Hey there! Thank you to my lovely reviewers, I appreciate them so much. It makes the exhaustion worth it to know that I can make someone's day :) I hope that you enjoy the following chapter, and that you will forgive any of my typos.
Chapter Eighteen: The Dawn of the Council
For the second day in a row, Bilbo woke early, but no nightmare had roused him, and he felt as well as if he had spent the last hundred years in the most blissful sleep possible. It surprised him, because he had lingered in the Hall of Fire until the small hours of the morning. It had felt like a last chance to enjoy the songs and stories passed from elf to man to dwarf to hobbit, before the council tomorrow.
Today.
Yet, somehow, the stillness of Rivendell had lessened his nerves on the day he had been dreading so fiercely. It was pleasantly warm and sunny for October, and seemed to be the perfect morning for a stroll. He nudged Dís gently to see if she wished to join him, but his wife simply moaned and rolled over, her arm wrapping around her stomach as if to cuddle herself in his absence.
And so Bilbo walked alone, ambling through the peaceful halls and sweet morning air. He came to a balcony that he particularly favoured, as its railings were not too high for Bilbo to prop his elbows on. He peered over the edge at the valley, watching finches flit between the bushes and swallows dive over the rising sun.
He took a deep breath, savouring the scent of flowers carried on the breeze. Really, he could just live in Rivendell for ever. After a while, he heard the faint approach of hobbit feet, and he smiled softly.
"Good morning, Frodo," he said, tearing his gaze from the valley to greet his nephew. Frodo looked better – he had looked as weary as Kíli, until Fíli awoke. The same shadows had lingered beneath his eyes, which had been dulled by fatigue and fear. But now, Frodo's eyes were clear, and his face less pale than before.
And his jaw was set.
"Good morning," he said, his voice soft, but deadly serious. Bilbo frowned, studying the seriousness on his nephew's face.
"What is it? Is something wrong?"
Frodo paused, and then looked Bilbo dead in the eye. "I want to go to the council."
Rubbing his jaw, Bilbo sighed. "So Fíli and Kíli did not put you off, then? You did hear them say that we'll likely talk through lunch?" As if protesting the very thought, Bilbo's stomach rumbled. For a moment, despair took him – he had missed breakfast! But then he blinked, and saw the sombre hobbit before him.
"They did not," insisted Frodo. "I am off age. I have every right to know what is going on. When we found the blood at Weathertop – not knowing was worse, Bilbo. It's always worse. I do not intend on doing anything rash, but I am not a child. I have every right to be there. Lord Elrond says I may attend if you do not contest it, and I beg you not to. I know that Fíli and Kíli will tell me everything, but I would rather be there myself. I want to know." Throughout his speech, Frodo's surety did not waver, but when Bilbo did not reply, the young Baggins swallowed. "It is not fair to keep me out of things, Bilbo, I am a part of this family, too, and just as afraid as you are!"
"I know," murmured Bilbo, before Frodo could go any further. "You know that Ori and Bofur are not attending, and neither are Gimli and Ehren and-"
"I do not care about Ori and Bofur and Gimli," said Frodo bluntly. "I want to be there."
"Very well." Bilbo sighed heavily. "It was worth a try. You may come."
Frodo blinked, as though he had not expected the hobbit to acquiesce so easily. He hesitated, and then said, "I am an adult, Bilbo."
"I know. That is why you may come. I do not have to like it."
"You cannot protect me forever," Frodo said gently, taking Bilbo's hand.
Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "That doesn't mean I can't try. Nor that I shouldn't. But come, Frodo. We will be late. And miss breakfast!"
Almost the moment that the words left his lips, a loud bell rang out, and his stomach gave a painful lurch that had nothing to do with his growing hunger.
He knew what that bell meant, and it was not breakfast.
Together, he and Frodo hurried through the familiar halls of Rivendell, but they did not speak. It was Frodo's silence and solemnity that suggested to Bilbo he had made the right choice. The lad was taking the whole thing rather seriously, and it would be an insult to him to be left out. Bilbo understood that. He had just wished that Frodo would never have to deal with anything so dark.
Trying to look composed, Bilbo strode out onto the porch where the meeting was to take place, and he was quick to note that people were still arriving. That settled him slightly – at least he was not shamefully late. He craned his neck, looking for Dís and his boys, but it was a little hard when everyone else was so ridiculously tall.
He peered through the legs of several elves, including Legolas – he did not look forward to hearing exactly what news had driven Thranduil's precious son so far from home – but many were wearing robes, which complicated things.
There were a couple of men there, too he noticed, and then he heard Frodo give a small gasp. He followed his nephew's gaze and his own eyes widened.
"Is that…?" he murmured.
"Boromir of Gondor," Frodo breathed back, sharing a worried glance with Bilbo. "I doubt he is here to catch up on the courtly gossip."
Bilbo pursed his lips, nodding absently. He had not seen Boromir since the man was but a boy of fourteen on a diplomatic visit to New Dale, but there was no mistaking his grey eyes and strong face. Gondor, too, had sent word to Rivendell.
Maybe to ask for gardening tips, a voice in the back of his head suggested hopefully.
"There!" Frodo said, pointing between Boromir's legs, and Bilbo sighed, patting the lad's arm gratefully. There, on the other side of the porch, he could see Kíli. His son's brows were drawn low and his lips were pursed, but when Bilbo and Frodo approached his face melted into a smile. He did not seem surprised to see the younger hobbit.
"I was beginning to think that you weren't coming," Kíli said, grasping Bilbo's arm with just a little more force than necessary, even as he clasped Frodo's shoulder.
"Well, I'm here," Bilbo sighed, "and having missed breakfast at tha-"
"Here," Dís said with a wry smile, pressing a bread roll into his hands, and another to Frodo.
Relief warmed Bilbo from his nose to his toes. No matter what happened, no matter what dark doings were spoken of today, Bilbo would have his family – and his breakfast.
"Thank you," he said, his fingers lingering on her hand as he took it. "Truly. I hope the tweens didn't put up too much of a fight?"
It was Fíli who answered. "No, though Bróin tried to argue his way in once more. In the end, Bofur put his foot down. He went with Elrohir and the lads, down to the training grounds. Merry and Pippin didn't show for breakfast, though."
"They wanted to visit the pool," Frodo said, glancing at Fíli. "The one you found when Pippin was very small."
Fíli nodded. "Aye, we sussed out as much. Vinca went down to train with the boys, but Nelly's in bed."
"What?" Bilbo frowned, looking quickly between his boys. "That's not like Nelly at all, is she alright?"
"She's fine," soothed Dís, massaging her abdomen with a meaningful glance downwards. "Nothing a young lady's unused to, and nothing a warm bath won't fix."
"Ah…" Bilbo understood immediately, and he nodded. "Well, that's that sorted, then."
His stuttering faded away as Elrond approached, and a hush fell at once. The ancient lord stopped before Bilbo and placed a hand on his shoulder, and spoke in a voice that rang with purpose.
"This," he said, "is Master Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Rarely have any come to Rivendell under more perilous conditions than he, or with greater a burden. It is this burden that we are here to discuss, for I fear it is what has driven each of you to my home. Take your seats, friends."
Bilbo was ushered to a seat on the left side of Gandalf, who was in turn at Elrond's left side. Beside Bilbo sat Kíli, then Fíli, Dís and Frodo, who was seated beside Boromir. The man looked disquieted at Elrond's words, and stared at the elven lord with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.
Elrond seemed to notice. "Yes, driven I say, including you, Boromir, son of Denethor. I believe that this meeting may make many things clear, that all may understand what peril is now before us. The tale is long, and begins many centuries ago, yet it must be told, that we may stand united against the threat of Mordor."
The moment the name of the dark land fell from Elrond's lips, Boromir shifted in his seat and Kíli's hands curled into fists. Even the elves looked unsettled, but no one replied.
In a calm, clear voice, Elrond began to talk. He spoke of Sauron in the days when he was known as Annatar, giver of gifts and knowledge, and of the forging of the rings of power. He spoke of alliances that had long been forgotten, and the friendship of Celebrimbor and the dwarves of Moria – Elrond's eyes lingered on Kíli at this point – and of the rise and fall of Númenor. He spoke of Gil-galad, and Elendil and his sons, and the great Last Alliance that marched upon Mordor and halted Sauron at last.
He spoke of Isildur, cutting the ring from Sauron's finger.
He spoke of Isildur taking the ring for his own.
"So that is what became of the ring?" Boromir asked, as if speaking to himself. When all eyes fell upon him, he spoke more strongly. "If such a tale was ever told in the South, it has long since been forgotten. We believed that the Great Ring had perished."
"Alas," sighed Elrond, "for had it perished much may have been different, and many lives may have been spared. But Isildur took the ring, and despite my council he claimed it as wergild for the deaths of his father, and his brother. Yet the ring betrayed Isildur to his death, and thus some in the North name it Isildur's Bane. But three members of his company survived, and one, an esquire to the King, brought the shards of Elendil's sword to Rivendell, that they may be given to Isildur's son, who was but a child at the time."
A chill ran down Bilbo's spine, and he looked at Kíli. For a moment, he didn't see the determined, purposeful prince who stared at Elrond and drank in his every word. He saw his son as a child, being brought the shattered remains of Sting. The names in these stories belonged to people, real people, with hearts as real as Bilbo's. Hearts that loved, and ached, and bled.
"The Last Alliance never truly achieved its end. Sauron was diminished, but not destroyed – by the actions of Isildur, his ring was lost, and not unmade. The darkness endured. Many elves and mighty Men, and many of their friends, had been slaughtered in the war. Elendil and his sons were slain, Gil-galad was slain, and never again shall there be any such league of elves and Men, for the Firstborn decrease, while Men multiply. Our kindreds are estranged."
Do they have to be? In Bilbo's eyes, joining together to form a great alliance sounded like a rather good plan.
Elrond continued. "The Men of Westernesse diminished, and their cities fell into ruin. The Kingdom of Arnor fell to first foes, and then to weeds and wildflowers. Yet in the South, the realm of Gondor endured, and for a while grew in splendour. But as long years passed, the blood of Númenoreans mingled with that of lesser men, and the tree of kings withered, and the watch on Mordor slept. Evil crept into the Easternmost guard of Gondor, Minas Ithil that is now Minas Morgul, and home to foul creatures and dark foes. Osgiliath was left deserted, and now shadows walk in its ruins."
When the elven lord paused, Boromir stood up, tall and proud. "Give me leave, Master Elrond, to say more of Gondor, and of my errand, for from Gondor I came, and all should know what passes there." He paused a moment, and Elrond nodded. The man continued. "Believe not that in Gondor the blood of Númenor is spent, nor all its pride and dignity forgotten. By the strength of our arms and the spilling of our blood are your lands kept safe, and the great fires of Mordor kept at bay. Minas Tirith, the Tower of Guard, ever watches the Dark Lands, and if our eyes were closed in the past it is not so now. We had a small battalion deployed in Ithilien, east of the River, that held until this June, but then sudden war came upon us, and we were swept away. Though we were outnumbered, that did not defeat us. There was a power we had never felt before. It could be seen, some said, like a great black horseman, who brought fear upon even the boldest, so that horse and man alike fled. A small remnant alone returned to the ruins of Osgiliath, which has been held as an outpost since the days of my father's youth. I was among the company that held the last bridge of the city, until it was destroyed behind us. Only four survived. My brother, myself and two others."
It was then that Bilbo noticed a sorrow in Boromir's eyes, glimmering faintly beneath the strength, courage and pride that the man displayed. A grief for fallen comrades – a grief Bilbo had seen weigh on the shoulders of many a soldier.
"And still we fight. We hold all the west shores of the Anduin, and though those who shelter behind us sing our praise, they offer little help. Now only from Rohan will men ride to us when we call. But I do not come seeking allies in war – it is said that the might of Elrond is in wisdom, not weapons. I come because of a riddle that the Lore-Masters of Minas Tirith cannot answer. On the eve of the attack on Ithilien, a strange dream came to my brother, a dream that came again many a night, and then came once to me."
The back of Bilbo's neck prickled as though static electricity was tiptoeing up his spine, and he leant forward in his seat, unable to tear his eyes from Boromir. There was a shadow across the young man's face, as though his thoughts were troubling and dark, but still light shone in his eyes – dimmed, but impossible to quench.
"In that dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark, and heard a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, clear and remote, that cried:
Seek for the Sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall counsels be taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand."
The prickling on the back of Bilbo's neck intensified uncomfortably, and his hand tightened around the ring in his pocket, almost against his will. Doom is near at hand? He certainly did not like the sound of that.
"My brother and I understood little of these words – we knew of halflings, of course –" Boromir paused to bow his head to Bilbo, "– but we could make little sense of the riddle. We spoke to our father, Lord Denethor, who is wise in lore, yet all he would say was that Imladris was an elven name for a far northern dale, where dwelt Elrond the Halfelven. My brother was eager to heed the dream and seek Imladris, but the road is long and full of doubt and danger, so I took the journey upon myself."
"And here in Imladris, things will be made clear to you," said Elrond, nodding slightly at Aragorn, who stood, and walked to the table before Elrond.
Bilbo watched intently as the ranger placed a broken sword on the table – the blade that had long rested opposite the mural of Isildur cutting the ring from Sauron's hand.
"Here is the sword that was broken," said Aragorn, staring at Boromir and inclining his head. "The sword of Elendil, that has been treasured by his descendants when all other heirlooms were lost."
Boromir's eyes narrowed as if he was confused, and he stared at Aragorn's face, and at the elven style clothes that the man wore. He looked to the sword, and back to the man, and rubbed his jaw. "Indeed? How came you by the sword of Elendil?"
Bilbo noticed a couple of elves of Rivendell shift uncomfortably in their seats, and Glorfindel raised a single eyebrow, but Aragorn merely smiled.
"I understand your confusion, and your doubt. When first we met I was not of age, and went by the name Estel – the same name I used when I last visited Gondor. But my true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And I am the heir of Isildur." With that, he returned to his seat.
Boromir's hand fell from his chin, and his mouth opened slightly. He stared at the sword once more, and back to Aragorn again, but he closed his mouth, and did not speak.
Elrond stood up. "And now the last part of your riddle may be put into place, Boromir, son of Denethor. Bring forth the ring, Bilbo."
Bilbo jumped slightly. He had been so entranced by the interactions of the two men that he had completely forgotten he was not a mere spectator himself. He hastily got to his feet, and then walked over to the table. It was stone, and almost as tall as he was. In the hush, Bilbo half thought he could hear his own heart beating. His hand closed around the ring, and as he pulled it from his pocket he was overcome with desire.
Put it on, a voice whispered in his mind, disappear, keep it for yourself…
The hobbit gazed up at Elrond, who gestured gracefully to the table.
Put it on, disappear, keep it for yourself…
Fíli's pale, lifeless face flickered in Bilbo's mind.
Put it one, disappear, keep-
Oh, shut up! Bilbo though fiercely, slamming the ring onto the table before the sword, with what was, perhaps, more force than necessary. Then he hurried back to his seat, and did not look back until he had sat down. His palms were sweating.
"Behold," said Elrond. "Isildur's Bane!"
A whisper ran around the circle, but Bilbo caught no words. Folk had gasped at intervals, creating a staggered sort of hiss, and all eyes were focused on the golden band. All eyes apart from Bilbo's – he was stubbornly looking anywhere but, and his gaze fell on Boromir. Mostly, the man looked confused and burdened, but there was a slight glint in his eyes.
Bilbo shifted in his seat and narrowed his own eyes a fraction, but he could see no malice or gold lust in Boromir's expression. To his great disgruntlement, he had become rather adept at identifying malice and gold lust over the last two decades. The latter, in particular, haunted many of his dreams to his day, but he did not see it before him, so he decided to give Boromir the benefit of the doubt.
"Then doom is nigh a hand?" Boromir murmured, half to himself again. "If that is indeed the meaning of the riddle, why did it say to seek for a broken blade? What help may that bring us?"
"It is soon to be renewed," said Glorfindel. "It's time is coming."
"If my hand may bring any help or hope, I will come to Minas Tirith," added Aragorn.
Boromir stared at Aragorn, his expression unreadable, then looked back at the ring. "How do the wise know that this is the One Ring? How is it known that this is the ring Isildur bore? He perished ere this age began."
"That," Elrond said, smiling slightly at Bilbo, "is about to me told. Come, Master Baggins. The time has come to tell us your part of the tale."
Beside him, Kíli smothered a smile with a timely cough, and Bilbo swung his elbow subtly into his son's ribs as he shifted in his chair. Despite himself, Bilbo was more than happy to tell the story – or most of it – to such an attentive crowd, something that Kíli knew all too well.
"I came by this ring in the bowels of the Misty Mountains," he said, and then he plunged into the whole story. He explained how he had been torn from the goblin walkway, how he had blindly stumbled into Gollum's cave, how he had picked up a strange ring from the floor and then played riddles to save his life. He told of his few uses of the ring, and off the strange instances where it seemed too big and fell from his finger.
He noticed that Gandalf's eyes narrowed at the mention of Bofur's brief possession of the ring, and when Bilbo described Bofur returning the ring in Mirkwood, the wizard sighed and closed his eyes. But he did not interrupt, so Bilbo carried on, telling the rest of the room about his own uses of the ring, the trouble it had caused in the great battle, and the Wizard's suspicions. He told of Gandalf's increasing warnings not to use the ring, and then of their last trip to the Shire.
It was then that it got a little harder to speak. How could he find the words to describe the wraith-like Gandalf appearing at his door? He did his best, swallowed his shock, and carried on without a hiccup, until it came to Weathertop. Then his voice shook, and for a moment he wondered if he could recount it at all.
It's a story, and you'd think it a good story if you didn't know Fíli, he tried to convince himself. Just a story.
His heart began to pound again as he described the attack of the Nazgûl, and it stoppered his throat when he tried to explain what Fíli had done. He stared at his son's bright, blue eyes, so full of life, and Fíli gave a soft smile in return. There were other eyes upon him, stares of awe and amazement, but Fíli only had eyes for Bilbo.
That was all Bilbo needed to readjust his courage, and continue.
He spoke of Gandalf's healing, and how it had seemed to tire the wizard (he decided against using the word 'weakened,' for he was not sure Gandalf would like it, and he did not fancy being turned into a toad.) Nevertheless, his poetic flair soon returned, and he described the flight to the fords more strongly, only hushing his voice for dramatic tension. He was rather proud of his description of white, river foam horses had swept the Nazgûl away, even when Dís rolled her eyes after the fourth adjective.
Bilbo made a mental note to remind her of her brother's long-winded speeches later. They were far worse. At least the hobbit's words sounded pretty.
He rounded off his story with an account of the attack on the others, and was quite pleased that neither the Frodo nor Aragorn had to interject and correct him at any point. Finally, he ended, with a satisfied, "But we all made it safely to Rivendell in the end, and here we are."
Silence followed him for a long moment as his words were digested. All too quickly, the excitement and story-lust died, and Bilbo gazed at his sons.
Because of that ring Fíli was stabbed – but without it, his boys may have died decades ago. In the Battle of the Five Armies, the ring was all that allowed Bilbo to defend Kíli as long as he had. Without the ring, Kíli would be dead, and looking back Bilbo was sure that Fíli would have followed. And so would he.
Keep them safe, the voice in his mind whispered kindly. Put me it, and keep them safe forever.
I thought I told you to shut up? he thought back fiercely, but the soft voice laughed.
Keep it, put it on and keep them safe forever, it replied. Truth cannot be silenced. Your heart cannot be silenced – put it on. Put it on, and your family will pass all the ages of the world in splendour and glory.
Bilbo gritted his teeth, and his face contorted into a scowl. You're lying. Shut up.
Your heart cannot be silen-
"Bilbo?"
Bilbo jumped so high that he actually left his chair for a moment, and it took him a moment to catch his bearings. It was no longer silent, people were muttering, but they were not looking at him, their heads were bowed, and –
"Are you alright?" Kíli said in a low voice.
"What?" asked the hobbit, rather stupidly. "Oh! Me. Yes, I'm fine, Kíli, quite alright. Just thinking."
Kíli's eyes narrowed, but he did not argue. Instead, he simply shifted his arm so that his fingers grazed Bilbo's sleeve.
"The tale continues," said Elrond, and mutters died mid-word, "with Gandalf."
All eyes fell on the wizard, who smiled at Bilbo and then cleared his throat. "As told by Master Baggins, I had suspicions about his ring from the moment I knew him to have it. I did not suppose it to be the ring, of course, or I would have taken action much sooner. What I did fear was that it was some other thing of evil design, though still it did not seem an urgent matter. When I accompanied the Bagginses back to the Shire, the more pressing matter seemed to be that of goblins and rogue dwarves, so that was what I set my mind to. Yet I could not calm the doubt in my heart. As some here will remember, in that same year, the White Council moved against the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, whom I had discovered to be Sauron himself, taking form and power again. We banished him from the ruins and drove his evil from Mirkwood, but he took residence in Mordor once more, and the Dark Tower was rebuilt."
"So that's where you were when we were getting attacked by spiders and elves and dragons!" exclaimed Kíli, though he sounded awed, rather than annoyed. When he noticed that he had spoken so loudly, he went as red as Bilbo's good jacket.
Gandalf chuckled, though his voice was still heavy. "Yes, my dear Kíli. That is where I was. And I strove to seek out Sauron, and destroy him while still he was weak, but though the council agreed, Saruman dissuaded us. He claimed that the Dark Lord's hope would cheat him, and that he could never return to power without the ring. He claimed that the ring could never be found. It was when I rode towards Orthanc to report our dealings with Smaug to Saruman that his words came back to me, and a fear filled me. What if the Necromancer had grown strong by the reappearance of the ring? I had to know, yet I was hesitant to consult my fellow wizard. At the time, I merely wished to avoid adding another burden to a dear friend – I would not add any more toil to the life of Bilbo Baggins without proof."
Heart swelling, Bilbo smiled at Gandalf, who nodded at him with a sad smile of his own.
"I worried, at times, that sparing Bilbo another burden might destroy us all, but whether by fate or instinct I did not stop at Isengard. Instead, I rode to Gondor. At Minas Tirith I poured through many scrolls in search of lore on the rings of power, with the help of the steward's enthusiastic young sons," he nodded at Boromir, who frowned in memory.
"You had us search for lettering we knew not. You made it a game," he said, before staring at the wizard with the satisfaction of one who has learnt the answer to a long-forgotten riddle. "So that was your purpose…"
"Indeed, and you helped wonderfully." Another small smile tugged at the wizard's lips. Bilbo was pleased to note that his cheeks looked much fuller now. The hobbits' constant feeding must be paying off. "I learnt much, including the fact that, unlike the Nine, the Seven and the Three, the One ring bore no gem. It was round and unadorned, like the lesser rings – thus I knew that Bilbo's ring was either the One, or a lesser ring. Still, it seemed to me that the latter was more likely, but I pressed on, until I found an account of five lesser rings – bands of gold, silver and bronze that turned the wearer invisible, and I breathed again. In that moment, I made a grave mistake: I left the libraries of Minas Tirith, and attended other matters. For much was amiss in the world, and this was not the only matter of importance at the time. On Durin's Day, however, when Thorin was crowned King Under the Mountain and I watched his family and the hobbits, my fear grew once more. I confided in Legolas, and asked him to keep watch on the mountain, and ensure that no trouble came from Bilbo's ring. I needed someone that I could trust, who would watch without interference, and alert me of any signs that my worst fears be realised. I will confess that I was unsure of my wisdom in confiding in anyone, but it has proved useful. Then, at last, I went to Saruman. I told him not of Bilbo's ring, but asked him more of the Necromancer, and then posed my little theory – what if the ring had remerged, and spurned its master into action? Saruman promised that my fears were unfounded. That the ring had been swept out to see long ago. Again, I wished to belief him, but could not shake my doubt. So I searched for the creature, Gollum."
Bilbo was watching the wizard intently, as were most, but out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Dís prod Thorin's knee, sharply.
"It was fruitless, I turned to other matters of – what I deemed – equal or greater importance. The ring fell to the back of my mind, until seven years ago." Gandalf sighed heavily. "I received word from Beorn, chieftain of the Beornings, that some among his kin had come across strange tracks, and that their herds had been attacked by something that lurked in the night – something that preyed on the young, and climbed through windows to find cradles."
Boromir made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat, and Bilbo grimaced, though he was surprised to see Gandalf smile at Boromir. It was a grim, satisfied sort of smile, and it made Bilbo shiver lightly.
"You will be pleased to hear, I think, that this creature found a cradle that held Beorn's grandson. Though he was a mere babe at the time, he transformed into a bear cub and either fought or scared off his attacker before any lasting harm could be done."
Fíli snorted and Kíli smirked, and Bilbo's heart calmed a little.
"I believed, as did Beorn, that the creature was none other than Gollum, and my interest in the ring returned. I was near Mirkwood when I discovered this, so I left Beorn and his hunters to track the creature and hastened to Erebor, where I warned Bilbo to be on his guard, and keep the thing secret and safe. Then, I journeyed to Minas Tirith with all the haste I had. There was no doubt in my mind that Beorn would catch his prey where even I could not, for he has the senses of a bear, and wolves at his command, and I felt that I had left my last search of Denethor's library short. And, alas, I had. It took me not five hours to discover a scroll that had been written by Isildur himself."
Bilbo could not help but gasp softly at this, and he was not the only one. His fingers twitched, as if reaching for this lost piece of history, and he listened so intently that he half thought he heard the whirring of his own mind.
"Therein, he described the Ring that he took from Sauron, and proclaimed it to be an heirloom of his house. He told of the inscription, that faded as the ring cooled – 'a secret only fire only fire can tell' – and there he traced the inscription itself. Resolution took me; I would fly straight to Erebor again, and set my mind to rest, for better or worse. But alas, it was not to be."
At this point, Gandalf gave his longest pause yet, and the silence was so heavy that Bilbo was sure no one could be breathing.
"Beorn crossed my path before I even left the lands of Gondor, following Gollum's trail in one, unmistakeable direction: he was going to Mordor. Terror seized me, and I rode to catch him with renewed haste. If Sauron discovered that Bilbo held the One Ring, or even that he had a lesser ring that could be the one, he would stop at nothing to slaughter Bilbo and take his own back. It would not be difficult for him, for it is no secret that the Baggins family make regular trips across a dangerous road. I had no intention of letting my friends – or indeed the world – fall to such darkness. Yet when we reached the Morgul Vale, Beorn was forced to turn back. He has lands of his own to tend, and he is not young. I followed Gollum's trail alone, and was captured."
"Captured?" cried Frodo, aghast and afraid and furious all at once, and unheeding of the eyes that turned to him.
"Yes, Frodo, I was captured," the wizard said heavily, with no trace of a smile. "And held prisoner in Minas Morgul for seven years."
Bilbo's heart fell all the way down to his toes, and ached as if his feet were kicking it back and forth. For any friend to be imprisoned for seven years while Bilbo enjoyed a peaceful life in Erebor was unfathomable. Especially for a friend as dear to him as Gandalf.
"The details of that time are unimportant, but there are riddles here that even I cannot place. I know not if Gollum was in league with the enemy all along, when he was captured, or even if he was captured at all. News of the ring's discovery seemed only to have reached Mordor by the time I escaped, for the Nine Ringwraiths set out a week after me. I feared they had been sent to reclaim me, but Radagast the Brown found me first. He leant me his staff and a strong horse, and I did all in my power to reach Erebor. The Nine beat me there – I learnt from Thorin that Black Riders had come to ask for Bilbo Baggins, and that Bilbo was indeed in the Shire at the time. I could not rest, nor could I despair. The race, as you may say, was on. I found a horse, and rode with all haste for the Shire. As Bilbo has said, I arrived but minutes before the riders. You have already heard how we came to Rivendell. After that, and a decent discussion, Lord Elrond, Bilbo and I cast the ring into a fire. When heated, words appeared – the Black Speech in elvish letters."
And then Gandalf spoke with so stony and cold a voice that Bilbo shrank back into his chair and drew his shoulders up to his ears. "Ashnazgdurbatulûk, ash nazggimbatul, ash nazgthrakatulûk, aghburzum-ishikrimpatul!"
All the elves clamped hands over their ears, save Elrond, who winced fiercely. When the wizard had finished, the elven lord spoke in a harder voice than Bilbo had ever heard. "Never before has any voice dared to utter the words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey."
"And I hope none will ever speak it here again," answered Gandalf, looking wearier than ever. "But I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for if doubt is not cast aside and we do not unite in the face of this evil, that tongue will be heard in every corner of the West. Every corner of Arda, in fact. The lines written on the ring are Sauron's intentions for it:
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them."
After a moment that lasted a lifetime, Galdor said softly, "But what of Saruman? He is well learned in ring-lore, what it his counsel? You have spoken of avoiding Orthanc as if it was lucky you did so, but I see not why that would be true."
Gandalf closed his eyes. "Had I gone to Isengard, all might already be lost. I had no time to stop on the way to the Shire, and I planned to visit only when I knew the Baggins family were safe. The very day that we reached Rivendell, so did another wizard: Radagast the Brown."
Bilbo's eyes widened a fraction – he had not known that. But then, he had spent the first few days at Fíli's side, and nothing else seemed to be important, even when Elrond and Gandalf had made him throw his ring in a fireplace.
"Much relieved was he to find me here, for he had been desperately seeking Lord Elrond, and his tidings were very dark." Gandalf's hands tightened around his staff as if to steady himself. "He received words from his birds that masses of orcs were sprawling in Isengard, and he hastened to Saruman's aid. But he found that the 'head' of our order needed no help – at least not the sort that Radagast would willingly supply. Saruman gestured at the orcs – which Radagast noted were larger and more man-like than any he had seen before – and referred to them as his army of uruk-hai. The time was come, he said, for great things from the great Istari, and that it was time for Radagast to put away trivial matters of bird and beast and serve Saruman's great purpose."
I bet that didn't go down well, thought Bilbo. The faces of all the council were dark and concerned, save Elrond, who looked defeated and weary.
But Gandalf continued.
"'What purpose?' asked Radagast, 'What could justify the spawning of this evil?' And by his report, Saruman replied: 'The purpose of Saruman the great, the ring-maker. It is time, Radagast, that we might rule the world of men. The Nazgûl are riding, Radagast. They seek Baggins, the seek the One, and you and I both know who Baggins is. We might find Baggins first. We might be the most powerful Lords of Middle-Earth.' And Radagast was afraid and dismayed, but whatever Saruman thinks, he is not a foolish fellow. He knew that Saruman had never viewed him as powerful, let alone a lord, and he asked, 'What of Gandalf? What says he? He is a friend of Baggins.' And…" Gandalf paused, a cold bitterness in his eyes. "Saruman laughed. 'For nigh on seven years Gandalf has been the prisoner of Sauron, held in Minas Morgul. His greatness is spent, Radagast.' And it is worth noting that he failed to tell Radagast I had escaped, though I doubt not Saruman knew this. How he knew, I do not know. And what he did not know was that Radagast knew I had escaped. 'What would you have me do?' he asked, but too hastily, I deem, for Saruman knows that ever Radagast was fonder of me, and far too loyal and honest to turn to treachery. 'Abide with me,' said the White Wizard, 'and assist in the greatness that is to come.' Pretty words for 'be my prisoner.' However," Gandalf smiled grimly, "ever has Saruman underestimated Radagast. On that very day, Radagast sent a message to the great eagles of the Misty Mountains. When night fell, and Saruman was engaged with his army, Radagast slipped out of a window onto the back of Gwaihir, the Windlord himself, and escaped. Thence he came straight to Elrond."
"It is grievous news," the elf lord said, "and it burdened my heart to hear it. For we trusted Saruman, and he was deep in our counsels. Yet it is unwise to study too deeply the arts of the enemy, for good or evil. So, the tale of the Ring has been told, from first to last. Only one question remains. What are we going to do?"
That's all for today, folks! Blimey, my first 'council' chapter was a long-un – I've cut it here (and I mean added to it, too, but hey) and it's still a monster! Anyways, do let me know what you think, and until I see you again, have a lovely time :D