THE ONE

Council

"When will they come, Gandalf, old friend?" the sky wept a filthy rain, bitter of taste and warm of touch. It had been nearly a month since the retreat from the Black gates, and the hall was crowded. Dwarves and elves, men princes and kings all packed into the room all arrayed for battle, all under a pall of hopelessness.

Gandalf and Aragorn sat side by side staring out of the window.

"I do not know, and I fear the worst. Lothlorien has been silent, and Elladan and Elrohir are late by three long weeks." The old wizard sighed. "No activity from Mordor- None! Yet Lorien and Imladris fail on their promises… I fear the worst…"

Silence fell between them, silence like the sluggish murmur throughout the room. Aragorn stared out into the rain, feeling frustrated and hopeless. He wanted to beat on the glass, he wanted to howl at the dark smudge that was Mordor, scream at the merciless eye to get it over with.

And so, locked in his own thoughts, it was natural that what his eyes were saw was ignored until a flicker of lightning re awoke his mind. He grabbed Gandalf's white clad arm.

"Gandalf! Look! There, in the dim light, do my eyes betray me, or is that a column?" he strained to see what moved in the darkness.
The door to the hall thundered open, and Legolas, closely shadowed by Gimli ran in.

"Lord Aragorn! Lord Aragorn!" The fair elf was dripping wet, dirt smudged his face, and his golden hair fell limp across his sodden shoulders. Gimli shook out his saturated beard like a woolly coated cur
"Upon the horizon and in the shadows, coming our way- I saw elf helms, and the fair heads of a company from Lothlorien! I ventured outside to check but I am correct… they struggle across the mire this fell rain has created… I have not seen elf columns limp in such a way… I fear some devilry…"

Aragorn was on his feet and thundering towards the door, followed by the elf and the dwarf, and Gandalf with his staff in hand. A handful of others followed, Thuandril, princes and Dwarf lords.

They made their slippery way across the flagstone courtyard to the heavy gates
"Open the gates!" Aragorn bellowed over the deluge, hair already plastered to his face, his heart full of fear. "There be friends in the darkness!" Never seen elf columns limp in such a way? Maybe the answer to the delay was at hand. His swallowed his fear, scolding his mind for conjuring up terrifying images and possibilities, he was borrowing worry.

The oak and iron gates boomed open, and minute passed before a white, staggering palfrey lurched through the porthole.

As slender as a willow wand, Galadriel slid off her horse and leaned uncharacteristically against her largely ornamental saddlebow. There was a horrified mutter as the rest of the Lorien elves staggered in, tattered, bleeding and exhausted. Some fell to the stones, others wept in relief. They were an alarming few in number.
Aragorn hurried to the white queen's side, steadying her, his heart ice as he saw her tremble, as he beheld her haggard face and dark rimmed eyes
"Help my people, lord Aragorn, for all you see is what remains of Lothlorien…"

***

They were in her small, private chamber. The beautiful elf queen was seated, a cup of fragrant tea in her hand, dried, but no less careworn.

Lord Aragorn waited on by the shaken Pippin in his livery of Gondor sat across from her. Around the room was seated Eomer with Merry at his side, Thuandril and his clear eyed son, Gimli to represent the dwarves, eyes full of melancholy wonder, Faramir hand in hand with Eowyn and Gandalf the white, smoking silently in a corner.

Galadriel seemed like a tall arum lily bettered in hailstorm, she waited, straight back for the questioning that hung as an inevitable cloud. No one seemed to want to break the silence, no one brave enough to ask what had happened to the elves- why she sat here alone.

Gandalf, however, slowly began the questioning, after smoking his pipe almost down.

"I'm sure you know why we're all gathered here" He said gently to her. Her ice clear eyes fell upon him "Obviously some horrible tragedy has struck… We need to know…" He was gentle, yet firm enough to get his point across. She laid down her cup with a very quite chink of china, and straitened her gown.
"Lorien is- was, under siege." She began, her voice shimmering like crystal in the air "Not long after you left, Mithrandir, a host so large it surrounded the golden wood descended upon us." Her hands knitted in her lap "The power of the wood was not enough. Not anymore." She looked around the room like an imperial queen, yet tragic, a melody in a minor key of a queen from long ago. "He knows who has the three, Gandalf Greyheim. He fell upon the forest like wrath and his aim was clear. It is no longer a secret." She held up what seemed to everyone, a naked hand "he knows where she is, he knows she lies upon this hand. He threw away orc upon orc- monster and grotesque imaginings to get to me. Celeborn bade me flee. He ordered me away with the last of or people even as the orc blade spilled his life blood. I took the host and fled. I did it for Middle Earth and the memory of my dead husband." She shook her fair head. "I still do not fathom how the magics of my realm were defeated…"
She stood now, tall and beautiful, like the moon in her first zenith, slender and pure. She cast aside her white remanent and all those who beheld her gasped. For she was clothed in armour fair, silvery mithril with leaves of gold upon the cuirass, she stood brave.
"I will not run again. I will fight, and so will what is left of my people." She assured her tone left no doubt.
"Your offer fills me with strength, lady." Aragorn assured, but Gimli had hurried forward and knelt at her feet
"Oh lady fair! To see you drawn such, and standing like the battle Queens of old, like the fiery sun herself, I weep…" And they saw this was true, silvery tears were in his beard "Let me, if you will forgive my brashness, let me serve you as your squire- to wait upon you, now that there is a void in your life. I shall never fill the gap of the great Celeborn, not do I wish to. Serving you would bring me some hope and joy in this darkened time…"
Galadriel smiled the first smile since the siege on her home.

"I would be honoured, stout Gimli. Your offer brings the first smile in many weeks to my lips, and for such a gift, I would give you whatever you wish."
Gimli took her fair hand and kissed it, then took his place behind her "you honour me." Was all he could murmur in his emotion.

"Fair Lady, I would not draw this meeting out longer, but a question gnaws my mind…" Faramir tentively put forth.

"Ask away, young Faramir." She graciously inclined to him, then seated herself again.

"I would ask you if you know anything of the forces from Rivendell. Lord Aragorn informs us they have also been aware of tidings, and the sons of Elrond are long overdue to return."
Her face faded back to sadness from the brief shine of joy that Gimli had sparked.

"I fear the worst sadly. I fear Imladris suffers the same fate as Lothlorien. Ah, fair Lorien!" She sighed "I keep regular commune with Lord Elrond, yet it has been some time since I last heard from him. Nay, gentle Faramir, I fear the worst."

There was a little light talk, and some heavy about the war, about families, about the possible delays from Rivendell, but the meeting ended on a fell and worrisome air.

***

Many days past, and still the silence from both Mordor and Rivendell prevailed. Only the foresight of the Lorien elves to bring and make Lembas at Gondor saved many from starving- and the constant rain provided water as they waited.

However, on the morning five days from when Galadriel and her party had stumbled in, the white Queen gave mixed news.
She was sitting with the Kings, Princes and lords at a small dining table, declining to eat, yet her eyes lost in thought. All of a sudden, her eyes came up and she stood abruptly

"Rivendell comes! I hear them- oh, this news is mixed in my heart!" And she would speak no more of it.

***


They awaited the arrival at the huge oaken gates again, apprehensive as the pall of the last arrival hovered above their heads.

In rode the twin sons of Elrond, both battered, beaten and careworn. A curious, light sort of carriage followed, and Arwen sat at the reigns. Aragorn hurried up to her, eyes searching the column for her father.

"Arwen, Undomeil!" He ran to her side, and looked up at her. There was the stark resemblance to Galadriel… but, like a knife to his heart, it took shape in the same horrified sadness, the tired, battle weary look. Her face was smudged and her eyes red "Arwen, Arwen! Your face speaks of tears- what has befallen? Where is your father?"
She put her fair hands to her face. Galadriel came to the other side of the carriage, her hands clenched at her sides, and he felt the presence of the Elladan and Elrohir behind him.
"Behold my beloved, behold. I fear every moment for my father…." She stepped lightly off the carriage and opened the light awning, designed to keep off wind and rain. Galadriel closed her eyes. Aragorn's fingernails bit into his palms, and he heard Gandalf mutter an oath. Under the awning, laid out on a white bed like interior, Elrond's haggard and drawn face was coated with a thin sheen of sweat. The light coverlet could not hide the thick bandaging about his chest. His breaths rose shallowly. Aragorn's throat tightened. Elrond had been a father to him, had sacrificed his daughter for him. He had been a teacher and a friend.

"Get him inside." The king ordered, his voice ragged and croaking, as if not been used for decades. The men paused looking at one and other, unsure. "NOW!" The King roared.

He slumped against the side of the carriage as the troops, under the twins' instruction, took the elf lord into the castle. Arwen throwing a look at Aragorn, trying to make him understand wither her eyes why she followed her father, and not greeted him Aragorn nodded a silent understanding, and she left.
'What are we going to do Gandalf?" He asked, clenching his trembling hands together "Elrond… I never even dreamed that… Any more then Galadriel."
"We will do the best we can, Lord Aragorn. He is not dead yet." Gandalf soothed, yet he also had a glum turn to his voice. Aragorn looked up at him
"I feel as if I am holding sand in my fist. No matter how tight I hold it, it slips away. Elrond- the greatest healer and elf lord! It… It is pain, Gandalf. Pain. He was- IS- a father to me…"
"Then go with his sons and daughter. The hands of a King are the hands of a healer. Do what you can."

***

The room was warmed by a fire, and the threat of Mordor seemed far off. The wound was ghastly. He was frankly surprised the elf lord had made it this far, let alone survived it in the first place.
"You know what he holds, do you not, brother mine?" Elrohir asked, breaking Aragorn out of the horrified staring that the bloodied wound
"Vilya, of air? Is that what you speak of?" Aragorn asked, mentally running over herbs and healing ways. The twin nodded.

"Had he not... I daren't think- but had he not, maybe this would not have befallen…"
"Speak plain or not at all!" Aragorn snapped, then at once regretted the outburst "I am sorry... I..."

"There is no need to apologise, we understand." Elladan spoke for his brother, in the curious one conversation between two way that Aragorn, in his long years in splendid Imladris had become accustomed.

"The orcs battled long and hard- our people repelled them at great loss. We do not know how they managed to get in, in the end- Father always told us Imladris would never fall unless Sauron hurled all his might against it. This was a mighty force, but no where near the number that father expected... of course we were complacent…" Elrohir sat down and sighed
"They knew where to come, through the maze like building, they just knew where we were. Father managed to get Arwen to the stables in time, we fought hard…" Elladan closed his eyes, the sound of steel on steel and the harsh grunts and screams of orcs in his ears. Elrohir took up again.
"He was unarmed, Aragorn. They were hiding in the stables- We heard Arwen scream,…" His voice trembled in pain remembered "Can you fathom the horror of seeing you blood father on the floor, seemingly dead. Seeing orcs charging towards your sister…"

"We had already been through seeing our Mother... how the orcs had twisted and tortured her! Alas! I feared they had taken our father…"
"They died nonetheless… we avenged our parents both in strokes and blood. Then we bade Arwen care for our father, mercy of the Valar that he still lived..."
"We rallied the rest of the elves and fled."
"We feared the whole journey we would lose Ada."
They fell silent, tale told. Unusually emotional for the normally impassive twins. Aragorn swallowed hard, this fit in too closely with Galadriel's tale. He shook the cobwebs and warnings from his mind and turned to the gravely wounded lord.
"Elrohir- could you send for hot water? Elladan, I'll need some dried Vessuali flowers- You know what they look like, please send for them…."
He rolled up his sleeves, not quite believing.

***

***

He was terrible to behold. Your skin felt stripped from your body and your soul laid bare. Voluminous cloaks of night and red eyes that burned balefully from under the hood- a dark iron crown like helm lay upon his head. Sam trembled, his hunger and thirst forgotten.

Days and nights were all one. Frodo was dipping in and out of feverish ravings and Gollum was no where to be seen. Indeed, since the Nazgul had snatched them all, Sam had not laid eyes upon the withered villain.
Now and then Sauron himself came to them, as he did now, never saying a word, just watching, casting dread like a choking mist. Occasionally, Frodo would be himself enough to attack, clawing for the one, screeching. Those moments had been most painful for Sam. His master was mad- the reaving of the one had twisted his mind.

But now, mercifully Frodo lay upon the darkened stones, his head in Sam's lap, mumbling, eyes staring blankly.

"Master…?" An Orc came up behind Sauron, and Sam looked away from his master's face covertly, wondering why the orc spoke in common tongue. "The party from Rivendell have arrived at Gondor, Master… My lord, my liege. Reports say that the master of that elven house still lives, despite hopes of the contrary."
"I know." The voice was cold as death "The rings still speak to me."
"Shall we attack, master? All the rats are in the trap…"
Sauron held up one finger.
"Not yet, prepare the troops, but hold them. I want all the forces in Gondor to be ready. I want every ring barer and king to be aware. And I have one more, small errand…."
The orc bowed his way out the door.

The dark lord turned slowly, and fixed Sam with his horrible, burning, rendering gaze. Sam tried to look away, but the eyes locked him where he was. He started to whimper and tried desperately to escape the look. Just when endurance had almost been driven to the brink of madness, Sauron turned his attention to Frodo

"Little Halfling, you almost brought me to the brink of destruction- and yet also returned my ring- Such a deed shall not go un punished, or unrewarded."
Sam was helpless to move was the terrible gauntleted hand of Sauron took Frodo's limp and piteous looking hand and produced a ring- rather unlike the one that had burdened the master for the duration of this horrible, horrible quest.

"My Nazgul king was slain by the forces of Rohan, the horse lords. They shall not go unpunished for such a heinous act… But here little hobbit… You wanted the one? You shall have one of the nine…."
Sam's howls of anguish echoed through Barad-dur.

Okay, so I got a LITTLE carried away with it, it was SLIGHTLY longer then I intended. But it's so much FUN!