(A/N): This chapter is so long... but I didn't know how to split it up... Ah well.
Hope you all are doing well! I'm finally starting to do better but, to be perfectly frank with you all, work has become a mess and I'm low-key panicking. It's really too bad I can't make a living writing fanfiction. That'd be nice. Don't worry too much about me though- it'll all work out for me. Hopefully.
Hugs and overwhelming words of gratitude to everyone who left a review for my last chapter! I was so happy to hear how much it moved you. This chapter is a total 180 emotions-wise for Hermione so hopefully it's not too jarring for any of you.
I really hope you guys like this take on the Council of Elrond and, to be honest, Elrond in general. Most fics I've read have had Hermione really mesh well with all the elves- and especially Elrond- but when I rewatched the movie, I just couldn't see it.
This chapter has a mix of book and movie dialogue and the book is way more formal than the movie so hopefully I managed to make it smooth and easy to read...
Thanks for reading! Enjoy!
Hermione opened her eyes and she knew.
She knew what had happened. She knew why she'd been so distraught.
The body keeps score, Luna had once hummed while threading shells they'd found on the beach into Hermione's hair. It had looked like Hermione was wearing a crown from Poseidon and it had taken hours for her to remove all the shells. She had tucked every single one into a carved box Neville had given her.
Sometimes the rest of you catches on quicker than your brain does, Susan had told her with a laugh when she'd had lunch with her and Ernie one random afternoon. That's what happens when your brains moves too fast to take in the scenery. They'd ordered every dessert on the menu and the Daily Prophet had made a quip about them eating their feelings. Ernie had cut out the picture and article and framed them and Susan had hung it in her office.
Arwen stepped into her line of sight. "Hermione," she sighed in relief, reaching out to place a hand on the brunette's forehead. "We were so worried."
She blinked up at the elf. "Why do you have a Horcrux?"
Arwen had only paused long enough to help Hermione into a plain blue dress before dragging the brunette behind her as they raced through the city. In tune with the pounding of her heart, Hermione felt the drumming of soul magic beneath the soles of her feet in a tragically familiar rhythm. She felt so dazed that she couldn't keep track of the path the elf was leading her down.
Of all the evils she might have feared meeting in this world, this was one Hermione would never have expected.
Down a flight of stairs and up another they went, Arwen ignoring every guard they passed who, after catching sight of the look on the elven woman's face, made no move to stop them. Hermione quickly found herself in a part of the city she'd never been before. Arwen pulled her down a heavily shaded path and then they were suddenly in standing on a large porch.
"Arwen!" Elrond started reproachfully. "What are you doing here?"
Hermione scanned the area, eyes flickering over Gandalf, the young Hobbit and the dwarves who had sat at their table the night before, a second, older Hobbit next to the younger one, several blond elves, Aragorn, and Boromir. She didn't hear what Arwen said to her father, didn't notice how everyone stared at her with varying degrees of confusion, shock, and outrage, as her attention was entirely pulled to a simple gold ring resting on a small pillar. She made no move to pick it up, hating the idea of even touching the wretched thing.
At least it wasn't a locket, she thought, trying to find something to make the situation even slightly better.
A hand touched her arm, jolting her back into the present. "You shouldn't be here, Little One," Aragorn told her gently.
"Neither should it," she responded shortly. "It's dangerous leaving a Horcrux just lying about. It won't take long for it to corrupt someone's mind enough to pick it up."
"A Horcrux?" he repeated with a frown. "What is a Horcrux?"
"Dark magic. Black magic." Hermione could feel that oh-so-familiar taint begin to seep into her skin. "It's when a practitioner of the Dark Arts rips apart their soul and tucks a piece of it into an object to ensure they'll never die even if their body is destroyed."
"You are familiar with this kind of magic?" Elrond demanded, his argument with Arwen abruptly ending.
"Familiar with, had my childhood ruined by- suppose it's all the same," Hermione answered flippantly, folding her arms across her chest, finally turning to look at the elven lord. "I helped destroy two of them when I was younger."
"Two of them?" Gandalf repeated, sounding horrified as he stood from his seat.
She shrugged. "The Dark Lord we were facing made seven."
There were confused murmurings from several, but Hermione kept her gaze trained on Elrond and Gandalf. "It's dangerous to leave a Horcrux out in the open," she repeated. "Surely you must realize that."
Elrond gave her a considering look that set Hermione's teeth on edge. "Perhaps it might be best for you to join us," Gandalf said, frowning at Elrond.
"But she is a woman!" one of the elves argued.
Hermione glanced over at him. "And you're blond," she mocked and then, at his confused look, raised her brows and added, "Sorry, I thought we were making comments on shallow, inconsequential things we don't like about the other."
"Peace, Little One" Aragorn chided her.
"I don't think peace is an option for you anymore," Hermione snorted, glancing back at the ring. "If it ever was in the first place."
"Lady Hermione is no ordinary woman," Gandalf informed the men. "She was captured by Saruman and brought here from another land."
Hermione grimaced. Not only was her backstory none of these people's business, but she didn't appreciate the old man's choice of saying that she was 'brought' to Middle Earth.
"Why would Saruman go through so much effort?" a different blond elf asked, studying Hermione with a clear, even gaze.
"Because he's a fool high on Dark Magic and incapable of thinking things through," she grumbled.
Elrond held up a hand. "Enough. There is much that must be discussed, and the light grows more dim with every moment that passes."
She stared at him. Oh god, is this my life now? she wondered wildly. Just forever having to cut through flowery bullshit speeches to get at the truth?
It was like Umbridge but worse somehow. Or, like early Umbridge before the decrees and the Veritaserum and the Catholic-like witch hunt.
After sending his daughter away, Elrond turned to the group. "You have all been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate. To this one doom. Things will be openly spoken of that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. And first, so that all may understand what the peril we are facing is, the tale of the ring shall be told from the beginning to the present. I will begin that tale, though others shall end it." He paused there to gesture for everyone to return to their seats.
Aragorn offered Hermione his seat, but she waved him off, choosing instead to settle against the balcony railing behind Gandalf. Elrond began to speak, and she silently listened to his tale, taking in how the different men reacted to it.
She saw how the blond elves almost puffed up with pride at the description of how their ancestors assisted in the defeat of Sauron.
She saw how shame seemed to fill Aragorn's frame as Isildur's supposed failure was discussed.
She saw how the few humans grew annoyed at how easily they were judged and dismissed as weak and worthless.
Hermione had somehow managed to forget that the worst thing about a Horcrux was the fact that she couldn't fully own her emotions. She knew now that the overwhelming anguish she'd been struck with the day before was due to the Horcrux amplifying the grief she'd already been feeling. But that knowledge could only do so much to help her find a way to keep her head above water. What helped more was channeling her emotions from pain to anger and Elrond was assisting quite a bit with that.
Once the elven lord was finished with his overly dramatic account of what happened with Isildur and Sauron and the One Ring, Gandalf and the older hobbit, Bilbo, explained how the ring had arrived in Rivendell. When they were finally silent, Hermione turned around to look out onto the city. She took several deep breaths as her fingers clamped down on the stone railing so hard her knuckles ached. Glancing directly downwards to see how high up they were, Hermione sighed.
"My lady?" Gandalf prodded.
Hermione spun back around, giving Elrond the coldest, most judgmental look she could manage. "The outright stupidity that you've spewed makes me want to fling myself off the balcony in order to escape it but, since we're not nearly high enough to guarantee death, I suppose I'll have to settle for explaining to you just why you're wrong. But don't worry, I'll make sure to use small words so it's easier for you to follow along."
She ignored the way Elrond's eyes widened in shock and the murmurs of confused outrage from some of the other council members as she stalked forward.
"It's interesting how nowhere in that entire little speech you gave about the weakness of Isildur when faced with the ring did you mention telling him what the ring was. You said he picked up the ring, you said you bid him to follow him up Mount Doom in order to destroy it, you said that once you reached the top you ordered him to cast it into the fire and he refused, but you never said you warned him about the ring. You never said you told him that Sauron's soul lived on in it and that's why it needed to be destroyed. Which makes me think that you never did. Which is the first problem with that recount."
Her lips twisted up into a mean little grin as she came to a stop before Elrond. "The second problem is that you knew. You knew what the ring was. So why didn't you just take it yourself? Why make Isildur carry it? And, once you got to the heart of Mount Doom, why did you not just rip the thing out of his hand and toss it away yourself? After all, aren't you elves supposed to be faster and stronger than us pathetic humans? Aren't you supposed to be superior? If Isildur was a mere man, then why couldn't you just overpower him?" She leaned in and dropped her volume.
"There's no need to answer that because I already know. You couldn't touch the thing. You still can't. Because you know that the second you do, the ring will overtake your mind."
Elrond's face darkened. "You will take care with how you speak to me. I am the Lord of Rivendell and you are but a guest."
Hermione laughed. "Go ahead and throw me out. It won't change the fact that everything I've said is true. It won't change the fact that Isildur managed to carry that ring all the way up the mountain before it took over his mind and you couldn't even touch it for the mere seconds it would have taken to throw the ring away. And it won't change the fact that between you and Isildur, he's not the one who comes away as weak in your tale."
Boromir wasn't sure what to think.
Elrond was not the first elf he had met, and he was as familiar with their disdain towards the race of man as he was with his own frustration towards them. The tale of Sauron and Isildur was one he'd heard bits and pieces of over the years, especially when he and Faramir were younger and his brother would tear through every scrap of paper he could find in the citadel that spoke of the history of Gondor with the same kind of voraciousness Boromir knew himself to have when training his soldiers and fighting in battle. Many nights had been spent with Faramir recounting all that he had learned to his indulgent older brother. Boromir may not have had the same kind of care and interest that Faramir had, but he was always happy to spend time with his brother. Especially when their father was not there to berate his scholarly son.
He had known that Isildur had done something to taint the victory he had gained by defeating Sauron, but he hadn't known what. To hear that his supposed failure was not being aware of a threat that he did not know was there made his jaw clench in frustration. It made him wish that he had never shared the dream with Faramir. His brother would handle the attitude of the elves far better than Boromir was. Yet, if he hadn't come, would he have ever met Hermione?
The first time she'd appeared before him, curls falling around her face and her skirt bunched in her hands so it was easier for her to run through the halls of Elrond's home, Boromir hadn't thought much of her. He'd noted that she was rather pretty, especially when she blushed at the sight of him, and he had been concerned when he realized she was trying to hide from someone, but he'd found it easy enough to put the brunette from his mind once she had left. Boromir had come to Rivendell with a purpose, and Hermione wasn't- couldn't- be a part of it. His body may have been there, but his heart still resided back in his home, in his city. In Gondor. But then he had followed her when she raced away from the feast and her cries had torn down the walls around his heart.
"I can't go home," she'd gasped.
And then moments later she had confessed to the Ranger from before who had swept her into his arms without hesitation, I want to go home.
If anyone understood that feeling it was Boromir, but he couldn't even begin to imagine how much pain he would be in if he found himself unable to return home as Hermione apparently was. Gandalf has tried to act like I should have hope but there is no hope, she'd told him and the words had fallen like blows against his skin because he clung to his hopes with everything he had.
What would it be like, he wondered as the Ranger carried Hermione away, to be left with no hope and no home?
It wasn't enough for Saruman to steal her away from her home and- according to Gandalf- torture her for days on end, he had also decided to rip Hermione's foundations out from under her. But even after so much loss, Hermione still stood before them all, spitting out thoughts and accusations that Boromir had barely begun to form without any hesitation.
He had thought her very strong indeed to survive what Gandalf had said she did. But now he also thought her brave.
"Are you really going to claim that because you kept your wits around the ring that it somehow means you were stronger and more resilient than Isildur?" Hermione was hissing at the elven lord even as Gandalf tried to pull her away. "You have no idea what it's like to hold one of those things in the palm of your hand. No idea what it's like to be forced to face the darkest parts of yourself over and over again and fight to try and stay in control of your own mind. Isildur had just lost his father, had been fighting for what I have to assume is hours in battle and watching his men- his brothers in arms- fall one by one beside him, and then you forced him to carry one of the greatest evils known up a mountain. You set him up to fail and then you mock him for doing so. Cruelty at its finest."
"If what you say is true, then you managed to do what Isildur could not," Elrond returned. "And yet you argue his actions are not weak."
"I did not just watch my father die right in front of my eyes before having to carry a Horcrux," she thundered back, and Boromir watched as the Ranger stepped forward again to grab hold of Hermione's arm. "And I was also not bearing my burden alone. I had help."
"Perhaps it might help us all if we heard more of your story, Lady Hermione," the Hobbit, Bilbo, interrupted. "It sounds as though you experience with this kind of cursed object greatly exceeds our own."
That finally tore Hermione's gaze away from Elrond and she turned to stare at Bilbo in confusion. "I…" she started, but then shook her head. "No."
"Why not?" Bilbo asked calmly.
Hermione seemed to regain her footing. "Because there's no need. There's no point. The only reason why hearing of my experiences might be of any value to you is if you were trying to figure out how to destroy a Horcrux. But it seems as though you all already know what you have to do to get rid of the ring."
"But we do not know to what extent this kind of magic has on the minds of those it comes into contact with," the Ranger pointed out, remaining calm in the face of Hermione's ire.
"Well, if you listen to the wise words of the estimable Lord Elrond, apparently every man who comes near the thing immediately loses what little sense he believes they possess while elves remain superior as always," she sneered, and it was clear to Boromir that there was something else at play there, some other issue bubbling beneath the surface. "I have no idea what his opinions of dwarves and hobbits are, but I can't imagine they're viewed much better."
"Hûnwen," the dark-haired man snapped, and Hermione stiffened, glancing down at the hand on her arm before jerking away.
"No." She shook her head, unbound curls bouncing around her face. "This is ridiculous. And the fact that I'm the only one saying so is honestly just sad. I mean really: all this talk about how time is limited and how urgent the situation is, and yet Lord Elrond finds the time to tell a story that quite frankly benefited no one and nothing beyond giving him the chance to lord his supposed superiority over the rest of you. Is that just how it's done here? Do you all value stories more than you do facts?"
"And what are the facts?" asked the dwarf Gimli, son of Glóin, whom Boromir had met the evening before.
"Finally, someone capable of asking the right questions," she said, pulling a what seemed to be some kind of necklace over her head.
At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a plain loop. Then, right before their eyes, a small pouch seemed to sprout into existence from the palm of Hermione's hands.
"What sorcery is this?" Frodo asked, leaning forward in his seat with bright eyes.
"It's a small bag made from a fabric called 'mokeskin'," Hermione answered as she opened the pouch and reached in to pull out what looked to Boromir like a small book and a strange writing utensil. "It automatically shrinks when in the company of strangers or untrustworthy individuals and then returns to its normal size when the owner needs to retrieve something from it." She closed the pouch again and placed it back around her neck. Turning on her heel, Hermione returned to her spot by the edge of porch and sat down on the marble rail. Opening the book, she continued to speak as she wrote.
"Here are the facts as they currently stand: first, you have an object holding a piece of a Dark Lord's soul. Second, said Dark Lord is currently regaining power and building an army to try and gain control over Middle Earth. Third, and most importantly, he knows you have his ring and he will do anything to get it back so that he can regain his body, which means that it needs to be destroyed as soon as possible." Hermione stopped writing and glanced around at the council. "Anyone have anything else to add?"
Boromir felt caught off-guard by how quickly Hermione had shifted anger to an icy, rational demeanor and he didn't seem to be the only one.
"No? Good. Now, I believe the most important question that needs to be answered is how to destroy the ring. Clearly, Mount Doom is one option. But is that the only place it can be destroyed?"
"Destroy it?" Boromir repeated, shaking his head. "It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use the ring? 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. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy," he entreated. "Let us use it against him!"
"You cannot wield it," the Ranger snapped, glancing from Hermione to meet Boromir's gaze with hard blue eyes. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."
He felts his lips beginning to curl into a sneer and did his best to swallow it back. "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?"
The Ranger's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, but it was one of the blond elves that rose up and answered him. "This is no mere Ranger," he spat. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."
Boromir froze. This man was Isildur's heir? he thought in disbelief. This man was-
"He is the heir to the throne of Gondor," the elf finished.
The Ranger- Aragorn- raised a hand and murmured in elvish, "Havo dad, Legolas."
He could feel himself almost shaking with anger because how dare this elf try and claim that the man who had abandoned his city- had abandoned their people- was somehow owed his allegiance.
A piercing whistle cut through the tense air, and Boromir turned to meet Hermione's unimpressed gaze. "So sorry to interrupt, but, if it is alright with the lot of you, I was hoping we could return to the matter at hand. I would think stopping the rise of a Dark Lord trumps all other issues for the time being."
Boromir almost felt like he was a boy being scolded by one of his nurses. He might have felt more offended if it had not been clear that the majority of Hermione's scorn was directed towards the blond elf.
Hermione gave a condescending little grin once the blond was seated again. "Lovely. Now. Could someone please explain to me what you all mean when you talk of wielding the Ring?"
Aragorn spoke before Boromir could answer. "The Ring is a vessel for the majority of Sauron's powers and abilities, the most important ability being that to dominate the minds and wills of all creatures on Middle Earth."
After staring at Aragorn for a long moment in what seemed to be confusion, Hermione's gaze turned to the Ring. "Are you trying to tell me that, in addition to tying his life force to the ring, Sauron also imbued the majority of his powers into it?"
"Yes," Gandalf told her, watching the woman with keen gaze.
In direct contrast to their solemnity, Hermione's lips began to twitch and then a peal of laughter escaped her. She slapped a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to smother the noise as she bent over. "And here I thought it couldn't get any more ridiculous than a Dark Lord who would decide to split his soul multiple times," Hermione gasped as she got her mirth under control.
"And what do you mean by that?" Gimli demanded.
Hermione looked at the dwarf with a bright smile, and Boromir watched his face turn ruddy. "Your soul is the very essence of your being. It makes up everything that you are. Breaking it into even two pieces will leave you imbalanced. Incomplete. When an object is broken into two pieces, those bits will not be as strong as the object was when it was whole, will it? The Dark Lord from my home broke his soul into so many pieces that, by the end, he was little more than a shade of himself. He was so weak that a spell simple enough to be used by children was enough to fell him.
"Your land's Dark Lord- Sauron- only broke his soul once but he did it in a way that ensured the majority of his soul went into the Ring. Which makes it easier for the Ring to gain control of the minds of those around it, but also puts Sauron at greater risk should it fall into the hands of someone stronger of will than it. A breathtaking display of arrogance."
"Yet, none have been able to wield the Ring," Gandalf refuted.
"Because only a strong-willed person could fight off Sauron's influence, but only a truly desperate person would attempt to control power that Dark," Hermione hummed. "Most people with wills that solid won't find themselves to be in a position that desperate. And I have to assume that, before now, things have not been so bad."
"The Ring must be destroyed," Elrond interjected again, and Boromir shook his head in frustration.
"In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark," he told the council. "But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found'."
Gandalf and Elrond exchanged glances but Boromir was stopped in his tracks by Hermione meeting his gaze with a furrowed brow. "Are dream portents common in this world?"
She did not seem to be judging or condemning his words, so Boromir answered her. "Both my brother and I shared the same dream, along with another where we were given a riddle-"
Hermione held up a hand. "Thank you for answering my question, but please don't continue." Before Boromir could become offended, she continued, "In my experience, people become far too complacent when they come across anything that could even vaguely be considered a prophecy. The last thing we need now is for someone to take your riddle, apply their own understanding of it, and then stubbornly cling to it while refusing to contemplate any other options."
Carefully weighing her words, and everything she had and had not told them before, Boromir conceded her point.
"You sound as though you have knowledge of prophecies," Frodo prodded.
The way Hermione's jaw clenched reminded Boromir of the way Faramir swallowed down a response to their father's criticism and his chest ached at the reminder of what his brother was likely dealing with in Gondor alone with their father.
"Prophecies aren't the problem. People are."
Aragorn gave her a knowing glance, and Boromir wished he knew what she meant. Hermione seemed to constantly speak in riddles, but he did not sense that it was done out of mischief the way Gandalf often spoke. To his eyes, Hermione appeared to be simply shielding herself.
It was the same story. The same fucking story except, this time around, everyone seemed to be of age. Hermione wondered if she should be pleased with the fact that at least the one overseeing these idiots didn't try and use children.
She glanced at Elrond and instantly swallowed down a sneer. No, she decided, she shouldn't. Her mind kept replaying the elf's description of Isildur and the revelation that Aragorn was a descendent of the man who first defeated Sauron. It must have been hell for Aragorn, growing up in a place where he was surrounded by people who hated his ancestor and constantly made him out to be a fool.
The discussion turned back into arguments about what to do with the Ring. Boromir seemed to be firmly on the side of trying to wield the Ring against Sauron and his forces. Hermione knew that any attempt of that nature would fail miserably, but she couldn't find any scorn or blame within her against him for doing so. From the sound of it, Boromir just wanted to find a way to protect his home and his people. The city of Gondor was apparently on the frontlines of the war and hadn't seemed to receive any support from anyone in this world.
Gandalf suddenly seemed to have enough, and Hermione watched as he leapt to his feet and began to chant:
"Ash nazg durbatulûk,
ash nazg gimbatul,
ash nazg thrakatulûk
agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."
His voice echoed around the clearing and Hermione glanced up as the sky darkened the thunder rumbled, the ground literally vibrating beneath their feet.
"One Ring to rule them all," Gandalf translated. "One Ring to find them, one Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."
The clouds disappeared as suddenly as they had come into existence as Elrond glowered at Gandalf. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris."
Hermione glanced at the ring after she had dutifully written down the translation of the words Gandalf had spoken. "He's very amused by what you've done," she commented absentmindedly to the older wizard. "It seems he didn't believe you would be brave enough to ever speak his language."
It took a moment for her to realize that the clearing had fallen silent and she looked up again from her notebook. The men were all staring at her once again and Hermione silently groaned, berating herself for opening her mouth.
"You can sense more than just Sauron's presence in the ring?" Gandalf questioned.
Tapping her pen against the paper, Hermione gave into the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, and you could too once you have more experience separating your emotions from its. A Horcrux can feed off your emotions, amplifying certain ones and suppressing others. The more experience you have with them, the easier it gets to tell what's yours and what is it's. The thing's enjoyment from you speaking that language is almost a tangible thing."
The emotions coming from the ring shifted from smug amusement to contempt and Hermione could feel it pressing against her mind. Without a second thought, she shifted to look at the Ring and fully released the tight hold she had on her magic for the first time, flooding the area with power much the same way that Gandalf had. "Enough," she snapped. "I am not some fool you can throw emotions at and lead around by the nose." Not anymore. "You are outgunned and outclassed, so I suggest you knock it off before I get mad."
For a tense few seconds, the aura from the ring continued to clash against Hermione's magic before the press of Dark Magic dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared. She continued to glare at the ring for a beat to ensure that it had actually stopped before returning to reviewing her notes.
"What are you?" Hermione glanced up to see the elf that reminded her of the Malfoy's- she thought Aragorn had called him Legolas- on his feet and reaching for what she assumed was a weapon.
She knew she shouldn't, but Hermione truly couldn't resist. "That's a question that would need to be directed to Gandalf; I have no idea what I would be considered here." And then she looked back down at her notebook.
Hermione honestly had no idea why they were still in the discussion portion of the meeting. The Ring needed to be destroyed. There were no other options. So it was time to move on to talking about how to do so.
Bilbo's voice cut through her thoughts. "She is a witch?"
"She has magic," Gandalf clarified. "I believe her powers are closer to the kind I and my brethren have than that of what we would consider a witch."
From what she'd been able to gather, that wasn't totally accurate, but Hermione couldn't be bothered to argue.
"How far is Mount Doom from here?" she asked Aragorn, continuing to ignore the discussion around her.
His eyebrow rose, but he answered, "The journey takes sixty days or so."
"And is there only one way there, or multiple paths?"
"There are two common paths, each treacherous in their own way."
Hermione nodded, tapping her pen against her pad. "Sixty days," she murmured aloud. "That's too many days for any one person to carry a Horcrux. We managed to semi-safely carry the locket for about that amount of time, but there were three of us. For the most part."
"What are you doing?" Gandalf asked, and Hermione could sense him looking at her notes.
"If the journey to Mordor takes sixty or so days, then it would be incredibly foolish and dangerous to have the Ring carried by a single person," she explained. "It'll be enough of a struggle to just be in its presence but actually carrying it will make the power it releases more potent as it draws energy from its bearer. Normally, I would recommend at least three people switch off carrying it, but I suppose you could make do with two."
"And why should we trust you?" Legolas challenged. "After all, is it not strangely convenient that someone with experience in the kind of Dark Magic used to forge the Ring fell into our hands right at our time of need."
Hermione found herself rather impressed at the blonde's display of an intelligent thought process, even as Aragorn and Gandalf both frowned at the elf. "You're rude, but you're not wrong," she responded. "Everything about my appearance here seems strangely convenient. You're feeling suspicious regarding someone who seems to know exactly what you need appeared out of the blue? I'm suspicious of the fact that I've somehow found myself in place that's dealing with almost the exact same problem I dealt with in my homeland. If this all is truly a coincidence, then either someone here is incredibly lucky or someone on Sauron's side is not."
She couldn't say which option was more likely.
"The Ring's will may be bent to the service of another," Elrond slowly announced, interrupting the discussion of whether Hermione was a harbinger of evil or not. "If they are strong enough to withstand Sauron's influence."
Elrond's eyes was heavy against her skin and Hermione slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze head-on. "I would rather repeatedly stab myself in the face than even attempt to bring that level of Dark Magic to heel," she told him, tone flat and allowing no room for argument.
Gandalf gave a noise of approval. "In that case, we have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed."
A strange humming began to emanate from the Ring and Hermione's couldn't help looking over it. Frodo also seemed to be able to hear it, based off the worried expression on his face.
Gimli suddenly stood. "Then what are we waiting for?" he almost shouted, standing up and lifting the axe that had been tucked beside his chair high into the air. It came done on the Ring with a clank, the blade shattering into pieces and Hermione hissed in pain as the vision of a fiery eye filled her mind.
"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond stated calmly, and Hermione couldn't help childishly wishing that the elf had been struck by one of the pieces of Gimli's blade because that might have been a nice thing for him to have announced previously when she asked about it. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade."
As I suspected, Hermione thought bitterly, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes as she tried to breathe through the pain still pulsing in her head.
Elrond continued, "It must be taken deep into Mordor, and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."
It was official: Hermione hated Elrond. Really, truly hated him.
Boromir was the first to break the silence. "One does not simply walk into Mordor," he stated, fingers pressed to his temple. "It's black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep and the Great Eye 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."
The Great Eye? "This eye you speak of… does it almost look like an oval of flames with a slitted black pupil?" Hermione asked, interrupting whatever Legolas was about to say without an ounce of remorse.
"Aye," Boromir nodded, giving her a strange look. "You have seen it?"
Hermione smiled blandly. "In a manner of speaking."
Looking at the Ring, she silently asked, Is that your game then? You want to make me believe that Big Brother is always watching? Want to leave us shaking in our boots, questioning whether or not even safe to speak in your presence? How cute.
Returning to the conversation at hand, Hermione told Boromir, "Dealing with the impurities in the air is easy enough to do- I've done it before. There are also spells that will help shield your presence from your enemy. It would have to be a small group infiltrating Mordor though. Too many people allow for too many variables, and even the strongest spells won't be enough to keep everyone hidden. Of course, a more detailed description of the terrain would be necessary before I could offer any specifics."
"You speak as though you will be assisting with this matter," Legolas sneered. "As though we would be foolish enough to trust a stranger in our land with the greatest evil known."
"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" Gimli challenged while Hermione turned Legolas' words around in her head.
She wasn't a Gryffindor anymore. She hadn't been since she'd opened a newspaper in Grimmauld Place and seen the list of names of everyone like her who hadn't made it out of Azkaban alive. Since she'd found herself drifting through a world where she was utterly and completely alone in a way her friends could never truly understand.
But this wasn't her world.
Hermione may not be a Gryffindor, but could she really write off a world full of people that hadn't done anything wrong? A world full of people who had no idea just what was coming their way?
There's more to being a Gryffindor than chivalry and bravery, Neville had told her when she'd drunkenly wondered where the Sorting Hat would place her if she put it on then. We're also bloody determined and all the definitions of nerve. And if that doesn't fit you perfectly, then what does?
Once upon a time, a boy who cried when he lost his toad grew up into a man who had led an army of school children, parents, and teachers into a battle against monsters without an ounce of hesitation because he refused to bend his knee.
Maybe Hermione was not and would never again be the girl who fought simply because it was the right thing to do. But she was damn well still the woman who had followed that man into battle because she'd rather die than bow down.
"I will take the Ring!" Frodo shouted, climbing to his feet. All other arguments died instantly as everyone turned to look at the young hobbit. "I will take it- I will take the Ring to Mordor." Then, with significantly less confidence, added, "Though I do not know the way."
Looking at Frodo was like looking at a ghost and, when it got to be too much, Hermione looked at the Ring and wondered what it had shown him.
"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear," Gandalf said.
The Messiah. The Wise Man.
Aragorn spoke next. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword," he vowed.
"And you have my bow," Legolas added.
Not to be outdone, Gimli announced, "And my axe."
The Leader. The Soldiers.
"You carry the fates of us all, little one," Boromir stated. "If this is the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."
Hermione glanced at Boromir. His ability to fight the Ring's influence would decide what his role in this grand adventure would be.
"And your second?" she finally spoke, digging her nails into her palm as she forced herself to meet Frodo's wide eyes.
"My second?" he asked faintly, seemingly stunned by the support his declaration had received.
"You can't carry the Ring by yourself for the entirety of your journey. You'll break."
"He managed to carry the Ring from the Shire to Rivendell without falling victim to the Ring's influence," Elrond stated, and Frodo flushed slightly. "He has shown extraordinary resistance to its evil."
"He has," Hermione agreed, still keeping her attention on Frodo. "But that also means that he's been exposed to Dark Magic for a significant amount of time; just become he hasn't succumbed doesn't mean that he's won. His soul will begin to fray soon, if it hasn't started already. You need to do what you can to start countering the Ring's influence and that starts with not bearing the burden alone."
Frodo seemed to be studying Hermione just as carefully as she watched him. "What will happen to me if I don't have help?"
Hermione's lips twitched. "Your emotions and mind will begin to twist to suit the Ring's desires so subtly that you won't notice until you're too late. It will start with the emotions linked to your good intentions. Possessiveness will likely be the first one.
"First, you'll refuse to allow anyone else to hold or even get close to the Ring because you don't want to put them at risk. Then, your thinking will shift so that you think no one can touch the Ring because it's your burden and you must be the one to deal with it. After that, you'll start to think that everyone around you is weak and if they show any concern for you, it must be done out of malice and because they want the Ring for themselves and you have to keep it hidden and safe. So it can be destroyed, of course. Finally, you'll convince yourself that the Ring isn't evil or dangerous and you have complete control of it, so why should you have to destroy something is basically yours at this point. And it will do that with every emotion of yours that it can until your mind is so fractured you can't tell up from down."
The hobbit had paled as Hermione dispassionately reeled off what would happen to him. Part of her thought she might be being too harsh on Frodo, but the rest of Hermione wanted to make sure he knew what she wished she would have known before the Golden Trio had set out on their own adventure.
And then Frodo said the one thing Hermione would never have expected him to.
"Then, will you help me?"
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