Just Desserts
”My son, bless him, is a good archer but needs to learn the value of subtlety,” Ehren of Mirkwood said, looking a little apologetic. “He’s been in a few skirmishes against orcs, but each time he’s drawn too much of their ire to himself, making his commanders less than happy. If you would take him under your wing and teach him a little clear educated thought, I would be forever grateful.”
Berandon nodded quickly, creasing his lips.
“Don't worry, dear cousin, I think I have just the right task for your son.”
“We’re just going to sneak into the orc camp, deal with their leader, and get out again,” Berandon explained. “We’ll be out before they know what happened.”
The young elf in front of him nodded, his long silverhued bangs falling down into his eyes.
“You can trust me, sir!” Erendlas of Mirkwood exclaimed loudly. “I will hit whatever you need at fifty paces! Wherever,” the young elf added, grinning broadly.
“Ah yes, this is where you come in,” Berandon continued. He wondered if he needed to draw a diagram. “The guard at the gate is… bulky, and must be distracted before we can go in. But that must happen quickly and above all, quietly. We don’t want the entire orc camp to descend on our heads.”
“No, of course not,” Erendlas said, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
He certainly is eager, Berandon thought to himself. “The gate guard has a large but thick head as is usual for his kind,” he continued. “I will distract him for a moment and turn him around so that you can hit him right in the temple. That should make him sleep for a while.”
Erendlas nodded again and shook the bangs out of his eyes.
“Will we be riding towards the enemy when I shoot him?" Erendlas asked. "That makes the arrows go faster, you know.” Berandon swallowed.
“Only if there’s no headwind,” he replied, stifling a laugh. “No, we won’t be riding into the camp. We’ll be hiding outside, invisible to the other orcs.”
“Ooohh,” Erendlas replied, tucking his bangs behind his long ears.
Naga, the orange haired Moria-troll, narrowed his eyes and scanned the gloom of Durin’s Hall. No one, absolutely no one, not even as much as a newly hatched baby spider, would enter the camp without his permission.
Yesterday he had gotten praise from his superior, lash-master Ugglakh, for his guard duty. That only happened once every blue moon.
“Ha ha ha ha ha, you’re both evil AND stupid!” Ugglakh said. The other, smaller and more barrel-bellied orcs, joined in on the laugh.
”Errr… what does stupid mean,” Naga asked. Ugglakh had explained it to him before, but he had forgotten what the word meant. The tall, broad-shouldered orc laughed again.
“That means you’re great, Naga! You’re stupid! You’re enormously stupid!” The other orcs laughed. Even a little goblin tittered in a corner.
Naga stomped his feet and roared with pride. The orc laughter rang through the stone.
There was something shining in the corner, by the crumbling staircase. Naga stopped his musing and stretched his neck to see better. Glint glint. What was that? Maybe rubbing his eyes would make it easier to see?
Naga leaned forward as far as he could. He couldn’t quite see what was catching the light so temptingly. Maybe it was some of that mithril Ugglakh and the other orcs talked so much about. They regularly sent expeditions out into the tunnels to look for it, but those returned mostly empty handed. Wasn’t mithril metal? And metal gleamed in light. That much Naga knew.
There was also someone in the shadow of the stairs. A very brave and foolish dwarf? Naga stretched his neck even more. He had to take a step forward from the deep arch at the camp’s entrance to see properly. But it was no dwarf, Naga was sure of that. The body was too thin and there was no hair in the face.
“Do you like it?” a small voice whispered above the sparkling light. It was as if the words were carried on the faint draft that blew through the dark, abandoned halls. “It’s pretty, hmm?” Naga nodded. “There’s more over here,” the voice tempted.
Naga glanced back at the camp. Only campfires and the slowly rising and falling chests of sleeping orcs moved in there. He took one more step out of the arch, towards the glittering mithril.
The thin creature opened its mouth. It shone white as well. This was certainly no dwarf or orc. None of them had mithril in their mouths. The thing made a laughing noise.
“Come closer,” it whispered. “So you can see better.”
Naga took another step forward, and then one more, as quietly as his large bulk and broad feet would manage. The metal glittered in the darkness like a distant dream.
“Mithril…,” Naga muttered. Ugglakh would be happy if he returned with mithril in his hands. Then he’d be Naga the evil AND stupid once more.
“Yes…, mithril..., mithril…, the voice on the wind agreed.
Finally out of patience, Naga rushed forward, heading for the gleaming metal. Large as he was he covered the distance between himself and the mithril in the blink of an eye.
“Mine!” Naga roared and lunged. The thin creature tried to jump out of the way, but it was distracted and dropped the shining object it was holding. The mithril shattered on the stone floor and split into many gleaming shards. Naga swiped the pieces up in his enormous hands.
“Food!” the troll yelled. He put the mithril in his mouth and started chewing. If Ugglakh and the others wanted mithril so badly it must be because it was good food, something better than the rats and wolves they usually ate. Those were stringy and full of fur!
“Now, Erendlas, take the shot!” Berandon hissed. The troll would soon realize his mistake. This was the opportunity they needed.
Erendlas peeked up from the boulder he was hiding behind on the natural ledge overlooking the camp entrance. He started to take aim but his hair kept falling into his eyes. He couldn’t get a proper shot.
“Shoot shoot!” Berandon cried in deep concern.
Two long Elven arrows pierced the air with a keening sound. They buried themselves deeply and impertinently in Naga’s backside.
The troll roared, spitting blood and glass from the small mirror he had just eaten, while he stomped towards his enemy.
“Naga pain!” Naga yelled and struck at the thin creature that had given him the hurtful food. “Naga smash!”
“No! Not the face!” the thin being gasped. Naga’s enormous fist connected with the creature’s jaw in a bone shattering uppercut. The thing flew in a graceful arc into the darkness.
Propped up by a heap of soft pillows in bed in his small but handsome house in Ered Luin, Berandon glared sternly at Erendlas. A white scarf tied with a neat bow at the top of his head cradled the Lore-Master’s broken jaw. The young elf was glad his father’s cousin was not able to speak much.
“What did we learn from this little adventure?” Berandon asked stiffly. Erendlas hoped the edge in the voice was caused by clenched teeth and not anger.
“That my hair is in the way,” Erendlas muttered, bowing his head in shame. “Please don’t tell my father about it, he thinks I’m hopeless enough as it is.” A small tear glinted in the corner of the young elf’s eye. “I’ll do better next time. Just don’t send me home yet.”
The Lore-Master made a groaning sound, then held his face.
“All right", Berandon conceded. “I will let you stay if you do something about that pesky hair of yours.”
“I comb it with water to keep it back, but when the water dries my hair falls down again,” Erendlas explained.
“We need something that will keep your hair together.”
“Neither glue nor honey works,” Erendlas said, remembering his former painful attempts at finding something that would keep the hair out of his eyes.
“Do you know where Michel Delving is?” the Lore-Master asked. Erendlas nodded.
“I know where it is on the map but I haven’t been there.”
“Good. Go there and buy some gelatine.
“Gelatine?” Erendlas asked.
“Yes, hobbits use it in their desserts. We will make a thin solution for your hair.” Erendlas’ jaw fell open. He slowly closed it shut.
“I’m on my way, sir,” he replied.
