Crablorandom by StarSpray  

“Hey, Roverandom, look at this!” Sea-Rover splashed through the foaming waves, slightly awkward on land with his fish’s tail, and leaned down to sniff at something near the high water line. “Oww!” He let out a small howl a moment later, jerking his head back and pawing at his nose.

Roverandom had just been investigating a very interesting pile of old seaweed, but he abandoned it to go see what Sea-Rover had found. “It’s only a crab,” he said. “Surely you know all about crabs, Rover.”

“Not crabs like this one! Take a sniff—but be careful!”

The crab was larger than the ones Roverandom usually came across on his bit of beach. He was used to hermit crabs scuttling about in borrowed shells, and a few larger ones that the sea goblins sometimes used to pull their little chariots up into Psamathos’ cove. This one was even larger, with a red shell that had an odd sort of mark on it. When Roverandom leaned down to sniff at it, the crab snapped at his nose. Roverandom was quicker than Sea-Rover, having known what to expect, and took a few steps back before sitting down and scratching his ear. “Smells like magic,” he said.

“It does!” Sea-Rover agreed. “I never saw a magic crab before.”

“We should show it to Psamathos,” said Roverandom. “Maybe it’s not meant to be a crab at all.” 

“Not every enchantment is that kind of enchantment, you know,” said Sea-Rover. “Just because you were rude to a wizard once…”

“Well, it’s better to be sure!” said Roverandom. “And anyway, I would think Psamathos would want to know if something magic was happening in his cove. It doesn’t smell like his magic.” Over the course of his adventures and continued acquaintance with sorcerers and magicians, Roverandom had developed quite the keen nose for magic. Psamathos’ magic smelled very different from Artaxerxes’ or the Man-in-the-Moon’s—although the Man-in-the-Moon’s magic smelled very distinctive even to someone who didn’t know anything about magic, all sulfur and smoke. This crab didn’t smell like Psamathos or Artaxerxes or the Man-in-the-Moon—but it was definitely magical. 

“Well, how are we to get it to Psamathos without getting our fur all pinched off?” Sea-Rover wanted to know. 

“Maybe we—hey!” Roverandom bounded forward and snatched up the crab before it could get far enough into the waves to be washed away. It wiggled its legs and waved its pincers as he backed up onto dry sand. Unfortunately, it was too large for him—Roverandom was no longer the very small puppy who had gotten into such trouble with wizards, but he was not a very large dog either, and the crab was rather large, as far as such creatures went. As soon as Roverandom set it down it scuttled away and vanished into the surf. 

“I’ll find it!” said Sea-Rover, splashing away after it. “I can bring it back—you go tell old Psamathos about it!”

Roverandom bounded away down the shore to Psamathos’ cove, where the sand sorcerer was quite easy to find if you knew what to look for. “Wake up, Psamathos!” Roverandom said as he dug into the pile of sand that Psamathos had burrowed under. “I need to talk to you!”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Psamathos grumbled as Roverandom finally uncovered him. He shook sand off his face and opened one eye in a glare that, when Roverandom had been younger, would have set him cowering. Now he just sat down with his tongue out to wait out the grumbling. “It’s far too hot—and too early! And since you are very clearly yourself, my dear puppy dog—” He really was miffed at being woken, if he was calling Roverandom his dear puppy dog, “there can be no urgency—”

“I’m myself, but Sea-Rover’s going to be coming back soon with a crab that might not be,” said Roverandom. “It smells like magic. And, you know, like tide pools and things—but there’s definitely magic too! And it’s not yours and it’s not Artaxerxes—”

“It had better not be Artaxerxes!”

“—and it’s not the Man-in-the-Moon’s, and we don’t know any other magicians, so we thought we’d better tell you about it.”

Psamathos grumbled a little more, and rearranged himself more comfortably in the sand. “An enchanted crab, you say? Well, where is it?”

“It ran away, but Sea-Rover’s gone to chase it down!” Roverandom scratched himself. “Why would someone enchant a crab?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Psamathos. He waved a hand and a tea set appeared, alongside a bowl of fresh water and a bone for Roverandom. He barked his thanks and settled into gnaw on it while the sorcerer pondered, muttering to himself as he sipped his tea. A few sea gulls landed nearby, but flew away when Psamathos blew raspberries at them.

It took Sea-Rover the better part of two hours to return with the crab in his mouth. He was bigger than Roverandom—not by much, just enough to more comfortably carry the crab—and he eagerly dropped it into the sand in front of Psamathos when he saw the extra bone magicked up for him. “Well done,” Roverandom said to him as he set to chewing. “I thought for sure you’d lose him when the tide started going out.”

“Not me,” said Sea-Rover. “Anyway, he smells so strongly of magic that it’s easy to track him down even in the water. I finally cornered him in a tide pool—and what an angry little thing he is! If I was something turned into a crab I would only be too happy to be brought to someone who could fix it, but not this one, no matter how many times I tried to explain to him.”

“Do you think he understood you?” Roverandom asked. 

“Who knows? It’s always hard to tell with things like crabs. They don’t really talk back, even if they do understand.” 

Psamathos picked up the crab, easily avoiding the snapping claws and wiggling legs, and peered at it all over, lingering for some time on the mark Roverandom had noticed on its shell. “Well, I haven’t seen that star in quite a long time,” he said finally, “and I haven’t run into this particular sort of magic in even longer! How very odd!”

“What particular sort of magic is it?” Roverandom asked. 

“Why, it’s a bit of Ossë’s! Haven’t seen him in—oh, I can’t even remember when he last came around these shores! But he’s not one to cross, and I’m afraid I’ll need to consult with the Man-in-the-Moon.”

“How are you going to keep the crab from escaping until the Man-in-the-Moon can send a letter back?” asked Sea-Rover. Instead of replying, Psamathos merely waved his hand and poof! a large glass fishbowl appeared, into which he dropped the crab rather unceremoniously. The crab scuttled around inside before settling down in the small pile of sand Psamathos poured in after him, and if Roverandom didn’t know better he would have said that he was sulking, if crabs could be said to sulk.

“Mew is taking the post this evening, so I’ll write up a note, and hopefully by tomorrow or the day after the Man-in-the-Moon and I can solve this puzzle,” Psamathos said briskly. “In the meantime, Roverandom, I would like to send you to look for someone else I think should be consulted—I think he will have a rather personal interest in this matter. Lucky for us he has chosen to settle for a time not very far from here! You might have even heard his music lately—I know that I have, when the wind is right.”

Roverandom scratched behind his other ear, trying to think if he had heard any particularly interesting things on the breeze. “I’m not sure I have,” he said. “Who is he, Psamathos?”

“His name is Daeron,” said Psamathos. Inside the bowl the crab started trying to get out again. “He is not a magician, but he is an Elf, with very strong magic of his own—so remember your manners! Still, Elves are Good People, and he should remember me. He’s come to my parties in the past and made very lovely music for all the mermaids to dance to. Just tell him about our mysterious crab friend, and tell him that Psamathos asks that he come pay a visit—make sure to say please!”

“Yes, Psamathos,” said Roverandom. “But how do I find him?”

“Goodness me, just follow your nose!”

“But I don’t know what Elves smell like!”

“Like Elves, of course!”

Roverandom knew a dismissal when he heard one, and so he and Sea-Rover turned away. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever smelled an Elf,” Roverandom said gloomily. 

“Well…I might have,” said Sea-Rover thoughtfully. “Before I fell into the ocean, I mean—a very long time ago.”

“What did they smell like?”

“Well it’s—flowers and pine trees, and also the sea breeze and also—something else? It’s rather like Psamathos said,” Sea-Rover said apologetically. “They smell like Elves. But he mentioned music too—and one thing I do know about Elves is that they like starlight. So tonight we should listen very hard, and then you can just follow the music!”

“It’s too bad you can’t come along too,” said Roverandom. But of course Sea-Rover couldn’t go roving on land, not anymore.

“That’s all right! Maybe Moon-Rover will come down to see the mystery crab, and we’ll keep each other company until you come back with Daeron.”

Roverandom felt his ears perk up at the thought. He would very much like to see Moon-Rover again—and to have all three of them together for a proper visit, with even a sprinkle of adventure thrown in, would make for a delightful start to the summer. “I hope this Daeron decides to make proper music tonight,” he said, “and that the wind is right for us to hear it!”

As night fell and the tide went out, so the sound of the waves was not quite so loud, Roverandom and Sea-Rover sat very still and listened very hard. Finally, as the stars came out, and the Evening Star gleamed out over the Sea, Roverandom heard it—very faint, just reaching them on the breeze. It sounded like a flute, but not at all like Little Boy One’s terrible playing ever since he had started taking lessons the year before. It was strange and beautiful, and it sounded like magic, though Roverandom didn’t think he would ever be able to explain what that meant. 

“Well, I’m off,” he said to Sea-Rover. 

“Take care, Roverandom!”

“Don’t get yourself pinched again!”

Roverandom set off at a trot, following the breeze that carried the sound of the flute. It took him down the road past his own house, with its windows glowing warm yellow in the evening, and where he could smell roasting meat and hear the voices of his boys through an open window. He went until he came to a crossing in the road; away from the coast the turning led toward a forest, a dark shape in the distance. The wind was coming from that direction, and when Roverandom lifted his head to sniff the air, he thought he caught a whiff of pine and flowers and something else. He sniffed again, and then turned toward the trees.

He had not visited the wood alone before. There was a meadow not far inside it where he had gone with his boys and their parents to picnic, but Father had warned them all not to go too far into the trees alone, and to never stray from the path. Roverandom remembered that as he passed through the trees. The canopy was so thick that it shut out the stars, and underneath it was quite dark. The Elvish smell was stronger, however, and Roverandom trotted along at an easy pace, pausing every so often to sniff around both the ground and the air. 

Eventually he had to stop; it was very late, and he was tired and his paws were sore. Roverandom curled up under a tree and dozed until the dawn chorus began, and the deep shadows under the trees began to brighten. The music had ceased by then, but the scent remained strong. After stretching and scratching himself and choosing a good tree to mark, Roverandom went on, nose to the ground. He continued like that all day, stopping when he got lucky enough to find a brightly babbling brook to drink from—though by evening he was very hungry, and his paws hurt even more, and he wished to be back at home on the rug by his boy’s feet. He slept again beneath a tree, tucked up in a thick bed of leaves, some of which stuck to his fur even after he gave himself a good shake the next morning.

Finally, the scent grew even stronger, but it did not continue to follow the path—it wanted to lead him off of it, away into the trees. Roverandom sat down and thought, remembering the warnings, but also remembering that Psamathos had sent him. He thought it unlikely there was anything truly terrible in the wood, and if there was perhaps the Elf would be kind enough to help him. He went on, going more carefully now as he picked his way over jutting tree roots and around old rotting stumps (which were full of interesting smells that Roverandom would have liked to stop and investigate—maybe someday!), and through bramble bushes that caught on his fur. 

Finally, the trees opened up, and Roverandom discovered a small cottage, with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof, and a neat little garden beside it. In the morning sunshine a figure wandered through the garden, humming to himself and to the vegetables as he watered them and occasionally bent to pick something or to prune away a few dead leaves. After a moment he looked up, directly at Roverandom, and straightened. “Well, hello there,” he said, sounding both surprised and amused. “You are rather far from home, aren’t you, puppy?”

“Not really that far, actually,” said Roverandom, and the figure laughed. Relieved that he was understood, the way that Psamathos and Artaxerxes could understand him, Roverandom went on, “Are you Daeron the Elf?”

At this the figure stopped laughing and his smile disappeared. “What does a little dog know of Daeron the Elf?” he asked.

“Psamathos Psamathides would like you to come to his cove, please. Sea-Rover and I found a crab, you see, and it’s been enchanted, and Psamathos has written to the Man-in-the-Moon but he would also like to talk to you about it.”

“Psamathos? I have not heard that name in a very long time.” Daeron left his garden and came to kneel in the grass in front of Roverandom. His smile returned; it was a nice smile, kind and soft, and his dark eyes glimmered in a strange way, as though stars were caught in them. He scratched Roverandom behind the ears, and picked the leaves out of his fur. “And what is your name, little dog?”

“Roverandom—I was Rover, but so is the Man-in-the-Moon’s dog and we couldn’t both be Rover, and since I was still only a puppy I got the new name.”

Daeron laughed. “A dog on the moon named Rover! And one in the Sea, too, from the sound of it. I can see you are a very clever little dog, and have already had many adventures. Very well. Come have breakfast with me, and then we’ll go see Psamathos about this mysterious enchanted crab of his.”

“Thank you very much!” said Roverandom, and risked a quick lick to Daeron’s hand. Daeron scratched him again, and then led the way into his little cottage. It was quite cozy, and he briskly prepared his own breakfast and a plate of ham for Roverandom. It was among the best things he had ever tasted, and he ate and then drank from the bowl Daeron also set down for him, before flopping down in a sunbeam through the window to rest until Daeron finished his own meal. 

When Daeron was ready, he disappeared around the cottage, and then came back with a bicycle, which had a large basket set behind the seat. “It’s a good thing you aren’t a very big dog, Roverandom—you’ll fit in my basket quite nicely!” he said with a smile, and they set off, going by a different route than Roverandom had come to get back to the road; Daeron had paths of his own, and he did not have to worry about dodging roots or getting caught in brambles. Roverandom trotted along beside him and listened to him hum a song that kept time with the tick-tick-tick of his bicycle wheels. When they came to the road through the wood he picked Roverandom up and placed him in the basket.

“Do you know how to find Psamathos?” Roverandom asked as Daeron kicked off.

“Oh yes! It has been a very long time, but I remember his cove very well.”

It was a much quicker journey back to the beach on the bike, taking only most of that day. Daeron coasted along the road with the wind blowing his dark hair back, and Roverandom sat in the basket and sniffed the wind and wondered whether the Man-in-the-Moon would write back to Psamathos very quickly, and what they would do about the mysterious crab when they did. 

It was the middle of the afternoon when they reached the beach, and Daeron set his bicycle against a dune and helped Roverandom down out of the basket. Then he laughed, and went down to the water where Sea-Rover was splashing up out of the waves. “You must be one of the other Rovers!”

“You must be Daeron the Elf!” said Sea-Rover, tilting his head and letting his tongue loll out as Daeron petted and scratched him. “Hullo, Roverandom! You found him!”

“It wasn’t very hard,” said Roverandom. “He smells like Elves.” Daeron laughed again. It was a musical sound, his laughter—it sounded like he was delighted with absolutely everything, from the bright sun to the warm sand and the waves washing up around them. “Is the crab still there?”

“Oh yes. He keeps trying to get out of the fishbowl, but Psamathos just laughs at him.”

“I’m very curious about this crab you keep talking about,” said Daeron as he got to his feet, brushing sand off of his trousers. “It must be a very strange creature indeed to have gotten the attention of two such great magicians—and I can’t imagine what any of it has to do with me!”

He fetched his bicycle and walked along the beach with Roverandom beside him, and Sea-Rover splashing in and out of the water, for he went faster when swimming, but did not want to miss anything that might be happening on the shore. After a short while they came to Psamathos’ cove, and found him awake and tapping on the glass bowl that held the enchanted crab, who immediately tried to burrow into the pile of sand inside when he noticed Daeron’s approach.

“Hello, Psamathos!” Daeron said as he set his bicycle against another dune, well away from the high water line. “What’s all this about crabs and enchantments?”

“Hello, Daeron!” Psamathos said, as cheerful as Roverandom had ever heard him. “It’s lucky you’ve chosen to come back to these parts. Come have a look at this little thing. I’m expecting Mew back this evening after moon rise,” he added as he reached into the bowl. “Hopefully the Man-in-the-Moon knows a bit more than I do about what Ossë might have been up to.”

“Ossë?” Daeron repeated as he sat cross-legged on the sand. “What’s Ossë got to do with anything?”

“What is the question! Oh now stop that,” Psamathos said to the crab, who snapped at his fingers. “One might think you didn’t want to be turned back into yourself. Have a look at this, Daeron.” He turned the crab so that its shell was visible, slightly sand-crusted but with the odd mark there clearly visible. “When was the last time you saw this star?”

Daeron’s mouth dropped open, all laughter fading away very quickly. “What is the meaning of such a mark?” he asked. 

“Well, this crab has not always been a crab, I can tell you that much,” said Psamathos. 

“But surely you don’t mean…” 

“Have you any other ideas?”

“What are they talking about?” Sea-Rover asked Roverandom. 

“I don’t know—but I was right, that crab isn’t really a crab.”

“That’s a tricky bit of magic, there, you know,” said Sea-Rover, as Daeron protested the impossibility and Psamathos raised his eyebrows in a meaningful sort of way. Daeron reached for the crab but drew back before he could get his fingers pinched. “It’s one thing to turn a puppy dog into a toy dog, or to give you wings, or a tail—it’s something else to turn one thing into an entirely different thing.”

“Ossë must be a very powerful magician,” said Roverandom. “More powerful even than the Man-in-the-Moon, do you think?”

“Oh yes,” said Sea-Rover. “I’ve been thinking, since you went off—I’ve heard Ossë’s name before. He’s one of ours—of the Sea, I mean. But he doesn’t come into these parts anymore, or at least not to do more than cause great storms with enormous waves to crash into the coasts.”

Daeron got up rather abruptly and walked away. “Leave him be, pups,” said Psamathos before Roverandom could even think about getting up.

“What’s the matter, Psamathos?” asked Sea-Rover.

“It’s rather shocking to discover an old…hmm, you know—I really don’t know what they used to be? Friends, perhaps—to discover an old friend that you’ve been looking for for quite a long time has been so hard to find because he did something rather like our Roverandom biting a hole in old Artaxerxes’ trousers!”

“Whose trousers did he bite?” Roverandom asked.

“No one’s, I hope,” said Psamathos, chuckling. “But the same idea, more or less. Or I can only assume, anyway—it’s not as though I can send Mew to ask Ossë!”

“Does that mean you know what the crab is really supposed to be?” asked Sea-Rover.

“We have a pretty good guess—the star is rather distinctive. I’m rather worried that he doesn’t remember, however,” said Psamathos as he dropped the crab back into his bowl. “That should be fixed when he’s back in his own shape, but he seems quite reluctant to let us help in the first place. Very unlike you, Roverandom!”

“Well, I got very lucky, didn’t I, falling out of my boy’s pocket right onto your beach so soon?” Roverandom stretched and yawned. He was still quite tired. “I think I’m going to take a nap. Will someone wake me when Mew comes?”

“Certainly!” said Sea-Rover. “I’m going to go see what’s what in the water. Good afternoon, Psamathos!”

“Have a nice swim, pup,” said Psamathos. He seemed in a remarkably good mood, in spite of Daeron’s distress. Roverandom went to sniff at the bowl. The crab inside didn’t react, and so Roverandom went to find a shady spot behind the dunes to curl up and take a proper nap. It was much nicer to sleep the soft sand with the waves so close by, in the shade but still warmed by the sun, than it had been to try to sleep in a dark and unfamiliar wood. 

He woke to Daeron crouching beside him. “I’m told that Mew is coming back—whoever Mew is,” he said. He smiled at Roverandom, but it was not the same smile. He looked rather upset underneath it, but he still scratched Roverandom behind the ears, and even leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Thank you for coming to fetch me, Roverandom.”

“Is the crab really an old friend of yours?” Roverandom asked.

“Oh—friend, enemy, something else entirely—who can say now? I have not seen him in a very long time, and I had feared that I never would again.”

Mew came back, and Daeron was delighted to find that he was a seagull who could fly all the way to the moon. He had brought Moon-Rover with him, who had been shrunk down to toy-size for the flight, and grew into his proper size as soon as he jumped down onto the sand. “Hullo, pup!” he said as Roverandom bounded down the beach to meet him while Mew went to hand over the Man-in-the-Moon’s very thick letter to Psamathos. “What’s all this about a magical crab, then?”

“Someone’s been magicked into a crab,” said Sea-Rover. “I think he’s an Elf, like Daeron.”

“An elf, like one of those little fairy things?”

“No, like Daeron,” said Roverandom. “Over there with Psamathos, you see? He lives in the wood up on the other side of the road from here. He plays even better music than the mermaids do—no offense,” he added to Sea-Rover.

“None taken—it’s true, anyway,” said Sea-Rover.

Daeron and Psamathos spoke for a little while after they read the letter, and then Daeron’s voice rose enough for the Rovers to all hear, “Well I don’t care how angry Ossë might get!”

“That’s very easy for you to say—you don’t have to live on the beach!” said Psamathos. 

“Then I will call upon Uinen, or Ulmo himself! They will not fail to heed my cries, even now. It has been a very long time, but I have not yet forgotten all that Melian taught me. I may yet take ship into the West beyond West, and when I do I will not go alone—but I am certainly not making the voyage in the company of a crab in a bowl, and either way Ossë has no right now to interfere. The Ban was lifted so long ago that even you do not remember it, and whatever he did to merit such a punishment—”

“As I recall, he did rather a lot,” Psamathos pointed out. “The stories survive, even if I am not old enough to remember myself.”

Daeron glared at him. “And he already suffered the consequences—grave ones. This is just absurd, and if it was funny once I think the joke has long run its course.”

Roverandom looked at Psamathos in surprise—Psamathos, not old enough to remember something important? Daeron, older than even Psamathos? This was turning into a very curious story indeed!

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Roverandom!” Psamathos said, grumpy again. “There are many things in this world far older than I am. Daeron is but one—Ossë is another. Very well, Daeron. I will attempt these spells that the Man-in-the-Moon has sent me, and if they fail you can try your own songs. We’ll restore Maglor to his proper self, and if Ossë finds out, I shall inform him that it was entirely your fault!”

“Please do,” said Daeron, smiling but without any real humor behind it. 

“Oh,” Moon-Rover said, unusually quiet, ears going back. “That Daeron—he is dangerous.”

“Bet he isn’t more dangerous than the Sea-serpent,” said Sea-Rover. “Or that dragon that you keep waking up on the moon—”

“We only did that once!”

“Lots of people are dangerous,” said Roverandom, “but I think Daeron is also kind. Come on. I want to see when they break the spell!”

Psamathos was muttering to himself as he prepared to break the spell. Daeron had gotten out a flute from somewhere, and sat quietly, watching the crab scuttle around the bowl—he seemed to understand that something was happening, and he wanted to get away. “What if he doesn’t want to be turned back into whatever-he-used-to-be?” Moon-Rover asked. 

“If that is so, it is because he has forgotten himself,” said Daeron.

“Who is he?” asked Roverandom.

“If our guess is right,” began Psamathos.

“And how can it not be? Who else would bear that star?” Daeron interjected.

“That star might have been adopted by any number of people over the long years,” said Psamathos, “and it is never wise to put all of one’s eggs into one basket, after all. But I am confident that our guess is right, and that this silly little crab was once Maglor Fëanorion, a very mighty singer among the Elves, present company excepted. I had wondered, sometimes, where he had gone, for it has been a very long time indeed since I have heard his voice echoing over the waves—but the world is very wide, and I had thought he had only wandered away to other shores somewhere far away.”

“I had thought so too,” said Daeron. “Are you ready, Psamathos?”

“Almost.” Psamathos did something with the sand in front of him, and then regarded the bowl. “The question is whether I will be able to work it all fast enough—I cannot turn him back into himself inside that bowl, for he won’t fit, but if we take him out he’ll only try to run away.”

Without hesitation, Daeron reached in to snatch up the crab, who snapped his pincers and waved his legs rather frantically. “I’ll just hold him,” he said. “He can’t very well complain of more indignity, after spending so long like this.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” asked Roverandom. He went to sniff at the crab, and Daeron pulled back just before he had his whiskers snipped. 

“I doubt it,” said Daeron. “If it does, he can complain afterward—when he can complain. Are you ready yet, Psamathos?”

“Patience, Daeron! Heavens, if I had known you would be so prickly I would not have sent Roverandom for you!”

“Me, prickly? That’s quite rich coming from the grumpiest magician I have ever met! You put even Gandalf to shame for grumpiness!”

Finally, Psamathos did something quite magical, Roverandom was sure—though it looked to him as though he just waved his hands and tossed a bit of sand into the air as he spoke a few words. Those words did shiver through the air like the feeling before a thunderstorm, and Roverandom took several steps backward. Sea-Rover ducked behind Moon-Rover, who looked like he wished he could duck behind something else. 

Then the feeling in the air faded, and nothing happened. The crab was still a crab in Daeron’s hands. “I should’ve known that wouldn’t work,” Psamathos muttered as he snatched up the letter from the Man-in-the-Moon. “He seemed entirely too confident, but not all of us can solve our problems with a few fireworks—and Ossë is more than a mere magician!”

“That means it’s my turn then,” said Daeron. 

“Hang on one moment! I have one more thing to try, before you go breaking the hearts of everyone in the neighborhood and down in the Deep Blue Sea with your songs.”

“And if I promise to sing something much more cheerful afterward, when I have someone to sing with at last?”

“I’ll hold you to it, but let me try one more spell. Ah, here.” Psamathos did the same thing all over again, though Roverandom thought he smelled something different in the air, as well as felt it—the smell of coming thunder. The crab wiggled his legs and then with a jolt began to grow. Daeron made a startled sound and dropped him into the sand. “Ha!” said Psamathos, sounding very pleased, as the crab grew and changed, body lengthening, legs disappearing and pincers shrinking and then growing again in a different shape. It was a very strange thing to watch, and Roverandom scampered back to join the other Rovers. Even Daeron scrambled backward, crablike himself in the sand, eyes going very wide. Only Psamathos was unfazed. 

Finally, instead of a crab a person knelt on his hands and knees, wobbling a little. He had long dark hair that tumbled over his shoulders in waves and covered his face. After a moment he fell to the side, sitting now rather than kneeling, with soft and startled grunt. He seemed confused, and looked down at his arms and legs as though he didn’t quite know what to make of them. One of his hands looked injured, with scars from a long-ago burn. 

Roverandom sniffed the air, smelled no more magic, and then trotted forward to sniff at the man, who jerked his head up, eyes wide. He smelled a little like Daeron—that indefinable elvish smell. After a moment he smiled, and reached up to rub his hand over Roverandom’s head. “Hello there,” he said, voice quiet. It was a very nice voice, deeper than Daeron’s but just as musical. Roverandom licked his hand. 

“Maglor!” Daeron cried, and Maglor jerked around. Roverandom got out of the way just in time to avoid being knocked over alongside Maglor when Daeron threw himself at him. They fell into the sand, Daeron speaking very rapidly in a language Roverandom had never heard before, hardly giving Maglor a chance to say anything in reply. Roverandom couldn’t tell if he was happy or angry—or something else, because after a few minutes he burst into tears, wrapping his arms around Maglor and burying his face in his hair. 

Psamathos chuckled as he placed a set of clothes down where the Elves could find them easily, neatly folded. “Come along, my good pups!” he said, heaving himself up out of the sand. “It’s getting late now, and before all of this excitement I was going to host a party! Come dance with the mermaids and the sea fairies—and if we are very lucky we will have the two greatest Elvish singers come to play for us later, when the stars are brightest!”

“But who are they?” Moon-Rover asked as he bounded along, jumping every so often as though forgetting that he had left his wings behind on the moon. “I’ve never even heard of such Elves before, not in all my days!”

“You’re still just a puppy,” Sea-Rover said dismissively. “I’ve heard of Maglor, of course—everyone down under the Sea knows Maglor, and you’ll understand why when you hear him sing. I think I did hear him once, but it was very long ago and at a distance, and it was my master who said that the voice was the Elvish wight that haunted the shores. It was good luck to hear him, when you were going off on a voyage.”

“There are very few Elves left in the world in these days,” said Psamathos. “They’ve nearly all sailed away back West beyond West—where no mortal ship can ever go. But a few remain, mostly in the deep woods, and perhaps some are like Daeron and walk among Men, most of whom do not remember the old tales now and do not recognize ancient peoples. Your little boy’s father is an exception,” he added to Roverandom. “He is quite wise, in his own way, and notices quite a lot.”

“We’ve seen the West beyond West,” Sea-Rover whispered to Roverandom when they reached the cove and Moon-Rover ran off to greet the mermaids who were coming up out of the water. “Do you remember, when Uin took us all over, and we saw that land with the white city on the beach and the mountains taller than anything?”

“Oh yes,” said Roverandom. “I dream about it sometimes. But we aren’t supposed to speak of it, I thought.”

“Oh, we aren’t! But that’s where all the Elves have gone. There are lots of old stories they tell down in the Deep Blue Sea that no one up here remembers anymore, except folks like Psamathos. You didn’t stay long enough last time to hear them,” Sea-Rover said, regretfully. “They’re beautiful stories, but very sad. There are quests sometimes among some of the younger and sillier mer-people to go looking for the Silmaril that was thrown into the Sea, but of course no one has ever found it.”

“Rover, Roverandom!” called the mermaids, laughing. “Come dance with us! Come on, there’s a good puppy!”

The party was a very merry one, with lots of delicious food conjured up by Psamathos, and lots of beautiful music by the mermaids and sea-fairies. Even a few sea-goblins came and danced in the shallows, kicking up the sea foam so it caught the starlight and shimmered. And then, when the moon had set and it was very late and only the stars lit the world, Maglor and Daeron came to join them. Maglor was dressed and his hair was neatly combed and braided, and he laughed when Roverandom and Moon-Rover and Sea-Rover bounded over to greet him. “Hello again,” he said, not seeming to mind the damp and sandy paw prints getting all over his new clothes when he sat down. “I think I owe you both thanks and an apology!”

“Oh, that’s all right!” said Sea-Rover. 

“We’re very glad that you’re yourself again,” Roverandom added. “It’s very terrible to be turned into something you aren’t, really.”

Maglor laughed again, quiet and a little rueful. “And how does a little dog know that?”

“It’s rather a long story,” said Roverandom.

“I would like to hear it,” said Maglor.

“So would I,” added Daeron, reaching over to scratch Roverandom behind an ear, “but not tonight. Tonight is for Maglor to remember what it is to make real music!” He smiled at Maglor, who smiled back almost shyly. They sat shoulder to shoulder, and when the mermaids called for songs, Daeron brought out his flute and played the most beautiful music Roverandom had ever heard. Someone brought out a harp from somewhere—perhaps it was magicked up by Psamathos, perhaps a mermaid had brought it—and Maglor put his fingers to the strings and after only one or two false starts played in such perfect harmony with Daeron’s flute that there was not a single dry eye in the cove. Roverandom even saw Psamathos wipe away a few tears. And when they sang! Roverandom had not known what it meant when Psamathos had called them mighty singers, but it did not take long for him to understand. It was as though the Sea itself grew quiet so that it could listen. 

Roverandom fell asleep sometime very late. He woke up to find Psamathos gone, burrowed somewhere under the sand to sleep the day away, and the cove very quiet and empty. Maglor and Daeron had also gone. Sea-Rover and Moon-Rover were curled up on either side of Roverandom, and didn’t wake when he got up and trotted off. It was high time he made his way home to check on his boy, he thought. He would come back that evening to say goodbye to his friends and see them off, one to the moon and the other back to the Sea.

He had his breakfast and played with his boys until they left that afternoon on an outing with some friends. When Roverandom returned to the beach he found Maglor and Daeron had returned, and were playing fetch in the waves with the other Rovers. Roverandom splashed into the water after the stick, barking madly, and the afternoon was just as pleasant in its own way as the evening before had been.

When they were all tired and slightly chilled they retreated to the sun-warmed sands. Roverandom flopped down beside Moon-Rover, who rolled around, getting himself entirely encrusted in sand before settling. Daeron and Maglor sat with their shoulders pressed together, and spoke for a little while in their own language, musical and as rhythmic as the waves, before Daeron said, “All right, Roverandom—we are still very curious about your own adventures. And you two, you other Rovers!”

They all took turns telling their stories—how the Sea-Rover had gone a-roving with his master on his ship long ago, and how Moon-Rover had fallen off the edge of the world to land on the moon as it passed beneath. Roverandom explained about Artaxerxes and the red ball, and how he had been turned into a toy—and then back into a real dog by Psamathos, though still stuck in toy size. “Oh dear,” Maglor laughed quietly, leaning his head on Daeron’s shoulder. “I’m glad I was only turned into a crab—and not a toy crab, unable even to move!”

“Who is Ossë, and why did he turn you into a crab?” asked Moon-Rover. He got up and shook himself, sending sand flying everywhere. Roverandom sneezed twice before getting up and moving so he could lay his head in Maglor’s lap and get some proper pets. Sea-Rover had already claimed Daeron. Moon-Rover accepted a few scratches, but was too restless to stay still for long. 

“Oh, I don’t remember now,” said Maglor. “I think I was very rude to him—ruder than you were to poor Artaxerxes.”

“He did not have to leave you that way, though,” said Daeron, very disapprovingly. 

“I suspect he forgot,” said Maglor. “I think it has been a very long time indeed since any of the Valar or their Maiar have come to mortal shores.”

“Perhaps,” said Daeron.

“Are you really going to sail away as you said you would?” asked Roverandom.

“Maybe someday!” said Daeron. “But not yet. I quite like my little cottage in the forest, with my garden and the wildflowers, and the Sea so close by. Maglor has agreed to come stay with me a while. Maybe we’ll go traveling again sometime so he can see how the world has changed in his long absence—but there’s no hurry.”

“No, there’s not,” said Maglor, looking at Daeron with a very soft smile on his face. Roverandom found himself thinking of the way he had seen Artaxerxes looking at his wife once or twice when she wasn’t paying attention. “Thank goodness for curious dogs and kindly sand sorcerers!”

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