Author's note: Thanks again for all the neat reviews…And of course, I beg you to add more to the list. It's awesome to read what people think of my work. Thanks, too, for your patience. I'm trying to update this thing regularly, but schoolwork sometimes makes that a bit*ch to do. Sorry about that, but it's crunch time. Anyway, keep checking, cause I'll be posting more soon. I get a lot more writing done on the weekends.
Where the Shadows Lie
A Tale Of The Ring
"I do not trust myself in this, and I refused this thing, even as a freely given gift. You are strong and in some matters govern yourself, Denethor; yet if you had received this thing, it would have overthrown you. Were it buried beneath the roots of Mindolluin, still it would burn your mind away, as the darkness grows, and the yet worse things follow that soon shall come upon us."
Chapter Eighteen: Counsel
Gandalf sat at the head of the long black table, leaning back with perfect composure in a great chair that must have once belonged to Sauron. Its back rose darkly over the wizard's head, a beautiful but black woodworking that looked to be of elven make. Its presence there was certainly the product of a tragic tale, but the chair's origins were of little interest to those filing into the Great Hall of the dark tower of Barad-dûr. To the leaders of the Alliance, the Bearers of the Three, and the Fellowship of the Ring, the most important single object in the hall was Gandalf the White, formerly Gray, and perhaps soon to be Black. Their eyes focused on him with trepidation as they entered the hall and grouped uneasily at the foot of the table in silence. All hesitated before approaching Gandalf, and the fear was plain in their eyes.
The wizard sat calmly, his hands folded before him with fingers interlocked. Upon the ring finger of each hand, glittering brightly and almost touching, were Narya and the One.
"Please," he said softly, gesturing a graceful invitation with his right hand, upon which none could miss the glare of the Ring. "Be seated."
Heads snapped around as Galadriel and Elrond stepped forward as one in a clear show of support for the Maia. Elrond stopped at the foot of the dark wood table, facing the wizard, while the Lady of Lothlórien continued forward to the seat at Gandalf's right hand. A short moment afterwards, Aragorn shook himself free of Boromir's support and moved to the wizard's left. After only a slight hesitation – and without so much as a glance in his father's direction – the Captain of Gondor followed his king.
Legolas came quickly after him, with Gimli close behind, elf and dwarf, side by side in fellowship that even the Alliance could not understand. Frodo, too, stepped forward and moved beside Galadriel. He was followed by the remaining of the Fellowship hobbits, Merry first and then Pippin, who became the first of those who had watched from the base of Barad-dûr to come forward. Seeing this, Faramir glanced at Halbarad, and together they joined the others, with Faramir next to Pippin and the Ranger by Gimli's side. With an audible and skeptical breath, Denethor followed his younger son, and the King of Rohan, Théoden, trailed the Steward of Gondor even as Éomer, his nephew, moved to Halbarad's side. He was followed by Thranduil, after the elven king met the eyes of Celeborn, who took the seat at Elrond's right, facing Arwen across the table. Saradoc took the seat between Arwen and Théoden, thus completing the last major council of the Third Age.
But not one spoke a word during the process of choosing their seats. All stood there, as well, unwilling to accept the seats they stood behind until Aragorn, with not a glance at the others, lowered himself into his chair. He was still clearly bruised and sore, but like Elrond and Galadriel, had definitely been visited by Elven healers in the hour before the new council had been joined. One by one, the others followed suit, and Gandalf waited until all had settled in before speaking.
"I thank you for coming," he said softly. "I realize what a risk you are taking." His eyes swept them all, and Faramir felt a chill shoot down his spine. Mithrandir, as he had always known the wizard, had never been an evil man, nor did he seem so now. The same kindness resided in his bright eyes, and the warm glow of white radiating from him remained. He seemed so little different…was it possible that the Ring, an inherently evil object, could not affect one such as he? Could the Gray Wanderer truly remain the same wise and caring soul while bearing the One? Hope, though, no matter how tempting, did not rise within the Steward's son. He knew that this could only be a farce, or the Ring's affect could merely have been delayed, but he wished desperately that it might not be so.
"Sauron has been destroyed," Gandalf continued in a colder voice, now, his eyes strong as mithril and without an inch of give. "The Nine no longer exist, nor do the rings they once bore. Those remaining of the Seven have also perished, and the Three have been returned. The threat of Sauron has been taken from Middle-Earth, but not without cost. I have taken the One Ring."
A chill raced down Faramir's spine; barely had they a chance to swallow the implications of their victory before Denethor spat with contempt, "Not without cost?" he echoed angrily. "We have succeeded in the best way possible! If you had done this thing in the very beginning, thousands of lives would have been saved! If you had dared to claim the Ring when its existence was discovered, this war would never have happened!"
Gandalf's eyes grew colder than ice, but it was Elrond's voice that cut through Denethor's righteous anger.
"It is not so simple as that, Lord Denethor," the half-elven said with exquisite calm from opposite the wizard. "The taking of the Ring is not so light a task, nor is it without risks."
"Risks?" the Steward snarled. "It seems to me – as I pointed out in Council long ago – that the advantages far outweigh the risks of which you speak!"
"Father!" This time it was Boromir whose disgusted tone sliced through Denethor's anger, and Faramir saw his father blink in surprise as his heir, his pride and joy, gainsaid him. Faramir, too, felt the same shock, for Boromir had always been their father's son, alike with him in mind and ideas. Now, though, he appeared to have changed. Sitting by Aragorn's side, Boromir seemed to have matured. He continued, "Claiming the Ring is not so small a thing. To tear it from the Dark Lord's grasp required incredible strength, and to take it in the face of Sauron…" Boromir shuddered, and was silent for a long moment as they all remembered.
"Lord Gandalf was right to council that we should not use the Ring," he finally said. "I know that now. Those of you who have not seen Sauron's power cannot comprehend its horrors… For facing them, Gandalf deserves our gratitude, not our scorn. We owe him more than we can ever repay."
Throughout Boromir's speech, Gandalf had remained silent. Now, though, his cold eyes focused on Denethor, his gaze freezing the other into ice. However, he did not speak. He only looked at the Steward of Gondor, and the silence stretched into eternity; Faramir could feel the fear building in the Great Hall as the kind and true wizard let exhibited a hint of the power he commanded. Finally, Strider – Aragorn – broke the stillness coldly as Denethor rolled his eyes in disbelief of his own son's words.
"The One Ring is not a simple trinket," he said, the calm control of his anger emphasizing his feelings all the more. "Nor is it only a tool to be used. Even the greatest beings of Middle-Earth feared to touch it. Do you realize what that means? Lord Elrond has known its power since it was taken from Sauron, and still he counseled to destroy it. The Lady Galadriel was offered the Ring, and she refused, knowing what it would do. And Lord Gandalf himself only reached for the Ring when he knew that there was no other way! Do not belittle his sacrifice by underestimating the Ring."
"Aragorn is right," Elrond said before Denethor could reply, and the mention of the Ranger's true name brought a fearful gleam to the Steward's eyes. "But what is done is done. We cannot change that now. This council has been formed not to discuss the past, but to decide the future."
"I believe that depends on Lord Gandalf's intentions," Thranduil responded after a moment, his voice colored with true but cautious respect for the wizard – and perhaps a little, well-hidden, fear.
Before speaking, Gandalf's eyes ought out the Ring. When he replied, his voice was strong, yet somewhat strained. "I have no desire to become another Dark Lord," he said softly. "But the Ring…" he trailed off, tearing his gaze away from the One. Gandalf hesitated for a moment, wavering like a rudderless ship until he raised Narya to touch his lips briefly and seemed to draw strength from her. "The Ring has other ideas. But my conviction remains the same: the Ring must be destroyed."
His dark voice filled the Hall with foreboding, and Faramir felt another, colder, chill run down his spine. Could strength of will truly defeat the One? Isildur had not even claimed the Ring, and yet it had overcome him. Frodo had used it, without claiming it, and yet had still fallen to temptation in the end. Could Gandalf, a being not of their world, resist the lure of the Ring simply because he was not one of them? Or would that very fact doom him, and in doing so, destroy them all? Gandalf had called himself a Maia, yet had also acknowledged that Sauron had once been of the same kind… And if one could fall, another might soon follow.
"Can you do it?" the question came without doubt from Galadriel's sweet voice, and though Faramir had never seen the legendary elven "witch" with his own eyes, he found himself captivated by her strength and her unassuming beauty. She sat at Gandalf's right hand in a clear show of support for him and wore what Faramir guessed had to be Nenya of the Three, yet she still had the courage to ask the question they all yearned to raise.
"I do not know," the wizard answered truthfully. "But I cannot relinquish the Ring, any more than Sauron ever would have been able to. Even if I could, the temptation of the Ring is too strong… Therefore, this must fall to me."
"All things are not evil in the beginning," Galadriel said softly. "You said yourself that even Sauron was not so. If we act quickly enough, perhaps you can be free of the Ring."
"I fear, Galadriel, that quickness will not come easily," Gandalf replied heavily. "There are things I must before I dare destroy the Ring. Much of Sauron still exists in this world."
Elrond's voice grew dark. "You will use the Ring to destroy what he has wrought."
"I must."
"Gandalf, you cannot," Aragorn spoke once more, his voice pleading with the wizard, and Faramir sensed an old friendship between the two. "Remember what you told us – that the Ring would control you through your desire to do good! Surely this is exactly what you meant. There must be another way."
The wizard shook his head slowly. "I wish there was, Aragorn," he said slowly. "For you may very well be right. But Sauron's evil must be eradicated, else Middle-Earth will forever know the taint of his darkness."
"But the Nine are destroyed," Frodo spoke up softly. "Are not all his other creations as well?"
"Nay, Frodo," Gandalf said gently. "When I claimed the Ring and destroyed Sauron, I claimed all that was his. I control his creatures now, but in the first moment, my strength was not great enough to destroy them all. The creatures here in Barad-dûr, yes, I eliminated, but there are many others left in this world. They may not attack now, but if left alone, they will multiply and one day be a threat again."
"And even if we fight them now, we could never find them all," Elrond's voice was heavy as he agreed, and the Lord of Rivendell's shoulders slumped as he admitted the truth.
Gandalf nodded. "The only way to do so is to use the Ring," he confirmed. "And then to destroy it."
Faramir felt fear, and he saw it mirrored on many other faces. Glancing at his brother and the others of the Fellowship, he saw outright terror, for they had each encountered Sauron, had faced his power, and they knew what Gandalf could become. Yet none of them argued; not one spoke a word. They merely focused on the wizard, watching him with fear and with awe, and Faramir had to wonder what had passed upon the battlements in the hours before. Had Gandalf threatened them? Was this truly a farce – or did they simply know the wizard better than he, and were willing to trust him because of that?
Not knowing the answer to that vital question formed a block of ice in the pit of Faramir's stomach. He found himself asking quietly, "Can that be done?"
"It must be." Gandalf said no more, but his eyes met Faramir's, and the young man saw the conflict within them.
"You realize, Gandalf, where this may end." Galadriel's voice was even quieter than before, coming barely above a whisper. Her tone did not make it a question, but nor was it an accusation.
He turned to face her and laid his left hand on top of the Elf-Lady's right. To their surprise, Galadriel did not pull away, for she, alone besides Elrond, did not seem to fear the new Lord of the Rings. The Maia replied, "I realize, old friend, far more than you know."
