Chapter 7 - The (long awaited) Council of Elrond

A short time later, Elanor was following Indilwen's graceful stride down a lofty corridor. Her dilemmas had been resolved, to varying degrees of satisfaction. Attempting to forget her uncomfortable conversation with the grinning Elf woman, Elanor drank in her surroundings.

Even the hallways in Rivendell were exquisite. Magnificent archways soared above her head, engraved with such smooth precision and care that they would put Earth's modern architecture to shame. The doors were similarly carved, and in many places the windows were made of breathtaking stained glass images of scenes and people she did not recognise. Artwork and sculptures were tastefully placed and the whole building seemed to live in perfect harmony with the trees and gardens around it.

I could happily live here forever, I think… except… Tim… and Mum, and Dad, and Georgia… oh gosh, I can't even enjoy things here without thinking of home!

As the pair—Elf and human—passed through a pair of open doors, the wide corridor began to swing around to the left. To Elanor's right, the wall simply disappeared, leaving it open to the garden save for vine-covered columns.

Far too quickly, they reached a lovely raised terrace, looking out over the gardens. Above the terrace was a latticework frame, entwined with yellow bell-like flowers that looked uncannily like a jasmine vine her mother had grown.

Homesickness wrenched Elanor's stomach at that thought, so she continued to study her breathtaking surroundings. On the stone pavement of the terrace was a circle of graceful chairs. Despite longing for her family, Elanor could not help but smile at the thought of attending the Council of Elrond.

Several people were milling about as Indilwen indicated for Elanor to take a seat, and then departed with a friendly grin. Before a minute had passed, a clear bell chimed and the remainder of those attending reached the terrace.

For the next ten minutes, Elanor stared dumbfounded as characters from a childhood novel sat before her eyes. She studied Gandalf for only a moment, noting the familiar long nose, bushy eyebrows and long grey robes, before moving to the mighty Elf-lord sitting at his left hand.

Lord Elrond—it could be no one else—certainly cut an impressive figure. He was as broad of shoulder as Gandalf, and taller still. His hair was very dark, and Elanor was struck by how handsome and proud he looked. His eyes were warm and grey—a characteristic shared by most of the Rivendell Elves—and he appeared somehow akin to Boromir. Elanor decided that she liked him very much, and that he would make a good leader; responsible and kind. He was surrounded by a group of other Elf men, and she found her study of them intriguing. They were attractive enough, but more than that they had an other-worldly majesty in the way they held themselves. Their faces were wholesome and seemed to possess a deep-rooted goodness that she found hard to define exactly, but liked all the same.

Next were a pair of red-haired Dwarves. Trying to stop her mouth from gaping, she marvelled at their short, thickset builds. Both were less than a metre and a half tall, and had huge, bushy beards. Even their heads were stouter and rounder than any she had ever seen, and their entire bodies were knotted with stocky muscles beneath their tunics.

Searching for the other members of the Fellowship-to-be, Elanor located Boromir, who favoured her with a nod and smile. He was no longer wearing his travel-worn clothes, and had evidently had time to rest and recuperate like herself.

There was no sign of any of the hobbits, which disappointed her greatly. However, she remembered that they had not been present at the council until the end, and hoped she would catch a glimpse of them. She was unable to find either Legolas or Aragorn either, and finally turned her attention back to Lord Elrond.

He had already begun the proceedings, and his face was sombre as he spoke. After a moment he gestured to Elanor's travelling companion.

"Here," he said to the rest of the council, "is Boromir, a man from the South. He arrived several days ago, and seeks for counsel. With him came a lady, Elanor by name, whom he discovered on his travels and also sought Imladris. I have bidden them both to be present, for here their questions will be answered."

It took Elanor a moment to realise that Lord Elrond was referring to her. Her cheeks went pink, knowing she must appear tired and wan amongst this gathering of dignified faces. However, he had moved on before she could do anything, and the eyes of the council drifted away from her.

It did not take long for the romantic appeal of attending the meeting to wear thin; it was not the dramatic and fleeting thing she had come to expect. Elrond began with a long history of events in Middle Earth, most of which she had no knowledge of. The unfamiliar place names began to blur into each other, and she began to grow weary. Much of the conversation was lost in her memory, and later she could recall but brief snippets.

Elanor Ravenscroft! You're at one of the most famous book scenes in history, in the presence of Elves and Dwarves, and you can't even manage to pay attention! she told herself reproachfully. Try as she might, though, her attention strayed…

…there had been a change in speaker. Kicking herself for letting her mind wander, Elanor blinked several times. The elder of the two dwarves—Gimli's father, Glóin—had begun to talk, and for a short while she listened attentively.

Glóin spoke of a horseman from Mordor, come to treat with King Dain in Erebor.

So Sauron did try and recruit the Dwarves… I guess there's only so much PJ could get into three movies…

After Glóin concluded, Elrond spoke again, and this time Elanor willed herself to listen:

"That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.

"Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. And first, so that all may understand what is the peril, the Tale of the Ring shall be told from the beginning even to this present. And I will begin that tale, though others shall end it."

Hearing the tale of the One Ring from Elrond's perspective was a new experience for Elanor. It was very different, listening to the Elf-lord's clear voice, compared to Cate Blanchett's abbreviated version at the start of Fellowship of the Ring. Elrond was far from long-winded, but the story took a long time to tell. It was almost poetic, the way he described the battle during which Sauron lost his finger and the Ring—Elanor's memories of the movie flashbacks were far removed from Elrond's tale.

Elrond paused a while and sighed when he reached this point in the story. "I remember well the splendour of their banners," he said. "It recalled to me the glory of the Elder Days and the hosts of Beleriand, so many great princes and captains were assembled. And yet not so many, nor so fair, as when Thangorodrim was broken, and the Elves deemed that evil was ended for ever, and it was not so."

Wishing that she had a better understanding of the histories of Middle Earth—Georgia would be able to give me an in-depth recount of everything from the beginning of Creation—she tried to piece together the stories. It swiftly became apparent how very old Elrond was. Vaguely remembering the Elves were extremely long-lived, she guessed he could easily be several hundred years old and still look like a man of thirty…

…but wouldn't it be weird to live that long and see other humans grow and die around you? I don't think I could do it…

When Elrond described how Isildur took the Ring during the battle, Boromir's face lit up and he broke in, regaining Elanor's interest:

"So that is what became of the Ring! If ever such a tale was told in the South, it has long been

forgotten. I have heard of the Great Ring of him that we do not name; but we believed that it perished from the world in the ruin of his first realm. Isildur took it! That is tidings indeed."

"Alas! yes," said Elrond. "Isildur took it, as should not have been. It should have been cast then into Orodruin's fire nigh at hand where it was made. But few marked what Isildur did. He alone stood by his father in that last mortal contest; and by Gil-galad only Círdan stood, and I. But Isildur would not listen to our counsel."

The seriousness of the situation pressed upon Elanor as she listened to the archaic speech.

To me, this whole thing is just a nightmare story, that I'm participating in like a choose-your-own-adventure book. But to everyone else, this is their life. They are living and breathing and oh gosh, they don't even know if everything's going to be ok. This is genuinely frightening for them.

Though Boromir had undoubtedly been real as she had travelled north with him, it had taken the sight of Rivendell to convince Elanor; to Gandalf, and Elrond, and Glóin, this was real life and all they had known.

And now I've come and changed the story… oh gosh, what if they don't make it because I caused Frodo to die? What if the entire quest is doomed because of that? And what if I can't escape, and am stuck here in the messed-up world I created…

…oh, goodness, I'm self-centred, Elanor berated herself as she struggled to tune back into the conversation yet again. Boromir had taken over now, telling of his strange vision.

"In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.

Of these words we could understand little, and we spoke to our father, Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith, wise in the lore of Gondor. This only would he say, that Imladris was of old the name among the Elves of a far northern dale, where Elrond the Halfelven dwelt, greatest of lore-masters. Therefore my brother, seeing how desperate was our need, was eager to heed the dream and seek for Imladris; but since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself. Loth was my father to give me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay. And upon the road, I encountered the Lady Elanor, who seemed bound on an errand not unlike my own. Together we have come to seek answers."

Elanor met Boromir's eyes again and smiled. She liked the way he spoke, without any crass slang or laziness. Perhaps she would take more notice of Gandalf's words, and correct her own speech…

But I don't sound that bad… do I?

"And here in the house of Elrond more shall be made clear to you," said Aragorn, standing up and causing Elanor to jump a little. He cast his sword upon the table that stood before Elrond, and the blade was in two pieces. "Here is the Sword that was Broken!" he said.

Elanor's face was twisted in confusion as she surveyed the blade.

Isn't that supposed to be on some pedestal-display-thing here in Rivendell?

She was not the only one bemused by Aragorn's actions. Boromir, too, appeared astonished.

"And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" he asked. Elanor noted the scepticism in his voice with a degree of apprehension; she had hoped that perhaps her appearance might have altered other aspects of the storyline—preferably to achieve a more favourable outcome than causing Frodo to die…

Elrond intervened. "He is Aragorn son of Arathorn," said Elrond; "and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur Elendil's son of Minas Ithil. He is the Chief of the Dúnedain in the North, and few are now left of that folk."

There was silence for a moment, as the council digested this announcement. Elrond's proclamation of Aragorn's lineage had left goosebumps on Elanor's arms. Boromir was certainly a mighty man, but there was something even more kingly about "Strider" as he stood there in his weatherbeaten cloak.

Finally, Boromir spoke again: "Then the Ring is, by rights, yours."

"It does not belong to anyone," Aragorn replied, firmly. "Though it was ordained that Frodo would carry it, for a time."

"And now, I believe, is the time to bring out the Ring," added Gandalf. "Lady Elanor, if you please."

Elanor frowned at him, dumbstruck.

"I—I don't know what you mean," she stammered, amazed to be addressed thus. "I certainly don't have it!"

"Try your right pocket," Gandalf suggested coyly, twinkling at her.

The rest of the council was waiting expectantly. Elanor reached down her right side, groping along her skirt for a pocket concealed there. Her hand found the opening—and there, at the bottom, was a cool, hard object.

The One Ring is in my pocket.

Oh. My. God. The One Ring is in my pocket.

How in heaven's name did it get there?

Wait.

Everyone's watching me. Oh gosh.

Gulping, she drew the Ring out and walked tremulously to the centre of the council, where stood a stone pedestal. Eager to be rid of the Ring, she placed it firmly down and moved hastily back to her chair, repulsed by having touched something so evil.

She met Gandalf's eyes across the circle as she found her seat and fixed him with her most pointed glare. He appeared to be quite amused—and rather astonished. Making her mind up to berate him for it later, she stared at the ground until her cheeks cooled.

From the other side of the circle, Boromir spoke: "Isildur's Bane, I presume; but I do not see the halfling of which the riddle spoke. What, then, has occurred?"

Elanor shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of the stares directed at her.

"Frodo, son of Drogo, is the hobbit of which the riddle speaks," Gandalf said, slowly, drawing their attention upon himself. "But we have been plagued by ill-fortune—Frodo perished not long after he arrived in Rivendell, despite Lord Elrond's efforts. He was poisoned by a Morgul blade, and could not be saved."

"This is grievous news indeed," cried Boromir. "Doom is truly upon us!"

…Elanor leaned back in her chair, full of a bewildering mixture of boredom, confusion, homesickness and annoyance at Gandalf.

Aragorn had met the other man's pronouncement with dignity and confidence and continued on…

What I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee, dad's armchair, and a good book…

You're in a book, came a pointed thought.

Oh, shut up!

At this point, a tiny figure jumped from his chair to defend Aragorn—Bilbo Baggins, she realised. His face was lined, and his eyes red from weeping, but he quoted two verses of poetry before sitting down again…

…"But now the world is changing once again," Aragorn intoned, gravely. "A new hour comes. Isildur's Bane is found. Battle is at hand. The Sword shall be reforged. I will come to Minas Tirith."

"Isildur's Bane is found, you say," said Boromir. "I have seen a bright ring in Lady Elanor's hand; but Isildur perished ere this age of the world began, they say. How do the Wise know that this ring is his? And how has it passed down the years, until it is brought hither by so strange a messenger?" He seemed puzzled as he looked at Elanor, and he no longer smiled, as if he did not know her.

Ouch.

"That shall be told," said Elrond.

"But not yet, I beg, Master!" cried Bilbo, though Elanor could not see him from where she sat. "Already the Sun is climbing to noon, and I feel the need of something to strengthen me."

"I had not named you," said Elrond smiling. "But I do so now. Come! Tell us your tale. And if you have not yet cast your story into verse, you may tell it in plain words. The briefer, the sooner shall you be refreshed."

Elanor's hopes of a swift adjournment were dashed, as Bilbo began his tale of the discovery of the Ring in The Hobbit. Clearly it was a new tale to some, but Elanor knew it well, and happily tuned out. Instead, she studied the Ring on the pedestal before her.

I thought it was supposed to affect you, she mused. But all I felt was a desire to get the thing as far from me as possible! I didn't want to keep it in the slightest…

…Gandalf was speaking again.

"Some, Galdor," said he, directing his words to an Elf opposite, "would think the tidings of Glóin, and the pursuit of Frodo, proof enough that this ring is a thing of great worth to the Enemy. Yet it is a ring. What then? The Nine the Nazgûl keep. The Seven are taken or destroyed." At this Glóin stirred, but did not speak. "The Three we know of. What then is this one that he desires so much?

"There is indeed a wide waste of time between the River and the Mountain, between the loss and the finding. But the gap in the knowledge of the Wise has been filled at last. Yet too slowly. For the Enemy has been close behind, closer even than I feared. And well is it that not until this year, this very summer, as it seems, did he learn the full truth."

Realising that she was about to hear Gandalf's tale of Gollum and Saruman, Elanor sighed. Loudly, it appeared, for the Elf seated beside her looked at her curiously.

"Sorry," she whispered, giving him an apologetic smile.

He returned the gesture, before seeking out Gandalf once more and allow Elanor to return to her reverie…

Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,

ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."

…the harsh utterance caused Elanor to shift uneasily in her seat; the words seemed to radiate pure malice.

He must be reading what's on the Ring, she realised.

Trying to forget the bone-chilling sound, she sought out Bilbo with her eyes. The hobbit seemed as exasperated with the length of the proceedings as herself, and she half-wished she could go sit by him. Unfortunately, she was placed between two tall Elves and didn't want to cause a scene by asking everyone to scoot one chair over…

…Boromir inquired of Gollum, and Aragorn's responded: the creature was imprisoned, held by the Elves of MIrkwood.

"Alas! alas!" cried the Elf to Elanor's right, and in his fair elvish face there was great distress. "The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told. They are not good, but only here have I learned how evil they may seem to this company. Sméagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped."

That must be Legolas, she thought, comprehension dawning on her countenance. Of all the Fellowship-to-be, he was most unlike his movie counterpart. Real-book Legolas had dark brown hair and lively blue eyes.

I'm sitting next to Legolas, the lord of all teenage heartthrobs. What would Georgia say if she could see me now!

Fervently wishing her sister was by her side, Elanor stole a coy glance at Legolas. He was describing Gollum's escape, which was of little interest to her.

He doesn't have Orlando Bloom's boy-band face, she couldn't help but think. The real Legolas would be far less of an idolised figure if the world saw his true self. The handsome blonde Elf sitting near Elrond—she did not know his name—would attract far more attention if she managed to smuggle a photograph home.

Home.

The thought of Australia's east coast seemed very far from this surreal meeting. Elanor longed to return to the quiet privacy of her bedroom and forget the whole nightmare.

If I were a true heroine, like Georgia, I'd be offering them advice and joining the Fellowship. But, quite frankly, that's the last thing I want to do. And if Gandalf so much as hints at it I'll tell him what I think of him!

The wizard in question had resumed speaking, telling of his meeting with Saruman and subsequent escape. Fortunately, Peter Jackson had deviated little from Tolkien here, and Elanor was unsurprised by any of his narrative…

"…who are they to be? That seems to me what this Council has to decide, and all that it has to decide. Elves may thrive on speech alone, and Dwarves endure great weariness; but I am only an old hobbit, and I miss my meal at noon. Can't you think of some names now? Or put it off till after dinner?"

A smile tugged at Elanor's mouth as Bilbo spoke, his high little voice heard loud and clear in the stillness of the pavilion. On and on the council had stretched, with talk of Saruman's betrayal and the effect it would have upon the war against Sauron, of Gondor's need for aid, and of the other Rings of Power. Elanor ached for it all to be over, but here at last was the most important part; who would take the Ring, and who else would accompany them?

If it were not for the whole disaster surrounding Frodo, this would be almost exciting… As it is, everyone else sitting here would be extremely dangerous with the Ring in their hands…

Gandalf was frowning pensively into his beard, and even Elrond looked troubled.

Well, it won't be me, that's for certain—I'm not going anywhere near Mordor.

Just as she thought this, Elanor heard a small yet determined voice from outside the circle of chairs.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor."

As all who had gathered turned to the location of the voice, Elanor spied a diminutive figure walking nervously forward into the centre of the council.

"Samwise Gamgee!" cried Gandalf in astonishment, breaking the silence. The rest of the council merely watched as the hobbit strode forward. Tears were upon his cheeks, but he held himself with great determination.

"Though…" he hesitated, "…I do not know the way."

So there you have my contemporary take on the Council!

There are some block-text quotes from Fellowship of the Ring in this one, as it seemed easiest to let the characters speak as they would in the council-Elanor did not cause that much of a disruption!

However, this was an extremely hard chapter to write, as the original book chapter drags on forever, and I had no desire to have Elanor commentating that much.

I would love feedback on how you thought I did with this one! It's been tricky but hopefully enjoyable to read.

Chapter 8 will be in the works shortly, though needs more planning.

Thanks guys! Finwe :)