The Laundry of the Fellowship

Ah yes. The long awaited next chapter. What's it been, like a year? Sorry. Got a life (which includes the new TTT extended DVD… yay).  As I wrote this, I realized that it is taking on a somewhat more serious tone. It's what happens when you leave a fic that long. But I rather like it anyway.

Chapter 3 – The Forming of a Fellowship (of sorts)

The council of Elrond is something that every Lord of the Rings fan wishes they could see. A few of them wish they had fiery red hair and a giant bust and the authority to interrupt it and demand to accompany the Fellowship on the journey.

I was not one of them.

Let me elaborate.

First: we sat. Then: we sat some more. Somewhere in between were some boring comments about the weather and how Gondor was being besieged, and yadda, yadda, yadda. Well, it's just not as exciting when you're sitting there having the same facts described over and over for the people with hearing problems and/or memory retention problems. Example:

"Gondor is under attack. We cannot hold out forever."

Flash forward two minutes.

"Gondor is besieged by evil. We cannot hold out forever."

And then, once more for the new arrival.

"Gondor will fall eventually. We cannot hold out forever."

Ooh. And:

"Minas Tirith's falling down, falling down, falling down! Minas Tirith's falling down, for the hundredth time you losers!"

Oh wait. That was me. In my head. Wishing I were anywhere else.

I think Aragorn suspected what was going through my head, as he sent a stern glare my way. I would have stuck out my tongue if I'd thought I could get away with it. Plus, the only guy on my side (Lord Elrond, who was really not that much on my side as he'd almost forgotten who I was) would get to see the completely immature side of me. In chess, we would call that a bad move. Hell, that would be a bad move in any game.

I ignored him, chewing on my fingernails boredly. I was hoping he might find this habit of mine disgusting and leave me be, but then I noticed his own chewed nails. Well. It was pretty much like the medieval ages.

And of course, just as I'm getting ready to jump up and scream obscenities at the stalling diplomats about how the weather is always freaking fair in Rivendell lately, so why don't we get started already, they arrived.

The elves, of course. The Mirkwood elves.

No. It was not love at first sight. Who do you think I am, anyway?

But there was something about the hardened elves, each with a bow over their shoulder and the look of hardened battle veterans about them. They almost made me want to run outside and pick up a bow, ready for battle. Well, despite the fact that I couldn't use one. Their hardened features gave off a constant readiness; and I knew then that this was what every society in the world had tried to perfect at one time.

"We were delayed on our way out of Mirkwood," one said quietly to Elrond. "Another spider attack."

The lord inclined his head in clear understanding. It was then that I realized this one, unremarkable elf out of them all was, in fact, the prince of Mirkwood. Legolas.

I swallowed as they sat down. I had the ill fortune to be seated next to one of the Elven emissaries. It had a very formidable effect on me, and I was suddenly acutely aware of my lack of muscles, lack of coordination – and lack of anything that would count as skill in this world.

I was useless.

But the most profound impact was yet to come.

"We arrive!"

The deep voice called past the door, and I heard the clear sound of booted feet enter the pavilion. Bearded figures, somewhat shorter than the others, came in easily, a proud air accompanying them. I realized that they did not need to step lightly like the quicksilver elves. Here were the dwarves.

Again, I found myself moved around to make room for them to all sit together. For, obviously, a dwarf could never sit by an elf and naturally, the elves disliked the dwarves. And to fit it all together, the men disliked the aloof elves and the dwarves disliked the way the humans looked at them crossways…

I sighed, resigned, as I was jostled around even more. It had suddenly become clear to me why I was really here. I was a buffer between races. Because, obviously, no one could find a single, short, stringy haired human girl to be haughty, intimidating, or even extremely unpleasant.

Lord Elrond seemed to notice that I'd noticed. He nodded slightly so that I understood.

I was important, in my own way. It was just not a very open or obtrusive way.

At least, I consoled myself, I was sitting next to a living legend. Gimli had ended up next to me, I found. While I was, of course, somewhat fearful that his axe (with its blade on the ground) would slip onto my foot, he seemed quite personable. He reminded me somewhat of a family friend who had played grandfather to me for a bit.

I was not usually nervous about meeting people. In fact, it was usually the other way around. But my hands shook and my mouth went dry before I could force myself to tap him on the shoulder gently. Gimli turned around, hands still on the haft of his axe. He nodded at me in a friendly manner.

"Gimli," he said simply, sticking out his hand. I shook it – he had a hearty grip, but he was careful not to squeeze my poor hand too hard.

"Courtney," I replied with a smile.

No one else had asked me my name.

"Are you a fugitive?" he asked gently. "From Gondor?"

My face froze. I had to work very hard not to rub my temples in embarrassment. For certain the name was not common here. I should have probably made up something more… ah… Middle-Earthian. Ardan? I didn't know what term would be used. But the name was probably not the problem in determining who I was. It was, more likely, my still-scrubby appearance.

He seemed to realize that he had made a mistake. "Ah. My fault. Haven't been around humans long." I took the excuse for what it was, but I knew I didn't look wonderful. I had just the look of a recently renewed human being, as I had been traveling in the wilderness for quite some time before Rivendell.

"It's fine," I said resignedly. "To tell the truth, I haven't been around anything long. You are, in fact, the first dwarf I have ever met."

He nodded again. "Then we're on equal footing."

We both sat down again as the true council began.

Elrond had risen from his seat, and silence instantly followed. The whole room respected him, at least.

He spoke in a clear, far-reaching voice: "The situation is dire. I am sure you have all heard rumors of some sort. The truth is such: Sauron's forces have been gathering in greater numbers. Gondor is under siege. And… the one ring has been found."

Chaos erupted once more. Gimli, beside me, grunted as though unimpressed. I had a feeling that someone had filled him in, at the very least, as to the situation. Similarly, Legolas (or at least, I thought it was him – my bad memory for faces was probably the only legendary thing about me) seemed nonplussed by the supposed shock.

"Well then," I whispered. "Isn't that interesting. They never mentioned that part."

Gimli seemed to have heard something of what I'd said. He looked over at me. "You don't seem too surprised yourself. I think I have misjudged your importance somewhat if you are high enough to have heard the truth."

I blinked. Well. Wasn't that flattering… after a fashion.

"I… ah… well, I happened to be a tag-along. In the group that brought it, you understand. I'm not really involved in any other way…" Except that I hope I'm going with you when the group makes its pledge, as I know it will.

His stare seemed to penetrate me. I had to force myself not to shrink backward at such an intense, calculating look. Gimli turned back, however, as the room was calmed by Gandalf.

Gandalf.

I hadn't met Gandalf. When had he arrived?

I stared at the bearded man. I knew, despite my general lack of knowledge concerning Middle Earth (or Arda, as my friend usually insists on) that he was not simply a man. Gandalf was, in fact, a Maiar and older than anything I could ever dream of. The amazing amount of names he had accumulated ran through my mind. Gandalf was Mithrandir, Incanus, Greyhame, Stormcrow… and Olorin.

The last would get me into deeper trouble than anything I could possibly imagine on my own. I knew it hadn't been used on Arda very much… if at all.

Presently, I tried to listen to what he was saying.

"…the world is in danger, and if the races do not come together as one, all hope is lost. Everything hangs in the balance – and yet you argue about who was supposed to tell whom about what. We are beyond this."

I listened to his voice, trying to listen for the amazing age behind it. It was no use – Gandalf the Grey simply sounded like an old man. But while his voice may not have had the power it should have, the words were persuasive. Age did bring charisma with it, apparently.

I cast a sideways look at Frodo. He had been here almost as long as I, though he hadn't had to sit there for the duration of the weather report.

The hobbit was watching the council in calm silence.

I shivered as his hand went absently to pull out the ring around his neck and finger it. The ring that I suddenly found so bright, so golden and beautiful…

I wrenched my eyes away forcefully. I could not begin thinking like that. I knew what would happen. I had the gift of forewarning. The path of temptation would lead to suffering for all.

"…the ring is dangerous…"

I licked my lips. I was trying to listen, but the incredible urge to look again whispered at me insidiously. It couldn't hurt, could it? It was just a ring…

I refused the voice in my head. I knew if I looked again that I would be lost.

I focused my attention on Gandalf once more, hoping to lose myself in interest.

Ah. We were at the good part.

Gimli stirred beside me, handling his axe impatiently. Boromir stood. I hadn't recognized him before, obviously. But I knew he was supposed to say something along these lines. "The ring is something to be used," he insisted. "It is something we must use. For the good of all! Am I supposed to simply abandon the dying – and let those that are dead have died for nothing at all? It is something we are obligated to use against the enemy. And yet I hear talk of its destruction!"

His argument was much more convincing than it had sounded in the book.

"Sit, Boromir of Gondor," Gandalf requested quietly. "I would not have conflict at this council. You say we should use the ring – yet how do you propose we do so? The ones powerful enough to use it cannot touch it or they will be lost forever. We would have a new dark lord in place of the old. Is that what you wish?"

Boromir took a deep breath. He seemed to be trying to restrain himself. But it was useless. The ring was a weapon – and he only understood one kind of weapon.

"There must be a way. We can't destroy it without making sure."

Gandalf drew himself up. "I am a sure person. This ring is evil – it calls to those around it. It will corrupt us and eat us from the inside out should we attempt to harness it."

I licked my lips again. They were quite dry right now, though they had not been before.

Legolas, on the other side of the council, seemed troubled by the argument. I knew then that he could see disagreement in the future on all accounts dealing with Gondor. And especially with the Ring of Power.

I looked to my side at Gimli to gauge his reaction.

He was looking at me.

"And what do you think about this Ring," he asked me in a soft tone. I had to work to keep myself from trembling in amazement. No one had bothered to ask me. As well they shouldn't have – I was no judge of such a matter.

And… it called to me…

"No," I breathed, suddenly understanding. "There is no way to use it."

The dwarf smiled as though he had found out a secret. Or perhaps he had simply found something that was not a secret – but that no one cared about in particular.

"I for one," he said suddenly and very loudly. "Believe that Tharkun has the right of it." I realized in surprise that Frodo had already risen and placed the ring on the pedestal, looking pained as he did so to let it go.

Gimli rose to his feet, to the surprise of all in the council – and brought down his axe upon the ring. Shouts of alarm and cheers from the dwarves created a chorus of disturbing sound that resounded in my ears. But nothing so much as the crack of metal.

Gimli stumbled back in awe – the head of his axe had been split fully into two halves.

Well. I could have told him that would happen.

But then again, not everyone had an objective point of view on the future.

"Well," he managed. Gandalf frowned.

"You understand what we must do. But the ring cannot be destroyed by the weapons of man… or dwarves or elves or any race that walks this earth. It can only be destroyed if it is cast into the fires of Mount Doom where it was made. Only there can it be unmade."

Boromir's eyes narrowed as though he were watching a particularly stupid heroine in a scary movie. I knew what he was thinking – had I not read the books, I would have been thinking the exact same thing.

It was suicide.

Worse, it was placing the ring directly where it wanted to be.

"And who will take it?"

The son of the steward of Gondor was suddenly heeded much more. His soft question carried through the room as though there were no other noise.

Legolas frowned from across the room. I knew then that he had seen this part in particular coming.

The elvish diplomats rose from their seats, and the dwarves countered their arguments, and the men made a complete muck of things subsequently, because they had decided that they had the only right of things. Gandalf tried, without much success, to mediate things back into calm. Aragorn joined him, arguing that the arguments had to stop. If it hadn't been so serious a matter, I might have found it terribly ironic. I looked around, wondering what I might see.

Legolas was seated.

Gimli was seated.

And Frodo… was looking particularly troubled and alone. His hand clenched and unclenched reflexively as he stared at the ring. But he looked down in surprise at it, and it stopped immediately.

"I… I'll take it," the hobbit said.

No one heard him but the three seated people in the room. Legolas raised an eyebrow, apparently sizing him up. Gimli beside me gave an approving nod. I… pitied him.

Now that the ring was not in sight, I detested it. I hated it. I hated the way it called to me and I would not pick it up again were the world urging me on. But even as I thought this, the temptation returned. How much harder must it have been for he, who had already carried it so very far…

"I will take it!" he yelled.

That had not been in the books either.

I sighed. The arguments quieted. The whole room was now looking at Frodo.

"I do not want it. I wish to go home," he stated simply. "But I will take it."

Aragorn, the ranger I had come to know as a xenophobic menace, stared at him; a good dose of pity and an even greater bit of respect mingled in his eyes. Gandalf was suddenly looking much, much older – almost as old as the age I knew he was.

"Then I will come with you," Aragorn stated. Somehow, though, he felt he needed something more; something to bind the peoples in the room together, to shame them into working together. "If, by my life or death I can serve you… I shall." He knelt before the hobbit, and I suddenly felt an irrational surge of pride. I liked to think I had influenced this friendly streak in him.

Aragorn drew his sword and laid it at Frodo's feet.

"You have my sword."

The room was silent. Legolas, who had not spoken at all, contrary to what I knew to be common truth among fans everywhere (and among Tolkien himself), suddenly stood and walked to the hobbit, his humble expression belying a warrior's grace as he, too, knelt.

"You have my bow."

Gimli shot one appraising look at me before rising himself. "Well. Let it not be said that the dwarves are anything but brave. This danger is not one I would miss for the world." He, too knelt, which was a somewhat difficult feat for a dwarf in full armor (for ceremonial armor was just as functional as the real thing). "You have my axe, young hobbit."

Boromir surveyed the room with a growing look of despair on his face. I understood. His only perceived hope of saving his people was going to be destroyed.

And they all expected him to help.

Nevertheless, the man stood and strode to the party of kneeling people. "I will aid you. If need be, I will follow you into the fire of the mountain itself." He drew his sword and put it down reverently.

Gandalf sighed. "I do wish this burden had not been placed upon you, Frodo Baggins. But I submit to you whatever my help is worth."

And, to my great astonishment, and to the amazement of all others (especially Lord Elrond), he, too, knelt before Frodo.

The poor hobbit was looking somewhat frazzled. Until:

"Me too! I'm coming too!"

"And me!"

"And I, Pippin."

"Yes, and you too."

The other three hobbits ran in from their hiding place behind one of the numerous trees that adorned the House. Sam, in particular, wore a stubborn expression.

"You won't be leaving without us. Just you try it and you'll see what hobbits are really made of."

There was a moment of murmuring among the more stern-faced attendees, but Gandalf accepted them into the circle. I saw, just for a moment, a fleeting tug at the corners of Lord Elrond's mouth. I knew, then, that he had known of their presence the whole time.

The Fellowship as I knew it was complete. It was supposed to end there.

"Well now," remarked Gandalf. He was going to say the words, I knew it. "We are a Fellowship of nine. Nine to combat the nine black riders of Mordor. But we will have an advantage over them."

Elrond seemed to be playing along with his game; I was not quite sure where it was going yet. I didn't dare to hope.

"Yes?" the Lord asked, amused. "And what advantage is that?"

Gandalf stood. And he turned around. And looked at me.

"We will have a cook, of course."

I could have cried.

But I didn't.

Instead, I swallowed and rose from my own seat, walking almost mechanically toward Frodo.

"Well now," I said shakily. "You've got my skillet, I suppose."

Frodo smiled.

"The most important weapon to a hobbit, you know."

I didn't care if anyone else cared. That comment meant the world to me.