This is the same author as the one publishing this story on AO3; I'm just crosslisting it here - there's no plagarism or anything.
The news reached Shiros through a dream in the midst of a terrible summer storm. The wind pitched itself over and over as if trying to drown in the rain it wrought with reckless abandon. The trees groaned as their roots were torn from their home beneath the soil, their appendages ripped from their woody bodies. The rivers swelled above their banks and flooded the valley. But she awoke naught because of the storm's temper but because of the dream. Perhaps, dream was not the right word to describe the vision she saw in the unconscious. Perhaps, a surreal, terribly beautiful nightmare was a more accurate description.
There had been an eye and a ring, both beholden with terrible yet alluring power. The Eye and the Ring. They sang a siren's song of death and destruction, but Shiros was not the intended recipient. Before what could only be presumed as the holder of the Ring was revealed past black curls, she awoke in time with a nearby lightning strike. The air was hot and static, and it seemed to crackle and sizzle long after the light had retreated back to the sky. The rain seemed to compete for her attention and came down faster and harder. The raindrops themselves were thick and heavy. Such storms were often common in the northeastern forests of Rhûn.
The dream was of a troubling sort, the kind that once it had been cast in the mind's eyes, refuses to leave. Its contents found Shiros moved – and troubled – greatly. She shifted on the rocky cave floor and tried to follow the rhythmic pattern of the storm outside (for there always exists some form of order to even the most chaotic of things), but the dream prevailed. The Eye seemed to burn her even across their great distance, and the golden ring gleamed like the greatest of prizes. She stood then, sleep forsaken, and packed the meager belongings that brought comfort and protection. The storm would not last, and when it ceased, she knew where to go.
From one end of Middle-Earth to the other, Shiros would need to travel.
The air was crisp and chilled as representatives from all corners of the Middle-Earth and of all Free Folk gathered for the council as had never been seen in the Third Age. Dwarves, Elves, Men, Hobbits, and even an Istari wizard had temporarily laid truces and heeded the call to Rivendell. Though peace there was, each race sat well with its brethren, and interactions were kept minimal as to not stir the passions that lied beneath thin layers of restraint. The elves turned their noses up at the dwarves, who grumbled under their beards. The Men crossed their arms and eyed them all suspiciously. Even the wizard, Gandalf, was unsettled. Only the hobbits, whose race was all but isolated and sheltered from the others with the exception of one exceptional Bilbo Baggins, sat with an unclouded and unstirred mind. All quieted when the master of the Rivendell, Lord Elrond, stood. His voice, clear as the crystal rivers that flowed through the sanctuary, washed over the courtyard.
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You must unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." Lord Elrond beckoned the young hobbit to the pedestal at the epicenter of the courtyard. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."
Legs shaking but with unwavering courage, Frodo approached the stone table and set down the golden ring. The Ring. Immediately, those of weak heart and spirit were enamored. Entranced. The spell of the Ring was only temporarily interrupted by the muted pattering of soft leather boots on the stone pathway. Lord Elrond eyed the late newcomer coolly but welcomed them to the only empty seat. The newcomer paused, placed their hand over their left pectoral, and bent to the high elf. After rising, the newcomer quickly walked – slinked to be more accurate – to the chair opposing Frodo and adjacent to the most honorable of the Gondorian representatives, Boromir, son of the steward. Boromir tried to quell a twitch when the newcomer sat gracefully, emanating a sense of foreignness. Though the newcomer was mostly obscured from head to foot in grimy dark clothes, the skin around the eyes was exposed by an opening in the fabric. The color was darker than that of anyone he had seen in the West before. It was more similar to Gondor's enemies from the East and Southlands of Rhûn, Haradwraith, and Khand. The eyes were brown that seemed to burn black depending on the tilt of their head. He almost thought it was a trick of the shadows, but the color did not fade when the newcomer moved. The newcomer left him deeply unsettled.
Clearing his throat, Boromir drew the council's attention to himself. "In a dream, I saw the eastern sky draw dark, but in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's bane is found...' Isildur's bane."
Unbeknownst to him, Boromir had risen from his seat during his speech and reached for the Ring. A warm gloved hand on his arm failed to deter him, and the newcomer nearly rose to jerk him back more fiercely when two voices clashed in the air. Lord Elrond's call to the Gondorian was lost to Gandalf's chant.
"One ring to rule them all. One ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them!" Gandalf cried in Black Speech. The mere words caused the sky to darken and the hearts of the present to fall heavy with dread. The newcomer's hand was snatched hastily away from Boromir in a wince, and the other hand, which was wrapped tightly around the chair arm, almost snapped the wood. The elves hissed, and the dwarves groaned. Frodo's eyes fluttered closed with the rapid onset of a pounding in his head. But as soon as it started, Gandalf quietened, and the sky brightened once more. Boromir retreated to his chair instantly.
Seldom was Lord Elrond moved to anger or fear, but he felt both as he addressed the gray wizard. "Never before has anyone uttered words of that tongue here in Imladris."
"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil."
Boromir disagreed. "It is a gift!" he proclaimed. "To the foes of Mordor. Why not use the Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy, let us use it against him."
The newcomer stood to challenge Boromir, and they rivaled his height. If one were to interpret the finger pointed at his chair, he could assume it was a command to sit, although they did not yet speak. He glared heatedly at the newcomer, but neither could begin a verbal fight before another member of the Council spoke.
"You cannot wield it." The dire words were spoken calmly by the dark-haired man sitting to Lord Elrond's right. Most of the world knew him as Strider. A select few knew him by a more intimate name. "None of us can. The One Ring answers no other master."
Boromir turned his scathing questions upon him. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"
Oh, but how quickly civil conversation decays when insult is received by not only the recipient but by his loyal allies. One of the fairest elves present rose on behalf of Strider. "This is no mere Ranger," he defended passionately. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."
Boromir was struck by simultaneous awe and disbelief, and he was not alone. Frodo, many of the
dwarves, and the rest of the Gondorian party were similarly stunned. The newcomer's face was too covered to tell, but it is likely those blackish eyes were just a bit wider than before.
"Aragorn! This…" he stuttered, "is Isildur's heir?"
"And heir to the throne of Gondor," Legolas finished.
Having his intimate title spoken right in public and seeming very little happy about it, Aragorn waved his hand at the elf and spoke in his tongue. "Sit down, Legolas." The elf did as requested, but his hands were tightly clenched by his sides.
Boromir's face tightened and pinched as he looked at the dark-haired Dúnedan, insulted and vexed. Who wouldn't when implied to be an imposter, an impediment to a ruler that had seemingly forsaken them?
"Gondor has no king," he spat disdainfully, finally walking back to his seat and slumping into the wood.
"Aragorn is right," Gandalf declared, and the tension grew stifling. "We cannot use it."
"You have only one choice," Lord Elrond silenced any thoughts of protests definitively. "The Ring must be destroyed."
A red-haired dwarf answered the call, one who you may know as Gimli. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Waving an axe high above his stout head, he brought it down onto the Ring with a yell. But it was the axe that shattered, and pieces of metal, stone, and wood flew outwards. The newcomer was forced to dodge a particularly sharp piece of shrapnel that embedded itself inches from where their head had been resting. Gimli himself was flung backwards from the force of the clash. The newcomer grabbed the metal, wrenching it loose from the chair, and threw it to the ground. The metallic clatter filled the silent air.
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess." They looked to the elf lord. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."
"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir contested, having quickly grown exasperated and weary. Blonde strands fell around his face, which he held propped on a few fingers, making him far more haggard than his age warranted. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this; it is folly."
It was a reasonable concern, but reason amidst strained relations can appear like a spark in the presence of oil. The suppressed bitterness and tension could no longer be contained. Legolas sprung from his chair and rebuked him, proclaiming the man deaf and dumb in words less frank. But his heated reaffirmation of Lord Elrond's words prompted a retort from Gimli, from which the conversation rapidly deteriorated into heated arguments about personal grievances and historic injuries. The newcomer attempted to appease the situation between one fair-haired elf and a Gondorian representative, who, with one misplaced touch on their shoulder, found himself with his arm awkwardly bent and painfully twisted. Of course, this caused his fellow brethren to defend him and force the newcomer away. The elf sided with the newcomer and pushed back, initiating more debates that became progressively physical. All but the hobbit, Aragorn, and Elrond were engaged in one way or another so much so that none heard Frodo at first.
With each shout of "I will take it," Frodo's conviction grew greater and his voice louder while the crowd became quieter until he had garnered all attention. The newcomer relinquished hold of a Gondorian's tunic to assume a more respectable position.
"I will take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo repeated once more. His eyes burned with determination, and his voice had held steady. However, under the watchful and critical stares of so many, he faltered. "Now, I do not know the way."
"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf said, walking to Frodo and clapping him lightly on the shoulder, "as long as it's yours to bear."
Aragorn rose from his chair and approached. "If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He kneeled, the rightful king of Gondor, before the smallest of peoples. "You have my sword."
Soon Legolas the Elf offered his bow and Gimli the Dwarf his axe. Boromir pledged Gondor, his country, and his soul. In the chaos of another small hobbit bursting forth from a bush, no one saw the deep conversation spoken entirely through an exchange of looks between Lord Elrond and the late arrival. The newcomer sighed softly at his confirmation; there had been a distant hope for a different answer.
"Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me," Samwise Gamgee cried out. He ran to Frodo's side without a moment's hesitation, looking modestly bashful at having given himself away in such a grand fashion.
Lord Elrond broke away from the newcomer and glanced at the hobbit, equally amused and disapproving – "No, indeed it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council meeting and you are not" – but it seemed Sam was not the only infiltrator.
"Wait! We're coming too!" a small voice yelled. Two more hobbits, young Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, came scurrying out from behind some stone pillars on the other side of the courtyard and joined the group as well. Lord Elrond looked astounded at their appearance.
"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us," Merry said.
"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing," Pippin added.
Merry raised an eyebrow at his relative. "Well, that rules you out, Pip."
Pippin looked ready to slap his cousin on the shoulder when the company became aware of the approaching newcomer. The newcomer stopped only a distance away and turned to face Lord Elrond again. Elrond lifted his chin in the direction of the Ring-Bearer. Stalling would not change their fate. The newcomer reluctantly went forth to kneel before Frodo, hand pressed over their left pectoral like how they had done before, head bowed ever so slightly.
Then the newcomer spoke. They had heard faint tendrils of it earlier, but it had been swallowed up during the heated arguments, and so it was a different experience to hear it clearly and in several strung-together sentences. It was equally similar and dissimilar to Sindarin – even and tonal but breathier with sibilance. Its syllables were longer and wider than Khazdul and much too soft to be Orcish. It was entirely foreign. The hobbits' eyes widened at the new sounds, the same reaction given when they'd first heard Elvish. Gimli grunted in triumphant surprise, half expecting the newcomer to speak Elvish like the pompous princeling beside him. Aulë forbid, he'd have to travel with another pointed-ear stargazer.
Legolas found himself in a rather unusual situation. Seldom were elves as confused and unfamiliar with the world's wonders as Men and dwarves, yet there he stood with them. It was unnerving in a way all new things are but not daunting to the princeling – it inspired intrigue and a desire to learn. It did not frighten him, rather it fascinated him, but he heard his father's warnings echoing in his mind and restrained his curiosity…for now. Boromir, still slighted by the newcomer's prior engagement, made his wariness painfully obvious. He did not trust what he did not know, and his hands twitched by his side. Aragorn was a healthy mixture of curiosity and caution. The accent he vaguely believed to be from somewhere exceeding Rhovanion to the east, but he had only travelled past those borders once.
And not only was the accent unknown, but the voice was undeniably feminine. When she straightened and lifted her head, she looked at Frodo. He nearly stepped back from the intensity of her stare. Gandalf alone could understand and cleared his throat to translate, but she spoke for herself. The words, while accented, were spoken in Westron and rang clearly through the courtyard. "I humbly request to join you on your journey.
"I will take all the help I can get. Thank you," Frodo responded, overwhelmed. She nodded, and Frodo guessed the movement under the scarf was a slow smile.
She took a place next to Legolas, who surpassed her by no more than half a head's worth. He studied her discretely, awed by the findings of a closer inspection. The richness of her skin and the black-brown of her eyes were not common in the West. A rarity? Or perhaps hailing from the East or South? Lord Elrond drew him from his pondering.
"Ten companions. And you shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."
