The Wisecouncil of the Ring

by Yeshua

Chapter One: The Big Whoops

The Ring Wraiths fled into the night as they were accosted, set aflame one by one by Aragorn son of Arathorn, greatest of all rangers, called Estel; Longshanks; Wingfoot (by like, one person); Strider; Thorongil; heir to Isildur and to the throne of Gondor, and resident coolguy.

But much damage had already been done.

Aragorn rushed to the side of the screaming Frodo, and was shocked as he realized this was no ordinary injury that robbed the light from the young, though canonically 50, hobbit's eyes. But it was hard to be certain in the flickering light of his torch, and there was no time.

'Perhaps we ought to be getting out of here?' offered Samwise Gamgee in his infinite wisdom. Aragorn would have liked to punch him infinitely in his wisdom...teeth. Something or other.

Without a word, Aragorn hoisted Frodo over his shoulder and swiftly made his way to the tower's stairs, trusting the other hobbits would follow. And follow they did, for where else could they turn now?

'The flame summon the wraiths, and the flame banish them,' Pippin whispered behind him with a calm gleefulness. 'The flame. Yes, the flame.'

'Do not delight in the mysteries of Mordor, young master,' Aragorn cautioned without looking back, hiding how much this disturbed him.

'I despise their metal slippers most of all,' responded the hobbit quickly, although he had not said anything else that he despised about the Ring Wraiths.

Sam and Meriadoc were too preoccupied with the trauma of what had just transpired to notice the unsettling words from their friend. Still, they pressed on, more confident than ever in Strider's worldliness, emboldened by his courage. Frodo was the Ringbearer- the only one they had, and without him all would be lost. Such a time of testing as this would have once sent the hobbits fleeing- but now they strode unhesitatingly forward, toward fiercer and stranger trials.

The sun rose shortly after they put Weathertop behind them, Strider leading them into a forest as his paranoia crept like shadows in mind. At last when he decided they were safe from the wraiths- even if only for a few moments- he motioned for the party to stop. The party always stops when Aragorn tells it to.

He pulled Frodo down in one quick, careful motion. He went to open Frodo's shirt because he forgot they had already removed it hours ago, in order to gaze upon Frodo's well-sculpted torso against his will, although Samwise had protested this, grumbling about it being disrespectful to Master Baggins. Everyone had ignored him, though, because Sam was unimportant.

Now, in the daylight and less distracted by Frodo's unnaturally excellent physique for a 50 year-old hobbit, the mystery of his injury resolved into an unfortunate clarity.

'This is no ordinary injury. It was made by a Morgul blade. Few now have the skill in healing to match such evil weapons. But I am very skilled at basically everything so it's no biggie.'

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. They were really hoping it wouldn't be a biggie.

The ranger scanned the flora in the immediate vicinity for a couple of tense minutes while everyone else just watched a little awkwardly. Even Frodo, who was about 85% unconscious and experiencing bizarre fever hallucinations, was really hoping Aragorn would hurry it along. Aragorn at last bent down, cut something with his dagger, and held it up to everyone's least favorite hobbit.

'Sam, can you help me gather this plant?' Aragorn asked Sam to make him feel less unimportant, although anyone would agree this was a monumental task. 'Athelas, also called-'

'Kingsfoil. Yes, I know. Now's not the time to show off, Strider.'

'Fair enough,' Aragorn said shortly. 'Let's make haste.'

But Samwise was already busying himself at the task with a grave focus.

Aragorn sat still for thirty seconds while he glared at Sam and fantasized about killing him. Suddenly, there was a sword at his throat.

'Hey it's me, Arwen.'

Aragorn spun and slashed behind him, slicing Arwen's hand badly.

'Ow!'

'Sorry, I thought you said 'Sauron.''

Arwen gave him a look that said 'I have loved you for a great deal of time and have long considered the complex choice of sacrificing my immortality to spend a fulfilling mortal life by your side, despite the fact that not only my father but likely my entire people would ostracize me for such a decision, yet still I hold greater value in you and my relationship with you, but after pulling that stunt right there, mister, yeah that's not looking very tempting.'

What Arwen actually said was, 'What's happened?'

Aragorn simply gestured toward Frodo, for he knew after a moment's glance at the hobbit, she would know. But apparently Arwen was off her game, for instead she just shrugged and said 'Huhhh?'

'Oh. Well-'

'Wait! I got it.' Then she knelt by Frodo and whispered, 'A wound from a Morgul blade.' She touched the wound as she examined it, thinking.

'What are you doing?!' Shouted Aragorn. 'You hand is covered in blood! From when I cut you just now!'

Arwen immediately withdrew her hand and yelped. 'Haha, whoops. Hopefully that doesn't cause any problems down the road.

Anyway, I'm really good at riding horses. Let me take Frodo to Rivendell.'

'...I am also good at riding horses,' Aragorn said, his eye twitching.

By now the others had returned and were watching the exchange.

'But I really am faster,' Arwen was saying. 'And anyway, you ride like a girl.'

Aragorn recoiled from this sick burn as Merry chimed in: 'That, my friend, is a pint.'

'I wish Glorfindel was here,' mumbled the ranger, but no one knew who he was talking about, and even if they did, they wouldn't have cared because Arwen had just asserted her dominance.

After Arwen had mounted her horse and gotten Frodo secure in the saddle with Aragorn and Sam's help, Merry took off the sunglasses he had been wearing all morning and handed them to the elf. 'You might need these later,' he said seriously.

Glorfinwen nodded. Flicking the reigns, she shouted, 'Noro Lim, Fashtalot! Noro Lim'

'You take care of Mr. Frodo, now!' Sam shouted, but she was already gone.

Arwen could feel the presence of the dark riders more and more as they rode, though she could not see them yet. Frodo gasped a wretched gasp, really grossing Arwen out.

'Do not give into the darkness, Frodo! Their robes are tattered, their hair is thin and grey, and their slippers are metal. No one wants metal slippers!'

But Frodo was feeling more and more as if he did want metal slippers. Convenient or functional? No. But totally rad? Absolutely.

Meanwhile:

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Aragorn spun and slashed behind him, narrowly missing Pippin as the hobbit jumped backwards.

Clunk-clunk went the hobbit's feet as he landed.

'My apologies, it's a habit I really need to- Oh my god what are you wearing?'

'They're, uh,' clunk, 'just some slip-'

'How did you even get those? You know what, I don't want to know.'

'Took 'em from the guy who stabbed Frodo,' Pippin said, smiling.

'The Witch King? You've gotta be kidding me...Take those off right now,' Aragorn reached for the hobbit's feet, sensing his impending resistance.

'I'm taking them off, I'm taking them off!' Pippin started to gingerly place the horrible slippers in his sack, but Aragorn ripped them out of his hands and cast them deep into the forest.

'You really are the dumb one, Pip,' chided Meriadoc, clapping his friend on the back and brushing past him.

'They come in pints?' Pippin asked no one, depressed.

Meanwhile:

Arwen frowned as the Ring Wraiths were swept downriver by her powerful pony spell. For though they were now free from their pursuers, another, equally dangerous threat loomed before them.

Quickly dismounting, she went to remove Frodo's shirt, having forgotten she had already taken it off as soon as she was out of sight of Aragorn and company to gaze upon Frodo's surprisingly well-sculpted torso against his will. He truly was a well- built 50-year-old hobbit.

Her fears were soon confirmed as she regained focus, examining Frodo's wound. 'Wow that's really infected.'

Glorfindel became distracted while she considered the confusing lore surrounding the reincarnation of elves and how much of a thing that even really was?

Frodo groaned, clearly trying to find the strength to say something.

'What is it, Frodo?' Arwen asked, concerned, as she drew her blade.

'I said I hate you.'

'Yeah, sorry you fell off Fashtalot like three times.'

'Four.'

'Yeah, fair. My b.' And she sliced the hobbit in half.