Lady of Gondor Ch 13 - The Council of Elrond
3018; Rivendell
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Far away in the northwest corner of Middle-earth something happened that had not occurred for quite some time: not one but four hobbits were leaving the Shire. What's more, they left not for a week or two in Bree but quite possibly forever. No hobbit had left the Shire permanently in the last seventeen years.
For seventeen years had passed since that long-remembered September the twenty-second. Bilbo Baggins had given a birthday celebration so extravagant that it had depleted provisions from Buckland to the Towers, not to mention the required supplies sent in from as far away as Dale and the Lonely Mountain. Gandalf was there as well, and that, of course, meant fireworks. The kitchen tent was busy all day long, manned by real dwarf chefs, continually replenishing the huge party with the very best in hobbit cuisine, ale, and fine wine. And then came the speech.
Bilbo invited nearly every hobbit in the Shire to his birthday parthy, but he also singled out his 144 favourite hobbits for the dubious honour of attending his birthday dinner. These invitations were much prized because they only went to Bilbo's most-loved friends and family and because the food at the dinner was rumoured to be even finer than what was available from the kitchen tent. Yet these invitations were a mixed blessing: those at the dinner were sure to hear a speech, and possibly even some of the dreaded poetry.
They were not disappointed on either count. It snowed food and rained drink*, as they say in the Shire, even more so than at other parts of the party field. And Bilbo did, in fact, give a rather long-winded speech. While he spared them poetry he did recount some episodes from his adventures fifty years earlier. The 144 expected this, of course, but they were surprised in many other ways. Bilbo named an heir, his nephew Frodo (much to the chagrin of his Sackville relations), said good night and disappeared in a most unexpected explosion. Those hobbits who still could sit up bolted upright in their seats, several demanded more wine to remedy their shock, and in the ensuing confusion no one ever found what became of Old Bilbo. He was never seen by any hobbit in the Shire again, though Frodo always insisted his uncle still lived.
Bilbo's disappearance seemed old history to most hobbits - discussed in the inns occasionally when a better topic did not present itself - and would have been wholly unimportant except for a gold ring he left Frodo. On Gandalf's advice, Frodo had kept it both secret and safe, never using it to disappear like his uncle had on occasion. Time passed in the Shire, touching all things but Frodo, who at fifty didn't look a day past thirty-three. Then Gandalf returned to the Shire and told Frodo what he had discovered at last from the scrolls buried in Minas Tirith's libraries: the ring had once belonged to the Dark Lord Sauron, and now Sauron was seeking the ring with all his might. For Sauron had, at long last, heard the name "Baggins"; he knew that Frodo had his ring, and if he ever found him he would be angry, angrier and more dangerous than anything Frodo could imagine, and deadly perilous. Even worse, when Sauron took back his ring he would be so powerful that none could hope to resist him, and all Middle-earth would fall under his shadow.
So Frodo left the Shire, accompanied by his gardener and friend Sam Gamgee and his cousins Merry Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. They passed through many dangers and were attacked by the feared Black Riders before they even left the Shire, barely escaping the dreaded Old Forest and at last reaching Bree, one of the few places in the world where hobbits lived in peace with men. It was the centre of Bree-land, an island of populated settlements in the vast wilderness between the Shire and the Misty Mountains. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin stayed the night at an inn in the village, _The Prancing Pony_, and it was there that they met Thorongil, known to the Breelanders as Strider, the man Denethor thought had tried to usurp his Stewardship.
In the North he was called Aragorn and was in fact one of the Dúnedain, the last remnants of the ancient Númenorean kings. He was descended in direct line from Isildur, that king of Gondor and Arnor who had cut Sauron's ring from his hand in the War of the Last Alliance. Yet the years had been hard on Isildur's heirs, and in the wild they often had to forgo the honour and comfort due them to serve their duty. The Rangers, as they were called in Bree, traveled through the wilds and kept the peoples of that area safe. The people in those parts, though, knew almost nothing of their labours and thought them ruffians. So it was that Barliman Butterbur, the owner of _The Prancing Pony_, refused to let Aragorn into the hobbits' room when he asked to see them.
The hobbits ate dinner in their room and then came out into the common area, where the Breelanders begged them for songs and stories of the Shire. Shire-hobbits used to come to Bree on occasion, but in recent years these visitors had grown increasingly rare. Sam was happy just to sip his ale in peace, but Pippin told them story after story, eventually moving to Bilbo's birthday party seventeen years prior. Frodo knew it wouldn't do to have people remember his uncle's disappearance so he reluctantly sang a song Bilbo had once taught him.
_There is an inn, a merry old inn,
Beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
One night to drink his fill.**_
And on and on for twelve verses. At the end of the song Frodo jumped up for emphasis and fell off the table he had been standing on. During his tumble the ring slipped onto his finger, and Frodo disappeared from sight.
He crawled into a corner and removed the ring, then claimed he had simply rolled under a table. No one believed him. Two of the inn's patrons ran off at once, and that night the Black Riders attacked _The Prancing Pony_. They were horrible men, ancient kings who had accepted rings of power from Sauron. A mortal who has a ring of power does not die but merely continues, eventually losing all control over his own life, until he is utterly controlled by the ring. And those nine kings answered to Sauron, so the nine Black Riders did what Sauron ordered them to do. Neither living nor dead, they were feared by all. They were at the battle for Osgiliath when that city fell to Mordor, and Gondor was defeated, not so much by Sauron's large army but by fear. Anyone who saw the Riders became paralyzed with terror and, out of Boromir's and Faramir's company, only four were able to master their fear and escape, including the two brothers.
Aragorn led the hobbits through the wilderness, and they survived many dangers before at least reaching Rivendell. Yet they were not the only ones to journey to Elrond's house. Boromir traveled 110 days before he reached the Last Homely House. It was a difficult journey, and he lost his horse along the way, finishing on foot, but at last he reached Elrond's valley. Only a few days before Elrond had welcomed other visitors as well, for many of the free peoples of Middle-earth, who were threatened with attack, had come to ask Elrond's advice. Glóin had come, the same Glóin who had journeyed with Bilbo to the Lonely Mountain. After his imprisonment at the hands of Thranduil he was in no hurry to seek out the help of any elf, or even a half-elf, but he was the lord of many dwarves now, and he had to think of more than just his personal feelings. When Sauron's emissaries threatened his people, Glóin sought for Rivendell and now waited for the council where Elrond promised to answer all his questions. They were joined by a company of elves from Mirkwood bearing bad news for Gandalf. And Gandalf was there as well.
~*~
It was a cold grey morning the day Boromir finally reached Rivendell. Halfway up the path to Elrond's house he stopped in front of two twin elves, standing side-by-side blocking the path. They wore matching green silk britches and open-collared tunics decorated with fine silver embroidery, and on their feet were small boots made from deerskin. Their long brown hair hung loose down their backs, save the plait tucked behind their right ears. They stood with their arms folded across their chests and inclined their heads slightly as Boromir stopped before them.
"Mae govannen, brannon uin Apanónar," the one on the right said, a smile on his lips. Boromir bowed slowly, a puzzled look on his face.
The one on the right laughed. "You must excuse my brother. I am Elrohir, son of Elrond, and this is my brother Elladan. _Ada_ -- Father -- sent us to greet a visitor from a far-off land, and my brother insults you by speaking in our language instead of yours before we even know your name."
Elladan smiled warmly at the man of Gondor. "I am truly sorry. I just love the look on the face of your kind when we speak Elvish. Allow me to make amends. I said, 'Well met, lord of the Afterborn.' For am I wrong in assuming you are a lord of men?"
Boromir's scowl weakened; he seemed unable to stay angry around these vivacious brothers. "In a manner of speaking," he said at last. "My father, Denethor, is steward of Gondor and rules there until the king should return."
"Ah, Boromir," Elladan replied. "We have had word of your coming." Boromir raised his eyebrow at that, but Elladan hurried on, "Our borders are well-watched by scouts, and none can approach without Ada knowing of them."
"He sent us to welcome a lord from the south, though he did not tell us your name, and to tell you of the council," Elrohir added. "You are not the only visitor Imladris has had of late, and _Ada_ is holding a council in one hour in the central court. If you care to hear something of what is happening in distant lands --"
Boromir held up his hand to silence the elf, a custom apparently understood as well in Rivendell as in Gondor. "Your pardon, I beg, but I have ridden through the night, and if the council is to meet in only one hour --"
"What a poor pair of _Suilannad_* we are! Elladan, he has ridden through the night and will be sitting most of the morning in council, and what do we do? Speak in our own tongue first, keep him on hsi feet, and offer him nothing in the way of food, drink, bed or bath. My lord Boromir, right this way." And the two led him up the path.
They walked for near a quarter-mile through the most beautiful woods Boromir had ever seen until at last he saw a great house in the distance. They walked on, through a courtyard full of statues and branches. As they approached the doorway, Boromir stopped, looking back over his shoulder at an old man smoking a pipe. "Is that -- is that _Gandalf_?" he asked incredulously. After hearing his sister's dream Boromir had never expected to see the wizard again.
Elladan took him by the hand and led him down a wide hall. "I do not know what he is called in your tongue; Mithrandir we call him. 'Grey Wanderer' as you would say it. But come, Boromir! Your bath awaits."
~*~
Boromir leaned back against the porcelain tub, letting the warm water wash away his exhaustion as well as the grime of the road. There were no bubbles -- those Elvish maidens had tried, but Boromir had refused, quite emphatically -- but he couldn't stop them from pouring in some perfume. It _did_ smell nice, he had to admit to himself, but that didn't mean he preferred his bath that way. Yet he was a guest, and a gracious guest accepted what was offered him, so he did not complain.
That thought amused him. Would Borlin son of Arabôr have felt the need to soak in a perfumed bath so as not to offend an elf-lord? Certainly not. Cows had to be milked and crops harvested; a farmer's son never would have had time to travel to distant lands. But he wasn't a farmer's son anymore; he was a _brannon uin Apónonar_, a lord of Men, according to these Elvish twins. What a funny idea! All these years he had simply done his duty as best he could. His birth-father was dead, and if his uncle Denethor was willing to take care of Boromir and his younger brother, then Boromir would do whatever he could to please his uncle, for Faramir's sake at least. He would answer to a new name, train as a soldier, lead troops through Ithilien. Not because he wanted to, but because it was expected of him. Right?
When he and Faramir had first come to Minas Tirith, everything he had done was to protect himself and Faramir. And Mellamir, he realized; Mellamir was so fragile then, and she adored her cousins. If serving in the guard meant that Boromir and Faramir could stay in the city, then Boromir would do it for Mellamir, too. But that was years ago. Mellamir hadn't been in the city for years, and Faramir was nearly grown, capable of taking care of himself. Yet Boromir stayed on, he kept fighting, and now he travelled half-way across Middle-earth for the uncle who had become a father to him. Why had he agreed to come to Rivendell? At first, yes, it was to protect Faramir. To stop that awful fight in Denethor's chambers. But was there maybe something more to it?
He had seen things, terrible things, in Ithilien and Osgiliath. Orcs crossing the mountain passes, evil men marching up from the south, black clouds bellowing from Mount Doom. And then those Nazgûl, horrific beyond description, on their winged terrors, swooping over him and his brother as they defended Osgiliath. How long could Gondor last?
How different the two men he called "father" were! Would Arabôr have come to Rivendell? Yes, he would have loved to see the Elves, but would he have abandoned his family, traveled for months to lands far away and left them to defend themselves? Boromir didn't think so. Yet if Boromir hadn't come to Rivendell, what hope did Gondor have of resisting Mordor for even one more year? And if Gondor fell, then what of Faramir? How long would his brother live if Sauron had his way?
Boromir heard a bell ring somewhere far off in the distance. Now was not the time for idle thought. The council would begin in fifteen minutes; time to leave the bath and get dressed. He sighed, set his wine goblet down on the windowsill next to the tray of fruit and cheese that had been brought to him, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Walking into the adjoining dressing room, he saw that one of the maids had laid out clothes not unlike the twins' outfit, regal enough but entirely too Elvish. He laughed at that; perhaps they could persuade him to soak over-long in a perfumed bath for the sake of courtesy, but he would not represent Gondor looking like an elf-prince. In the corner he found a basket containing his old clothes, waiting to be carried to the wash no doubt, and he pulled them on. Then he combed his hair, donned his cloak, and hurried to the council.
Boromir walked out of the room and down the hall, out into the courtyard where he had earlier seen Gandalf. Gandalf was no longer there, though, and the benches had been replaced by a low table and around twenty chairs arranged in a circle. A good many of them were filled by elves and dwarves, but four still stood empty, including the one immediately to Elrond's right. Boromir stood in front of Elrond's chair and bowed low.
"_Mae govannen_, Master Elrond."
"Well met indeed, Boromir of Gondor," Elrond said, smiling cordially. "You are duly refreshed, I hope?"
"Very much so," Boromir replied, "though your maidens and I have differing ideas on what constitutes suitable dress for a high council."
Elrond smiled. "I imagine so, for they are elf-kind and you are a man. Differences are likely to arise. I hope that is the most serious misunderstanding you encounter here."
Boromir nodded. "Indeed, I count myself lucky to have so accommodating a host."
Elrond nodded. "Thank you, Boromir. But the council is about to begin; please, please, sit." Elrond stood up and extended a hand toward the empty seat next to the Mirkwood elves. Boromir took his seat and waited for the council to start.
No sooner had Elrond sat down again than Gandalf entered the courtyard, accompanied by two of the strangest creatures Boromir had ever seen. They were short, shorter even than the Dwarves that occasionally passed through Gondor on their way to the iron quarries to the south. They had curly hair on their heads and their feet but no beards to speak of, and they wore breeches, shirts, and waistcoats as fine as Boromir's back in Minas Tirith, yet, oddly enough, no shoes. The one on Gandalf's right looked elderly, perhaps seventy years old, and he walked with the air of a gentleman, but the one to his left was much younger, hardly old enough to join the guard had he been a youth of Gondor. Everyone else, however, treated him with the greatest respect, as if he were a venerated hero of greatest renown.
"Come, Frodo, sit at my right hand." Elrond was now standing again, and he beckoned to the younger one. When all had taken their seats, Elrond continued. "Welcome, strangers from distant lands. Here at my right hand is Frodo, son of Drogo, who has traveled from the Shire through greatest danger. Here also is Glóin, lord of Erebor, and Legolas of Mirkwood." Boromir looked at the dwarf and elf Elrond had indicated, noting how they stared coldly at each other with barely concealed loathing. Boromir, though, had no time to consider them further. "And here," Elrond continued, "is Boromir of Gondor, who arrived in the early hours of the morning." After a few more similar introductions, Elrond opened the council.
"Welcome, foes of Mordor. I did not summon you, yet you were called; do not believe that simple chance brought you together. You will learn that the troubles you face are but your part of our common fate. So you may better understand what your people face, we will recount in brief the first fall of the Dark Lord Sauron and the loss of the One Ring. I will start this tale, though others may finish it, and many forgotten parts remain untold."
Boromir sighed. This would be a long story indeed if all the long years since that ancient battle were to be retold. And the first part at least was to be told by this Elrond, an Elf in behaviour even if he was half-man, and Elves were not known for their brevity in story telling. Boromir settled himself back into his chair.
"I remember that day well," Elrond began, "when Elf and Man stood together before the Black Gate --"
"Pardon me, Master Elrond," Frodo interrupted, "but -- you remember? I thought Sauron fell over a thousand years ago!"
Elrond nodded. "Over three thousand years ago, as men count them, before this age of the world began. Yet I was there. I was a standard-bearer for Gil-galad, and with him I rode to the Black Gate of Mordor. Of old, Sauron fiegned friendship with the Elves and gave us mighty gifts, yet in time he revealed himself." Then Elrond told how Sauron had driven the Elves from Eregion, how he had built Barad-dûr in Mordor, and of the fall of Númenor.
Boromir sat up at the mention of that name. This was history he could relate to; Denethor had told it to him often enough. Sauron, cut off from his forces, was captured by the king and brought back to the island of Númenor. Yet those men had underestimated Sauron, and his advice seemed good to the king and his councilors. Sauron deceived the king, and on his advice, the Númenoreans set sail to the lands they were forbidden to approach. Boromir didn't really understand all that, where they had sailed and who had forbidden them to do so -- few men living today did -- but he knew all too well what happened next.
A great tidal wave had come out of the west, and Númenor was swallowed by the sea. All of those noble men died, except for one family: Elendil and his sons Anárion and Isildur sailed to Middle-earth where they established Arnor in the North and Gondor in the South. They thought that Sauron had drowned in that flood, but one so great as he cannot be killed that simply. No, Sauron also escaped, and he returned to Barad-dûr. From there he waged war against both Elves and Men, and they formed an alliance to oppose him.
"We fought there," Elrond droned on, "and for a time we were victorious, and the Orcs fled back to Mordor; but then Sauron himself rode out." He stopped, considering his words carefully, then continued. "I saw that last battle on the slopes of Orodruin. I saw Gil-galad die, and Elendil as well, his sword Narsil broken beneath him; yet Sauron was at last overthrown when Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand using the shards of his father's sword.
"He kept it for his own. The ring should have been destroyed that day: I led Isildur to the cracks of Orodruin, where Sauron's ring was forged, but Isildur refused to cast it into the pit. It was a momento of his father's death, he said, and he carried it for many years. Then he was killed by Orcs at the Gladden Fields."
"So that is what became of Isildur!" Boromir said, clearly excited. "If such a tale was ever told in Gondor, it was forgotten long ago."
"The tidings came only to the North," Elrond answered. "Only three survived the Battle of the Gladden Fields, and they brought news of Isildur's death to his only surviving son, who had stayed behind in Rivendell. Much has happened since that fateful day. The northern kingdom failed long ago, its people and kings scattered, yet some of that old line still survive. Gondor, too, is not as great as it once was." _Lies_, Boromir thought to himself, but he said nothing, for the moment at least. "The line of kings was broken," Elrond continued, "and the White Tree withered. Gondor relaxed its watch on Mordor. Evil things have grown strong there for many years now.
"So it has been for many lives of Men. Yet Gondor still fights on, defying Mordor as best she can." Elrond sighed. "And so my part of this tale draws to a close." Finally! Boromir thought, and he guessed fromm the looks on the faces around him that he wasn't the only one to think thus. "When Isildur died at Gladden Fields the ring slipped into the Anduin, and for a time it was forgotten by all. But no more. The One has been found. Frodo, bring forth the ring."
Frodo walked to the table, then looked back at Gandalf. The wizard nodded and, reluctantly, Frodo lifted a chain from around his neck and laid it on the table for all to see, then returned to his seat. All stared at the simple gold band on the silver chain, and no one said anything at first.
Boromir leaned forward in his chair, waiting for someone else to speak. At last, he whispered, almost to himself, "Isildur's Bane." Then he stood and addressed Elrond. "Give me leave, Master Elrond, to speak of Gondor, for it is from that land that I come. Gondor is under attack, true, but do not believe that her strength dwells only in the past. By our valour the West is kept free; yet valour needs strength, and hope.
"Smoke rises again from Mount Doom, and our people are driven from Ithilien, our fair land east of the Anduin. Only a few months ago Osgiliath was attacked, and though we fought bravely, it fell to Mordor. Yet I spoke of hope. On the night before the battle for Osgiliath, I dreamt a strange dream." And then Boromir told about the voice calling from the West and the strange song, as he had told the captains of Gondor.
"At last I begin to understand this riddle," Boromir finished. "I now see before my eyes halflings, which we in Gondor deem little more than legend. And the 'sword that was broken' is carried by a living man -- that is true enough. But what proof do the wise have that this is, in fact, Isildur's Bane?"
"This is the One Ring," Aragorn said at last, "the ring that was cut from Sauron's hand."
"Ah," Boromir answered, "now we come to it: I see before me a simple gold ring as might be bought in one of many shops in Minas Tirith; I trust that elves and dwarves have similar arts. But what proof do we have that this is the One Ring? Perhaps the wise have their reasons, but I do not see --"
"Is your dream not proof enough, Boromir?" Gandalf asked. "If you desire further proof, we will give it to you. The history of the ring was lost for long years, but I have at last managed to discover much of it." Boromir re-settled himself into his seat, preparing himself for yet another long tale. "As Elrond said, the ring fell into the Anduin, and none could find it for many years. But it was indeed found, by two of the river-folk, long after that battle but still very long ago.
"Sméagol and his cousin Déagol found the ring five hundred years ago when they were fishing in a stream that runs into the Anduin. Sméagol killed Déagol when his cousin refused to give him the ring, then returned to his family. But the ring transformed him, forcing him to spy against his kin and find their little secrets, until at last his grandmother sent him away to preserve the family peace. They gave him his other name, Gollum, because of the gurgling sound he made at the back of his throat. After his family abandoned him he wandered aimlessly for some time, finally deciding to hide away from the bright sun, under the Misty Mountains. He lived there for many centuries, on an island deep down in those caves, until at last Bilbo found him. But that is not my tale."
Then Bilbo spoke for some time of how he found the ring. He had been travelling with a company of dwarves on a quest but was separated from his companions as they navigated their way through the caves under the Misty Mountains. There Bilbo put his hand on a ring in the dark and slipped it into his pocket. Yet a ring is neither a light nor a map, and he was still very lost, so he followed the passage as best he could until he came to an ancient lake. This was Gollum's lake, where he had lived for many hundreds of years, eating Orcs and whatever else he could find. When Gollum saw Bilbo standing on the shore he came over in his little boat and padded over to the hobbit. He thought of killing Bilbo right away, but he did not know anything about him so he wasn't sure how strong this stranger was. Instead, he challenged Bilbo to a riddle contest, and after several rounds Bilbo beat him when he asked, "What have I got in my pockets?"
Bilbo had reached his hands into his pockets and found the ring there, having forgotten all about it, and he asked the question more to himself than as a riddle. But seeing Gollum did not know the answer, and unable to think of a better riddle, Bilbo granted him three guesses. When Gollum could not guess, Bilbo demanded that Gollum show him the way out. Gollum said he would, but that he must go back to his island first to get his 'precious'. There Gollum discovered his ring was missing and, guessing at last what Bilbo had in his pocket, raced back to the shore to kill the hobbit. Bilbo slipped the ring on by accident, and since this was a magic ring, he became invisible. Gollum raced by him toward the passage, where he hoped to stop Bilbo's escape, and Bilbo followed him through the tunnels to the way out. Bilbo sneaked past Gollum and out of the caves, where he found his companions.
Then Bilbo told of all his later adventures, both with the Dwarves and after he returned to the Shire, up to his birthday party seventeen years prior. Frodo, in his turn, rose and told how Bilbo had left him the ring and of all his adventures since leaving the Shire. Then he sat back down.
"That is a good tale," one of the Elves said at last, "but still not proof. How came Gollum by the ring? And what of Saruman? He is very learned in ring-lore, according to all accounts? What is his advice?"
"Your questions are bound together, though you do not realize it," Gandalf replied. "Frodo has been pursued across the Shire and the Wilds by the nine Black Riders. Clearly, he carries something of great value to Sauron. Yet it is a ring. What of that? You may have heard the ancient rhyme:
_Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._***
"It is clearly one of the great rings, for it made Bilbo disappear. The whereabouts of the three are known. The bearers of the nine are the nine Black Riders; their owners still wear them. And the seven rings of the Dwarves are all lost or destroyed. So what of Frodo's ring? Could it possibly be the One?
"Saruman thought otherwise and told us so at the last meeting of the wizards. I still remember what he said to me: 'At the worst, Sauron knows that we do not have the ring, and still hopes to find it. Yet his hope will cheat him. The ring is at the bottom of the Sea.'
"I did not know why then, but I did not trust Saruman's advice. I wanted to find Gollum, to question him myself, and at last I did. After Bilbo escaped with the ring Gollum left his cave. He wandered all throughout that land asking anyone he came across for news of Baggins from the Shire. After many years of searching, I found him, and he told me -- though it took some convincing -- how he had found the ring and used it to hide himself in the Misty Mountains."
"Then Gollum left the mountains?" one of the Dwarves asked. "What became of him?"
"When I captured him at last," Gandalf answered, "and after I had asked him all that he would answer, Aragorn took him to the Mirkwood Elves. He is now in their keeping."
"Alas, no!" Legolas cried. Everyone looked at him, astonished. "Now it is my turn to speak, though I wish it was not; but I must deliver the message I was sent to bear. Sméagol, who you call Gollum, has escaped."
Aragorn looked up at the heavens, sighed in frustration, and rested his head on the palm of his hand. "That is evil news indeed. How did this come to happen?"
"Not through lack of watchfulness," Legolas assured him. "Perhaps through over-kindness, though. You yourself told us Sméagol was not beyond hope and, if we could heal him, we were to try. But he would never get any better hidden in dark caves, so we let him out for walks, and he would often climb the trees. One evening he was in a tree, and our guards were attacked by Orcs; Sméagol escaped."
"Would that you had shown such kindness to us," Glóin muttered under his breath.
"That was not my doing," Legolas answered him.
"Perhaps you did not turn the lock, but you were there. I remember you standing behind your father's throne in that great hall of yours when he sent us off."
"Peace, Glóin," Gandalf said. "If all the past injuries of Elves and Dwarves are to be recounted, we will still be sitting here when Sauron knocks at our gates."
Glóin nodded slowly but did not say anything more. At last Gandalf continued. "Now, Galdor, I will answer your other question. What of Saruman? His counsel is for the wizards to hold the ring, no doubt, to send it to Isengard for safe-keeping. But I do not put trust Saruman's counsel any longer.
"At the end of June I was in the Shire, but I felt uneasy; I had been idle too long and needed news of what was happening in the world outside. So I journeyed past the southern borders and met my fellow wizard Radagast. He told me how the Black Riders were abroad, and how Saruman had offered his help if I came to Isengard. I traveled to Bree and asked the inn-keeper to send a message to Frodo, then rode on to Isengard at once.
"But Saruman had changed. His robes, at first white, now shone with many colours whenever he turned, and his eyes gleamed with contempt. He asked me what I knew of the ring, and when I would not give him news of it he imprisoned me on the highest pinnacle of his tower Orthanc. I escaped at last on the back of Gwaihir, one of the great eagles, who flew me to Edoras. There I tamed Shadowfax, the lord of all horses; he bore me to Rivendell through many dangers."
Gandalf looked around at the others. Boromir's jaw was agape, and Frodo looked at the wizard with a new admiration and fear in his eyes. At last he continued. "No, Saruman is no councilor for us. He wants the ring, whether to give to Sauron or to keep for his own evil purposes."
"That is evil news, Gandalf," Elrond said at last. "So Saruman has fallen; yet it is not the first time such things have happened." He sighed. "If he will not help us, then we must make our own plans. Now we come to the question, what to do with the ring. Rivendell could perhaps hide it for a season, but even I cannot last against the might of both Sauron and Saruman forever -- nor would I if I could. My people are leaving Middle-earth, sailing across the sea."
"Then why not take it with us?" asked the elf Glorfindel. "Surely the lady Elbereth will know what to do."
"She would not accept it, nor would her lord Manwë or any of the others," Elrond replied gravely. "The One Ring is the bane of Middle-earth, not of those distant lands."
"Even if she _would_ accept it," Gandalf added, "I would still not send it to her. Sauron is a Maia, and thus he will never die. Oceans change, and someday the land that is across the ocean may be near our own. I would not send the ring far away, to some day in the distant future be found by a servant of Sauron."
"I do not understand all this talk of hiding and destroying," Boromir replied. "My people in Gondor have fought the enemy since long before I was born, for years uncounted; we know his strength. If there are forces greater than ourselves, then why would they not send us a powerful weapon? Could this not be it? The enemy's ring, that we could use to throw him down. With this and the strength of Gondor we could storm the very gates of Mordor, drive him far east of the Anduin for all time. Why not use it?"
"The One Ring was made by Sauron," Elrond replied. "If one of us strong enough to wield it were to use it, he would succeed in overthrowing Sauron but would replace him as Dark Lord of all Middle-earth -- a more horrible fate than the one we now face. He would be a dark lord possessing a mighty Ring of Power. No, the One Ring must be destroyed."
"If the ring must be destroyed, then let us destroy it!" Gimli son of Glóin cried as he raised his axe.
"Peace, Gimli!" Gandalf cried. "Save your axe, for you may soon need it to hew Orcs' necks. The ring cannot be destroyed here. It was made in the very fires of Orodruin, in the heart of Mordor. Only those fires are hot enough to melt it. Your axe, strong though it may be, would not even dent it."
Boromir chuckled under his breath. "Obviously this is some sort of Elvish joke that we Men are unaccustomed to! Assault Mordor? Not with an army of ten thousand could you hope to do this. It would be better to offer the ring to Sauron, for at least then you might have his gratitude."
Aragorn stood up suddenly. "We have one advantage," he said. "I have fought Sauron many long years. I have fought his Black Riders, and I know their number. I understand the Dark Lord's mind. The thought that one of us, having the ring, would seek to destroy it and not use it will never occur to him. There lies our hope. I pray it will be enough."
So it was decided at last: the ring must be destroyed. The council decided to send out nine of their best to accomplish this feat, representing each of the races at the council: Boromir and Aragorn for Men, Gandalf for the Wizards, Legolas for the Elves, Gimli for the Dwarves, and the four hobbits, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. They passed through the wild lands around Rivendell and tried to climb the mountain Caradhras, but the snows defeated them and they nearly froze to death. After beating a way through the snows the wargs attacked, and at last they passed from all sight and help into the underground wasteland of Moria.
~*~
Notes:
* FotR:"A Shadow of the Past"
** FotR:"At the Sign of the Prancing Pony"
*** FotR: "A Shadow of the Past"
3018; Rivendell
----------------------------
Far away in the northwest corner of Middle-earth something happened that had not occurred for quite some time: not one but four hobbits were leaving the Shire. What's more, they left not for a week or two in Bree but quite possibly forever. No hobbit had left the Shire permanently in the last seventeen years.
For seventeen years had passed since that long-remembered September the twenty-second. Bilbo Baggins had given a birthday celebration so extravagant that it had depleted provisions from Buckland to the Towers, not to mention the required supplies sent in from as far away as Dale and the Lonely Mountain. Gandalf was there as well, and that, of course, meant fireworks. The kitchen tent was busy all day long, manned by real dwarf chefs, continually replenishing the huge party with the very best in hobbit cuisine, ale, and fine wine. And then came the speech.
Bilbo invited nearly every hobbit in the Shire to his birthday parthy, but he also singled out his 144 favourite hobbits for the dubious honour of attending his birthday dinner. These invitations were much prized because they only went to Bilbo's most-loved friends and family and because the food at the dinner was rumoured to be even finer than what was available from the kitchen tent. Yet these invitations were a mixed blessing: those at the dinner were sure to hear a speech, and possibly even some of the dreaded poetry.
They were not disappointed on either count. It snowed food and rained drink*, as they say in the Shire, even more so than at other parts of the party field. And Bilbo did, in fact, give a rather long-winded speech. While he spared them poetry he did recount some episodes from his adventures fifty years earlier. The 144 expected this, of course, but they were surprised in many other ways. Bilbo named an heir, his nephew Frodo (much to the chagrin of his Sackville relations), said good night and disappeared in a most unexpected explosion. Those hobbits who still could sit up bolted upright in their seats, several demanded more wine to remedy their shock, and in the ensuing confusion no one ever found what became of Old Bilbo. He was never seen by any hobbit in the Shire again, though Frodo always insisted his uncle still lived.
Bilbo's disappearance seemed old history to most hobbits - discussed in the inns occasionally when a better topic did not present itself - and would have been wholly unimportant except for a gold ring he left Frodo. On Gandalf's advice, Frodo had kept it both secret and safe, never using it to disappear like his uncle had on occasion. Time passed in the Shire, touching all things but Frodo, who at fifty didn't look a day past thirty-three. Then Gandalf returned to the Shire and told Frodo what he had discovered at last from the scrolls buried in Minas Tirith's libraries: the ring had once belonged to the Dark Lord Sauron, and now Sauron was seeking the ring with all his might. For Sauron had, at long last, heard the name "Baggins"; he knew that Frodo had his ring, and if he ever found him he would be angry, angrier and more dangerous than anything Frodo could imagine, and deadly perilous. Even worse, when Sauron took back his ring he would be so powerful that none could hope to resist him, and all Middle-earth would fall under his shadow.
So Frodo left the Shire, accompanied by his gardener and friend Sam Gamgee and his cousins Merry Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. They passed through many dangers and were attacked by the feared Black Riders before they even left the Shire, barely escaping the dreaded Old Forest and at last reaching Bree, one of the few places in the world where hobbits lived in peace with men. It was the centre of Bree-land, an island of populated settlements in the vast wilderness between the Shire and the Misty Mountains. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin stayed the night at an inn in the village, _The Prancing Pony_, and it was there that they met Thorongil, known to the Breelanders as Strider, the man Denethor thought had tried to usurp his Stewardship.
In the North he was called Aragorn and was in fact one of the Dúnedain, the last remnants of the ancient Númenorean kings. He was descended in direct line from Isildur, that king of Gondor and Arnor who had cut Sauron's ring from his hand in the War of the Last Alliance. Yet the years had been hard on Isildur's heirs, and in the wild they often had to forgo the honour and comfort due them to serve their duty. The Rangers, as they were called in Bree, traveled through the wilds and kept the peoples of that area safe. The people in those parts, though, knew almost nothing of their labours and thought them ruffians. So it was that Barliman Butterbur, the owner of _The Prancing Pony_, refused to let Aragorn into the hobbits' room when he asked to see them.
The hobbits ate dinner in their room and then came out into the common area, where the Breelanders begged them for songs and stories of the Shire. Shire-hobbits used to come to Bree on occasion, but in recent years these visitors had grown increasingly rare. Sam was happy just to sip his ale in peace, but Pippin told them story after story, eventually moving to Bilbo's birthday party seventeen years prior. Frodo knew it wouldn't do to have people remember his uncle's disappearance so he reluctantly sang a song Bilbo had once taught him.
_There is an inn, a merry old inn,
Beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
One night to drink his fill.**_
And on and on for twelve verses. At the end of the song Frodo jumped up for emphasis and fell off the table he had been standing on. During his tumble the ring slipped onto his finger, and Frodo disappeared from sight.
He crawled into a corner and removed the ring, then claimed he had simply rolled under a table. No one believed him. Two of the inn's patrons ran off at once, and that night the Black Riders attacked _The Prancing Pony_. They were horrible men, ancient kings who had accepted rings of power from Sauron. A mortal who has a ring of power does not die but merely continues, eventually losing all control over his own life, until he is utterly controlled by the ring. And those nine kings answered to Sauron, so the nine Black Riders did what Sauron ordered them to do. Neither living nor dead, they were feared by all. They were at the battle for Osgiliath when that city fell to Mordor, and Gondor was defeated, not so much by Sauron's large army but by fear. Anyone who saw the Riders became paralyzed with terror and, out of Boromir's and Faramir's company, only four were able to master their fear and escape, including the two brothers.
Aragorn led the hobbits through the wilderness, and they survived many dangers before at least reaching Rivendell. Yet they were not the only ones to journey to Elrond's house. Boromir traveled 110 days before he reached the Last Homely House. It was a difficult journey, and he lost his horse along the way, finishing on foot, but at last he reached Elrond's valley. Only a few days before Elrond had welcomed other visitors as well, for many of the free peoples of Middle-earth, who were threatened with attack, had come to ask Elrond's advice. Glóin had come, the same Glóin who had journeyed with Bilbo to the Lonely Mountain. After his imprisonment at the hands of Thranduil he was in no hurry to seek out the help of any elf, or even a half-elf, but he was the lord of many dwarves now, and he had to think of more than just his personal feelings. When Sauron's emissaries threatened his people, Glóin sought for Rivendell and now waited for the council where Elrond promised to answer all his questions. They were joined by a company of elves from Mirkwood bearing bad news for Gandalf. And Gandalf was there as well.
~*~
It was a cold grey morning the day Boromir finally reached Rivendell. Halfway up the path to Elrond's house he stopped in front of two twin elves, standing side-by-side blocking the path. They wore matching green silk britches and open-collared tunics decorated with fine silver embroidery, and on their feet were small boots made from deerskin. Their long brown hair hung loose down their backs, save the plait tucked behind their right ears. They stood with their arms folded across their chests and inclined their heads slightly as Boromir stopped before them.
"Mae govannen, brannon uin Apanónar," the one on the right said, a smile on his lips. Boromir bowed slowly, a puzzled look on his face.
The one on the right laughed. "You must excuse my brother. I am Elrohir, son of Elrond, and this is my brother Elladan. _Ada_ -- Father -- sent us to greet a visitor from a far-off land, and my brother insults you by speaking in our language instead of yours before we even know your name."
Elladan smiled warmly at the man of Gondor. "I am truly sorry. I just love the look on the face of your kind when we speak Elvish. Allow me to make amends. I said, 'Well met, lord of the Afterborn.' For am I wrong in assuming you are a lord of men?"
Boromir's scowl weakened; he seemed unable to stay angry around these vivacious brothers. "In a manner of speaking," he said at last. "My father, Denethor, is steward of Gondor and rules there until the king should return."
"Ah, Boromir," Elladan replied. "We have had word of your coming." Boromir raised his eyebrow at that, but Elladan hurried on, "Our borders are well-watched by scouts, and none can approach without Ada knowing of them."
"He sent us to welcome a lord from the south, though he did not tell us your name, and to tell you of the council," Elrohir added. "You are not the only visitor Imladris has had of late, and _Ada_ is holding a council in one hour in the central court. If you care to hear something of what is happening in distant lands --"
Boromir held up his hand to silence the elf, a custom apparently understood as well in Rivendell as in Gondor. "Your pardon, I beg, but I have ridden through the night, and if the council is to meet in only one hour --"
"What a poor pair of _Suilannad_* we are! Elladan, he has ridden through the night and will be sitting most of the morning in council, and what do we do? Speak in our own tongue first, keep him on hsi feet, and offer him nothing in the way of food, drink, bed or bath. My lord Boromir, right this way." And the two led him up the path.
They walked for near a quarter-mile through the most beautiful woods Boromir had ever seen until at last he saw a great house in the distance. They walked on, through a courtyard full of statues and branches. As they approached the doorway, Boromir stopped, looking back over his shoulder at an old man smoking a pipe. "Is that -- is that _Gandalf_?" he asked incredulously. After hearing his sister's dream Boromir had never expected to see the wizard again.
Elladan took him by the hand and led him down a wide hall. "I do not know what he is called in your tongue; Mithrandir we call him. 'Grey Wanderer' as you would say it. But come, Boromir! Your bath awaits."
~*~
Boromir leaned back against the porcelain tub, letting the warm water wash away his exhaustion as well as the grime of the road. There were no bubbles -- those Elvish maidens had tried, but Boromir had refused, quite emphatically -- but he couldn't stop them from pouring in some perfume. It _did_ smell nice, he had to admit to himself, but that didn't mean he preferred his bath that way. Yet he was a guest, and a gracious guest accepted what was offered him, so he did not complain.
That thought amused him. Would Borlin son of Arabôr have felt the need to soak in a perfumed bath so as not to offend an elf-lord? Certainly not. Cows had to be milked and crops harvested; a farmer's son never would have had time to travel to distant lands. But he wasn't a farmer's son anymore; he was a _brannon uin Apónonar_, a lord of Men, according to these Elvish twins. What a funny idea! All these years he had simply done his duty as best he could. His birth-father was dead, and if his uncle Denethor was willing to take care of Boromir and his younger brother, then Boromir would do whatever he could to please his uncle, for Faramir's sake at least. He would answer to a new name, train as a soldier, lead troops through Ithilien. Not because he wanted to, but because it was expected of him. Right?
When he and Faramir had first come to Minas Tirith, everything he had done was to protect himself and Faramir. And Mellamir, he realized; Mellamir was so fragile then, and she adored her cousins. If serving in the guard meant that Boromir and Faramir could stay in the city, then Boromir would do it for Mellamir, too. But that was years ago. Mellamir hadn't been in the city for years, and Faramir was nearly grown, capable of taking care of himself. Yet Boromir stayed on, he kept fighting, and now he travelled half-way across Middle-earth for the uncle who had become a father to him. Why had he agreed to come to Rivendell? At first, yes, it was to protect Faramir. To stop that awful fight in Denethor's chambers. But was there maybe something more to it?
He had seen things, terrible things, in Ithilien and Osgiliath. Orcs crossing the mountain passes, evil men marching up from the south, black clouds bellowing from Mount Doom. And then those Nazgûl, horrific beyond description, on their winged terrors, swooping over him and his brother as they defended Osgiliath. How long could Gondor last?
How different the two men he called "father" were! Would Arabôr have come to Rivendell? Yes, he would have loved to see the Elves, but would he have abandoned his family, traveled for months to lands far away and left them to defend themselves? Boromir didn't think so. Yet if Boromir hadn't come to Rivendell, what hope did Gondor have of resisting Mordor for even one more year? And if Gondor fell, then what of Faramir? How long would his brother live if Sauron had his way?
Boromir heard a bell ring somewhere far off in the distance. Now was not the time for idle thought. The council would begin in fifteen minutes; time to leave the bath and get dressed. He sighed, set his wine goblet down on the windowsill next to the tray of fruit and cheese that had been brought to him, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Walking into the adjoining dressing room, he saw that one of the maids had laid out clothes not unlike the twins' outfit, regal enough but entirely too Elvish. He laughed at that; perhaps they could persuade him to soak over-long in a perfumed bath for the sake of courtesy, but he would not represent Gondor looking like an elf-prince. In the corner he found a basket containing his old clothes, waiting to be carried to the wash no doubt, and he pulled them on. Then he combed his hair, donned his cloak, and hurried to the council.
Boromir walked out of the room and down the hall, out into the courtyard where he had earlier seen Gandalf. Gandalf was no longer there, though, and the benches had been replaced by a low table and around twenty chairs arranged in a circle. A good many of them were filled by elves and dwarves, but four still stood empty, including the one immediately to Elrond's right. Boromir stood in front of Elrond's chair and bowed low.
"_Mae govannen_, Master Elrond."
"Well met indeed, Boromir of Gondor," Elrond said, smiling cordially. "You are duly refreshed, I hope?"
"Very much so," Boromir replied, "though your maidens and I have differing ideas on what constitutes suitable dress for a high council."
Elrond smiled. "I imagine so, for they are elf-kind and you are a man. Differences are likely to arise. I hope that is the most serious misunderstanding you encounter here."
Boromir nodded. "Indeed, I count myself lucky to have so accommodating a host."
Elrond nodded. "Thank you, Boromir. But the council is about to begin; please, please, sit." Elrond stood up and extended a hand toward the empty seat next to the Mirkwood elves. Boromir took his seat and waited for the council to start.
No sooner had Elrond sat down again than Gandalf entered the courtyard, accompanied by two of the strangest creatures Boromir had ever seen. They were short, shorter even than the Dwarves that occasionally passed through Gondor on their way to the iron quarries to the south. They had curly hair on their heads and their feet but no beards to speak of, and they wore breeches, shirts, and waistcoats as fine as Boromir's back in Minas Tirith, yet, oddly enough, no shoes. The one on Gandalf's right looked elderly, perhaps seventy years old, and he walked with the air of a gentleman, but the one to his left was much younger, hardly old enough to join the guard had he been a youth of Gondor. Everyone else, however, treated him with the greatest respect, as if he were a venerated hero of greatest renown.
"Come, Frodo, sit at my right hand." Elrond was now standing again, and he beckoned to the younger one. When all had taken their seats, Elrond continued. "Welcome, strangers from distant lands. Here at my right hand is Frodo, son of Drogo, who has traveled from the Shire through greatest danger. Here also is Glóin, lord of Erebor, and Legolas of Mirkwood." Boromir looked at the dwarf and elf Elrond had indicated, noting how they stared coldly at each other with barely concealed loathing. Boromir, though, had no time to consider them further. "And here," Elrond continued, "is Boromir of Gondor, who arrived in the early hours of the morning." After a few more similar introductions, Elrond opened the council.
"Welcome, foes of Mordor. I did not summon you, yet you were called; do not believe that simple chance brought you together. You will learn that the troubles you face are but your part of our common fate. So you may better understand what your people face, we will recount in brief the first fall of the Dark Lord Sauron and the loss of the One Ring. I will start this tale, though others may finish it, and many forgotten parts remain untold."
Boromir sighed. This would be a long story indeed if all the long years since that ancient battle were to be retold. And the first part at least was to be told by this Elrond, an Elf in behaviour even if he was half-man, and Elves were not known for their brevity in story telling. Boromir settled himself back into his chair.
"I remember that day well," Elrond began, "when Elf and Man stood together before the Black Gate --"
"Pardon me, Master Elrond," Frodo interrupted, "but -- you remember? I thought Sauron fell over a thousand years ago!"
Elrond nodded. "Over three thousand years ago, as men count them, before this age of the world began. Yet I was there. I was a standard-bearer for Gil-galad, and with him I rode to the Black Gate of Mordor. Of old, Sauron fiegned friendship with the Elves and gave us mighty gifts, yet in time he revealed himself." Then Elrond told how Sauron had driven the Elves from Eregion, how he had built Barad-dûr in Mordor, and of the fall of Númenor.
Boromir sat up at the mention of that name. This was history he could relate to; Denethor had told it to him often enough. Sauron, cut off from his forces, was captured by the king and brought back to the island of Númenor. Yet those men had underestimated Sauron, and his advice seemed good to the king and his councilors. Sauron deceived the king, and on his advice, the Númenoreans set sail to the lands they were forbidden to approach. Boromir didn't really understand all that, where they had sailed and who had forbidden them to do so -- few men living today did -- but he knew all too well what happened next.
A great tidal wave had come out of the west, and Númenor was swallowed by the sea. All of those noble men died, except for one family: Elendil and his sons Anárion and Isildur sailed to Middle-earth where they established Arnor in the North and Gondor in the South. They thought that Sauron had drowned in that flood, but one so great as he cannot be killed that simply. No, Sauron also escaped, and he returned to Barad-dûr. From there he waged war against both Elves and Men, and they formed an alliance to oppose him.
"We fought there," Elrond droned on, "and for a time we were victorious, and the Orcs fled back to Mordor; but then Sauron himself rode out." He stopped, considering his words carefully, then continued. "I saw that last battle on the slopes of Orodruin. I saw Gil-galad die, and Elendil as well, his sword Narsil broken beneath him; yet Sauron was at last overthrown when Isildur cut the ring from Sauron's hand using the shards of his father's sword.
"He kept it for his own. The ring should have been destroyed that day: I led Isildur to the cracks of Orodruin, where Sauron's ring was forged, but Isildur refused to cast it into the pit. It was a momento of his father's death, he said, and he carried it for many years. Then he was killed by Orcs at the Gladden Fields."
"So that is what became of Isildur!" Boromir said, clearly excited. "If such a tale was ever told in Gondor, it was forgotten long ago."
"The tidings came only to the North," Elrond answered. "Only three survived the Battle of the Gladden Fields, and they brought news of Isildur's death to his only surviving son, who had stayed behind in Rivendell. Much has happened since that fateful day. The northern kingdom failed long ago, its people and kings scattered, yet some of that old line still survive. Gondor, too, is not as great as it once was." _Lies_, Boromir thought to himself, but he said nothing, for the moment at least. "The line of kings was broken," Elrond continued, "and the White Tree withered. Gondor relaxed its watch on Mordor. Evil things have grown strong there for many years now.
"So it has been for many lives of Men. Yet Gondor still fights on, defying Mordor as best she can." Elrond sighed. "And so my part of this tale draws to a close." Finally! Boromir thought, and he guessed fromm the looks on the faces around him that he wasn't the only one to think thus. "When Isildur died at Gladden Fields the ring slipped into the Anduin, and for a time it was forgotten by all. But no more. The One has been found. Frodo, bring forth the ring."
Frodo walked to the table, then looked back at Gandalf. The wizard nodded and, reluctantly, Frodo lifted a chain from around his neck and laid it on the table for all to see, then returned to his seat. All stared at the simple gold band on the silver chain, and no one said anything at first.
Boromir leaned forward in his chair, waiting for someone else to speak. At last, he whispered, almost to himself, "Isildur's Bane." Then he stood and addressed Elrond. "Give me leave, Master Elrond, to speak of Gondor, for it is from that land that I come. Gondor is under attack, true, but do not believe that her strength dwells only in the past. By our valour the West is kept free; yet valour needs strength, and hope.
"Smoke rises again from Mount Doom, and our people are driven from Ithilien, our fair land east of the Anduin. Only a few months ago Osgiliath was attacked, and though we fought bravely, it fell to Mordor. Yet I spoke of hope. On the night before the battle for Osgiliath, I dreamt a strange dream." And then Boromir told about the voice calling from the West and the strange song, as he had told the captains of Gondor.
"At last I begin to understand this riddle," Boromir finished. "I now see before my eyes halflings, which we in Gondor deem little more than legend. And the 'sword that was broken' is carried by a living man -- that is true enough. But what proof do the wise have that this is, in fact, Isildur's Bane?"
"This is the One Ring," Aragorn said at last, "the ring that was cut from Sauron's hand."
"Ah," Boromir answered, "now we come to it: I see before me a simple gold ring as might be bought in one of many shops in Minas Tirith; I trust that elves and dwarves have similar arts. But what proof do we have that this is the One Ring? Perhaps the wise have their reasons, but I do not see --"
"Is your dream not proof enough, Boromir?" Gandalf asked. "If you desire further proof, we will give it to you. The history of the ring was lost for long years, but I have at last managed to discover much of it." Boromir re-settled himself into his seat, preparing himself for yet another long tale. "As Elrond said, the ring fell into the Anduin, and none could find it for many years. But it was indeed found, by two of the river-folk, long after that battle but still very long ago.
"Sméagol and his cousin Déagol found the ring five hundred years ago when they were fishing in a stream that runs into the Anduin. Sméagol killed Déagol when his cousin refused to give him the ring, then returned to his family. But the ring transformed him, forcing him to spy against his kin and find their little secrets, until at last his grandmother sent him away to preserve the family peace. They gave him his other name, Gollum, because of the gurgling sound he made at the back of his throat. After his family abandoned him he wandered aimlessly for some time, finally deciding to hide away from the bright sun, under the Misty Mountains. He lived there for many centuries, on an island deep down in those caves, until at last Bilbo found him. But that is not my tale."
Then Bilbo spoke for some time of how he found the ring. He had been travelling with a company of dwarves on a quest but was separated from his companions as they navigated their way through the caves under the Misty Mountains. There Bilbo put his hand on a ring in the dark and slipped it into his pocket. Yet a ring is neither a light nor a map, and he was still very lost, so he followed the passage as best he could until he came to an ancient lake. This was Gollum's lake, where he had lived for many hundreds of years, eating Orcs and whatever else he could find. When Gollum saw Bilbo standing on the shore he came over in his little boat and padded over to the hobbit. He thought of killing Bilbo right away, but he did not know anything about him so he wasn't sure how strong this stranger was. Instead, he challenged Bilbo to a riddle contest, and after several rounds Bilbo beat him when he asked, "What have I got in my pockets?"
Bilbo had reached his hands into his pockets and found the ring there, having forgotten all about it, and he asked the question more to himself than as a riddle. But seeing Gollum did not know the answer, and unable to think of a better riddle, Bilbo granted him three guesses. When Gollum could not guess, Bilbo demanded that Gollum show him the way out. Gollum said he would, but that he must go back to his island first to get his 'precious'. There Gollum discovered his ring was missing and, guessing at last what Bilbo had in his pocket, raced back to the shore to kill the hobbit. Bilbo slipped the ring on by accident, and since this was a magic ring, he became invisible. Gollum raced by him toward the passage, where he hoped to stop Bilbo's escape, and Bilbo followed him through the tunnels to the way out. Bilbo sneaked past Gollum and out of the caves, where he found his companions.
Then Bilbo told of all his later adventures, both with the Dwarves and after he returned to the Shire, up to his birthday party seventeen years prior. Frodo, in his turn, rose and told how Bilbo had left him the ring and of all his adventures since leaving the Shire. Then he sat back down.
"That is a good tale," one of the Elves said at last, "but still not proof. How came Gollum by the ring? And what of Saruman? He is very learned in ring-lore, according to all accounts? What is his advice?"
"Your questions are bound together, though you do not realize it," Gandalf replied. "Frodo has been pursued across the Shire and the Wilds by the nine Black Riders. Clearly, he carries something of great value to Sauron. Yet it is a ring. What of that? You may have heard the ancient rhyme:
_Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all. One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie._***
"It is clearly one of the great rings, for it made Bilbo disappear. The whereabouts of the three are known. The bearers of the nine are the nine Black Riders; their owners still wear them. And the seven rings of the Dwarves are all lost or destroyed. So what of Frodo's ring? Could it possibly be the One?
"Saruman thought otherwise and told us so at the last meeting of the wizards. I still remember what he said to me: 'At the worst, Sauron knows that we do not have the ring, and still hopes to find it. Yet his hope will cheat him. The ring is at the bottom of the Sea.'
"I did not know why then, but I did not trust Saruman's advice. I wanted to find Gollum, to question him myself, and at last I did. After Bilbo escaped with the ring Gollum left his cave. He wandered all throughout that land asking anyone he came across for news of Baggins from the Shire. After many years of searching, I found him, and he told me -- though it took some convincing -- how he had found the ring and used it to hide himself in the Misty Mountains."
"Then Gollum left the mountains?" one of the Dwarves asked. "What became of him?"
"When I captured him at last," Gandalf answered, "and after I had asked him all that he would answer, Aragorn took him to the Mirkwood Elves. He is now in their keeping."
"Alas, no!" Legolas cried. Everyone looked at him, astonished. "Now it is my turn to speak, though I wish it was not; but I must deliver the message I was sent to bear. Sméagol, who you call Gollum, has escaped."
Aragorn looked up at the heavens, sighed in frustration, and rested his head on the palm of his hand. "That is evil news indeed. How did this come to happen?"
"Not through lack of watchfulness," Legolas assured him. "Perhaps through over-kindness, though. You yourself told us Sméagol was not beyond hope and, if we could heal him, we were to try. But he would never get any better hidden in dark caves, so we let him out for walks, and he would often climb the trees. One evening he was in a tree, and our guards were attacked by Orcs; Sméagol escaped."
"Would that you had shown such kindness to us," Glóin muttered under his breath.
"That was not my doing," Legolas answered him.
"Perhaps you did not turn the lock, but you were there. I remember you standing behind your father's throne in that great hall of yours when he sent us off."
"Peace, Glóin," Gandalf said. "If all the past injuries of Elves and Dwarves are to be recounted, we will still be sitting here when Sauron knocks at our gates."
Glóin nodded slowly but did not say anything more. At last Gandalf continued. "Now, Galdor, I will answer your other question. What of Saruman? His counsel is for the wizards to hold the ring, no doubt, to send it to Isengard for safe-keeping. But I do not put trust Saruman's counsel any longer.
"At the end of June I was in the Shire, but I felt uneasy; I had been idle too long and needed news of what was happening in the world outside. So I journeyed past the southern borders and met my fellow wizard Radagast. He told me how the Black Riders were abroad, and how Saruman had offered his help if I came to Isengard. I traveled to Bree and asked the inn-keeper to send a message to Frodo, then rode on to Isengard at once.
"But Saruman had changed. His robes, at first white, now shone with many colours whenever he turned, and his eyes gleamed with contempt. He asked me what I knew of the ring, and when I would not give him news of it he imprisoned me on the highest pinnacle of his tower Orthanc. I escaped at last on the back of Gwaihir, one of the great eagles, who flew me to Edoras. There I tamed Shadowfax, the lord of all horses; he bore me to Rivendell through many dangers."
Gandalf looked around at the others. Boromir's jaw was agape, and Frodo looked at the wizard with a new admiration and fear in his eyes. At last he continued. "No, Saruman is no councilor for us. He wants the ring, whether to give to Sauron or to keep for his own evil purposes."
"That is evil news, Gandalf," Elrond said at last. "So Saruman has fallen; yet it is not the first time such things have happened." He sighed. "If he will not help us, then we must make our own plans. Now we come to the question, what to do with the ring. Rivendell could perhaps hide it for a season, but even I cannot last against the might of both Sauron and Saruman forever -- nor would I if I could. My people are leaving Middle-earth, sailing across the sea."
"Then why not take it with us?" asked the elf Glorfindel. "Surely the lady Elbereth will know what to do."
"She would not accept it, nor would her lord Manwë or any of the others," Elrond replied gravely. "The One Ring is the bane of Middle-earth, not of those distant lands."
"Even if she _would_ accept it," Gandalf added, "I would still not send it to her. Sauron is a Maia, and thus he will never die. Oceans change, and someday the land that is across the ocean may be near our own. I would not send the ring far away, to some day in the distant future be found by a servant of Sauron."
"I do not understand all this talk of hiding and destroying," Boromir replied. "My people in Gondor have fought the enemy since long before I was born, for years uncounted; we know his strength. If there are forces greater than ourselves, then why would they not send us a powerful weapon? Could this not be it? The enemy's ring, that we could use to throw him down. With this and the strength of Gondor we could storm the very gates of Mordor, drive him far east of the Anduin for all time. Why not use it?"
"The One Ring was made by Sauron," Elrond replied. "If one of us strong enough to wield it were to use it, he would succeed in overthrowing Sauron but would replace him as Dark Lord of all Middle-earth -- a more horrible fate than the one we now face. He would be a dark lord possessing a mighty Ring of Power. No, the One Ring must be destroyed."
"If the ring must be destroyed, then let us destroy it!" Gimli son of Glóin cried as he raised his axe.
"Peace, Gimli!" Gandalf cried. "Save your axe, for you may soon need it to hew Orcs' necks. The ring cannot be destroyed here. It was made in the very fires of Orodruin, in the heart of Mordor. Only those fires are hot enough to melt it. Your axe, strong though it may be, would not even dent it."
Boromir chuckled under his breath. "Obviously this is some sort of Elvish joke that we Men are unaccustomed to! Assault Mordor? Not with an army of ten thousand could you hope to do this. It would be better to offer the ring to Sauron, for at least then you might have his gratitude."
Aragorn stood up suddenly. "We have one advantage," he said. "I have fought Sauron many long years. I have fought his Black Riders, and I know their number. I understand the Dark Lord's mind. The thought that one of us, having the ring, would seek to destroy it and not use it will never occur to him. There lies our hope. I pray it will be enough."
So it was decided at last: the ring must be destroyed. The council decided to send out nine of their best to accomplish this feat, representing each of the races at the council: Boromir and Aragorn for Men, Gandalf for the Wizards, Legolas for the Elves, Gimli for the Dwarves, and the four hobbits, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. They passed through the wild lands around Rivendell and tried to climb the mountain Caradhras, but the snows defeated them and they nearly froze to death. After beating a way through the snows the wargs attacked, and at last they passed from all sight and help into the underground wasteland of Moria.
~*~
Notes:
* FotR:"A Shadow of the Past"
** FotR:"At the Sign of the Prancing Pony"
*** FotR: "A Shadow of the Past"