Prudence
by Bex



In a storm-wracked landscape, thick with sulfur and lit by a ruddy glow, two figures paused on the slopes above the shifting remnants of a mighty conflict, and stood poised upon a rocky crag above a lava pit.

It was one of those pivotal moments during which the course of many years and the fates of peoples is set.

One, an elf, adjured the other, a man, to discard the golden ring he now held reverently on one gauntleted palm. And was ignored, as the other sank swiftly under the murmur and sway of the shining band, and greed and ambition began to twist the mortal warrior's features.

The tableau held for several moments...and then was broken by a flash of light brighter then the sun; brighter than lightning. Even as they flung up their arms in surprise, shading their eyes, they saw a figure suddenly there before them, a woman, yet in such strange rainment as neither had ever before seen a woman wear.

Before Isildur could move or cry out, she advanced upon him in two strides, and snatched his prize from him, crying, "That will be quite enough of that!" Turning, she instantly flung it into the fire pit below.

The Ring was gone, and Mount Doom began to erupt.

Stunned, the two men might not have fled in time, but for her encouragement. "Go! Move!" Returning to their senses, they stumbled down the shuddering slope. Below, the armies' tattered remains were already fleeing the slopes of the fire-mountain.

The woman herded the two warriors part of the way. Once they'd gathered up enough momentum and were, she judged, likely enough to escape the lava flow, she stopped, then turned to go.

A shout halted her. "My lady, who are you, who has done this great deed today?"

She turned back. It was Elrond, battered and filthy, staring fiercely at her, though she could see that the sharpness was keen relief. Oh, yes; he knew what this meant, what had almost happened. So she grinned. And told him, before vanishing in another flash of light.

*****

It was a rainy summer afternoon; moist air and the soothing patter of rain came through the windows ajar in Bilbo's study. Frodo had wandered there in search of suitable distraction and now stood before the bookcases and their mysterious tomes.

One of his chief delights, upon being brought to Bag End to live, a half-year before, had been finding out that he had free run of the library. Many a cozy hour he'd spent since, curled up in an armchair, following the adventures of the legendary figures of Middle Earth, in the lands far beyond the placid Shire.

He half hoped to travel someday. See Bree, perhaps.

In the meantime, there were the books.

He chose one now, then padded over to the wing chair. Sitting down, he lay the book, a large green leather-bound volume, on his lap, opened it, and saw the title: 'Of the Rise of Sauron, the Last Alliance and the deed of Mari'su.'

Turning the page, he began to read.


Fin.