It was more than a few weeks before Elladan and Elrohir returned from their campaign against the Orcs that were infiltrating the lands near Imladris. It was, in fact, several months. They were away from Rivendell long enough for their hair to have grown back over their ears, although it was not yet quite long enough to be braided. The twins had not, however, delayed their return in order to give their hair time to grow in. Once they had tracked down and eradicated one band of Orcs, it seemed as if two sprang up in its place. After this had happened several times, they at last agreed that they should return home to report on this alarming state of affairs.
They rode into Rivendell with their hoods down—enough time had passed for them to recover from their shame at having lost their hair. The first Elf who laid eyes upon them was Baramagor, Thoron's cousin.
Elladan! Elrohir! Mae govannen."
"Mae govannen, Baramagor. You look well."
"I am well, thank you. I have just come back from patrol with Berenmaethor."
"Ah," chuckled Elrohir, "how goes the skivvy duty?"
Baramagor fixed him with an indignant glare. "Skivvy duty! No, indeed! I am," he said loftily, "Berenmaethor's assistant in the training of novices. There are several Elves younger than I, so I need not lift so much as a stick."
The twins stared at Baramagor with frank astonishment. It did not seem so long ago that he had been the youngest. But they had to concede that, once Baramagor had found his stomach for battle, he had proved to be a doughty warrior. Anomen had told them of how Baramagor had boldly leaped off their horse as they had desperately tried to outrun the wargs that had pursued them to Fangorn. He had been ready to sacrifice his life for his friend, and, had Anomen not succeeded in turning the horse, he would have indeed been slain. Such calculating nerve boded well for Baramagor's future as a leader of Elves.
"So," said Elladan, "are any of the novices as creative as we were?"
"If by 'creative' you mean as mischievous as you two, I must say no. Actually," confessed Baramagor, "Sometimes I wish that they were. It is tiresome to always stride about looking serious and behaving responsibly. I marvel how Glorfindel has been able to do it all these millennia."
"Well," grinned Elrohir, "we have certainly done our best to give him reason to set aside his composed demeanor!"
The three Elves laughed.
"And how is your cousin Thoron?" asked Elladan.
"He is a patrol leader in his own right," said Baramagor proudly.
"A patrol leader! Of novices or full-fledged warriors?"
"Novices for now, but I believe he will soon be given command of a band of more experienced scouts."
"And Anomen?"
Baramagor grinned. "Anomen spends part of each day in the library being lessoned by Erestor and the rest on the training fields."
The twins gaped at Baramagor.
"What," cried Elladan, "has Anomen done to be punished so!?"
"Oh, he is not being punished. He is Estel's keeper, for he is the only one who can make sure that he shows up in the library or on the training fields at the set time—and that he stays put once he arrives! Elrond said that, as Anomen was going to be in the library anyway, he should continue his studies. As for his time on the training field, Glorfindel has set him to schooling the elflings in archery. Soon he will also be training certain of the older elflings in two-bladed knife fighting. He will not, however, be giving equestrian lessons! He fell off and broke a rib!"
"Anomen fell off a horse! That cannot be so!" exclaimed Elladan.
"Oh, but it is. Truth be told, however, it was Estel pulled him off the horse. Anomen had the bad luck to land on a rock, and Estel landed on top of him—that's why his rib broke. Once he has healed, Glorfindel does mean to have him supervise some of the younger riders."
"It seems that much has happened in our absence," said Elrohir thoughtfully. "And we have news as well, although I am afraid it will not be as entertaining as yours has been. But we will leave that for later. Now we are going to bathe and change into fresh clothes!"
"As to bathing," said Baramagor, "I should warn you that Anomen has sworn to pay you back for the loss of his hair. Watch your back!"
"Ah, but," observed Elladan, "as we have just arrived, I am sure that we are safe at least for today!"
"Perhaps," said Baramagor. "Stay well. I will see you at dinner. My patrol is dining as a group at one of the lower tables. Stop by and greet us."
"We will," chorused the twins.
It is true that the twins had just returned, but they should not have been so complacent. Anomen had known that he would have no warning of the twin's return. So it was that Anomen long ago had put into effect his plan for revenge. You may be sure that it would involve a healthy dose of 'poetic justice'—or 'irony' if you are of Erestor's point of view.
Unlike Anomen, the twins preferred bathing under cover, and a bathing cauldron large enough for two stood in a room near their chambers. They asked a servant to fill it with warm water. Shortly thereafter, with sighs of contentment, they slid into the soothing bath. On a shelf within easy reach sat several bottles of oils, lotions, soaps, and shampoos. Elladan reached for one bottle of shampoo for himself and another for his brother. He uncorked his. "Mmm," he said happily. "This shampoo smells wonderful." He poured some into a hand and then worked it into his hair. The lather was crimson, no doubt taking its color from the berries that made the shampoo so aromatic. His brother, meanwhile, had lathered his hair with the other shampoo, which was equally aromatic and colorful, a deep, rich purple.
After spending a leisurely hour soaking and scrubbing themselves, the twins decided to rinse off, using the pitchers of water that were at hand for that purpose. The soapy water cascaded off their bodies. As the reader has no doubt anticipated, the brilliant crimson and purple did not rinse out so easily. In fact, it did not rinse out at all. The two unfortunate Elves, one with crimson hair, the other purple, looked at each other in dismay.
"How did Anomen know which shampoos we would choose?" exclaimed Elladan unhappily.
"He probably didn't. I'll wager each bottle has been tampered with."
They opened up each container and poured out the contents—green, pink, orange, blue.
"Well," said Elrohir, casting about for something with which to console himself. "Matters could have been worse. I think crimson and purple are much preferable to these other colors."
Elladan nodded disconsolately. "Do you suppose Ada still adheres to his 'no hoods at the table' policy?"
"Undoubtedly," said Elrohir gloomily.
"Then let us go back out on patrol at the earliest opportunity," declared Elladan.
"Aye, brother, but not until we have paid back Anomen!"
"Oh, of course! Let us fix his appearance so that his own father wouldn't recognize him!"
"Um, Elladan, his own father doesn't recognize him."
"Ah," said Elladan, embarrassed, "I had forgotten that. Well, let us fix his appearance so that Elrond wouldn't recognize him."
"Agreed. For now, we may as well dress for dinner. Ada will have heard by now that we have returned, and if we do not appear in the dining hall, he will surely summon us anyway. Let us go of our own volition and at least be saved the indignity of being hauled before him like elflings."
Elladan nodded. They would simply have to put on a brave face until they could pay back Anomen and escape once again to patrolling the hinterlands.
A little while later Elladan and Elrohir boldly strode into the dining hall. They held themselves erect and looked straight ahead, ignoring the whispers and chuckles. They approached the head table and bowed to their father, who did not deign to notice their unusual hair colors.
"I am glad you have returned, my sons."
"Thank you, Ada," replied the twins. They took their seats and looked around the table. Ai! How could it be that Anomen's hair had grown down to his shoulders, long enough to be braided!?
Said Elf kept his eyes on his plate, only occasionally stealing glances toward Elladan and Elrohir. He would have to be vigilant to escape their revenge. A plan began to form in his mind. On the morrow he would set it in motion.