A Heart for Falsehood Framed
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The characters, the context and the main plot belong to Professor Tolkien, whom I greatly admire. I'm only trying to fill in the gaps he so graciously left for us, fanfic writers, to have some fun.
Rating: PG – 13, just to be on the safe side.
Chapter Five: … and in the Darkness Bind ThemThe words, though the evil tongue was not known to him, jabbed through Boromir's heart like daggers of white-hot iron; yet they were as cold as ice. He doubled over in incruciable pain, his breath caught in his aching chest, the unbearable weight of darkness slamming down onto his heart. It was as if the long, wordless wails of the Nameless Fear suddenly had taken on shape. As if a curse, floating above him for a long time, finally had been spoken. As if he had been marked by the shadow, forever.
Through pain-veiled eyes he could see the Lord of Imladris jerk to high alert in his seat. For the first time, he truly could believe that once Elrond had been a great warrior who faced the Enemy itself on the slopes of Mount Doom and stayed back when all fled, nearly alone, to protect the slain body of his fallen King.
That fair, ageless face was now pale with barely restrained wrath, the storm-grey eyes gleamed with cold fire, and even in his pain-hazed state Boromir was glad that Elrond's fury was not aimed at him.
Not yet, at least, that merciless voice in his heart commented. Wait 'til he learns how you have treated his firstborn…
''Never before has any voice dared to utter words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey'', said Elrond in a dangerously low, silky voice, as the shadow passed and the members of the Council breathed once more.
''And let us hope that none will ever speak it here again'', answered Mithrandir in his usual, unshakable manner. ''Nonetheless, I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond. For if that tongue is not soon to be heard in every corner of the West, then this thing is, indeed, what the Wise declared: the treasure of the Enemy, fraught with all his malice; and in it lies a great part of his strength of old.''
Boromir looked at the fine, Elvish face of the young hobbit, Frodo, and once more, he felt great pity for the little creature, burdened with such an evil legacy. Small wonder he tried to pass it over to Strider – Aragorn, get used to it! –, who rather skillfully avoided to take it upon himself. What King shall such a Man become? One who would not take the burden from the weak and weary? What could the White City hope from such a ruler?
Were it up to me, I would lessen your burden, little one, Boromir thought, watching that pain-ridden, small face. He never saw Elven children – no-one in Middle-earth has seen any for at least three thousand years –, but he guessed this would be what they would look like. 'Tis not right that you have to carry it. You ought to be merry and free of all concerns about evil. Tis Men who are made for great burdens, not innocent little Halflings. How I wish that I could help you!
And that crackened wizard was still not done with his tale!
''Know also, my friends, that I learned more yet from Gollum'', he said. ''He was loth to speak and his tale was unclear, but it is beyond doubt that he went to Mordor, and there all he knows was forced from him. Thus the Enemy knows that the One is found; that it was long in the Shire; and since his servants pursued it almost to our door, he soon will know, already he may know, even as I speak, that we have it here.''
All sat silent for a while, until at length Boromir spoke, unable to hold back any more, for his patience was running out, and the only thing he wanted was to be done with all this wailing and pondering over things he could do naught about. Now that all parts of the Riddle of Doom were finally revealed (and their meaning was aught but pleasant for him or for Minas Tirith), he only wished to return home and defend his city with every means he could laid hand upon.
''He is a small thing, you say, this Gollum?'' he asked. ''Small, but great in mischief, it seems. What became of him? To what doom did you put him?''
''He is in prison but no worse'', said Aragorn. ''He had suffered much. There is no doubt that he was tormented, and the fear of Sauron lies black on his heart.''
Boromir winced involuntarily. Why in Middle-earth would these Northern people need to call the Enemy by his name every time they mentioned him? Were they not taught that names, even the lesser ones that were only taken for a certain time to wear, carried great powers and might invoke great evil if spoken lightly? Was even the so-called Heir of Isildur not taught anything? Not even in Elrond's house who was said to be the greatest lore-master of this age? Or was he so haughty already that he dared to challenge the Dark Lord in his folly? Then the fate of Minas Tirith was sealed, for sure.
''Still I for one am glad that Gollum is safely kept by the watchful Elves of Mirkwood'', the Ranger added. ''His malice is great and gives him a strength hardly to be believed in one so lean and withered. He could work much mischief still, if he were free. And I do not doubt that he was allowed to leave Mordor on some evil errand.''
Must they really speak this much, all of them? Boromir thought, somewhat irritated, for the custom of his King-to-be to make many more words than necessary, made him edgy. Valar, should he ever come to Minas Tirith, they would be at each other's throaths with Father all the time.
For the Lord Denethor was known to have his ways with words as well (just as his younger son, unlike his firstborn), wielding them with merciless strength like sharp weapons, and had little endurance for those who wasted his time, even if they were his own sons. And Boromir had no doubt that his father would not be frightened by Aragorn's birth or claim once his cold rage awakened.
Gondor shall be divided and fall, he realized with numbing fear, if no-one comes between the two of them. 'Tis something I cannot let happen – yet how shall I keep them from tearing at each other? And whom I shall side with? The Lord Denethor is not my father only, he is the Steward of Gondor and has served his land faithfully all his life. Yet I cannot deny that the claim of Aragorn is just, at least by the laws of both Kingdoms… What can I do to keep them fighting each other and thus bring our land to fall?
A sharp Elvish cry of great distress jerked him out of his troubled thoughts.
''Alas!'' Legolas cried, and his fair face darkened with concern. ''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 for this Council. Sméagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped.''
''Escaped?'' cried Aragorn. ''That is ill news indeed, after all our trouble to lay hand upon him. We shall rue it bitterly. How come the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?''
Fool, Boromir thought with despair, you were brought up by Elves, how can you openly insult one of them, a Wood-Elf and a Prince above all? Or do you think that Legolas shall endure it for the sake of your old friendship? I very much doubt it.
And Legolas turned very pale, indeed, green eyes gleaming cold like a naked sword in starlight, and every one around became troubled, for he seemed dangerously near to lose control.
Rarely did it happen with Elves that they would give in to their cold wrath, but when it happened, it could have dire consequences. Moreso with Wood-Elves, who always had had more of the Wild in their hearts and possessed a certain amount of wickedness – and a great deal of wounded pride, having been often looked down upon by the Noldor and others who had seen the Blessed Realm.
Boromir felt awfully certain that the Prince of Mirkwood could tear the Ranger apart with his bare hands if challened ower his endurance. He silently promised himself not to make Legolas angry at him. Ever.
At that moment Elrond silently reached out and laid a calming hand upon the shoulder of his lover. Legolas took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down – he was a child no more, not even in Elven terms, and it would have been beneath his dignity to lose his calm.
''Twas not through look of watchfulness'', he told in an even voice, though his eyes were still burning in cold fury, ''But mayhap through over-kindliness. And we fear that the prisoner had aid from others, and that more is known of our doings than we could wish.''
He gave a short report about Gollum's time in Mirkwood and how the vile little beast was freed by the Orcs – which cost him the deaths of three of his close friends: trusted archers who had fought in many battles against the fell creatures haunting the Forest during hundreds of years.
''We have failed to recapture Gollum'', he admitted reluctantly. ''We came on his trail among those of many Orcs, and it plunged deep into the Forest, going south. But ere long it escaped our skill, and we dared not continue the hunt; for we were drawing nigh to Dol Guldur, and that is still a very evil place; we do not go that way.''
Boromir could only guess how hard it for the proud Elven Prince might be to admit that they were outnumbered and the horrors of the Necromancer's Tower simply too great to face, even in his obvious vengeful grief for his slain friends. Yet Legolas did not spare his own pride in order to reveal th truth, and that was more than what could be told of most Men.
Mithrandir, on the other hand, did not seem to be very impressed with the honesty of the Elf. He simply shrugged and accepted the failure as it happened.
''Well, well, he is gone. We have no time to seek for him again. He must do what he will. But he may play a part yet that neither he nor Sauron have foreseen.''
And with that customary vague comment he turned back to Galdor again.
''And now I shall answer to your other questions. What about Saruman? What are his counsels to us in this need? This tale I must tell in full, for only Elrond has heard it yet, and that in brief, but it will bear on all that we must resolve. It is the last chapter in the Tale of the Ring, so far as it has gone yet.''
And so he told in great length how he was lured into a death trap by the very head of his own Order, and how he escaped with the help of Radagast the Brown and Gwaihir the Windlord, swiftest of the Great Eagles, and was brought by the Eagle to Edoras, where the Lord of Rohan sits in his halls.
''And I was glad'', he added, ''for in the Riddermark of Rohan the Rohirrim, the Horse-lords dwell, and there are no horses like those that are bred in the great vale between the Misty Mountains and the White. And, knowing of the treachery of Saruman now, I was worried about the Ring-bearer and his burden, and needed to get to Imladris, fast.''
''Are the Men of Rohan still to be trusted, you think?'' Elrond asked.
Boromir raised his head in sudden anger, but ere he could rush to the aid of his faithful allies, Mithrandir answered the Elf-Lord.
''The same question I asked the Eagle, for the treason of Saruman had shaken my faith. He said the Rohirrim paid a tribute of horses, and sent many yearly to Mordor, or so it is told. And in Rohan I found evil already at work: the lies of Saruman; and the King of the land would not listen to my warnings. He bade me to take a horse and be gone; and I chose one to my liking, but little to his. I took the best horse in his land, and I have never seen the like of him.''
''Then he must be a noble beast, indeed'', said Aragorn; ''and it grieves me more than many tidings that might seem worse to learn that Sauron levies such tribute. It was not so when last I was in that land.''
''Nor it is now, I shall swear'', said Boromir, his big fists clenching involuntarily with anger, for it greatly troubled him that the honour of the Rohirrim, that of the Prince Théodred the Brave above all, was being stained here, by the very people who weren't able to see through the lies of that cursed wizard. ''Tis a lie that comes from the Enemy. I know the Men of Rohan, true and valiant; our allies, dwelling still in the lands that we gave them long ago. With no help from others have they fought the Orc-hords of Isengard and are still fighting to keep their land free.''
And he reached for the clasp upon his throath again, as if it were the hand of that brave woman who had pledged herself to him, not of love to him, but of love to her land, and to whom he was due to return after this errand was over, should the Valar allow him. Then they would ride into battle, together.
''The shadow of Mordor lies on distant lands'', answered Aragorn. ''Saruman has fallen under it. Rohan is beset. Who knows what you shall find there, if ever you return?''
''Not this at least'', Boromir countered hotly, ''that they will buy their lives with horses. They love their horses next to their kin. And not without reason, for the horses of the Riddermark come from the fields of the North far from the Shadow, and their race, as that of their masters, is descended from the free days of old.''
That silenced the Ranger for awhile, so that Mithrandir could finally come to an end of his story, telling how he followed the trail of Aragorn's company, without having been able to find them in the wilderness. So he changed paths and came straight to Imladris where he met them again, to his great relief.
''Well, the tale is now told, from first to last'', he finished. ''Here we all are, and here is the Ring. But we have not yet come any nearer to our purpose. What shall we do?''
There was silence. At last Elrond spoke again.
''This is grievous news concerning Saruman'', he said; ''for we trusted him and he is deep in all our counsels. It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill. But such falls and betrayals, alas, have happened before.''
'Tis all you have to say, Lord of Imladris? Boromir asked silently. Unfortunate for the brave Riders of Rohan to live in the neighborhood of a treacherous wizard? Ought you not to do something about Curunír, who was, after all, part of your precious White Council?
The Elves were arguing about some strange, ancient creature he had never heard of, and whether it should be asked to keep the Ring in its custody, then and abandoned the idea at the end.
Boromir felt tired. Tired of this Council, tired of this very errand, tired of worrying. Not even the comfort of returning home, soon, was left him. For he would not return alone, and he knew not what he coud do to keep a new Kintwist from ripping Gondor apart, once Isildur's Heir had set foot in Minas Tirith.
''I know little of this Iarwain'', Galdor of the Havens said; ''but Glorfindel, I think, is right. Power to defy our Enemy is not in him, unless such power is in the earth itself. And yet we see that Sauron can torture and destroy the very hills.''
There he looked at Legolas, who suddenly turned unbelievably sad and hung his head. This must have had to do something with that strange song that made Wood-Elves cry, Boromir guessed. Sooner or later he should make the Elf tell him what it is all about. No more secrets – everything should be laid open.
''What power still remains lies with us, here in Imladris, or with Círdan at the Havens, or in Lórien'', Goldor continued. ''But have they the strength, have we here the strength to withstand the Enemy, the coming of Sauron at the last, when all else is overthrown?''
Strength, Boromir snorted, what strength? What have the Elves done ever since the beginnings of this very age? Mayhap the Wood-Elves fought the Orcs, for they had no other choice, but all those noble others have simply run to the Havens, every time when the sky darkened with peril. Strength, indeed…
''I have not the strength'', Elrond admitted ruefully; ''nor have they.''
''Then'', said Glorfindel, ''if the Ring cannot be kept from him for ever by strength, two things only remain for us to attempt: to send it over the Sea or to destroy it.
Boromir could not believe his ears. Were they all out of their minds? The greatest power of their Enemy had fallen in their very hands – and they would not use it against him?
''But Gandalf has revealed to us that we cannot destroy it by any craft that we here possess'', said Elrond. ''And they who dwell beyond the Sea, would not receive it: for good or ill it belongs to Middle-earth; it is for us who still dwell her to deal with it.''
Understood he has it, at last, Boromir sighed, relieved. Now we can decide how to use the Ring against its Maker. Not without reason is Elrond counted among the Wise, it seems.
Yet the other Elves seemed distracted. Glorfindel shook his head in apparent distress.
''Then let us cast it into the deeps and so make the lies of Saruman come true'', he said. ''For it is clear now that even at the Council his feet were already on a crooked path. He knew that the Ring was not lost for ever, but wished us to think so; for he began to lust for it for himself. Yet oft in lies truth is hidden: in the Sea it would be safe.''
In the Sea. They wanted to throw the greates weapon ever forged, mayhap their only hope against the Enemy, into the Sea. What a new treachery it might have been? For Elves were known to travel the Sea all time – who could be certain they would not take the Ring from its hiding place to use it, after all?
''Not safe for ever'', said Mithrandir. ''There are many things in the deep waters; and seas and lands may change. And it is not our part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one.''
A final end, indeed, Boromir groaned inwardly, a final end to all our hopes. Why cannot they see how right Isildur has been to keep the Ring as a weregild for his father and his brother? What other means can we have against an Enemy thus powerful but his own weapon?
''That hope we shall not find on the roads to the Sea'', Galdor said. ''My heart tells me that Sauron shall expect us to take the western way, when he learns what has befallen; so flight to the Sea is now fraught with greatest peril.''
''He soon shall learn of it'', Glorfindel added. ''The Nine have been unhorsed, indeed, but that is only a respite ere they find new steeds and swifter.'' He gazed at Boromir, adding with a slight, respectful bow of his golden head: ''Only the waning might of Gondor stands now between him and a march in power along the coasts into the North; and if he comes, asssailing the White Towers and the Havens, thereafter the Elves may have no escape from the lengthening shadows of Middle-earth.''
Then give it us to wield it, Boromir silently prayed. Tis a gift, a gift to the foes of Mordor, why cannot you see it? By the blood of my poeple are your lands kept safe, so do help us with this at least! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!
But out loud, he only said this much:
''Long yet will that march be delayed. Gondor wanes, you say. But Gondor stands, and even at the end of its strength is still very strong.''
''And yet its vigilance can no longer keep back the Nine'', said Galdor. ''And other roads he may find that Gondor does not guard.''
And what have you done to guard those ways? Boromir thought. What have you ever done during this whole Age but to run to your precious Haven?
''Then'', said Erestor, ''there are but two courses as Glorfindel already has declared: to hide the Ring for ever; or to unmake it. But both are beyond our power. Who will read this riddle for us?''
Would they never cease this useless babbling? Boromir closed his eyes, trying to restrain his temper before bursting. Are they all blind that they cannot see the only path that may lead out of darkness? What else could we do with the Ring? Why would they not let us wield it when they have become too cowardly to do so themselves?
''None here can do so'', Elrond finally said. ''At least none can foretell what will come to pass, if we take this road or that. But it seems to me now clear which is the road that we must take.''
All eyes turned to the Lord of Imladris, and the members of the Council became very silent. Boromir, too, stared expectantly at his host – what in Middle-earth was he about to suggest, after he had already stated that they had no way out of this disaster? Would he choose to wield the Ring after all, no matter how much he disagreed with Isildur's choice?
''The westward way seems easiest'', Elrond continued. ''Therefore it must be shunned. It shall be watched. Too often the Elves had fled that way.''
Too often, indeed. Leaving the younger, weaker people to their fate, good or evil alike. Little did the Elves ever care for others than themselves. Mayhap now the mortal blood in Elrond's veins would prove strong enough to overcome his Elvish haughtiness and make the right choice.
The Lord of Imlardis sighed, as if he had read Boromir's thoughts. A hard choice it was, indeed. And he was doomed to make it, for he alone – aside of Gandalft mayhap – had all the right strings in his hand. And being the host of this Council, it was as much his right as it was his duty.
''Now at this last we must take a hard road, a road unforeseen'', he announced solemnly. Then, in a clear, low voice, stressing every single word meaningfully, he added: ''There lies our hope, if hope it be. To walk into peril – to Mordor. We must send the Ring to the Fire.''
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
End note:
I know, I promised to end this tale in this part, but my characters were in such a talkative mood! So, instead of working on one monster chapter for weeks, I broke it up in two again. Since – fortunately – there isn't that much left from Elrond's council to re-write, I will hopefully bring this long tale to a conclusion in two or three more chapters. The matter between Elladan and Boromir has to be settled, after all, and Elrohir, too, has somehing to say about it.
Now, I feel that this chapter came out extremely uneven – there are some parts I like, but with the others I'm not entirely happy – I could sense several unwanted changes of style myself, but was simply unable to work all the kinks out. Maybe I'll have to re-write the whole chapter backwards, after I've finished the series, but right now, I just needed these things to be put up for the sake of continuation.
And yes, I know that Tengwar are technically letters, not runes, but ''runes'' simply sounded better.