Author's Note: On with the Council of Elrond! Remember: reviews are more
than welcome (and encourage me to write faster). This is the first chapter
that consists primarily of dialogue – so let me know what you think.
On another subject entirely: anybody know why, in the half-a-dozen fics I've seen which involve a descendent of Sauron or Morgoth, that descendent is always female? Is it just because some people think there aren't enough female characters in Tolkien's world, or some deeper psychological reason that I'm completely missing out on? It's a trifle puzzling, that's all.
Disclaimer: I did not create Middle-earth. Iluvatar created Middle-earth. The Silmarillion says so. I'm just writing a non-profit story. I didn't sell it, so you shouldn't either. If you try to (not that you could), a swarm of lawyers will converge upon your front lawn and sue you out of house and home.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was a hush, and all eyes turned to Frodo (Baggins, hobbit, and Ring- bearer extraordinaire) – save those of Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas, for their eyes were fixed firmly upon Mary-Sue, known to them as Argalawenisildriela. Frodo's slight yet muscular frame (for a hobbit, anyway) shook with a sudden quiver, and Mary's tender yet perceptive eyes (silver striations dotted her eyes (blue-green-gray as the sea at midnight) as reflections of the stars dot the sea (or so, at least, thought Legolas)) could discern shame and fear in the hobbit's bright eyes, as well as a wish to be far away.
Being the intelligent, curious, sharp-eared, silent-footed sixteen-year-old twentieth-century girl/elf that she was, she had (naturally) spent the last week learning (or over-hearing (accidentally, of course, for such a peerless heroine would never have dreamt of eavesdropping (unless in the depths of a nightmare))) a great deal about the hobbit whose life she had saved. She knew full well that he had been wounded by the fell weapon of a Ringwraith: a deadly Morgul blade, intended to draw Frodo into the world of shadows under Sauron's sway. She knew also that hobbits were tough little chaps, and Frodo had not been subdued. He did, however, have a slight hint of transparency about him that Mary privately thought made him look rather like an angel.
A short, pipe-smoking, hairy-footed angel named "Baggins," but an angel nonetheless. Were the Ring larger, it could serve as a halo.
At any rate, Mary's perceptive eyes could instantly tell that this Ring was like a great weight upon Frodo's shoulders. It had already brought him unmeasurable suffering and grief – what else might it do?
Frodo held up the Ring; it seemed to gleam and flicker in his trembling hand.
"Behold Isildur's Bane!" said Elrond.
"Scuse me," said a small voice politely. All heads swiveled to stare at a curly-haired, bare-footed hobbit (standing next to another curly-haired, bare-footed hobbit) in the doorway. "Not that I've been eavesdropping, mind you," the hobbit said earnestly, "but I'm Peregrin Took, but you can call me Pippin, or Pip if you're in a hurry."
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf muttered.
"Or that, of course," Pippin continued cheerfully, "but, you know, I'm a good friend and close relation of Frodo there –"
The other hobbit muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Third cousin five times removed," but Pippin plowed on ahead.
"Anyways, I had a question. If Isildur really WAS killed by an orc arrow, like Captain Boromir there says, how come the Ring's called his Bane? I mean, he was killed, sure enough. Everybody knows that – why, Saruman has even fished his body out of the Great River, you know, but what I don't understand is -"
"WHAT?" Gandalf roared, leaping to his feet with an agility you wouldn't expect from such an old wizard unless you were aware that he was *really* an ageless Maiar. "Fool of a Took! What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Pippin said hastily. "Forget I asked. Er – Merry and I will just go sit over here now."
"I will do nothing of the sort!" Mary snapped.
There was a pause while everyone looked strangely at Mary (except Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas, who were still doing their love-struck-Shetland-Pony impressions). She then recollected that (according to her best friend Mary Jane's little brother Larry Stu, Tolkien fan extraordinaire) "Merry" was short for "Meriadoc." It might be pronounced just like "Mary" (as in "Mary had a little lamb"), but it did not mean HER, Mary Susan Smith.
The uncomfortable moment passed as the two eaves-droppers retreated to the designated corner. The fact that they were not summarily chased out, reprimanded, and sent home in a sack (preferably a sack apiece, in order that Merry might be mailed directly to Buckland and Pippin mailed directly to Tuckborough, thereby saving on shipping expenses) is a mark of the Council's agitation.
"This is, indeed, the One Ring forged by Sauron (politely referred to as "Him," or sometimes "The Biggest Boss" by close acquaintances)," Elrond declared gravely. "The question is – what are we to do with it?"
Gimli leapt to his booted feet with a dwarf's typical haste. (And here you thought the only reason why Ents disliked dwarves was because they carried axes.) "Use it to defeat Sauron, of course!" he roared, and the other dwarves echoed his cry.
"Don't be ridiculous, dwarf," Legolas cried, then laughed. "Ah, how foolish of me! Of course, you dwarves – poor benighted creatures – cannot even *help* being ridiculous! But you could at least make an effort. We cannot wield this Ring – it is evil!"
"It takes one to know one!" Gimli raged with more volume than thought.
"Take that back, you bearded son of stone!" Legolas shrieked. In a flash, elves and dwarves were hurling insults at each other and drawing weapons. Elrond cried ineffectually for silence while Aragorn (heir of Isildur (son of Elendil)) and Boromir (son of Denethor (Steward of Gondor)) continued to gaze at Mary (daughter of Tom P. Smith (Mailman)).
Pippin and Merry took advantage of the commotion to break out the snacks. Gandalf brought his staff down on the ground with a sound like a crack of lightning, roaring, "Fool of a Took! There is a time for eating and a time for NOT eating and this is DEFINITELY the LATTER!"
The sudden noise half-woke the snoozing Gloin (father of Gimli, brother of Oin (currently a decomposing corpse in Moria (Khazad-dum))). He leapt up, obviously still in the grips of a dream, and brandished his mighty war- hammer. "Kill the men!" he howled. "Kill the elves! Keep the treasure for ourselves!"
Smaug is dead, but Greed lives on.
"You tell 'em, Dad!" Gimli shouted encouragingly. Boromir drew his sword.
Elrond buried his face in his hands.
With clarion swiftness, Mary realized that the fate of the Council lay in her slender hands (washed thrice daily with Herbal Essence Soap; It's Not Some Deep Spiritual Cleansing, But It's Close.) She instantly took action. Three quick strides and one agile dodge around Gloin's axe brought her up to the old dwarf's side. Delay was perilous. She acted swiftly.
THWACK!
"You – you just slapped my Dad in the face, elf-witch!" Gimli stuttered in disbelief. Mary turned a reproachful vision of beauty (a.k.a. her face) toward him, and instantly the stains were washed from the heart of Gimli son of Gloin. He had found his Ideal Woman – his Angel, his Vision, his Hope of Inspiration for the Future, Not to Mention for the Present. His axe fell to the floor with a clatter and he dropped to his knees. "Your pardon, fair lady! I see that my conduct was wrong!"
"Darn right it was!" Mary snapped. Gloin lay on the floor, unconscious again. Gimli gazed up at her with beseeching puppy-dog eyes (the hair helped the puppy-dog impression too), and her heart melted. "There, there, I didn't mean to speak so harshly. But you'll be a good dwarf now, won't you?"
Gimli gazed at her with the expression with which he might have gazed at Lady Galadriel had he not seen Argalawenisildriela first.
Legolas "accidentally" loosed the arrow on his bow, giving Gimli an attractive decoration on his helmet, then turned to Elrond, his flawless features set in a noble and princely pout. "See," he began in his beautifully aggrieved elven voice, "that's what I don't like about Dwarves. They *always* try to take the spotlight."
"Legolas," Elrond began wearily.
"And they don't even have pointy ears!" Legolas continued indignantly.
"Legolas -"
"And *facial hair*! By the Valar, have you ever seen anything so disgusting in your life!?"
Elrond paused to consider the question. "Some of Morgoth's foul minions were pretty disgusting," he replied gravely. "I think they outrank dwarven beards."
Legolas looked taken-aback. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side!"
"I thought we were supposed to all be on the SAME side," Elrond muttered.
The conversation broke off when Arwen abruptly rose from her chair, her eyes (beautiful eyes, but pale and dull in comparison to the peerless eyes of Argalawenisildriela) becoming round and vacant, staring fixedly at some point in the distance which no-one else could see. The lights flickered and dimmed in a very foreboding sort of way; a wind whistled sharply around the still Council chamber and died again. The sun itself seemed to withdraw from the sky – possibly disgusted at being involved in such a plethora of corny foreshadowing. A ghostly light outlined Arwen's slender figure (but Aragorn (Telcontar, Elessar, Thorongil, Wingfoot, Dunadan, etc.) continued to watch Mary-Sue). Everyone seemed frozen in stone, petrified by the feeling that Something was Going to Happen.
The silence was fraught with portent.
"Darkness shall reign over Middle-earth," Arwen finally intoned, her fair elven voice (which seemed like the aimless croaking of a toad in comparison to the dulcet tones of Mary-Sue) ringing out in the portent-fraught silence like a harbinger of doom. "Darkness shall devour the land if Gorthaur the Cruel regains the One Ring. All Free Peoples shall perish in the shadows of Mordor if Sauron of the Nine Fingers is not destroyed. No man may slay the Great Eye. The fate of Middle-earth lies in the hands of an elven maid; Argalawenisildriela alone can banish the Dark Shadow that looms over Mordor."
In a shock-fraught silence, Arwen sank gracefully back down into her seat (though still not as gracefully as Mary-Sue might have done). The lights came back on; the sun gratefully returned to his proper position in the sky, and the wind picked back up. The Council members, however, remained silent in startled surprise.
Elrond, ageless features set in a puzzled frown, stared at his daughter's fair elven face, wondering when, where, and how she had acquired the gift of prophecy.
Gandalf drew his bristling brows together, his lined face taking on an expression of deep thought, inscrutable wisdom, and grave consideration. He had just realized that he had mislaid his pipe.
Boromir frowned, his proud yet stern glance flitting from Mary-Sue to Arwen and back again. If that had not been the prophecy referred to in his dream (why, WHY had he not let Faramir come instead?) then his name was not Boromir (son of Denethor, Captain-General of Gondor, High Warden of the White Tower)! The question was, how could such a fair maiden slay the Nameless Enemy (as Gondorians like to call Sauron (Speaking of which, have you ever notice how Evil Overlords tend to *not* be referred to be their names? Is it a trend? A coincidence? Cutting commentary on general cowardice? Look at J. K. Rowlings' books – You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not- be-Named. Calling the chap "Voldemort" (which means wind-of-death in French) is a Big Deal, and Not the Done Thing. Look at Robert Jordan's books – the Shadow, the Great Lord of the Dark, and half a dozen other things (which I have completely forgotten and do not intend to go look up). Referring to the guy as "Shai'tan" is taboo. And I had another example in mind, but I seem to have forgotten it. Ah, well, that is life.)) and what could he, Boromir, do to aid her? For, of course, such a beautiful damsel (he had never seen a lovelier) deserved all the aid that Gondor could give her – and she certainly deserved to have a competent, good-looking chap such as himself at her side.
Gimli laid a determined hand on his axe-haft. If the beautiful, the glorious, the shining-white-and-pure Argalawenisildriela was going to be walking into danger in order to defeat the Enemy (as dwarves like to call Sauron (Recently elected chairlord of Evil Maiar Inc., founded in the First Age by Melkor. Out-of-this-world pay, generous pension plan, evil minions unlimited. Call 1-800-MORGOTH for further information)) then he, Gimli, her loyal dwarf and knight (who says knights have to wearing shining white armor and ride horses?) would, without doubt, accompany her to guide and protect her.
Aragorn's pale stern face remained expressionless as his keen grey eyes continued to watch Mary Sue. In fact, he had been so wrapped up in his admiration of the strange elf maiden that he had not heard a word of the prophecy (thereby defeating much of Arwen's purpose).
The hobbits blinked at Arwen, at Mary, and then at each other with varying degrees of disinterest before returning to their light meal (six seedcakes apiece, three boiled eggs, nine apples to be shared between the five of them, a bottle of ale, a bit of chicken, and a nice big wedge of cheese, not to mention a delectable meat-cheese-and-pepperoni-topped round flat loaf covered in tomato spread (an elven delicacy)).
Mary's lovely eyes widened, and she gasped inaudibly, laying one lily-white hand across her rose-red mouth in consternation.
She was the prophesied one.
It was her destiny to overthrow the Dark Lord.
Her duty was clear.
Difficult, life-threatening, onerous, and boring as such a task might be, Mary Susan Smith was not one to back down from a challenge.
(Not that it would be much of a challenge. What Evil Overlord could stand up to a sixteen-year-old twentieth-century American girl/elf? Mary-Sue, however, being the humble heroine that she was, did not fully realize the non-challenging nature of the challenge, and thus sat silent in sorrowful acceptance of her fate.)
Of course, Mary (despite being an above-average sixteen-year-old twentieth- century American girl/elf) did not realize that Arwen (Tinuviel) had … well … painful as it is to speak ill of an elf, it must be said that Arwen had fabricated the 'prophecy' in order to remove Mary (who was attracting WAY too much of Aragorn's attention – attention that should have been fixed on HER) from Rivendell (and therefore from Aragorn). Little did Arwen realize that her plan was destined to backfire.
There was rather a lot of destiny floating around that day.
* * * * *
The surprise-fraught silence considered for a quarter of an hour, the Council members frozen in a (PHOTO-OP!!!) wonder-stricken tableau.
Elrond (Half-elven, former banner-bearer of Gil-Galad (an elven king, of whom the harpers sadly sing; the last whose realm was fair and free – oh, all right, all RIGHT)) was the first to recover his voice. He was, after all, the moderator of this meeting, and as such it was his duty to deal with disturbances and infringements of proper parliamentary procedure.
"Arwen Tinuviel Quarter-elven!" he said sternly. "You're out of order. Go to your room at once!"
Arwen burst into tears, and Elrond's heart instantly melted. "There, there, dear, I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it," he said uncomfortably. "Um … ah …"
Mary-Sue spoke, her crystal-clear tones, beauteous as the cry of gulls over Numenor, ringing softly in the still air of the Council chamber. (Larry Stu might have been able to point out that air is never still – its molecules are constantly in motion. Not that anyone could have cared less.) "I shall not let Middle-earth perish, though it means my own death," she said, such sorrow weighing in her voice that every man (and elf (save Arwen), and dwarf, and hobbit) felt tears start into his eyes. "If it be my destiny to challenge the Dark Lord, I shall fulfill it. If I alone can banish the Necromancer from Arda, then I shall set out to do so, whatever perils and griefs may lie in my path." She covered her glorious eyes with one pale hand, immortal, untouchable grief weighing her slim shoulders.
"You shall not go alone!" thundered Gimli, his stone-hard dwarven heart softened by such mournful beauty.
Legolas cursed the dwarf quietly under his breath. What good were elven reflexes if they didn't even let him speak first? How could he demean himself by volunteering after the dwarf had already spoken?
Gandalf finally located his pipe, and tucked it safely into his hat-brim with a sigh of relief. Abandoning the effort to locate his equally recalcitrant pipe-weed, he attempted to pick up the thread of conversation again, asking, "But what of the Ring?"
"It cannot stay here," Elrond said quickly, noting the avaricious gleam in Bilbo's eyes. "Rivendell cannot contain such evil – besides, it would be the first place Sauron would look."
"It cannot go back to the Shire, either," Gandalf (the Grey, Mithrandir, Olorin, Stormcrow, Grayhame, Lathspell, etc., etc.) snapped. "That would be the second place He would look – besides, the White Council ordered me to keep an eye on it (two eyes when I can spare them), and I'm tired of bumping my head on the roofs of hobbit-holes. Do you have any idea how painful it is to bang your head in the same place twenty times? It's thanks to all those visits to Hobbiton that I have to wear such a large hat - I still have a lump the size of a palantir!"
"What are we to do with it, then?" Elrond demanded. "None of the Wise can wield it – it would be too great a temptation! Where can we send it? Who can guard it?"
"I – I suppose I could continue to bear it," poor Frodo whispered. Everyone turned to look at him as he sat clutching the ring, pain upon his brow, looking very pale, burdened, and interesting.
Mary's heart was wrung with pity. "Oh, Frodo!" she cried, flitting across the stone floor and sinking to her knees (a graceful gesture that set Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn to sighing in admiration). "It wrings my heart with pity to see you so burdened! Let me bear the ring for you a short while!"
Frodo considered smacking her upside the head, but abandoned the idea as a Thing that Bagginses Wouldn't Do. "Nay, fair lady," he whispered, shaking his head, "I thank you for your kind offer, but this burden is mine to bear alone." He bent his head, looking very noble, worn, and sad. Not to mention slightly transparent.
Tears filled Mary's beautiful blue-green-gray eyes (with silver striations), and glistened on her long, dark eyelashes. "Oh, Frodo," she cried in a voice of such sorrow that the Valar must have wept to hear it. "Not alone!" She clasped his hobbit-hand in her own fair fingers, letting a few pearly tears fall on his trousers (fortunately Sam was able to wash the salt out of them when he next did Mr. Frodo's laundry). "I will never abandon you – none of your friends will!"
"That's tellin' 'im!" Sam cheered from his position in the corner. A random elf-lord turned to stare at him and he hastily subsided.
"All of us will be more than glad to help you in any way that we can," Mary continued earnestly.
"We will?" Merry muttered to Pippin. "Not if it involves missin' any more meals that we already have, I can tell you!"
"If you will share this terrible thing, perhaps your darkness may be lightened," Mary whispered.
"Wise advice!" Gandalf declared, stepping forward and clapping a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Heed this elf-maiden's words, Frodo, for she is wise beyond her years."
"Ha!" Arwen muttered savagely, glaring at Aragorn, whose noble and kingly grey eyes, keen as an eagle's (hence his nickname 'Thorongil'), were watching Mary in admiration.
"In fact, Frodo," Gandalf added, extending his other hand. "How about you let me bear the ring for a bit, eh? I won't, er, misuse it or anything. Word of a wizard!"
Frodo eyed him incredulously. "And here I thought wizards were supposed to be *subtle.*"
Gandalf's bushy brows drew together, now resembling one long, low, gnarled grey hedge. "Subtle AND quick to anger, Frodo Baggins."
Frodo gulped and sank back in his chair.
"Nonsense, Mithrandir!" Boromir barked, leaping to his feet. He had been too rapt in his contemplation of Mary's pearly teeth to notice what was going on before, but now he took the initiative as a Man of Gondor (not to mention Captain-General and High Wardon of the White Tower) should. "No need to burden yourself with that trinket! Frodo," he added, turning to the hobbit. "*I* will be more than happy to take it off your hands – er, I mean, off the chain around your neck – for a short while. You can rest assured that *I* will not try to use it."
Mary turned a shocked look of blended reproof and disappointment on him, and Boromir took a step back. "Well . . . perhaps . . . I . . ."
"I think I'll just keep it for now," Frodo assured him.
"Right." Boromir sat down quickly, struggling to convince himself that Aragorn was *not* laughing behind his hand.
"So what're you going to do with it, Frodo?" Gimli growled. He shot a suspicious glance at Legolas and added, "Not try to hide it in any nasty treacherous elf countries, I hope?"
"Us, treacherous?" Legolas demanded indignantly. "This from a DWARF? Three words, Gimli. Thingol. Silmaril. Nauglamír."
Gimli son of Gloin was one of those inestimable "decapitate-first-and-ask- questions-later" dwarves. He hefted his axe and dove straight at the elf, who, a sneer set upon his fair face, dodged lightly aside. Gimli crashed into a chair; his dwarven companions leapt to their feet. A shouting match was initiated, and it threatened to become a full-out brawl.
Elrond turned despairingly to the one other elf in the room who seemed to be keeping her head (Mary-Sue, of course, was also completely calm, but she *was* a lot further away). "Arwen, what do *you* think?"
Arwen (Tinuviel), gazing dreamily at Aragorn's clear-cut profile and soulful eyes (not to mention the vision of the power and majesty of the kings of stone which could be seen in his living face), heaved a great sigh and replied, "I think that Aragorn looks awfully handsome when he's wearing his 'Kingly and Mysterious' look."
The whole Council stopped their arguments to stare.
Arwen blushed a deep red (thereby showing her inferiority to Mary Sue. Mary would never even have dreamt of doing something as plebian as blushing).
"And WHAT," Elrond asked slowly, an expression on his face that would have made Morgoth (Melkor) himself so eager to flee that he would have volunteered to elope with Ungoliant (nasty big spider – See *The Silmarillion*) in order to get out of the room, "does THAT have to do with ANYTHING?"
"Nothing!" Arwen answered, blushing even redder. "It was a general statement, that's all!"
The barely-stifled laughter from the direction of Merry and Pippin did nothing to help matters.
"Please remember," Elrond hissed, glaring wildly at Arwen, "that I have NEVER been in favor of this UNSUITABLE match and may withdraw my consent at ANY TIME!"
"There's nothing wrong with Aragorn, Daddy," Arwen whimpered (thereby showing her inferiority to Mary Sue. Mary had not called her father 'Daddy' since she had been four years old and would never have even considered whimpering).
"He's HUMAN! A mere INFANT!" Elrond roared.
Aragorn scowled at Elrond, a white flame flickering on his brows like a crown. "Hey! I am older than I appear . . . And you're not one to criticize humans, Elrond *Halfelven*."
"Moving right along," Elrond muttered, "what are we going to do with the blasted thing?"
No-one hesitated to give an opinion.
BILBO: Give it back to me!
GANDALF: Let me take it to . . . uh . . . Orthanc – for safe-keeping!
A RANDOM ELF-LORD: Let's keep it here at Rivendell!
SAM: Uh, I've been needin' an engagement ring for my girl Rosie . . .
MERRY: They'll never look in the Shire – specially not Bucklebury!
PIPPIN: Uh . . . right! They'll never look in the shire - especially not around us Tooks!
BOROMIR: It should be given to the men of Gondor to be protected!
ARAGORN: Well, I AM Isildur's heir, you know –
GIMLI: Give it to the dwarves – WE will never be corrupted!
LEGOLAS: We'll give it to you all right – we'll ram it right down your dwarvish throats and pray that you choke!
GIMLI: I'd like to see you try, Leggy-Lass!
LEGOLAS: Why, you –
MARY: It is evil! The Ring must be destroyed! Why don't we cast it into the fires of Mount Doom?
ELROND: YES!!!
All movement stopped. Legolas released his strangle-hold on Gimli; Gimli ceased pulling Legolas's hair; Gandalf lowered his staff from it's position above a random elf-lord's head; Aragorn and Boromir sheathed their swords; Bilbo and Frodo ceased their tugging match over Sting's hilt; Sam crawled out from under Merry and Pippin muttered something about crazy Brandybucks and Tooks.
"Yes!" Elrond repeated, bringing a fist decisively down on the arm of his chair. "The Ring must be destroyed! Argalawenis – Ar – Argelawanieldriselda – er - Argalwenidrielisilarwinilisia, that is an EXCELLENT idea! Since we've agreed that you must go and confront Sauron, why doesn't Frodo go with you? You can take a detour and cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. In fact, since it's such a dangerous journey, you should take all of these fellows with you – yes, you too, Aragorn," he added, cavalierly ignoring Arwen's realistic dumb-struck fish- out-of-water expression. "We'll make it a company! The Nine Walkers! Well, now that's settled," he continued briskly. "You can all leave first thing in the morning. On to our next piece of agenda. Glorfindel, what do you think we should do about Elladan and Elrohir's habit of singing loud Teleri drinking songs after curfew?"
"Hey!"
Elrond glared at Pippin. "What NOW, halfling?"
"But – but – but – but – I can't go – I mean – why – anyway, there's ten of us, not nine! Can't I stay?"
This barely threw Elrond for a second. He was, after all, Elrond (Halfelven), descended from a Maiar (Melian (wife of Thingol)), powerful humans like Beren (Camlost, son of Barahir) and Tuor (son of Huor (brother of Hurin (father of Turin (Turambar)))), not to mention the first three elven kings (Finwë, Olwë, and some chap with a similar name that might have begun with an 'I'. If you think I'm going to go look it up, think again). A little thing like an error in counting could barely phase him.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "The Dark Lord has nine ringwraiths (foul dwimmerlaiks) to guard him, and Frodo will have the nine walkers to guard him. Any more objections?"
"I am going NOWHERE with an elf!" Gimli snarled.
"Exactly," Elrond responded promptly. (Brilliant repartee was, after all, his forte.) "Mount Doom *is* commonly referred to as 'nowhere.' Any more inane comments?"
Gimli gaped speechlessly, his mouth opening and shutting like that of a heavily-bearded and well-armed fish.
"Good," Elrond said tranquilly. "I'm glad that's settled. You can all start first thing in the morning. Meeting adjourned."
* * * * * *
NEXT on MIDDLE-EARTH MEETS MARY-SUE: Mary-Sue meets Caradhras!!! Featuring guest star BILL (the pony) property of SAMWISE (Gamgee, son of Hamfast), former property of BILL FERNY (random nasty denizen of Bree; destined to come to a nasty end.) What DIRE events will occur as the Fellowship sets out??? Will Boromir (or Aragorn or Legolas) declare his LOVE for Argalawenisildriela??? Will Gandalf EVER find his missing pipeweed??? For answers to these thrilling questions (and more!), tune in later for the NEXT exciting episode of MIDDLE-EARTH MEETS MARY-SUE!
Brought to you by WWRtWWW: Writers Will Rule the World Wide Web.
On another subject entirely: anybody know why, in the half-a-dozen fics I've seen which involve a descendent of Sauron or Morgoth, that descendent is always female? Is it just because some people think there aren't enough female characters in Tolkien's world, or some deeper psychological reason that I'm completely missing out on? It's a trifle puzzling, that's all.
Disclaimer: I did not create Middle-earth. Iluvatar created Middle-earth. The Silmarillion says so. I'm just writing a non-profit story. I didn't sell it, so you shouldn't either. If you try to (not that you could), a swarm of lawyers will converge upon your front lawn and sue you out of house and home.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was a hush, and all eyes turned to Frodo (Baggins, hobbit, and Ring- bearer extraordinaire) – save those of Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas, for their eyes were fixed firmly upon Mary-Sue, known to them as Argalawenisildriela. Frodo's slight yet muscular frame (for a hobbit, anyway) shook with a sudden quiver, and Mary's tender yet perceptive eyes (silver striations dotted her eyes (blue-green-gray as the sea at midnight) as reflections of the stars dot the sea (or so, at least, thought Legolas)) could discern shame and fear in the hobbit's bright eyes, as well as a wish to be far away.
Being the intelligent, curious, sharp-eared, silent-footed sixteen-year-old twentieth-century girl/elf that she was, she had (naturally) spent the last week learning (or over-hearing (accidentally, of course, for such a peerless heroine would never have dreamt of eavesdropping (unless in the depths of a nightmare))) a great deal about the hobbit whose life she had saved. She knew full well that he had been wounded by the fell weapon of a Ringwraith: a deadly Morgul blade, intended to draw Frodo into the world of shadows under Sauron's sway. She knew also that hobbits were tough little chaps, and Frodo had not been subdued. He did, however, have a slight hint of transparency about him that Mary privately thought made him look rather like an angel.
A short, pipe-smoking, hairy-footed angel named "Baggins," but an angel nonetheless. Were the Ring larger, it could serve as a halo.
At any rate, Mary's perceptive eyes could instantly tell that this Ring was like a great weight upon Frodo's shoulders. It had already brought him unmeasurable suffering and grief – what else might it do?
Frodo held up the Ring; it seemed to gleam and flicker in his trembling hand.
"Behold Isildur's Bane!" said Elrond.
"Scuse me," said a small voice politely. All heads swiveled to stare at a curly-haired, bare-footed hobbit (standing next to another curly-haired, bare-footed hobbit) in the doorway. "Not that I've been eavesdropping, mind you," the hobbit said earnestly, "but I'm Peregrin Took, but you can call me Pippin, or Pip if you're in a hurry."
"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf muttered.
"Or that, of course," Pippin continued cheerfully, "but, you know, I'm a good friend and close relation of Frodo there –"
The other hobbit muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Third cousin five times removed," but Pippin plowed on ahead.
"Anyways, I had a question. If Isildur really WAS killed by an orc arrow, like Captain Boromir there says, how come the Ring's called his Bane? I mean, he was killed, sure enough. Everybody knows that – why, Saruman has even fished his body out of the Great River, you know, but what I don't understand is -"
"WHAT?" Gandalf roared, leaping to his feet with an agility you wouldn't expect from such an old wizard unless you were aware that he was *really* an ageless Maiar. "Fool of a Took! What do you mean?"
"Nothing," Pippin said hastily. "Forget I asked. Er – Merry and I will just go sit over here now."
"I will do nothing of the sort!" Mary snapped.
There was a pause while everyone looked strangely at Mary (except Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas, who were still doing their love-struck-Shetland-Pony impressions). She then recollected that (according to her best friend Mary Jane's little brother Larry Stu, Tolkien fan extraordinaire) "Merry" was short for "Meriadoc." It might be pronounced just like "Mary" (as in "Mary had a little lamb"), but it did not mean HER, Mary Susan Smith.
The uncomfortable moment passed as the two eaves-droppers retreated to the designated corner. The fact that they were not summarily chased out, reprimanded, and sent home in a sack (preferably a sack apiece, in order that Merry might be mailed directly to Buckland and Pippin mailed directly to Tuckborough, thereby saving on shipping expenses) is a mark of the Council's agitation.
"This is, indeed, the One Ring forged by Sauron (politely referred to as "Him," or sometimes "The Biggest Boss" by close acquaintances)," Elrond declared gravely. "The question is – what are we to do with it?"
Gimli leapt to his booted feet with a dwarf's typical haste. (And here you thought the only reason why Ents disliked dwarves was because they carried axes.) "Use it to defeat Sauron, of course!" he roared, and the other dwarves echoed his cry.
"Don't be ridiculous, dwarf," Legolas cried, then laughed. "Ah, how foolish of me! Of course, you dwarves – poor benighted creatures – cannot even *help* being ridiculous! But you could at least make an effort. We cannot wield this Ring – it is evil!"
"It takes one to know one!" Gimli raged with more volume than thought.
"Take that back, you bearded son of stone!" Legolas shrieked. In a flash, elves and dwarves were hurling insults at each other and drawing weapons. Elrond cried ineffectually for silence while Aragorn (heir of Isildur (son of Elendil)) and Boromir (son of Denethor (Steward of Gondor)) continued to gaze at Mary (daughter of Tom P. Smith (Mailman)).
Pippin and Merry took advantage of the commotion to break out the snacks. Gandalf brought his staff down on the ground with a sound like a crack of lightning, roaring, "Fool of a Took! There is a time for eating and a time for NOT eating and this is DEFINITELY the LATTER!"
The sudden noise half-woke the snoozing Gloin (father of Gimli, brother of Oin (currently a decomposing corpse in Moria (Khazad-dum))). He leapt up, obviously still in the grips of a dream, and brandished his mighty war- hammer. "Kill the men!" he howled. "Kill the elves! Keep the treasure for ourselves!"
Smaug is dead, but Greed lives on.
"You tell 'em, Dad!" Gimli shouted encouragingly. Boromir drew his sword.
Elrond buried his face in his hands.
With clarion swiftness, Mary realized that the fate of the Council lay in her slender hands (washed thrice daily with Herbal Essence Soap; It's Not Some Deep Spiritual Cleansing, But It's Close.) She instantly took action. Three quick strides and one agile dodge around Gloin's axe brought her up to the old dwarf's side. Delay was perilous. She acted swiftly.
THWACK!
"You – you just slapped my Dad in the face, elf-witch!" Gimli stuttered in disbelief. Mary turned a reproachful vision of beauty (a.k.a. her face) toward him, and instantly the stains were washed from the heart of Gimli son of Gloin. He had found his Ideal Woman – his Angel, his Vision, his Hope of Inspiration for the Future, Not to Mention for the Present. His axe fell to the floor with a clatter and he dropped to his knees. "Your pardon, fair lady! I see that my conduct was wrong!"
"Darn right it was!" Mary snapped. Gloin lay on the floor, unconscious again. Gimli gazed up at her with beseeching puppy-dog eyes (the hair helped the puppy-dog impression too), and her heart melted. "There, there, I didn't mean to speak so harshly. But you'll be a good dwarf now, won't you?"
Gimli gazed at her with the expression with which he might have gazed at Lady Galadriel had he not seen Argalawenisildriela first.
Legolas "accidentally" loosed the arrow on his bow, giving Gimli an attractive decoration on his helmet, then turned to Elrond, his flawless features set in a noble and princely pout. "See," he began in his beautifully aggrieved elven voice, "that's what I don't like about Dwarves. They *always* try to take the spotlight."
"Legolas," Elrond began wearily.
"And they don't even have pointy ears!" Legolas continued indignantly.
"Legolas -"
"And *facial hair*! By the Valar, have you ever seen anything so disgusting in your life!?"
Elrond paused to consider the question. "Some of Morgoth's foul minions were pretty disgusting," he replied gravely. "I think they outrank dwarven beards."
Legolas looked taken-aback. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side!"
"I thought we were supposed to all be on the SAME side," Elrond muttered.
The conversation broke off when Arwen abruptly rose from her chair, her eyes (beautiful eyes, but pale and dull in comparison to the peerless eyes of Argalawenisildriela) becoming round and vacant, staring fixedly at some point in the distance which no-one else could see. The lights flickered and dimmed in a very foreboding sort of way; a wind whistled sharply around the still Council chamber and died again. The sun itself seemed to withdraw from the sky – possibly disgusted at being involved in such a plethora of corny foreshadowing. A ghostly light outlined Arwen's slender figure (but Aragorn (Telcontar, Elessar, Thorongil, Wingfoot, Dunadan, etc.) continued to watch Mary-Sue). Everyone seemed frozen in stone, petrified by the feeling that Something was Going to Happen.
The silence was fraught with portent.
"Darkness shall reign over Middle-earth," Arwen finally intoned, her fair elven voice (which seemed like the aimless croaking of a toad in comparison to the dulcet tones of Mary-Sue) ringing out in the portent-fraught silence like a harbinger of doom. "Darkness shall devour the land if Gorthaur the Cruel regains the One Ring. All Free Peoples shall perish in the shadows of Mordor if Sauron of the Nine Fingers is not destroyed. No man may slay the Great Eye. The fate of Middle-earth lies in the hands of an elven maid; Argalawenisildriela alone can banish the Dark Shadow that looms over Mordor."
In a shock-fraught silence, Arwen sank gracefully back down into her seat (though still not as gracefully as Mary-Sue might have done). The lights came back on; the sun gratefully returned to his proper position in the sky, and the wind picked back up. The Council members, however, remained silent in startled surprise.
Elrond, ageless features set in a puzzled frown, stared at his daughter's fair elven face, wondering when, where, and how she had acquired the gift of prophecy.
Gandalf drew his bristling brows together, his lined face taking on an expression of deep thought, inscrutable wisdom, and grave consideration. He had just realized that he had mislaid his pipe.
Boromir frowned, his proud yet stern glance flitting from Mary-Sue to Arwen and back again. If that had not been the prophecy referred to in his dream (why, WHY had he not let Faramir come instead?) then his name was not Boromir (son of Denethor, Captain-General of Gondor, High Warden of the White Tower)! The question was, how could such a fair maiden slay the Nameless Enemy (as Gondorians like to call Sauron (Speaking of which, have you ever notice how Evil Overlords tend to *not* be referred to be their names? Is it a trend? A coincidence? Cutting commentary on general cowardice? Look at J. K. Rowlings' books – You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not- be-Named. Calling the chap "Voldemort" (which means wind-of-death in French) is a Big Deal, and Not the Done Thing. Look at Robert Jordan's books – the Shadow, the Great Lord of the Dark, and half a dozen other things (which I have completely forgotten and do not intend to go look up). Referring to the guy as "Shai'tan" is taboo. And I had another example in mind, but I seem to have forgotten it. Ah, well, that is life.)) and what could he, Boromir, do to aid her? For, of course, such a beautiful damsel (he had never seen a lovelier) deserved all the aid that Gondor could give her – and she certainly deserved to have a competent, good-looking chap such as himself at her side.
Gimli laid a determined hand on his axe-haft. If the beautiful, the glorious, the shining-white-and-pure Argalawenisildriela was going to be walking into danger in order to defeat the Enemy (as dwarves like to call Sauron (Recently elected chairlord of Evil Maiar Inc., founded in the First Age by Melkor. Out-of-this-world pay, generous pension plan, evil minions unlimited. Call 1-800-MORGOTH for further information)) then he, Gimli, her loyal dwarf and knight (who says knights have to wearing shining white armor and ride horses?) would, without doubt, accompany her to guide and protect her.
Aragorn's pale stern face remained expressionless as his keen grey eyes continued to watch Mary Sue. In fact, he had been so wrapped up in his admiration of the strange elf maiden that he had not heard a word of the prophecy (thereby defeating much of Arwen's purpose).
The hobbits blinked at Arwen, at Mary, and then at each other with varying degrees of disinterest before returning to their light meal (six seedcakes apiece, three boiled eggs, nine apples to be shared between the five of them, a bottle of ale, a bit of chicken, and a nice big wedge of cheese, not to mention a delectable meat-cheese-and-pepperoni-topped round flat loaf covered in tomato spread (an elven delicacy)).
Mary's lovely eyes widened, and she gasped inaudibly, laying one lily-white hand across her rose-red mouth in consternation.
She was the prophesied one.
It was her destiny to overthrow the Dark Lord.
Her duty was clear.
Difficult, life-threatening, onerous, and boring as such a task might be, Mary Susan Smith was not one to back down from a challenge.
(Not that it would be much of a challenge. What Evil Overlord could stand up to a sixteen-year-old twentieth-century American girl/elf? Mary-Sue, however, being the humble heroine that she was, did not fully realize the non-challenging nature of the challenge, and thus sat silent in sorrowful acceptance of her fate.)
Of course, Mary (despite being an above-average sixteen-year-old twentieth- century American girl/elf) did not realize that Arwen (Tinuviel) had … well … painful as it is to speak ill of an elf, it must be said that Arwen had fabricated the 'prophecy' in order to remove Mary (who was attracting WAY too much of Aragorn's attention – attention that should have been fixed on HER) from Rivendell (and therefore from Aragorn). Little did Arwen realize that her plan was destined to backfire.
There was rather a lot of destiny floating around that day.
* * * * *
The surprise-fraught silence considered for a quarter of an hour, the Council members frozen in a (PHOTO-OP!!!) wonder-stricken tableau.
Elrond (Half-elven, former banner-bearer of Gil-Galad (an elven king, of whom the harpers sadly sing; the last whose realm was fair and free – oh, all right, all RIGHT)) was the first to recover his voice. He was, after all, the moderator of this meeting, and as such it was his duty to deal with disturbances and infringements of proper parliamentary procedure.
"Arwen Tinuviel Quarter-elven!" he said sternly. "You're out of order. Go to your room at once!"
Arwen burst into tears, and Elrond's heart instantly melted. "There, there, dear, I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it," he said uncomfortably. "Um … ah …"
Mary-Sue spoke, her crystal-clear tones, beauteous as the cry of gulls over Numenor, ringing softly in the still air of the Council chamber. (Larry Stu might have been able to point out that air is never still – its molecules are constantly in motion. Not that anyone could have cared less.) "I shall not let Middle-earth perish, though it means my own death," she said, such sorrow weighing in her voice that every man (and elf (save Arwen), and dwarf, and hobbit) felt tears start into his eyes. "If it be my destiny to challenge the Dark Lord, I shall fulfill it. If I alone can banish the Necromancer from Arda, then I shall set out to do so, whatever perils and griefs may lie in my path." She covered her glorious eyes with one pale hand, immortal, untouchable grief weighing her slim shoulders.
"You shall not go alone!" thundered Gimli, his stone-hard dwarven heart softened by such mournful beauty.
Legolas cursed the dwarf quietly under his breath. What good were elven reflexes if they didn't even let him speak first? How could he demean himself by volunteering after the dwarf had already spoken?
Gandalf finally located his pipe, and tucked it safely into his hat-brim with a sigh of relief. Abandoning the effort to locate his equally recalcitrant pipe-weed, he attempted to pick up the thread of conversation again, asking, "But what of the Ring?"
"It cannot stay here," Elrond said quickly, noting the avaricious gleam in Bilbo's eyes. "Rivendell cannot contain such evil – besides, it would be the first place Sauron would look."
"It cannot go back to the Shire, either," Gandalf (the Grey, Mithrandir, Olorin, Stormcrow, Grayhame, Lathspell, etc., etc.) snapped. "That would be the second place He would look – besides, the White Council ordered me to keep an eye on it (two eyes when I can spare them), and I'm tired of bumping my head on the roofs of hobbit-holes. Do you have any idea how painful it is to bang your head in the same place twenty times? It's thanks to all those visits to Hobbiton that I have to wear such a large hat - I still have a lump the size of a palantir!"
"What are we to do with it, then?" Elrond demanded. "None of the Wise can wield it – it would be too great a temptation! Where can we send it? Who can guard it?"
"I – I suppose I could continue to bear it," poor Frodo whispered. Everyone turned to look at him as he sat clutching the ring, pain upon his brow, looking very pale, burdened, and interesting.
Mary's heart was wrung with pity. "Oh, Frodo!" she cried, flitting across the stone floor and sinking to her knees (a graceful gesture that set Legolas, Boromir and Aragorn to sighing in admiration). "It wrings my heart with pity to see you so burdened! Let me bear the ring for you a short while!"
Frodo considered smacking her upside the head, but abandoned the idea as a Thing that Bagginses Wouldn't Do. "Nay, fair lady," he whispered, shaking his head, "I thank you for your kind offer, but this burden is mine to bear alone." He bent his head, looking very noble, worn, and sad. Not to mention slightly transparent.
Tears filled Mary's beautiful blue-green-gray eyes (with silver striations), and glistened on her long, dark eyelashes. "Oh, Frodo," she cried in a voice of such sorrow that the Valar must have wept to hear it. "Not alone!" She clasped his hobbit-hand in her own fair fingers, letting a few pearly tears fall on his trousers (fortunately Sam was able to wash the salt out of them when he next did Mr. Frodo's laundry). "I will never abandon you – none of your friends will!"
"That's tellin' 'im!" Sam cheered from his position in the corner. A random elf-lord turned to stare at him and he hastily subsided.
"All of us will be more than glad to help you in any way that we can," Mary continued earnestly.
"We will?" Merry muttered to Pippin. "Not if it involves missin' any more meals that we already have, I can tell you!"
"If you will share this terrible thing, perhaps your darkness may be lightened," Mary whispered.
"Wise advice!" Gandalf declared, stepping forward and clapping a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Heed this elf-maiden's words, Frodo, for she is wise beyond her years."
"Ha!" Arwen muttered savagely, glaring at Aragorn, whose noble and kingly grey eyes, keen as an eagle's (hence his nickname 'Thorongil'), were watching Mary in admiration.
"In fact, Frodo," Gandalf added, extending his other hand. "How about you let me bear the ring for a bit, eh? I won't, er, misuse it or anything. Word of a wizard!"
Frodo eyed him incredulously. "And here I thought wizards were supposed to be *subtle.*"
Gandalf's bushy brows drew together, now resembling one long, low, gnarled grey hedge. "Subtle AND quick to anger, Frodo Baggins."
Frodo gulped and sank back in his chair.
"Nonsense, Mithrandir!" Boromir barked, leaping to his feet. He had been too rapt in his contemplation of Mary's pearly teeth to notice what was going on before, but now he took the initiative as a Man of Gondor (not to mention Captain-General and High Wardon of the White Tower) should. "No need to burden yourself with that trinket! Frodo," he added, turning to the hobbit. "*I* will be more than happy to take it off your hands – er, I mean, off the chain around your neck – for a short while. You can rest assured that *I* will not try to use it."
Mary turned a shocked look of blended reproof and disappointment on him, and Boromir took a step back. "Well . . . perhaps . . . I . . ."
"I think I'll just keep it for now," Frodo assured him.
"Right." Boromir sat down quickly, struggling to convince himself that Aragorn was *not* laughing behind his hand.
"So what're you going to do with it, Frodo?" Gimli growled. He shot a suspicious glance at Legolas and added, "Not try to hide it in any nasty treacherous elf countries, I hope?"
"Us, treacherous?" Legolas demanded indignantly. "This from a DWARF? Three words, Gimli. Thingol. Silmaril. Nauglamír."
Gimli son of Gloin was one of those inestimable "decapitate-first-and-ask- questions-later" dwarves. He hefted his axe and dove straight at the elf, who, a sneer set upon his fair face, dodged lightly aside. Gimli crashed into a chair; his dwarven companions leapt to their feet. A shouting match was initiated, and it threatened to become a full-out brawl.
Elrond turned despairingly to the one other elf in the room who seemed to be keeping her head (Mary-Sue, of course, was also completely calm, but she *was* a lot further away). "Arwen, what do *you* think?"
Arwen (Tinuviel), gazing dreamily at Aragorn's clear-cut profile and soulful eyes (not to mention the vision of the power and majesty of the kings of stone which could be seen in his living face), heaved a great sigh and replied, "I think that Aragorn looks awfully handsome when he's wearing his 'Kingly and Mysterious' look."
The whole Council stopped their arguments to stare.
Arwen blushed a deep red (thereby showing her inferiority to Mary Sue. Mary would never even have dreamt of doing something as plebian as blushing).
"And WHAT," Elrond asked slowly, an expression on his face that would have made Morgoth (Melkor) himself so eager to flee that he would have volunteered to elope with Ungoliant (nasty big spider – See *The Silmarillion*) in order to get out of the room, "does THAT have to do with ANYTHING?"
"Nothing!" Arwen answered, blushing even redder. "It was a general statement, that's all!"
The barely-stifled laughter from the direction of Merry and Pippin did nothing to help matters.
"Please remember," Elrond hissed, glaring wildly at Arwen, "that I have NEVER been in favor of this UNSUITABLE match and may withdraw my consent at ANY TIME!"
"There's nothing wrong with Aragorn, Daddy," Arwen whimpered (thereby showing her inferiority to Mary Sue. Mary had not called her father 'Daddy' since she had been four years old and would never have even considered whimpering).
"He's HUMAN! A mere INFANT!" Elrond roared.
Aragorn scowled at Elrond, a white flame flickering on his brows like a crown. "Hey! I am older than I appear . . . And you're not one to criticize humans, Elrond *Halfelven*."
"Moving right along," Elrond muttered, "what are we going to do with the blasted thing?"
No-one hesitated to give an opinion.
BILBO: Give it back to me!
GANDALF: Let me take it to . . . uh . . . Orthanc – for safe-keeping!
A RANDOM ELF-LORD: Let's keep it here at Rivendell!
SAM: Uh, I've been needin' an engagement ring for my girl Rosie . . .
MERRY: They'll never look in the Shire – specially not Bucklebury!
PIPPIN: Uh . . . right! They'll never look in the shire - especially not around us Tooks!
BOROMIR: It should be given to the men of Gondor to be protected!
ARAGORN: Well, I AM Isildur's heir, you know –
GIMLI: Give it to the dwarves – WE will never be corrupted!
LEGOLAS: We'll give it to you all right – we'll ram it right down your dwarvish throats and pray that you choke!
GIMLI: I'd like to see you try, Leggy-Lass!
LEGOLAS: Why, you –
MARY: It is evil! The Ring must be destroyed! Why don't we cast it into the fires of Mount Doom?
ELROND: YES!!!
All movement stopped. Legolas released his strangle-hold on Gimli; Gimli ceased pulling Legolas's hair; Gandalf lowered his staff from it's position above a random elf-lord's head; Aragorn and Boromir sheathed their swords; Bilbo and Frodo ceased their tugging match over Sting's hilt; Sam crawled out from under Merry and Pippin muttered something about crazy Brandybucks and Tooks.
"Yes!" Elrond repeated, bringing a fist decisively down on the arm of his chair. "The Ring must be destroyed! Argalawenis – Ar – Argelawanieldriselda – er - Argalwenidrielisilarwinilisia, that is an EXCELLENT idea! Since we've agreed that you must go and confront Sauron, why doesn't Frodo go with you? You can take a detour and cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. In fact, since it's such a dangerous journey, you should take all of these fellows with you – yes, you too, Aragorn," he added, cavalierly ignoring Arwen's realistic dumb-struck fish- out-of-water expression. "We'll make it a company! The Nine Walkers! Well, now that's settled," he continued briskly. "You can all leave first thing in the morning. On to our next piece of agenda. Glorfindel, what do you think we should do about Elladan and Elrohir's habit of singing loud Teleri drinking songs after curfew?"
"Hey!"
Elrond glared at Pippin. "What NOW, halfling?"
"But – but – but – but – I can't go – I mean – why – anyway, there's ten of us, not nine! Can't I stay?"
This barely threw Elrond for a second. He was, after all, Elrond (Halfelven), descended from a Maiar (Melian (wife of Thingol)), powerful humans like Beren (Camlost, son of Barahir) and Tuor (son of Huor (brother of Hurin (father of Turin (Turambar)))), not to mention the first three elven kings (Finwë, Olwë, and some chap with a similar name that might have begun with an 'I'. If you think I'm going to go look it up, think again). A little thing like an error in counting could barely phase him.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "The Dark Lord has nine ringwraiths (foul dwimmerlaiks) to guard him, and Frodo will have the nine walkers to guard him. Any more objections?"
"I am going NOWHERE with an elf!" Gimli snarled.
"Exactly," Elrond responded promptly. (Brilliant repartee was, after all, his forte.) "Mount Doom *is* commonly referred to as 'nowhere.' Any more inane comments?"
Gimli gaped speechlessly, his mouth opening and shutting like that of a heavily-bearded and well-armed fish.
"Good," Elrond said tranquilly. "I'm glad that's settled. You can all start first thing in the morning. Meeting adjourned."
* * * * * *
NEXT on MIDDLE-EARTH MEETS MARY-SUE: Mary-Sue meets Caradhras!!! Featuring guest star BILL (the pony) property of SAMWISE (Gamgee, son of Hamfast), former property of BILL FERNY (random nasty denizen of Bree; destined to come to a nasty end.) What DIRE events will occur as the Fellowship sets out??? Will Boromir (or Aragorn or Legolas) declare his LOVE for Argalawenisildriela??? Will Gandalf EVER find his missing pipeweed??? For answers to these thrilling questions (and more!), tune in later for the NEXT exciting episode of MIDDLE-EARTH MEETS MARY-SUE!
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