súþdæl would come at Eorre's summons. We would question the lone foragers, and with many a frightened glance over their shoulders, they would whisper how it was: they were more thralls than free men. They were forced to tend Eorre's fields first. Wood they had to gather for Eorre before they could feed their own fires, and Eorre's walls they had to repair before they could see to their own boundaries. Aye, and even then they were not done with demands for labor. For they needs must tend the fields of Eorre's þegns—some of which had once been their own fields, for Eorre's men stole land as well as crops—and likewise gather wood and repair walls for those emboldened retainers. So, warned by our neighbors' misfortune, it was both our goods and our freedom that we wished to preserve."

"Yet in the end it was only your freedom you came away with," Elrond observed somberly.

Camdene nodded his head. "Aye. As the time drew near for harvest, we ringed with men both our fields and our barns, hoping to protect both with such weapons as we had. My brother was patrolling a field to the east when the attack came. He was slain, he and seven others. It was a great loss to the village. The men who took up arms were in their prime. They had the strength to wield weapons, but also were best to wield hoe and spade. We lost both defenders and farmers that day and could afford to lose neither.

"That night we gathered to decide what to do. Some were for paying tribute, but most not. For they knew that, our village having defied Eorre, we would be treated with a harshness worse than that meted out to the others.

"So the next day, whilst our folk secretly packed for a journey, I rode to Eorre and feigned submission. Half the harvest had been in-gathered, I told him, and he was welcome to half of that half.

"He sneered that he would have all that had been harvested, and I pretended to be resigned. 'Very well', I said. 'We will make do with what remains in the fields'. Eorre retorted, 'Be grateful I do not take that as well'. I inclined my head and held my tongue, for I knew I should lose either one or the other if I protested.

"The next day, men from the Norþdæl and the Súþdæl came with wagons and emptied our granaries. They would not meet our eyes, but they did as they were ordered. Beside them rode Eorre's þegns, and I marked how well they were armed, with swords of foreign make. They looked to be of excellent quality—much better than the crude weapons usually borne by the sons of sons of farmers, with ancestries far removed from the days when clan fought clan."

Elrond quirked an eyebrow slightly, and Anomen could tell that his foster-father was disturbed at Camdene's account of the weaponry borne by Eorre's men.

"We made sure that folk were seen to be in the fields harvesting some of the remaining grain," Camdene continued. "As soon as the wagons were driven away, we threshed what we could as hastily as possible and packed it into sacks. Then we fled. Some were for firing the fields before we escaped in order to deny our foes the rest of the harvest, but I counseled against that plan. 'Eorre wants thralls as well as grain', I warned. 'If we fire the fields, he will know that we flee, and he will send his þegns after us. Be sure he will slay our men, but he will keep the woman and girls and boys. He will weld iron collars around their necks to show that they are slaves for life, and their children after them. But if we leave the fields unfired, it will be several days before our escape is discovered. He no longer sets a watch on our village because he has our grain and—he thinks!—our submission'. The most of the folk agreed with that counsel, and so we left the fields untouched, aye, and all the buildings, too, though it set our teeth on edge to know that Eorre and his followers would have the use of them."

"You were wise," Elrond, "as were your people in choosing you as chief. And you were wise in choosing to flee to Rivendell. If Eorre's men track you to this valley, be sure that they shall not enter it to trouble you. Nor shall they follow you once you leave it, for you are now under my protection, and you shall be furnished with an escort to take you to a place where you will prosper in safety."

"My Lord, if you know of such a place, we should be glad to hear of it."

"I do know a place," Elrond replied. "It is colder than these lands, so the growing season is shorter than you are accustomed to, but the soil is fertile and well watered, and when the fields are well tended the harvests bountiful. Moreover, the land is well defended. The Dúnedain patrol its borders."

"The Dúnedain!" exclaimed Camdene. "The Men of the North? But I thought they were tales told to awe children—the Men of the Mists who pass without being seen, without being heard."

"They do pass without being seen and heard—when they choose, which is most of the time. Certainly they are rarely seen or heard by their foes—until it is too late. One of the Dúnedain, Halbarad, arrived last night, he and several other of his company, and it is they who will escort you to the north. But first you must stay here several days to rest and to allow my folk time to replenish your supplies, for we marked how the saddlebags on your horses hung limp and the packs flapped empty on your backs."

Camdene was stammering. "My Lord—My Lord, we hoped you might aid us, for the hospitality of the Last Homely House is well known, but this—this is beyond what we expected. I do not know how we shall repay your kindness!"

"You shall repay it by populating the North. Better you than others. But do not think on the matter. For now, you shall humor me, and that will be recompense enough. I have an interest in weaponry. As you have lately seen some weapons of foreign make, you shall entertain me by describing them. Would that not be a fair exchange for our hospitality?"

"More than fair, My Lord! I will gladly describe the weapons. I saw many—not only the swords borne by Eorre's men when they came to the village, but also the weapons in Eorre's hall—very nearly an armory it was, so many were the swords and axes and shields and helms and byrnies."

"Then I shall be well entertained indeed," Elrond said with a manner that to Camdene must have seemed casual but which Anomen knew was anything but. Elrond bade farewell to his guests—all but Camdene, whom he invited to his private chamber. Glorfindel came too, and Lindir, and Anomen trailed behind trying to be inconspicuous. He slipped into the room just before Lindir closed the door and was rewarded when the older elves ignored his presence. He sat quietly in the corner and listened for the next two hours as Camdene described what he had seen and was minutely questioned by Elrond. How many swords? How long were the blades? How wide? Their shapes? Any lettering or designs? The hilts, their shapes? Any gems or devices?

Knives, spears, axes, shields, helmets, byrnies—Elrond carefully made similar enquiries, probing for information about the quantity and quality of all armaments. He seemed especially interested in the sword borne by Eorre himself.

"Oh, yes, Lord Elrond. I got a good look at it. It rested, unsheathed, on Eorre's knees. He stroked the blade as he threatened me. One would almost think he was petting a lap cat. I suppose he was fond of it because it was such an exotic and magnificent sword."

"Exotic?"

"Yes. It had a curved blade, with the edge sharpened on only one side, with the blade thickest in the middle and then tapering to a point. I have heard tell that such swords are carried by men from southern parts. I know our folk never carried such weapons into battle."

"Haradrim," muttered Glorfindel, who until then had said nothing. Anomen noticed that the elf's hand went to the hilt of his knife and gripped it tightly, as if he would have liked to have drawn and wielded it at that very moment. Elrond glanced at his friend. Their eyes met, and Glorfindel relaxed his grip, but he sat on the edge of his chair, his muscle tense.

"Was Eorr's sword exotic in any other way?" Elrond asked mildly, as if he did not share Glorfindel's disquietude.

"It had lettering—leastways it looked like lettering but I couldn't make it out. I know my runes, and I have seen elvish script, but this didn't look like neither. Still, I am sure it was lettering—a row of marks, with some marks repeated but not regularly as they would have been were the marks merely part of a pattern."

Listening, Anomen was impressed not only at how careful an observer Camdene was but also at his astuteness.

"I wonder how Eorre acquired such a weapon," Elrond said, still maintaining a dispassionate tone as if he were simply asking out of idle curiosity.

"Those Norþdæl and Súþdæl foragers—we asked them why Eorre and his Éastfæsten followers had suddenly become so greedy when for as long as anyone could remember we all of us had been satisfied with the crops we raised and the goods we traded for. All the foragers told the same tale: that an agéd man, wrapped in a great cloak and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, had visited their villages claiming that he wished to hire men to serve him in some trifling matter. Every village had refused, for there was something off about him, for all he spoke with a honeyed voice. His eyes gave the lie to his words! Eorre, though, he listened, and a few weeks after the stranger left his village, other strangers arrived driving wagons. I reckon the sword and the other weapons were in those wagons."

"That may be so," Elrond said. "Did the stranger never come to your village?"

Camdene shook his head. "Maybe he would have visited us next if Eorre had turned him down, but the most of us never saw him."

"The most of us?" said Elrond.

"Cyþberht may have seen him. My brother was returning from a Norþdæl settlement. Most of the villages have naught but ironsmiths, but happens a silversmith dwells in that town, for it is one of the larger ones and situated for trade at the meeting of a river and a well-traveled road. Cyþberht had gone to trade for a silver cup for his eldest daughter's dowry. On the way back, his horse went lame. Cyþberht pried the stone from the horse's hoof, but he decided to make camp and slowly walk the horse home in the morning. He built a fire and was making a meal of the remains of his lunch when suddenly he looked up, and there just on the edge of the firelight stood an old bent man, leaning on a staff, and wrapped in a great cloak; his side-brimmed hat was pulled down over his eyes. Cutberth was startled because the old man had caught him unawares, without making a sound, in a place far from any settlement. But my brother did not forget that one must offer hospitality to travelers.

"'Well, father, what can I do for you', said he, leaping to his feet. 'Come and be warm, if you are cold!"

"But as Cyþberht strode forward, the old man vanished with neither a word nor a trace. Puzzling that was, and when my brother first told the tale, I wondered whether my brother were dreaming. But now I think it was the stranger and that he sized up Cyþberht and decided to go to Eorre instead."

"Curious," Elrond murmured, as if speaking to himself. Then he again addressed Camdene. "So the old man vanished and in the morning Cyþberht went on his way with the dowry cup. His daughter, has she wed?"

"No," Camdene said somberly. "The night the men guarding the fields were attacked, her betrothed fell by the side of her father."

"And the cup?"

"We sold it on the road to pay for food when our provisions ran out."

Elrond nodded sympathetically. "You and your kin have suffered many losses, Master Camdene. We can never restore to you those whom you lost, but we shall help you become established in a land where, it is to be hoped, you will not suffer such losses in the future."

The elf lord rose and inclined his head. Camdene arose likewise and bowed deeply.

"Lindir will show you to your room, Master Camdene."

"Thank you, My Lord."

Lindir and the human left the room. Glorfindel remained behind, and Anomen, still staying perfectly still, kept his place in the corner. Elrond poured Glorfindel a goblet of wine and, to Anomen's surprise, mixed water and wine in a cup and handed it Anomen.

"You are wise to send them to the north, Elrond," Glorfindel said, sipping at his wine. "If there is safety anywhere, it is to the north. It is the last place that will come under attack, for it is deemed to have an unwelcoming climate and to be lacking in precious metals and gems."

"As to that, the land may not be as lacking as folk assume. Since few have ever lived there, it is the less likely that its potential has been fully plumbed."

"For the sake of Camdene's tribe, I hope no such wealth is ever discovered, for then others shall covet the land."

"You are, unfortunately, correct. However, if the tribe is sufficiently well established, they may be able to repel interlopers."

"It will take more than numbers," Glorfindel warned.

"True. Camdene's folk will require both weapons—proper ones!—and training. We shall provide the weapons, and the Rangers may be prevailed upon to provide the training."

Glorfindel set down his goblet and arose. "I shall go to the Armory and look over our arms. Doubtless we can spare some of our weapons, and I will give orders for additional ones to be fashioned that can be sent north at some later point."

"Thank you, mellon-nín."

After Glorfindel left, for several minutes the room was silent save for the hissing and crackling of the fire and the scratching of Elrond's pen as he returned to working on a letter to Lady Galadriel that he had begun composing earlier in the day. At last, he set down the pen and sprinkled sand on the letter. Then he looked up at Anomen, who sat observing him intently.

"Well, my son, what thoughts are dancing behind those blue eyes of yours—eyes with little pieces of the sky in them, I am told."

"My thoughts are not dancing, Ada. They are—halting."

"Indeed? Why are your thoughts so uncertain?"

"Ada, at dinner, when Camdene said he did not know how his folk could repay your kindness, you said they should repay it by populating the North. You said it was better they should populate it than others."

"You have listened carefully."

"So you are helping his folk because it would be good to have allies to the north. If they dwell there, then no foes shall sweep down from that direction—isn't that so?"

"You have not only listened carefully; you have thought carefully."

"But is not that a selfish motive—we are helping them because it is in our interest to do so?"

"There is no harm in entering into an agreement that is beneficial to both parties, Anomen. However, in this instance my motives go beyond self-interest. You and your brothers have studied the history of the House of Thingol, have you not?

"Yes, Ada. Master Erestor taught us the tale and bade us always remember it."

"Then you must know that I am a refugee descended of refugees."

Anomen considered. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Your father was Eärendil. He lived in Gondolin. When that city fell, betrayed by Maeglin, he and his parents fled to Arvernien, the delta of the Sirion."

Elrond nodded. "The Mouths of the Sirion. A fertile land, as deltas usually are."

"You and your twin were born in Arvernien, at the Havens of Sirion," Anomen continued.

"Yes. My father Eärendil grew to adulthood in the Havens, and there he espoused Elwing, daughter of Nimloth and Dior. Like Eärendil, Elwing was a refugee. Her parents were slain by the Sons of Fëanor during the Kinslaying of Menegroth, but she survived the sack of of Doriath and was conveyed to the Havens by those loyal to her family."

"So both your mother and your fathers were refugees?"

"Yes."

"And then you and your brothers lost your home when the four surviving Sons of Fëanor attacked the Havens."

"We lost not only our home but our mother—our father already having departed in search of his parents, Idril and Tuor. Our mother Elwing could not reach us during the attack and fled with the Silmaril that Fëanor's surviving sons, Amras, Amrod, Maedhros, and Maglor, sought to seize. Amras and Amrod fell during the battle, but there was no consolation to be gained from their deaths; for in this worst of the Kinslayings, the Havens proved to be no sanctuary. Elros and I were among the few left alive, and we were captured by Maedhros and Maglor."

"But they treated you and your brother well."

"Yes. Ours was not the fate of my uncles, Eluréd and Elurín, the twin sons of Nimloth and Dior, who were led into a forest and abandoned by order of Celegorm after the sons of Feanor overran Menegroth."

"Ada, is it true that Eluréd and Elurín starved to death?"

"It is true, Anomen, that they were never seen again even though Maedhros would not countenance the cruelness of his brother and scoured the forest for them."

"But if they were never seen again, then it is not certain they died. Their bodies were never found."

"If it will comfort you, Anomen, the Nandor of Ossiriand avowed that the twins were saved by the good offices of birds and beasts who led them to sanctuary."

"The Laiquendi of Lindon told that tale?" Anomen said eagerly.

"Yes, the Laiquendi, the Green-Elves," smiled Elrond. "Does that thought make you happy?"

"I want to believe that story. I shall believe that story. I know it is possible for a young elf to survive in the wild—I mean, I mean," Anomen suddenly stammered, "I believe it is possible—"

Elrond raised his hand. "Eru willing, Eluréd and Elurín were sheltered by creatures kinder than the elves who betrayed them and came at last to Mithlond, the Grey Havens, where, for their innocence Círdan the Shipwright allowed them to embark for Valinor, the Blessed Realm. But I digress from the tale of my own exile."

"There is more?"

"Indeed, for Imladris itself is a place of exile. After my brother and I grew to adulthood and chose our separate paths, I served Gil-galad, the High King of the Noldor."

"You were a captain and his herald," Anomen exclaimed, excited once more.

"Yes, and he sent me to help defend Eregion, then ruled by Celebrimbor, last of the House of Fëanor and forger of the three Rings of the Elves. Ai! Sauron, whom we had known by his false name of Annatar, Giver of Gifts, drove our folk from Eregion, and Celebrimbor was captured, tortured, and slain. It was then that Rivendell was founded by some who escaped the wreckage of Eregion, myself among them."

"And other survivors fled to Lindon and to Lothlórien."

Elrond nodded. "Exile of exiles. All is exile. Know then that I would have helped Camdene and his folk even if there were nothing to be gained by doing so simply because in this matter I recognize that we belong to the same kindred. Do you understand, my son?"

"Yes, Ada. We are elves; they are men; but both our folk are wanderers."

"It is for that selfsame reason," Elrond continued, "that I welcome dwarves to Rivendell, for they, too, are a race of exiles. The Eregion from which the elves were forced was also the Hollin which traded with the Naugrim before they were driven from Moria."

Anomen had to struggle with this idea because of his antipathy toward dwarves, but finally he nodded. "Yes," he said reluctantly, "Master Erestor has taught us the history of the Naugrim, and I suppose it may be said that they are exiles." He wanted to add, 'Probably because they deserved to be forced from their homes', but he bit back those uncharitable words because he knew his foster-father would be disappointed. Elrond, who was watching him closely, was not deceived, however. "I have hopes," he said evenly, "that your heart will grow large enough by and by to spare room for compassion for dwarves as well as men."

Anomen flushed and looked down.

"But I am satisfied for now," Elrond went on, "that you have shown kindness to the young humans. I will ask Erestor to give you leave to spend time with Camdene's oldest nephew—Cædmon, I believe he is called—as you seem to have struck up a particular friendship with him."

Anomen looked up gratefully and smiled his thanks. Then he looked expectantly at Elrond, assuming that he would be dismissed to join his foster-brothers, who were surely in bed by then.

But Elrond arose and went to the window. Gazing upon the moon, for a moment he seemed to have forgotten that Anomen waited. "I wonder," he mused aloud, "who that old man was."

"Saruman," Anomen offered helpfully.

Elrond came out of his reverie and turned away from the window. "Anomen," he said reprovingly. "That is a silly notion. Why do you persist in thinking ill of Lord Saruman?"

Anomen knew he could offer only suspicions that his elders had already rejected, so he remained silent.

"Lord Saruman is our ally," Elrond continued sternly, "and you must not utter such nonsense. He is a trusted member of the Council, and that is the end of it."

Suddenly Anomen lost his composure. "I would sooner trust a dwarf than Saruman!" he shouted rebelliously.

Elrond was astonished at the outburst, and for the first time ever Anomen saw him speechless. When the elf lord finally spoke, his tone was gentler.

"Anomen, I know your opinion of dwarfs, so if you compare Saruman unfavorably to the Naugrim, your dislike must be great indeed. But have you any reasons for your dislike?"

"I have told you my reasons, and you have not accepted them."

"I did not accept them because there were explanations for the incidents you described."

"Yes, I offered explanations."

"Do not deliberately misunderstand me. There were alternative explanations."

"My explanations were better," Anomen said stubbornly.

"Why were they better?"

"Because I was there. I know whereof I speak."

"And I," said Elrond, becoming stern again, "was there, as you say, at a great many events that took place even before you were born. I have been in the company of Lord Saruman much more than you have been. Do you doubt my wisdom?"

Anomen held himself very straight and looked Elrond directly in the eye. "In this matter, I do," he said steadily.

Now Elrond was even more astonished. Oddly, however, he was also pleased. 'I wish', he said to himself, 'that the lad would show such spirit when Elrohir bullies him'. Aloud he spoke dispassionately.

"I should not have baited you. Instead of guiding you to debate the merits of the case, I forced you to either back down or pass judgment upon an elder. That was an unfair maneuver, and I apologize."

Anomen looked relieved. "Thank you. Ada, Master Erestor says that men have a saying, 'agree to disagree'. May we give o'er this—conversation?"

"I think we would do well to follow your tutor's advice in this matter," Elrond said. "I trust your brothers are asleep, and you should make haste to join them. Swimming and riding and wrestling take energy, so you should store up some for the morrow."

Anomen bowed to his foster-father and walked carefully to the door, breaking exultantly into a run as soon as he was around the corner. His foster-father was not angry, and tomorrow would be a holiday. For now, that made up for the disappointment he felt at his failure to convince Elrond that Saruman was not to be trusted.

The next morning, Anomen was given leave by Elrond to break fast with the human children. Afterward, with Camdene's blessing, Cædmon accompanied Anomen to the stable, where the hostler obligingly picked out a mount for the young human and furnished him with saddle and tackle. The two youngsters spent the morning riding to all of Anomen's favorite spots. At noon, they picnicked on an excellent lunch that the Cook had packed for them. "May as well put up a parcel for you to forestall you making off with the pastries," the Cook had grumbled." Of course, when the youngsters unwrapped the parcel, it was filled with more pastries than they could eat, as well as bread, cheese, cold meat, and fruit. After eating what they could, the young elf and human lay groaning for a while. At last, the day growing warm, they arose, and Anomen led his new friend to a nearby pond, where they spent several agreeable hours swimming and catching and releasing frogs.

The next fortnight the two youngsters spent in similar fashion. They rode and swam, ran foot races and wrestled, and shot bows at targets on the practice field, their high spirits nourished all the while by the generous lunches the Cook packed for them. One day they found a poke of peppermints resting on top of the parcel; another day a dozen biscuits were tied into a napkin carefully laid on top of the bundle. Yet another day an entire apple pie was nestled atop the other dishes.

"The Cook is very kind to us," Cædmon marveled one day as they lay on the greensward after dining.

"Oh," said Anomen insouciantly, "he is just trying to buy me off. He knows it is better to offer up a tribute of biscuits than to risk my raiding the pantry."

Cædmon grinned and threw a hank of grass at Anomen. He could tell that Anomen's casualness was counterfeited. Then he sighed deeply.

"What is the matter?" Anomen asked, instantly concerned.

"I am a little envious of you," Cædmon admitted. "You are always sure of your next meal, and you needn't fear being driven from your home."

Anomen hesitated. Then he spoke carefully, fearful of saying too much.

"Cædmon, I have not always lived here, and I have known hunger and thirst, rain and cold."

The young human looked surprised. "Are you a refugee, then?"

"Yes," Anomen said. "Yes, I believe I am. I fled from a distant land, and the Lord Elrond is my foster-father, for I have lost my own."

"I thought he might be your foster-father, for his hair is black and yours is golden. But I did not want to pry."

Anomen nodded his thanks. Then he sat up. "Yonder is the hostler coming back from his dinner. Let us follow him to the stable and look o'er the new horses newly gifted to Lord Elrond by Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. They come from Rohan and are said to be spirited stallions."

On the way to the stable, though, the two youngsters encountered Cædmon's sister sitting forlornly beneath the statue of Gil-galad. "What is the matter, Cynewyn?" Cædmon asked.

"Cyneweard won't play with me," the little girl pouted. "Lord Glorfindel let him polish a shield, and now he says he cannot be spared from man's work and hasn't time for foolishness."

Anomen grinned. Glorfindel had "let" Cyneweard polish a shield—and doubtless Glorfindel would "let" Cyneweard polish the entire armory before the young human caught on.

Cædmon knelt down beside the unhappy child. "I will play with you 'Wyn," he said. He looked up apologetically at Anomen.

"It is no matter," Anomen said quickly. "I am thinking I have not paid any attention to Arwen these past several days. She may be feeling as woeful as Cynewyn."

Anomen hurried off in search of Arwen, whom he found in the kitchen "helping" the Cook, but not as effectually as Cyneweard was "helping" Glorfindel. The Cook immediately set Anomen to cleaning up the flour the little elf maiden had spilled. Anomen was rewarded for his efforts, however, for when he had finished, the Cook placed before him a mug of mulled apple cider. "Brewed too much," he grumbled as he set down a second mug before Arwen. "Don't want to waste it, so you two had better drink up!"

The two youngsters obliged, and then Anomen led Arwen to her room, for it was late. Then he went into the garden to enjoy the stars before going to the chamber he shared with Elrohir and Elladan. As it neared it, however, he heard someone singing. It was a mournful song, but the voice of the singer was youthful.

"Hwær cwom mearg? hwær cwom mago?," the voice sang. "Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?
Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? hwær sindon seledreamas?
Eala beorht bune! eala byrnwiga!
Eala þeodnes þrym hu seo þrag gewat,
Genap under nihthelm, swa heo no wære!"

'Where has the horse gone?' Anomen translated to himself. 'What has become of the young rider? Where is the giver of gifts?
'Where are the seats for the feast? What has become of the celebrations in the hall?
'Alas for the bright cup! Alas for the warrior in his mail shirt!
'Alas for the leader's splendor! How that era has ended,
'Benighted under night's helm, as if it had never been.'

The singer continued to chant, and as Anomen listened, he saw in his mind a wondrously high wall, decorated with interlocking snakes, but the warriors who should have been sheltered by that wall had died in battle long ago, and the land itself was bereft, its cliffs blasted by storms, its fields locked in ice and battered by hail, and all was darkness.

"Hēr bið feoh lǣne, hēr bið frēond lǣne," Anomen heard.
"Hēr bið mǫn lǣne, hēr bið mǣg lǣne;
"eal þis eorþan gesteal īdel weorþeð!"

Here wealth is transitory, here a friend is fragile,
Here man is mortal, here family is frail;
All four corners of this earth become wastelands!

Anomen sighed involuntarily, and the singer, startled, ceased singing. Shamefaced, Anomen came out from the shadows to greet Cædmon. "I did not mean to spy," Anomen apologized. "But I could not help but listen, for your words entranced me."

Cædmon looked down. "My uncle doesn't like me to sing that song," he muttered. "He says it is too sad."

"It is a melancholy song," Anomen agreed, "but it is moving for that very reason. Do you know any others like it?"

"Several," Cædmon said. He looked around warily. No one was about, and he softly chanted another song, one about a grand place whose buildings had been reduced to ruins.

Wrætlic is þes wealstan, wyrde gebræcon;
burgstede burston, brosnað enta geweorc.
Hrofas sind gehrorene, hreorge torras,
hrungeat berofen, hrim on lime,
scearde scurbeorge scorene, gedrorene,
ældo undereotone. Eorðgrap hafað
waldend wyrhtan forweorone, geleorene,
heardgripe hrusan, oþ hund cnea
werþeoda gewitan. Oft þæs wag gebad
ræghar ond readfah rice æfter oþrum,
ofstonden under stormum; steap geap gedreas.

Wondrous is this masonry; shattered by fate;
broken is the city; the labor of giants crumbles.
Fallen roofs, ruined towers,
beams lost, mortar rime-frosted,
mutilated roofs collapsed,
undermined by old age. Earth's embrace grips
the deceased master builders,
the harsh hold of the ground, a hundred generations
of people have departed. For a time this wall,
grey with lichen and red-hued, endured, one dynasty after
another, remained standing through tempests; lofty, broad, it collapsed.

Cædmon sang the song so feelingly that a thought occurred to Anomen. When the young human finished chanting, the elf asked, "Cædmon, was that a song of your own making?"

Cædmon looked down shyly. "Yes," he admitted.

"Do not look as if you were ashamed! It is a gift!"

"It felt like a gift, but now it feels like a burden because the songs that arise to my lips are always so sorrowful."

"But they are beautiful!"

"Sorrowful," Cædmon said flatly.

"Sorrowful! Yes. But beautiful. Beautiful because they are sorrowful."

Cædmon shook his head, his eyes still averted. Anomen cast about for a way to cheer him up. "Do you like riddles?" he asked impulsively.

"I know some riddles," Cædmon said, looking up. "I haven't made any up, but my Granda taught me some. But I don't think I should share them."

"Please do," begged Anomen.

"No, I had better not."

"Surely no one could object to your telling riddles!"

Cædmon suddenly had a gleam in his eye. If Anomen hadn't known better, he would have said the human looked mischievous.

"You are certain you want to hear my Granda's riddles?"

"Yes!"

"Very well. If you are quite sure—and remember that you insisted!"

"I will remember," Anomen promised.

Cædmon was grinning now. In Common Speech, he declaimed, "A wondrous thing, a splendid thing under a garment, hangs by a man's thigh. It has an opening in its front. It is stiff and hard, and its firmness is a virtue. When the man hitches up his robe over his knees, he desires to use this hanging head to fill a familiar hole."

He finished and looked expectantly at Anomen.

"I think," Anomen answered slowly, "I think—"

Here the young elf paused.

"What is the matter?" Cædmon asked impishly. "Go on!"

Anomen was blushing now, but he took a breath and resumed, trying to sound confident.
"I reckon," Anomen said, "that the answer is—"

"Key!" shouted the Cædmon. "The answer is key, and if you thought it was anything else—"

"I didn't!" Anomen exclaimed. "Of course the answer is key. My turn," he added hastily. "What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees, up, up it goes, and yet never grows?"

"Mountain," Cædmon said promptly. "My turn! A certain something grows in its pouch, swells and stands up, pushes up its covering. A proud bride grasps that boneless wonder and draws a cloth over that swollen thing."

Anomen's flush extended to the tips of his ears. "Um, um," he stammered.

"Rising dough!" giggled Cædmon. "Did you think," he asked mischievously, "that it was something else? Your turn," he added with mock helpfulness.

Anomen tried to recover. "Alive without breath, as cold as death; never thirsty, ever drinking, all in mail never clinking," he recited in the strongest voice he could muster.

"Fish," Cædmon swiftly answered. "My turn again: I am hard and long, strong in entering, bold in coming out. I go in underneath to open up the path. In haste, the warrior pushes me from behind. Sometimes he draws me out, hot from the hole. Sometimes I go back in the narrow place—the man drives me hard. Say what my name is!"

Anomen looked helplessly at Cædmon. He knew the answer that came immediately to mind was probably the wrong one, but he was incapable of thinking of an alternative solution.

"Well?" said Cædmon, grinning.

"I'm thinking! I'm thinking!"

Anomen cudgeled his brain. Something hard and long, something pushed in and out of a hole and warmed by the exertion. He was sure Elrohir would not hesitate to call out an answer!

"Do you give up?" grinned Cædmon.

"I can only think of one answer, and I am certain it is the wrong one."

"Well, it could be a—"

"But it's not!" interrupted Anomen.

"I was going to say—a poker!"
Anomen groaned.

"Although it could also be—"

"No!"

"A gimlet or an awl," Cædmon finished, chortling.

Anomen rolled his eyes and then he launched himself at Cædmon. Laughing as they grappled, they wrestled on the greensward until Lindir entered the garden. "Anomen," the elf called, "Lord Elrond has sent me to find you."

Anomen stood up and brushed grass and twigs out of his hair and smoothed his tunic. He nodded at Cædmon and hurried after Lindir. "Enter," called Elrond when Anomen knocked at the door to his study. When Anomen stepped inside, he saw that Elrond was holding a silver cup. It was one of a set of four that Elrond had commissioned as a gift for the Lady Galadriel.

"I have a job for you," said Elrond, "one that requires discretion and stealth. I know you have both, for try as he might, the Cook is unable to catch you in the act of purloining pastries!"

Anomen didn't know whether to blush or grin, but Elrond settled the matter by laughing and affectionately tapping him on the head. Then the elf lord continued. "You must take this cup and slip it into your friend Cædmon's saddlebag, along with this note. Elrond handed Anomen a small piece of parchment. On it was written only one line: Drinc fram þisse beorhtan bunan mid glædnesse.

"Drink from this bright cup with joy," Anomen translated aloud.

"You have been paying attention to your lessons," Elrond said approvingly. "Mithrandir will be pleased. He has it in mind that you will need to converse with folk of many races. I do not know what he sees in your future, but you will not always be in Rivendell, I deem."

Suddenly Anomen had a revelation. "I will be a refugee twice over, as you were before me!"

"Not all who wander are refugees," Elrond replied. "But some mission will take you from Imladris—that is certain. What that mission will be, perhaps even Mithrandir does not yet know. So learn all you can of the world outside Imladris—its customs, its geography, its languages—so you will be prepared for your destiny, whatever it may be. But I keep you from your errand. Go now or you will be late for dinner!"

Anomen folded the goblet into the skirt of his tunic and hurried to the stable. The humans were leaving on the morrow. They had packed most of their goods and had piled their saddlebags against the stable wall, ready to be strapped on to their mounts. Anomen had helped Cædmon pack his saddlebag and picked it out without difficulty where it sat next to Camdene's. Unbuckling the bag, he slipped the goblet inside, making certain it was near the bottom but well cushioned.

The next morning, Anomen rose before dawn, for he and Cædmon had agreed to meet as early as possible to spend as much final time together as they could. The young elf stopped by the kitchen to filch something for the two of them to eat, but he was not surprised when he found the door unlocked and a basket on a table. The hamper was filled with bread, cheese, and fruit; and the bread was warm, as if it had just been turned out of the oven. Anomen spoke to the seemingly empty room: "What a stroke of luck! My friend and I are very hungry, and here is a basket with a loaf of bread that will surely go stale if we do not eat it, and fruit and cheese that will molder!" Then he waited expectantly. After a moment, the Cook came out from behind a stack of baskets filled with apples. In his hands were a bottle and two cups. "Got up early to clean out the pantry," he said gruffly. "You there! Make yourself useful. Take this odd bottle of root beer and dispose of it! If it's too much for you to manage, get that friend of yours to help you."

Anomen promised to do as he was bidden and added the bottle and two cups to the basket. Nodding his thanks to the Cook, who mock-scowled in reply, Anomen went to rendezvous with Cædmon in the garden. It was no time for hijinks. Instead, they quietly ate and talked until the horn sounded that signaled that the humans were ready to set out on their trek north. The two friends arose.

"Goodbye, Cædmon," Anomen said reluctantly, clasping the young human's hand.

"Goodbye, Anomen," Cædmon replied, equally reluctantly. Then he smiled a little. "I will think of you at every meal." Then he grinned. "Ic wille drincan fram min beorhtan bunan mid glædnesse," he added.

Anomen looked at him in surprise. "I was hiding in the stable when you came in and slipped the cup into my saddlebag," Cædmon explained to the startled elf.

"Why were you hiding in the stable?" asked Anomen.

"My uncle asked me to cheer the folk by singing rousing songs, but I could not find it within me to do so. I fear I have lost the gift of song. My uncle does not wish me to sing melancholy poems; I do not wish to sing the joyful ones. So my word-hoard is locked, and I have misplaced its key."

"Ic hope þu finde þá cæge," Anomen said. I hope you find that key.

"Ic þé þance, mínne fréond. I thank you, my friend.

Together, the two youngsters walked to the stable. They clasped hands one last time. Then the young human mounted his horse, and Anomen watched somberly as Cædmon and the other humans rode away. 'I hope you do find that key', Anomen repeated to himself, 'for Middle-earth will be the poorer if you do not'.

The chronicles do not record whether Cædmon ever found the key to unlock his word-hoard, but it is certain that many years later, sometime after the passing of the Third Age, a descendant of Cædmon, one who bore that very same name, did discover the gift of song. This second Cædmon did not think he had it within him to compose poetry, but one evening a stranger appeared in the stable where Cædmon had gone to hide during a feast when everyone was expected to take a turn at composing songs. "Ásing!" the stranger had commanded. Sing! Cædmon, to his surprise, found himself chanting a poem about his god.

Nu sculon herigean heofonrices Weard,
Meotodes meahte ond his modgeðanc,
weorc Wuldorfæder—swa he wundra gehwæs,
ece Drihten, or onstealde.
He ærest sceop eorþan bearnum
heofon to hrofe, halig Scyppend.
Þa middangeard moncynnes Weard,
ece Drihten, æfter teode—
firum foldan, Frea ælmihtig.

Now we should praise the Guardian of heaven's kingdom,
the might of the Measurer and his mind's thoughts,
the work of the World-father—as he for every wonder,
the Lord everlasting, ordained a beginning.
He first sculpted for earth's bairns
heaven as a roof, the holy Shaper.
Then middle-earth mankind's Guardian,
the eternal Lord, afterward furnished,
a land for humankind, he the almighty Free-born.

Cædmon's folk believed that his ability to compose poetry was a gift from his god, Frea ælmihtig. Folk also believed that the stranger who appeared to Cædmon in the stable was an engel sent to him by the Wuldorfæder, for it was an ethereal being whom the poet described to his awed audience.

"Se níwfara hæfde lýtelan bitan of þæm heofenas in his éagum," Cædmon declared. The stranger had little pieces of the sky in his eyes. What is more, said the poet, "His hær wæs þæt híw of anre sólatan. Ond he infór ond he útfór swa he an ælf wære, swígiendlíce, læfende náne swaþu." His hair was the color of a sunflower. And he came in and he went out as if he were an elf, silently, leaving no tracks.

Whatever the identity of the mysterious stranger, as Anomen had wished, the day had come when Middle-earth was once again blessed with songs by a poet named Cædmon. For that blessing, and for the blessing of all who sing songs and tell stories, nu sculon herigean scyppenda Scyppend. Now we should praise the Shaper of shapers.