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Chapter Seven: Oops
Time passed strangely in Rivendell. There was seemingly no need for timekeeping devices of any sort—clocks, watches, and hourglasses were absent from every room, often making me late for meals and other such appointments. It was because of this reason that I constantly scurried from my room to the hall near the dining room to see whether or not the Council had begun (the Dwarves said it was due to begin almost directly after lunch). Whether or not they were early or late in the commencement of the meeting I know not, but it seemed to me that it took a rather long time for the voices in the dining room to diminish. On my third or fourth trip, silence greeted my ears and I quietly stepped into the room to find it virtually empty, save for a few servants removing the remaining crockery. Smiling in slight relief, I slipped back into the hall.
Unfortunately, the Dwarves had not been entirely specific as to the location of the Council and I found myself wandering rather aimlessly through the halls. I rounded a corner, thinking I had heard voices down the hall when I promptly smacked into something and fell to the floor. I struggled to right myself, expecting to find myself face to face with a misplaced table or chair. I was rather surprised to find two hobbits, one of which was sprawled on the ground.
"Oh!" I exclaimed, scrambling to help the little man up. "I'm so sorry…I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking." The one I had sent to the ground stood up and brushed off the front of his coat. His curled locks were a shade darker than the other's, a reddish highlight occasionally catching the light.
"Oh, its no' a problem," he replied, straightening the collar of his coat as he spoke. "We've been banged up a good piece before an' it wasn't anythin' to worry aboot, was it Merry? In fact—"
"Pippin!" his companion hissed, interrupting what would evidently turn into a story. "We're going to be late!" My ears perked up at his last few words
"You're going to the Council?" I asked eagerly.
"No," replied the one who had just spoken.
"Yes," Pippin answered simultaneously. They looked at each other.
"It was his idea!" they both claimed, pointing to the other.
"It was not," Pippin explained before the other could get a word in. "We were simply overlooked. Small technicality, really. Merry insisted that our presence was necessary."
"I never said—" the one called Merry interrupted, glaring at his friend.
"Wait—just slow down a minute," I said. Both looked at me expectantly, identical expressions of guilt pasted upon their faces. "I wasn't invited either—would you mind if I came along?"
"Oh not at all, milady!" Pippin exclaimed, visibly relieved. Merry nodded in agreement. "We found just the perfect place too—no one will suspect a thin'."
"Great. Thank you," I replied, smiling at the duo.
"Now, we're no' tha' far away," Merry explained, lowering his voice slightly. "We'll go down this hallway for a piece an' then make two rights an' a left." I nodded. "Come on, then." I fell into step behind them, my bare feet padding noiselessly on the smooth stone floors.
We were completely silent as we stole down a series of hallways, save for Pippin occasionally whispering "Are you sure you know where you're going?" and Merry replying "Yes, Pippin!" in a slightly irritated hiss. Finally, we stepped out into an open area covered by a stone overhang supported by several sculpted pillars. Merry and Pippin took their places behind the pillars and motioned for me to do so as well. Once I had situated myself, I had a clear view of the Council in front of us. They were seated in chairs placed in a semi-circle on a level stone floor. A large tree grew nearby, occasionally dropping leaves on the assembly below. Elrond sat a large chair overlooking the congregation, a stone table placed in front of him, flanked by two of his advisors. Gandalf was seated on the far side of the circle next to a rather worried looking hobbit I recognized as Frodo, as well as several fair-haired Elves. The Dwarves were seated next to the party of Elves, and not looking particularly thrilled with the seating arrangements. The rest of the seats were taken up by Men, most of whom I did not recognize, save for the shaggy guy I had seen at lunch the other day, whose back was facing me.
I really ought to learn people's names, I thought to myself as I observed the scene. The chatter died down as Elrond rose to his feet.
"Strangers of distant lands, friends of old," he greeted his voice loud and clear as a church bell, "you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." I mentally reviewed the maps I had been poring over. My geography of Middle-earth was rather limited, but I recalled that the land he spoke of was much farther south. It was not deeply discussed in the books—the most I could get out of them was that it was a land of great evil and best if not spoken of. "Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction," he continued. I started slightly. This was news to me. "None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall." He paused for a moment. "Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom." He emphasized this last sentence, heavily inflecting on the words 'fate' and 'doom.' Apparently drama is not new to him. He turned slightly to the left. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo." He gestured slightly to the table with his right hand.
The hobbit rose slowly, and with a great sense of purpose and bravery that seemed almost too great for his small stature, he strode forward and mutely placed a golden band in the center of the table before returning to his seat, looking slightly relieved. The tension in the air was palpable. I turned my eyes to the bit of gold reflecting off the stone and was immediately fascinated. It was, in all respects, rather unremarkable, appearing to be nothing more than a simple wedding band. But as I stared, a great power seemed to emanate from the gold, dangerous, yet deliciously intriguing. The gold suddenly appeared beautiful in its simplicity, shining brightly in the afternoon sunlight and it suddenly occurred to me that there was nothing in the world more beautiful than this Ring and if I could simply touch it, I would have some of that beauty for myself.
I heard people whispering amongst themselves about the Ring—calling it the doom of man and other hateful names. I felt anger stir within my heart—how could they call something so beautiful such horrible names? A man suddenly rose and I was able to tear my gaze from the Ring. I realized with an intense horror what I had been thinking those past few seconds and I recoiled from the Ring, suddenly frightened by and detesting its presence. I tried to focus on the man to calm my thoughts. He seemed to be young, though there were some faint creases in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His hair was slightly longish and a very light brown highlighted with gold, his short beard and mustache slightly darker. He was clad in chain mail and leather, his tunic a deep scarlet. Intense dark brown eyes looked quietly at the crowd.
"In a dream," he began, stepping away from his seat, "I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the West a pale light lingered." He was slowly approaching the Ring in the center of the circle. I shuddered and tried to keep my eyes on him. "A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.'" He was significantly closer now, his hand reaching toward the Ring. "Isildur's Bane," he repeated, his hand fluttering over the gold. I inhaled sharply.
"Boromir!" exclaimed Elrond, nearly jumping to his feet as the man's hand barely touched the gold.
Gandalf stood up simultaneously and began speaking in an unfamiliar language, his voice deeper than normal. The sky suddenly grew dark and the air colder, whipping my hair around and chilling my legs and arms. I drew myself up close against the pillar. Gandalf's voice seemed magnified and deeper than usual, another voice rising above his own, intoning the same words. The ground seemed to tremble as he stood, the sky reflecting an eerie orange light. I shook with terror. The words seemed to turn my very being inside out; burning my ears and making my head throb in pain. I pressed my palms up to my ears, but the sound was not suppressed or muted, seeming to grow even louder in my attempts to silence it. I knew not what he spoke, but the intense hatred and evil was evident in every syllable.
Just when I thought I would not be able to bear it anymore, Gandalf stopped. The sunlight slowly returned, shining down brightly through the leaves and the peaceful quiet that is typical of Rivendell slowly returned. My breath came easier and I relaxed slightly against the pillar. The man Elrond had called Boromir had since returned to his seat, looking much more frightened than he had been a moment ago. Gandalf still stood, seeming slightly winded.
"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," said Elrond curtly, looking accusingly at Gandalf.
"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," Gandalf replied, his voice still slightly deeper and thick, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West!" He looked piercingly at those sitting around him, leaning heavily on his staff as though the effort exhausted him. "The Ring is altogether evil," he said sharply, looking in Boromir's direction.
"It is a gift," Boromir said, seemingly unconvinced by Gandalf's performance. The wizard looked back at him, an expression of irritated disbelief upon his weathered features. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" He had risen and commenced pacing around the circle. "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!" He pointed at the Council with an expression of righteous anger upon his face. "Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy," he continued. "Let us use it against him!"
"You cannot wield it," replied the man I had dubbed "Shaggy" for lack of his proper name. "None of us can." Boromir turned slowly back to regard Shaggy with a blank stare. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master!"
"And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" demanded Boromir, a haughty sneer upon his face.
"This is no mere Ranger," retorted a male Elf, standing up. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." Boromir's eyebrows rose and he turned up his lip slightly.
"Aragorn," he said, appearing shocked. "This is Isildur's heir?" Aragorn (as he was evidently called) took a deep breath and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his countenance calm and collected.
"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the Elf added. Aragorn's forehead crinkled slightly and he waved his hand at the Elf and spoke in what I assumed was Sindarin. The Elf nodded and reluctantly returned to his seat. Boromir turned and looked at the Elf, a bitter contempt ringing in his voice. "Gondor has no king." He then moved his gaze to Aragorn as he went to take his seat. "Gondor needs no king."
"Aragorn is right," Gandalf said, breaking the silence. "We cannot use it."
"You have only one choice," Elrond explained, rising slowly to his feet. "The Ring must be destroyed." If there was an award for being incredibly dramatic in times of evil, it would definitely go to him.
The strangest thing followed Elrond's declaration. A low hiss pierced the air, seeming to come directly from the Ring itself. I shivered and tried not to look at that small speck of gold on the table.
"What are we waiting for?" a rough voice growled. One of my Dwarven breakfast companions suddenly leapt to his feet, swiping an ax from his neighbor. He raised the weapon high over his head and brought it down on the Ring with a shout. The blade shattered upon impact, sending the Dwarf flying backwards onto the ground as metallic shards flew through the air. I felt a passing chill very similar to the one that Gandalf had produced only moments ago with his eerie speech, and a low voice, laced with malice, muttered in the same dark tongue. I looked up at the Ring, somewhat expecting it to be a twisted piece of metal, or at least bear a telltale scratch. But the gold winked back, bright as ever, the Ring a complete and perfect circle.
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond intoned slowly, looking quietly at the assembly. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom," he continued, his voice becoming even slower and more deliberate. "Only there can it be unmade." The silence was almost deafening as the Elf continued. "It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." He paused, looking around before continuing. "One of you must do this."
The following silence was deeper than any I had ever heard. The very world seemed to stop with Elrond's declaration. And despite the fact that it was a totally serious situation, what with the fate of the entire world resting on everyone's shoulders, I found it incredibly difficult not to laugh.
"One does not simply walk into Mordor," replied Boromir, the first to break the silence. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye," he made a circle with his fingers, shaking his wrist for emphasis, "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." He was shaking his head and looking at the Council with an almost fearful expression upon his strong features. The blonde Elf who had spoken earlier leapt to his feet, his robes billowing out behind him.
"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" he demanded angrily. "The Ring must be destroyed!"
"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" exclaimed the Dwarf Elrond had addressed as Gimli. The Elf pressed his lips together in anger.
"And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?" demanded Boromir, visibly furious. Gimli leapt to his feet.
"I will be DEAD before I see the Ring in the hands of an ELF!" he shouted, his eyes narrowed and spit flying out of the corner of his mouth. His outburst caused the rest of the Elves (including some of Elrond's advisors) to rise to their feet, their calm demeanors completely vanished. I was slightly annoyed, but decided that my involvement was useless, seeing as I was technically not supposed to be there. The Dwarves also stood to back Gimli and most of the Men also rose, most likely because everyone was fighting. "NEVER trust an Elf!" Gimli shouted over the rest of the angry voices.
Nearly everyone was standing at this point, with the exception of Elrond, Aragorn, Frodo, and some of Elrond's less enflamed advisors. Gandalf had allowed himself a minute of silence before throwing himself into the fray, yelling about doom and destruction. Elrond sat in his chair, his fingers resting lightly on his temples, looking as though he was getting a migraine. Frodo sat quietly in his chair, his feet not even touching the ground, staring at the Ring, and looking as though he was trying to make a great decision. He suddenly tore his eyes away from it and quickly stood up.
"I will take it," he stated, walking toward the throng in order to make his voice heard. No one reacted and the shouting continued. "I will take it," he shouted, louder this time. Gandalf heard and he shut his eyes, pain flickering over his wise features as he turned toward the hobbit. One by one the voices ceased, until there was silence, and every pair of eyes was fixed upon Frodo. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he repeated, suddenly seeming much taller and stronger than his small stature let on. More silence followed his words and the Council members looked on quietly at the hobbit, the only one who had the courage to take on this great burden. I silently hoped that they felt ashamed of themselves. I certainly did. "Though…" Frodo finally continued, his voice growing much softer, "I do not know the way."
The wizard took a deep breath before declaring: "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." He came and stood by the hobbit, resting his large hand on Frodo's shoulder.
Aragorn rose next, valor seeming to radiate from his tall form. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," he pledged, sinking to his knees before Frodo. "You have my sword."
"And you have my bow," promised the Elf, going to stand with the three.
"And my ax," returned Gimli, somewhat smugly. He took his place next to the Elf, who looked less than thrilled.
"You carry the fates of us all, little one," Boromir said, taking a step forward. "If this is indeed the will of the Council," he looked respectfully at the assembly, "then Gondor will see it done."
"Hey!" a voice interrupted from the bushes on the other side of the floor. There was a rustling of leaves and a very flustered hobbit that I recognized as Sam ran in, skidding to a halt next to Frodo. A look of restrained surprise passed over Elrond's face.
"Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me," he stated, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.
"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not," Elrond replied, his eyebrows rising in amusement. Sam looked sheepishly at Frodo and then at the ground. I looked at Merry and Pippin, both of whom were becoming increasingly horrified at the sudden turn of events. They both exchanged somewhat offended looks before bolting from their places beside me.
"Oy!" Merry shouted as he emerged from behind the pillar. "We're coming too!" Elrond's head whipped around and he seemed even more shocked than when Sam had made his appearance. "You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us," Merry exclaimed as he and Pippin took their places beside Frodo, who was looking both confused and elated simultaneously. Elrond looked at the pair with ill-disguised shock.
"What?" asked Pippin of the Elf lord. "It's not like we weren't the only ones listenin' in back there, what with that Elf and all." My eyes widened at Pippin's words. With any luck Elrond would simply ignore that little slip.
"What Elf?" demanded Elrond. I blanched.
Uh oh…