Chapter 3: The council

Daeron awoke to the gentle caress of the morning sun streaming through the window, casting a warm glow upon his face. Stretching his limbs, he rose from his bed, his mind filled with the lingering echoes of dreams. The events of the previous night danced before his eyes, and a yearning tugged at his heart. He needed to be part of the council, to be included in the discussions that shaped their future.

With a determined stride, Daeron made his way through the corridors of Rivendell. Lord Elrond, his father, held wisdom that surpassed the ages, and Daeron yearned to be privy to the council's deliberations. He wished to glean insights into the unfolding events that threatened their lands and discover the true extent of the darkness that loomed on the horizon. He was a Dunedain afterall, he'd sworn an oath to protect the Free peoples of the north from threats. He had trained vigorously with his brothers, Elladan and Elothir with swords against battle hardened Elves who had fought in wars. He'd left home to join the Rangers and learn how to survive the harsh and unforgiving wild. He wanted to play his role in stopping the darkness.

As he approached the doors to his Ada's study, a surge of anticipation coursed through his veins, quickening his steps. The intricate carvings on the wooden doors seemed to hold whispered promises of knowledge and understanding. But as he reached for the handle, ready to enter, Lord Elrond stepped out the door, a solemn expression on his face. Before a word could escape his lips his Ada addressed him.

"Daeron," Lord Elrond spoke gently, his voice tinged with both love and regret, "This council is not meant for your ears. There are matters discussed that are better left unknown to one so young."

Daeron's heart sank, disappointment weighing heavily upon him. He had hoped to be part of the discussions, to prove his worth and show that he was no longer a child. The hurt of exclusion pricked at his pride, but he nodded, unable to hide his longing.

"I understand, Ada," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Everything in him wanted to retort and argue that he was old enough, he wasn't some helpless child anymore.

With a heavy sigh, Lord Elrond placed a hand on Daeron's shoulder, his touch a mixture of comfort and reassurance. "You are still young, my son, and there will be plenty of opportunities for you to make your mark on the world. For now, trust that I act in your best interest."

Daeron nodded again, his gaze fixed on the ground, the weight of his disappointment bearing down upon him. With his father's gentle guidance, Daeron left the study, his thoughts swirling in a tumultuous mix of frustration and curiosity. He wandered the halls of Rivendell, seeking solace in the beauty of his surroundings. The gardens whispered their secrets to him as he passed, but his mind remained fixated on the council, on the conversations he was excluded from. He tried to push away his curiosity but the more he tried the more he found himself thinking about the meeting.

As he walked, a distant sound caught his attention—a low, melodic voice drifting through the air. Curiosity pulled him towards the sound, leading him to a grand hall where the council had gathered. Daeron hesitated, his mind warning him of the consequences of eavesdropping, but his burning desire for knowledge overruled his better judgment.

He found a hidden alcove, concealed by a tapestry, and nestled himself within its confines, his heart pounding in his chest. From this vantage point, and with his keen elven ears that he had inherited, he could hear them quite clearly.

Lady Galadriel, his grandmother, stood tall and regal, her gaze filled with wisdom and ancient knowledge. Gandalf and Saruman, the White Wizard, engaged in a heated debate, their voices clashing like thunder and lightning.

Gandalf's expression was resolute, his eyes blazing with determination. "I tell you, Saruman, there is a darkness growing in this world—a darkness that threatens to consume us all. The dwarves seek to reclaim their homeland, Erebor, from the clutches of the dragon Smaug. They need our guidance and support."

Saruman, adorned in his white robes, regarded Gandalf with a mixture of skepticism and condescension. "Reclaiming Erebor is a fool's errand. The dwarves brought this calamity upon themselves with their insatiable greed. They will fail, and their quest will lead to nothing but ruin and despair."

Gandalf's voice grew stern as he countered, his words dripping with defiance. "You underestimate the strength and resilience of the dwarven race, Saruman. They possess a fire that cannot be quenched, a determination that will carry them through even the darkest of times. We cannot abandon them to their fate."

Saruman's eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, yes, the noble dwarves. Their greed is matched only by their stubbornness. Why should we waste our time and resources on a quest that is doomed from the start? Let them face their own demons. They lost Erebor and Khazad Dum because of their greed."

Gandalf's voice boomed with authority, echoing through the chamber. "Because, Saruman, we are the protectors of Middle-earth. We have a duty to aid those in need, even if the odds are against them. Erebor is a key piece in the battle against the rising darkness. It is not just the dwarves' homeland—it is a strategic stronghold that can turn the tide in our favor. Smaug is a powerful foe whom I fear our enemy could try to entice to join their side."

Saruman's laughter echoed through the hall, a hollow and mocking sound. "What enemy?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We vanquished the Dark Lord long ago, didn't we? We crushed his forces in Mordor, and we have peace. The only enemy here, Gandalf, are the ones that you think you see."

Gandalf's face tightened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and concern. He let out a weary sigh, his voice tinged with sadness. "We merely destroyed his form, Saruman. Sauron's essence endures, and he will return with a vengeance. Just look at what's happening around us. The Rangers have reported a growing presence of the enemy in Angmar. The signs are clear if you care to see."

Saruman's smirk widened, his tone dripping with derision. "Ah, the Dunedain Rangers, the guardians of the North, always seeing enemies where none exist. It seems their tales of a resurgent darkness have influenced even you, Gandalf. You let your imagination run wild with these wildmen and their exaggerated reports."

Gandalf's eyes blazed with intensity, his voice growing sharper. "The Dunedain have protected these lands for centuries, Saruman. Their knowledge and insights cannot be dismissed so easily. There is truth in their warnings, and it is our duty to heed them."

Saruman waved a dismissive hand, his arrogance on full display. "Truth or fiction, it matters not to me. I trust in my own observations and knowledge. The Rangers' tales are merely embellished fables, conjured to keep their own relevance alive."

Daeron wanted to shout and retort from his hiding space. He couldn't believe that he was hearing from Saruman the White, regarded as one of the greatest wizards. He bit his tongue and remembered the consequences he would receive should his father discover his presence.

Gandalf's jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. "You underestimate the significance of their words, Saruman. The enemy is stirring, and we must prepare ourselves for the battles to come. Ignoring the signs will only lead to our downfall."

Saruman leaned back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, Gandalf, always the harbinger of doom. You see enemies in every shadow, while I prefer to focus on the present. The enemy may or may not come, but until then, I will not waste my time on imaginary threats."

Lord Elrond cleared his throat, trying to break the tension that had filled the air so much that it was almost tangible.

"We must get back on track. Should we aid the dwarves in reclaiming their homeland?" Lord Elrond asked.

"No," Saruman stated simply, "let them do as they please, but we are under no obligation to aid them. We warned them what their greed would bring, and they ignored us."

"And I say we should!" Gandalf shouted, slamming his hands on the table. "My apologies, Lady Galadriel," he quickly added, realizing his outburst. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Radagast has reported something dark and sinister coming from Mirkwood. He says there's a necromancer inhabiting Dol Guldur."

Saruman, sitting opposite Gandalf, let out a mocking laugh, his eyes filled with sarcasm. "Ah, Radagast the Brown, the reliable source of information," he remarked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Do you expect us to base our decisions on the ramblings of a hermit who talks to birds and animals?"

Gandalf's brows furrowed, his gaze unwavering. "Radagast has proven his worth time and time again, Saruman. His connection to nature gives him unique insights into the workings of the world. We would be wise not to dismiss his warnings lightly."

Saruman waved a dismissive hand, a smirk playing on his lips. "Insights, you say? Birds and squirrels whispering secrets in his ear, I suppose. Do you truly believe in such folly?"

Lady Galadriel, who had been observing the exchange with a serene expression, finally spoke, her voice calm but commanding.

"Saruman, it is unwise to underestimate the power of nature and those who have a deep connection to it. Radagast may have unorthodox methods, but his intuition has often proved invaluable."

Saruman's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a hint of annoyance. "Forgive me, Lady Galadriel if I find it difficult to place my trust in the eccentricities of a wandering wizard. I prefer to rely on reason and evidence."

Gandalf reached down and pulled something wrapped in cloth. Daeron strained his eyes trying to see. As they continued to argue, Gandalf opened the cloth revealing something that from his hiding place Daeron assumed was a blade.

Lady Galadriel's eyes widened, her voice filled with concern. "Where did you get this, Gandalf? Such a weapon carries the taint of darkness and corruption. It is not to be trifled with. Where is its owner? A Morgul blade never strays far..."

Gandalf's face hardened, his gaze fixed upon the Morgul blade. "Radagast gave it to me. I brought it here to warn everyone and allow us to investigate it."

"So, there's no proof of a necromancer then," Saruman smirked. "This is just a trick, to make us look for trouble where there is none. We should focus on maintaining peace and-"

They were interrupted as an Elf ran into the council. "Apologize, my lord, but the dwarves have gone."

Daeron perked up on hearing the news. The dwarves had already departed Rivendell... they were going to try and reclaim their homeland regardless of whether anyone else was going to help. He admired their resolve, he hoped that they would succeed. He looked at Saruman, who seemed infuriated by the news and stormed off. Lord Elrond, ever the diplomat, ran off after the White Wizard, leaving Gandalf and Lady Galadriel alone.

"You knew they were going to leave," Galadriel said softly.

Gandalf nodded his head, "I knew Saruman wouldn't see eye to eye on this matter. So I did what I thought best..." he paused and looked in the direction of where Daeron was hiding. Daeron held his breath, his eyes widen as he heard the wise wizard call out

"It's safe to come out, Master Daeron..."