Chapter 6: The Wisdom of the Wind

"Are you bored?"

Toven was silent for a long moment. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so?"

"There's something strange about this place. I feel…at peace, but not restless. It's hard to tell how much time has passed."

"I totally get that." Quinn rolled onto her stomach. The two of them were lying on the grass next to a flowerbed, listening to the gentle flow of the stream nearby. "Sometimes I'll drop by here just to say hi, and next thing I know, two weeks have gone by. It's kinda creepy."

"Well, I do know they're holding a feast tonight, to celebrate Frodo's recovery."

"Mhm. But they don't do it like Erebor. Mostly they just eat food and talk. Even in Mirkwood everyone gets at least tipsy."

"They're going to be performing. I've heard some of the elves practicing songs and poems."

Quinn perked up. "Should I perform something?"

Toven cringed. "If you do, let me know in advance so I can get sufficiently drunk."

She nudged his shoulder. "You can perform with me. You still have that flute, right?"

"Yes…"

"I promise I'm not gonna do anything too out of left field. What do elves like? Ballads?"

Toven snorted. "Do you even know any ballads?"

"Luigi's Ballad." She rubbed her chin. "I still remember most of 6969. That's got enough of a plot to be considered a ballad."

"I'm surprised Elrond hasn't banned you from Rivendell yet."

"You know what, he's definitely implied that I'm not welcome here, several times. Once I tried to trick him into giving me a lifetime ban, so I could be like 'Ha, it doesn't apply anymore because I'm dead…'" She looked up as an elf passed the grassy patch where they were sitting. "Oh. H-Hey, Arwen."

"Hello, Quinn, Toven." She nodded to both of them. "Enjoying the sunshine?"

"Yeah." Quinn shifted her weight on her elbows. "By the way, that was some nice riding you did back there. You're, uh, really good at that."

Arwen smiled. "Thank you. Will I see you at the feast tonight?"

"Yeah." She nodded. "Yeah, for sure. And I guess I'll see you." She did finger guns as Arwen walked away. As soon as she was gone, Quinn hung her head. "Ugh." She put a hand over her eyes. "Nice riding? I'm such an idiot." She raised her head to see Toven regarding her with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"You are aware that she's with Aragorn."

"Oh, of course. Believe me, I wouldn't dream of getting in the middle of that. Unless they wanted me to." She tilted her head. "Maybe I should sing Peppermint Creams tonight."

Toven tilted his head back. "Please don't talk about this anymore."

"You gotta admit though, Arwen is…super hot. I think everyone is at least a little bit in love with her."

"Speak for yourself."

Quinn glanced at him. "Really?"

Toven shrugged. "She is beautiful. I don't think anyone could deny that. But that's all I see."

She nodded. "Gotcha."

"I'm changing the subject." Toven sat up. "What are you planning to do with that blade you took from the Nazgûl?"

"You still have it?" Quinn sat up as well and turned to face him.

He nodded. "It's in my room. A little hard to sleep with the thing, knowing what it can do."

"Yeah." She lowered her gaze. "Believe me, I know. I guess I grabbed it as a sort of…contingency plan."

He rested an elbow on his knee. "Well, this must be important because you rarely have those."

"I just thought, now that the Nazgûl are active again, I'll probably end up facing them again. And you know about my invisible friend." She waved a hand. "Your…step-parent, I guess?"

Toven nodded. "I disagree with the title, but go on."

She'd explained her strange situation to him the best she could, and he'd accepted it with surprisingly little shock. "Well, there's a chance we'll end up switching again. And since I have no idea when it's going to happen, that might be the last chance we have to speak."

He straightened. "You want me to use the blade to try and bring you back."

"I mean, at least be smart about it." She fixed him with her most convincing glare. "Do not, under any circumstances, try to fight Belekur directly. You will get your ass beat, and probably die."

"Wait, they can hear everything we're saying, right?"

"Yeah, but there's no way around that. I-I just wanted to have a chance to…"

"To what?"

She sighed and lowered her gaze. They were straying into emotional territory, which was really not her thing. "You know…say goodbye."

"What?"

"As far as I know, I'm only supposed to be here until Belekur's mission is completed. And I have a feeling, now that this whole Ring business has been uncovered, that that might be coming soon."

Toven studied her face with a frown. "And afterwards?"

They'd both discussed this before, but it had been a while since she'd even thought about it. Quinn spread her hands. "I have no idea. I really have no clue, but once this thing is up I might just…disappear or something."

"I see," he said lowly.

She let out a long sigh. "I've had so many friends just grow old and die over the years. It's gotten to the point where it's easier to accept." She looked up at him. "But I really don't want to cut things short with you."

Toven reached out and took both her hands. "Nothing's certain yet. And whatever evil is out there is a long way from being defeated. Let's not say our goodbyes now."

"Yeah." Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

"Well, now, this comes as a surprise."

Quinn watched glumly as plates of bread and meat and platters of vegetables were placed on the tables. They were all seated in a long hall illuminated by glowing lanterns, and the air was filled with quiet conversation. She turned to Glóin, who had spoken. "What's a surprise?"

He began piling his plate with bread and meat. "Well, I still remember the last time I was in Rivendell. The elves hosted us for dinner then, and the only thing it seemed they could procure was vegetables. Nothing but green on all our plates. Just lettuce and onions and…those wee red things."

"Radishes," Bilbo supplied. "You know, you could stand to have some more vegetables in your diet. It's done wonders for Thorin's health." He patted the dwarf's shoulder as he spooned a generous helping of vegetables onto his plate.

Glóin eyed the cucumbers like they were slugs. "Aye, well, in any case… It seems they've managed to procure some real food for tonight."

An elf passed by, filling everyone's goblet with wine, and Quinn suppressed a groan. She usually tried to stay away from mealtimes, since not being able to eat or drink really bummed her out, but she'd made an exception for tonight so she could catch up with her friends.

She nudged her goblet towards Gimli, who was sitting on her right. "You can have mine."

He nodded and happily added the drink to his own, which filled it to nearly overflowing.

"So…" She drummed her fingers on the table, trying to think about something else. "Catch me up. What's going on in Erebor?"

It had been several years since she'd last been there—she'd been busy on the western side of the Misty Mountains, and hadn't really made time to journey east.

"More or less the same since you left," Gimli said. "We've just about finished up the new cart system, so it's quicker to get around."

"Oh, nice. I'll have to check that out sometime."

If she ever got the chance.

Quinn lowered her gaze and poked at the tablecloth. I could really use a drink right now.

"We've still not heard from Balin's company," Glóin said, and Thorin's expression darkened.

"What, the guys in Moria?" She looked up and leaned her elbows on the table. "It's been several years, hasn't it?"

"Only five," Gimli said. "But last we heard, they had taken many of the eastern halls. It is possible they are spending most of their efforts on fortifying what they've taken back."

Behind Gimli, Thorin and Glóin exchanged a less-than-optimistic look. Five years still seemed like a pretty long time to Quinn. But she only tapped her fork against her empty plate and said, "Uh, yeah. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

"Anyway," Bilbo said, "I hope you two will come to the Hall of Fire after the feast. I'm working on a poem, which I think you will quite like…"

They started to talk about poetry, and Quinn let herself zone out. She could count on two hands how many English classes she'd failed in her old life. Before long, everyone stood up and began trickling out of the room. Quinn followed Bilbo and Glóin outside as they debated over some Khuzdul poem.

They began walking along a winding path lined with flowers and vines twisting across wooden archways. Quinn spotted a familiar blond head walking ahead of them and excused herself.

"You've been avoiding me, haven't you?" She slung an arm around Legolas's shoulders from behind, though he didn't appear surprised—he'd probably heard her coming.

"Not at all," he said, raising his eyebrows into a guileless expression. "It just seems we've never been in the same place at the same time."

"For a whole week? Bullshit."

"Well, it seems we've finally crossed paths." Legolas carefully removed her arm from his shoulders. "How have you been?"

"Pretty good." She smiled. Legolas had loosened up a lot since he'd stopped spending so much time around his dad. "And what about you? Last time I saw you, you were heading back to Mirkwood."

"And I was met by ill news, unfortunately. But this is not the time to speak of such things."

"Damn, everyone's coming here with ill news." Quinn rolled her shoulders. "Definitely not the kind of talk for a feast."

They passed through a wide doorway and into the Hall of Fire. There were tall, open arches on either side that let the cool night air filter through. The center of the room was slightly sunken, with steps leading down to a collection of cushions and chairs. At the other end was an enormous fireplace that lit the hall with flickering orange light.

"Wow," Quinn said. Every time she came to Rivendell, it seemed she found something new—and the place wasn't even that big. "Do you think they ever accidentally catch..." She turned to the side, but Legolas had disappeared. "He is such an asshole."

She found Toven sitting on the steps near the back of the room, watching a group of elves tune their instruments. He looked up as she sat next to him.

"Hey, I missed you at the feast. You didn't want to talk with the dwarves?"

"I've already had an opportunity to catch up with them," he said. "I had some things to discuss with Aragorn."

"I think you like him better than me."

"Well, he certainly wouldn't try to embarrass me in a hall full of elves."

"Oh, relax." She nudged him with her shoulder. "I was kidding about singing in front of everyone. I would have to be pretty drunk for that, and as you know…"

Toven nodded. "Thank you. That's very reassuring."

Her eyes fell to the piece of paper tucked in one hand. "What is that?"

"It's nothing." When she tried to grab it, Toven held the paper out of her reach. "I swear if you try and take this from me, I will throw it in the fire."

She leaned closer. "I'm gonna start guessing…"

He shot her a deadpan glare. "It's a poem, all right?" He looked away. "Bilbo helped me with it. I was thinking about reading it aloud tonight."

"Oh." Quinn sat back. "Well, in that case, I'll clap really loud after you're done."

He shook his head. "I don't know. Nothing I write could ever compare to them." He gestured to the elves milling about the hall. Several had gathered around an elf in a purple robe who was reciting something in Elvish. "They've had thousands of years to perfect the craft."

"Well, that doesn't mean your stuff isn't good. You remember what I told you?"

"You've told me lots of things over the years."

"You'll never shine if you don't glow." Quinn pointed a finger at him. "If you want to be successful, you gotta start small."

A smile twitched onto his face. "That is…sound advice, actually."

"From the endless wisdom of Smash Mouth." She pressed her palms together. "All that glitters is gold. And only shooting stars break the mold."

"I believe the correct phrasing is, 'All that is gold does not glitter,'" said a voice from behind them.

Quinn raised her eyebrows as Aragorn sat down on Toven's other side. "Uh, no dude. I'm pretty sure my version is correct."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "You should know I am good friends with the author of those words."

Toven groaned and put his face in his hands. "You two had this argument the last time you met."

She spread her hands. "And I clearly remember that I was right!" One of the elves shushed her. "All that glitters is gold," she hissed at Aragorn, then stood up and left.

She found Merry and Pippin playing cards in one of the corners near the entrance. She'd spent a lot of time with them since arriving in Rivendell, but she was in a festive mood tonight, and she had something special in mind.

"Hey." She crouched down next to them. "You guys wanna go smoke?"

Pippin brightened immediately. "You have more?"

She smiled. "I do."

Merry glanced around the hall, then swept up the cards they'd laid out on the floor. "Well, I don't think we'll be missed."

They crept outside and into one of the gardens below the hall. They sat down on the soft earth, partially obscured by the branches of some fragrant bushes. Quinn reached into the inner pocket of her shirt and retrieved a pouch. She'd paid good money for a decent, waterproof leather pouch. Inside that was another waterproof pouch, for extra protection, and tucked within—precious weed.

Quinn handed the pouch to Merry, who had taken out his pipe. It had taken her a good fifty years to find some real marijuana in Middle-earth—she wasn't a fan of the tobacco that most of her friends smoked. She'd stumbled on a strange guy named Tom in the woods outside the Shire, and she stopped by every few years to get some more.

She sighed as Merry lit his pipe. She couldn't actually smoke herself, being dead and all, but the best she could get was to enjoy the smell and reminisce on the good old days.

"What are you three doing out here?"

They turned to see Sam standing outside the bushes, his hands on his hips. Frodo was next to him, as usual.

Quinn waved for them to come closer. "We're smoking. You guys wanna join in?"

Sam approached them with a small frown on his face. "Why are you hiding in the bushes?"

She exchanged a glance with Merry and Pippin, and the three of them shrugged. "We're not hiding, we're just in the bushes."

Merry passed the pipe to Pippin. "You're welcome to join us. There's plenty to go around."

Frodo sat down cross-legged next to Merry. "Pippin, did you forget your pipe? I thought you went everywhere with it."

"We usually share one," Merry said. "You don't want to smoke a whole pipe by yourself."

"I did once," Pippin said.

"Yeah, and then you threw up." Quinn leaned back on her hands.

Sam finally caved and sat down next to Frodo. "All right, then. Is this some special kind of pipeweed?"

"It's very special," Merry said with a smirk.

"Yeah, just sit back and relax," Quinn said. "It's gonna make you feel a little weird, but I promise it's safe."

They sat in silence for a while, the hobbits passing the pipe between the four of them. Quinn lay back and propped her hands behind her head. The bushes rustled above her, and faint strains of elvish music drifted out of the hall.

"I can see it," Frodo said softly. He was lying back as well, his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach.

"See what?" Sam asked.

"The music… It's like a mist…a river of gold and silver flowing over me."

Quinn closed her eyes and pretended she could see the river too.

The small pavilion normally reserved for meals had been cleared away, the tables and benches replaced by a semicircle of high-backed chairs. Opposite from the semicircle was another tall chair, taken by Lord Elrond, and a stone pedestal in the center.

Toven looked around as he found an empty seat next to Aragorn. Most of the members of this council were elves, several of whom he did not recognize. They were all seated in a row, next to a trio of dwarves—Glóin, Gimli, and Thorin. Glóin was resolutely ignoring the dark-haired elf seated next to him, and Toven hoped things would not escalate beyond that. Boromir was sitting a few chairs down from Toven, and on the other side of the semicircle were Frodo and Gandalf.

He glanced around again as everyone began to settle down. "I don't see Quinn."

"I would guess that Lord Elrond has not invited her," Aragorn replied.

His lips twitched. He could see why—Quinn had the tendency to derail even the gravest of conversations. "She's not going to be happy about that."

Aragorn glanced at him. "I'm sure you can give her a summary once this is over."

There was no time for more conversation as Elrond stood and addressed the council.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it." He swept a piercing glance across the pavilion. "You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He turned to his left. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

Frodo stood and made his way to the pedestal. He took something from his pocket and placed it on the stone—a small golden ring. A murmur went up from the council.

"So it is true," Boromir muttered.

Frodo sat back in his chair with a small sigh. Toven kept his eyes on the Ring, and felt a ghost of a whisper pass along the back of his neck.

Boromir got to his feet. "In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west, a pale light lingered." He took a step closer to the pedestal. "A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found." He drifted closer yet, one hand straying towards the ring.

"Boromir!" Elrond cried, standing up in one swift motion, but the word was nearly drowned out by a booming voice that filled the courtyard.

Gandalf had risen to his feet, and spoke an unfamiliar language with harsh syllables that sent an oily shiver through the air. After a long moment, he fell silent, and light filtered through the trees once more—Toven hadn't realized that it had disappeared.

The council fell silent. Boromir had taken a step back, and stared at the wizard with wide eyes.

Toven took a soft, calming breath. Off to a bad start, it seems.

Elrond turned a sharp glance towards Gandalf. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris."

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," Gandalf said as the elf sank back into his chair, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" He swept a thunderous look around the courtyard, before finally fixing his eyes on Boromir. "The Ring is altogether evil."

Boromir shook his head. "It is a gift—a gift to the foes of Mordor." He looked around. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay." His expression darkened. "By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy. Let us use it against him."

"You cannot wield it," Aragorn said. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

Boromir turned to face him. "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?"

A blond elf stood and took a step towards him. "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He met Boromir's gaze with a piercing stare. "You owe him your allegiance."

Once again, Boromir looked at Aragorn, but there was no reverence on his face. "Aragorn? This is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the elf said.

Toven turned to look at Aragorn, as did several others. Aragorn's expression was unreadable, but he'd leaned back in his chair slightly, and Toven had known him long enough to see that he was uncomfortable with the attention.

He'd known Aragorn for years, and considered the man to be a mentor and a friend. He'd known that Aragorn was one of the Dúnedain, but this piece of information was new. Toven resolved to ask him about it later, since now clearly wasn't the time.

After a few more seconds of silence, Aragorn lifted a hand. "Havo dad, Legolas."

Boromir was still frowning at Aragorn. "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." He returned to his seat, his expression clouded.

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf said, changing the subject. "We cannot use the Ring for our own purposes."

"You have only one choice," Elrond said. "It must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Gimli stood, grabbing his axe, which was resting on the chair beside him.

"Gimli," Thorin warned, but the younger dwarf was already moving.

He stepped forward and brought his axe down on the Ring with enough force to cleave it in two. Elrond rose partially from his seat, and Frodo flinched back as though the strike had been aimed at him.

A small explosion burst from the pedestal, and Gimli fell back with a cry. Toven leaned forward in his chair, but the Ring remained intact, surrounded by the smoking shards of the axe.

Of course, that would have been too easy.

Glóin rushed to help Gimli to his feet, but it seemed that his pride had been damaged more than anything.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond said, arching an eyebrow. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He looked around at the council. "One of you must do this."

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir said, frowning. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

I know someone who could. Whatever dangers lurked in Mordor, they would be far less lethal to Quinn. If asked, she would take that Ring into the fire, and she would do it with a smile on her face.

But Toven, selfishly, said nothing. He would never want her to be the one to carry that burden.

Legolas leapt from his chair again. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Gimli snapped.

Boromir rose, ignoring him. "And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

Gimli stood, his gaze still on Legolas—it seemed as though he and Boromir were having two separate conversations. "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"

Several of Legolas's companions rose to their feet, and Glóin went to flank his son, Thorin right behind him. Elves and dwarves began shouting at one another—Gandalf tried to speak over them—and Boromir stepped forward to add his own opinion.

Toven leaned closer to Aragorn. "Do you think we're going to make any progress in this meeting?"

"For the sake of Middle-earth, you should hope that we do," he responded.

He lowered his gaze. Distractible as she was, Quinn had a knack for finding simple solutions to things. "If she were here, she would have already volunteered to take it."

Aragorn glanced at him. "Your mother has a good heart, but perhaps it's best that we do not entrust the fate of this land with her."

A high voice cut through the chaos: "I will take it!"

Frodo had stood up, barely visible among the taller members of the council.

"I will take it! I will take the Ring to Mordor."

The crowd fell silent, and everyone turned to look at him.

"No." Toven made to push himself out of his chair, but Aragorn stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"This is a heavy burden," Elrond said. "So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, then you will have my support."

"I do," Frodo said as a murmur shuddered through the crowd. "Though I do not know the way."

Gandalf rested a hand on his shoulder. "You will need a guide—or possibly several. You will not have to do this alone, that I can promise."

Elrond nodded. "There is time for preparations to be made. We need not discuss it today."

Everyone shifted again—the council was over. Frodo stepped forward and took the Ring from the pedestal, slipping it back into his pocket.

And Toven stayed where he was, struck by a sudden, heavy sense of injustice.

More footnotes:

1. Luigi's Ballad is a real song by Starbomb. 6969 and Peppermint Creams are by NSP. They're kind of a small band so I really just put those references in to make myself laugh.

2. Slight contradiction in the lore that I found…I was doing some research on Moria and found that Balin and Co died in Moria about twenty four years before this chapter takes place. But Gimli's wiki says it had only been five years since Erebor had last received word from the Moria group. Not really sure about that discrepancy so I decided to go with the smaller figure to make Gimli seem like…less delusional about his denial. If anyone has an explanation for this or different information, let me know!

3. It has been on my mental checklist since the beginning to get Quinn to quote All Star. I'm so glad I could fit it into this chapter. And just a quick reference since this wasn't in the movie: the line Aragorn is talking about is from a poem Bilbo wrote about him. I realized the first line was similar to All Star and just had to put this conversation in.

4. Tried to stick to the movie version of the Council since the book chapter has even more exposition and I figured that wasn't going to be fun for anyone. I only altered the ending because I figured it would fit better. I apologize to anyone who has already read this scene 15 times in other fics, there are just a lot of moving parts and I was trying to preserve my mental energy by keeping it close to the original.