Date: 05/15/05 or thereabouts.
Fireblade K'Chona: I had friends that did that on Halloween. I couldn't get them off even with bricks. Then again, I did take away the ladder...
Pasha ToH- I guess the Valar have a backlog of muses to bless... mine only got blessed recently.
Templechild- Thanks.
Notes: 2 dead relatives + mother in rehab + 1 drama play + 1 orchestra concert(1 solo) equals late, late fic. Dig?
Serious Notes: Yah... for those of you who didn't understand that, a great-uncle died, a great-aunt died, my mother went to rehab, I had to work backstage at Company, I've been practicing for the orchestra concert and my solo, and writing more of Circles of Change. Oh, and trying to get up a website (didn't work...) and submitting the now correctly-formatted Ashes to Ashes to Strange Horizons. And trying to bring my grades up. (two Fs and a D+ in my three core classes was not good for my mental health.) And Prom. Let's not forget the horror of a week of running around, dropping people/things off, picking them up, and being the only transportation that my sister and grandmother have.
More Notes: Various parts of the conversation concerning the Ring was taken directly from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien (The book, not the movie). So credit goes to where credit is due.
The Fellowship, Chapter Four: The Shadow of the Ring.
Frodo flopped back onto his bed with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling, bored. After a moment, he turned onto his side and grabbed the remote from the end table and turned the television on. He flicked through the channels hoping to find something interesting to watch, and finally settled on Daredevil,with Ben Affleck.
Now that his senior year of high school was over, he had nothing to do except sleep and try to find a job. College was out of the question, at least for the moment; his parents were going to help him work his way through it, but since he had everything tied up in mutual funds, he couldn't use it, and didn't want to. If a rainy day ever came, he'd be screwed. So college was moot. He owned the house; only needed to pay for utilities, but even the costs for those weren't very much, despite all the horror stories he'd heard about electricity and water and insurance payments. Gas prices were somewhat high at the moment, but the bike didn't need much and could go far on a few gallons. So he was pretty much set, but there was nothing to do. He almost wished he was out exploring the world, taking part in an adventure- like something from a book.
It had only been a week since graduation, and classes had actually ended a week and a half before that, but he was bored already. He almost missed the Renaissance Festival; almost missed Algebra II. There may have been almost five hundred channels on the telly, barring the music channels, but movies got boring after a while. None of his three friends were ostensibly planning for college, either; Sam was too into his father's lawn business, and Pippin and Merry were too busy getting into trouble to worry about college. Gandalf was... Gandalf was somewhere. Frodo didn't know what the old man got up to these days, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. Even so, Frodo wished he was with the old man- anywhere but here. You could be sure it was something interesting. He'd managed to regale Frodo and his friends one night with stories about some guy and a group of dwarves beating a dragon the size of a Boeing 747. None of them had believed him, but the old guy still told a great story...
Matt Murdock was just beginning to fight with Elektra Nachios on the playground when frantic banging resounded through the house, startling Frodo. He rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a thump and a 'ow,' before he jumped up and ran for the front door. Anything had to be better than this boredom, even if the diversion did come past the time when most people would even call, let alone visit. He reached the front 'hatch' just as the pounding stopped, and he was afraid that his mysterious caller might have given up and left. He disengaged the latch and flung the front door wide.
Before he could clear the entryway, Gandalf surged through the door, almost knocking Frodo into the wall. He seemed bigger and taller than usual; more menacing and yet also worried- very worried. Frodo found himself being dragged back down the hallway to the kitchen, and before he knew it he was in a chair at the kitchen table, seated across from a twitching Gandalf.
"Is it secret?" the bearded man asked Frodo in a harsh whisper. He slammed the door closed. "Is it safe?"
"W-what?" the teenager asked, startled. "What the hell? Is something wrong?"
"The Ring!" Gandalf hissed. "Where is it!"
"I-in my room," Frodo stammered. What was wrong with the old guy?
"Have you told anyone about it?" Gandalf persisted. "Does anyone know?"
"Know what, damnit?" Frodo snapped, annoyed. What was with the third degree?
At once, Gandalf seemed to shrink in upon himself. He became smaller, and soon he was 'himself' again; all six feet of his normal height. "My apologies, Frodo," he said. "I was- worried. There are plans afoot that are a danger to you; plans that revolve around that Ring that your uncle gave you."
Frodo stared at him. Gandalf was wearing an odd- was that a coverall underneath the coat? It was. The old pyrotechnic was wearing a form-fitting black coverall beneath a long black trenchcoat. And he was talking nonsense. Had the old man finally gone off the deep end?
"What are you wearing?" he asked finally, unable to come up with a more appropriate question.
"Clothing," Gandalf said dismissively. "I think- can you please bring me that Ring that Bilbo gave you?
Frodo eyed him. "Dude, it's eleven at night. Can't we talk about this in the morning?"
Gandalf made his opinion on that very clear. "No." He stared at Frodo, and the young man began to experience a vague feeling of unease. He relented and went to get the ring.
When he brought it back to the table, still in the white envelope he'd originally left it in, Gandalf stared at it, and Frodo felt that sense of unease grow stronger.
"Please take it out," the old man said wearily.
Frodo tore the envelope in half and shook the ring into his hand. "What the hell is this all about, Gandalf? If you want the ring, you can have it." He offered it to Gandalf, but the old man backed away. "I can't touch it."
The young man sighed. This was getting tiresome. Maybe he shouldn't have wished for someone to come.
Gandalf held up the ring, which looked like it was made of solid gold. "Can you see any markings on it?" he asked.
"No," said Frodo. "It's just a ring, but it wasn't scratched at all when I got it, and it's not scratched now. Kinda weird," he said thoughtfully.
"Here- do you have a fire of some sort?" Gandalf asked.
"Oh, yes," Frodo said sarcastically. "I keep a fire burning all hours of the day in the backyard. Let me show you."
Gandalf glared at him. "This is no time for jokes, boy."
Frodo rolled his eyes. "No, I don't have a fire. The only thing I have is a fireplace. Wanna use that?"
Much to Frodo's dismay, Gandalf agreed.
Five minutes later, they were standing in front of a nicely-built fire in Frodo's living room.
"How did you do that so quickly?" Frodo asked, astonished.
"Trade secret," Gandalf muttered distractedly.
Then the old man completely shocked Frodo when he suddenly grabbed the ring out of the teenager's lax fingers and threw it into the blazing fire. Hurriedly, he wiped his hands on his trenchcoat.
"What are you doing!" Frodo cried angrily. He groped for the poker, intending to take the ring out of the fire before it was damaged. Gandalf stopped him with gentle hands on Frodo's shoulders.
"Wait." He stared into the fire intensely, and Frodo followed his gaze to the back right corner of the fireplace, where the ring gleamed in the dancing flames.
The teenager glared at the plain gold band. Nothing was happening. After a long while, Gandalf picked up the tongs and fished the ring out of the embers and held it up for Frodo's inspection.
"So?" Frodo asked sullenly.
Gandalf grabbed the younger man's hand and opened it, then dropped the hot ring into Frodo's palm!
Frodo yelled and yanked his hand away-
"It's quite cool," Gandalf said.
"Wh-"
The old man shushed him and peered at the lukewarm ring in Frodo's hand. Frodo stared, too.
Fine lines, finer than the finest pen-strokes of a master-calligrapher, were running along the outside and the inside of the ring; lines of fire that formed the elegant letters of a flowing script that Frodo couldn't understand. They glowed piercingly bright, and Frodo's eyes ached looking at them- they seemed to lead into a great depth where nothing mortal could go.
"The hell?" Frodo gasped in a quavering voice.
"It's as I feared," Gandalf said in a heavy voice. "You can't understand it?"
"No," Frodo said in a subdued voice.
"I can. The letters are Elvish, but the letters are those of Mordor, which I dare not utter here. But- in English, this is what it says, or close enough:
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
It's one line of a verse well-known to the Elves:
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor, where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie."
He paused. "This is the One Ring to rule them all. The One Ring that he lost so long ago, that led to his defeat. He wants it back so badly- but he must not get it."
Frodo stared at him again, nervously. "Gand, you're screwing around with me, right?" Gandalf said nothing. "Gandalf?"
"I'm afraid this is the One Ring, Frodo. It's tale began back in the Black Times, which modern historians only remember as the Dark Ages. If I were to tell you everything of that time, we'd be sitting here until they found us. There was once a dark man, named Sauron-"
"The man who my uncle was raving about?" Frodo asked, nonplussed.
"Yes. Long ago, there was a being named Sauron. He endeavored to seduce the Eldar- the Elves- but only managed to win over the smiths of Eregion. When he seduced them, he instructed the best of them to make Rings. Magic rings, as you might call them; like something from a fairytale. But they were real, and imbued with the magic of the Elf who forged it. Some were more powerful than others, and some only had the power to lend a little strength or protection to the wearer. The lesser rings were made only as practice, and to the Elven-smiths they were nothing, and of no danger- yet still dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings, the Rings of Power, ah, they were perilous indeed.
"A mortal who keeps a Great Ring will not die, but he doesn't grow or obtain more life. He just... continues with life until every minute is a hell, until every minute is so hard to get through that he just wants to die.
"And often, that is what happens to the current bearer of the One Ring. This Ring has a special power- that to make the wearer invisible, but even that is dangerous. If the mortal uses the Ring to become invisible often, he fades; becomes invisible permanently, in the end, and walks in the twilight of the dark power that rules the Rings. Sooner or later... later if he was strong or well-meaning, sooner if weak and malicious, the dark power will devour him."
The teenager stared at Gandalf, wide-eyed. "You can't honestly believe that that's true, can you? Magic? Magic is for children, Gandalf; children and fools."
The old man sighed. "I thought you would see it that way. Frodo, you must believe me. There are... things on their way to kill you right now!"
Frodo scoffed. "Right. And all this talk about Elves. Are the Elves coming to kill me?"
"No," Gandalf said, suddenly saddened. "The Elves are in hiding; they have been since the end of the Dark Ages. Before Sauron's end, the Church declared them anathaema, and many were killed in the ensuing religion-versus-nature conflict. I'm afraid the start of that was Sauron's doing; he was never killed, only weakened by the loss of his Ring. The Elves participated in the last battle, then went underground, only to be remembered in myth and legend. They've begun to creep back into the world as of late, but not many, and not as Elves."
"Nice way to explain the absence of Elves," Frodo said. "So who is coming to kill me?"
"The Nine Men. The Nazgul are coming to kill you and take your Ring back to Sauron. If the Ring returns to him, then all is lost. Civilization will crumble, and the Elves will not be able to amass the numbers they once had. Humans will not accept their existence, and most likely declare war on both Sauron and the Elves. The current world may be leaning more towards acceptance, but if you look at any newspaper, most of them are still against abortion rights, gay marriage rights, and there are humans constantly warring, always because of religion. Can you imagine what would happen if something that most people- regardless of their religion- are fundamentally opposed to appeared in their midst? Chaos, Frodo. Chaos."
"The Nine Men. Would they be the same Men you mentioned in the rhyme?"
"Yes. They are Men of the darkest kind. Once they were all kings in their own right, and accepted the Rings. Eventually they died, and fell under the dominion of the One Ring. They faded into shadow and became Ringwraiths, Sauron's most terrible servants. It has been a long time since they've been seen- once, before they all fell they were called the Four Horsemen- four of the Men had succumbed to the shadows, and walked the earth. Many a religion adopted them into their own theology. It was only when the other five, among them the greatest king- now the Chief of the Ringwraiths- appeared, that the battles between the forces of darkness and the combined armies of Men and Elves truly began. And now Sauron's servants come to kill you."
"I still say you're lying," Frodo said cynically. "Magic- Elves- Dwarves- they don't exist, and they never have."
Gandalf got The Glint in his eye. "If I could prove it to you, young Frodo, what would you say?"
"Which one? Magic?"
"Yes, Frodo. Magic."
"Go ahead and try," Frodo said. "I doubt I'll believe you."
The old man merely closed his eyes and steepled his fingers in front of his long nose. Frodo felt a slight tingling in the air, like one might feel during a dry thunderstorm with lightning. Past the entryway to the living room, something moved in the shadows of the hallway from the direction of the front door, and Frodo squeaked, hand closing about the cool metal of the Ring. The thing moved into the flickering light cast by the fire, revealing itself to be a long, somewhat stocky gun- an assault rifle.
"An AKM," Gandalf told him. "Modified for automatic fire."
Frodo eyed it. "It's floating."
"Yes it is," Gandalf told him somewhat cheerfully. "Now do you believe in magic?"
The teenager ignored the question. "Do I want to know why you have that?" he asked Gandalf dubiously, the conversation from before still running through his mind. Was the old pyrotechnic becoming a fanatic over this fantasy? Frodo doubted it, just as he was beginning to doubt this was just a fantasy.
The gun floated over to Gandalf, who plucked it out of the air and set it down on the table between himself and Frodo.
"Do you?" Gandalf repeated.
Frodo stared at the rifle, then back up at Gandalf. As much as he hated to admit it, it looked like magic was real. He reached forward and picked up the gun, trying to find any hidden wires or tricks. Nothing. Just smooth, cold, deadly and slightly oily metal.
"The Nazgul are coming, Frodo," whispered Gandalf. "Will you give them the Ring so easily?"
Shock washed over Frodo when he realized that all of this was real. Then panic replaced that when it hit home that people were coming to kill him.
He thrust the Ring at Gandalf. "Take it, then! I don't want anyone coming to KO me!"
"No!" Gandalf cried, leaning away slightly. "I dare not take it. If I did, I would have power both great and terrible, and the Ring would have power even greater and more deadly over me. Don't tempt me. I do not wish to become like Sauron. The Ring would gain way to my heart through pity; pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good, but in the end I would become as corrupt as Sauron. I cannot even keep it safe and unused; it's siren song is too seductive for even my will. No, Frodo. The decision lies with you. We must away from here quickly. The holder of the Ring was betrayed to Sauron's forces, and they are undoubtedly on their way here as we speak. I must take you somewhere safe; to Rivendell, perhaps- the Elves will know what to do with the Ring," he said, gesturing to Frodo's clenched fist. "The only way to be rid of it is to find the Cracks of Doom in the depths of Orodruin, the Fire-Mountain. There, the Ring must be cast into the fire, to put it beyond His grasp forever. I do not know who will be brave or strong enough to take on that task. But-" he said, eyes growing soft as he looked at Frodo with something akin to pity, "I will always help you. I will help you bear this burden, as long as it is yours to bear. But we must do something, soon. The Enemy is moving."
