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Gandalf threw another log on the fire. Although the crocuses had already pushed up through the last of the winter snows, Spring was still some weeks away here in Rivendell. Elrond poured the wizard a glass of wine and then one for himself. Gandalf lit his pipe and settled back into the comfortable chair, anticipating with delight a quiet evening of conversation with his old friend.

They talked for a while on various pleasant topics: the Winter festivals now past, the preparations for Spring, the upcoming marriage of Arwen and Legolas, the good Prince of Greenwood. How sweet to sit peacefully, not a care in the world and be happy.

After a time, the conversation lagged and the two friends sat in comfortable silence in front of the dying fire. Occasionally they sipped their wine.

After a time, Elrond spoke, Did I ever tell you, Gandalf, what finally happened to the One Ring of Power?

No. Is it very interesting?

Just a postscript really, although I shudder to think what would have happened had the ring escaped.

Then tell me. It's always nice to have finality to a story.

I was there that day three thousand years ago, when the strength of men failed, intoned Elrond.

Yes, they are quite unreliable creatures, aren't they?

Quite. I bade Isildur to follow me up Mt. Doom after he cut the ring from Sauron's hand. He did so, but reluctantly.

Cast it into the fire!' I cried. But the ring had already taken hold off him.

No,' he told me and turned to walk away.

Oh Gracious! Gandalf looked horrified.

I knew at that moment that ring was of such immense power that none would be able to withstand it for long.

Whatever did you do, Elrond? the Wizard gasped.

They only thing I could do. I drop-kicked his ass into the Cracks of Doom. The Ring went with him.

Oh, so it was all right, then?

Elrond nodded.

Outside the soft singing of the elves could be heard as the evening Dance to the Moon began.

Shall we open another bottle, Gandalf?