Chapter Ten
Their quiet breakfast is interrupted by three steady knocks. Boromir frowns at the door then looks at Hermione, who shrugs in return. The hobbits are next door and they're not expecting to see any of their new friends until the meeting. He motions for her to stay seated and rises to answer it.
"Lord Boromir." It's a younger version of Erestor. "Lord Heryld has arrived."
Boromir blinks at the elf. What is going on? "Why is Heryld here?"
"He came to represent Gondor." At Boromir's heavy silence he continues, "At the council."
He clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. "And how did he know there is a meeting today?" He didn't know there was a meeting until Nori told him yesterday.
"Invitations were sent."
"Invitations were sent," he repeats, a quiet anger beginning to fester beneath his skin. "When were these invitations sent?"
The elf must sense something amiss, as he quickly takes a step back. "A little over two moons ago."
Boromir nods and closes the door in the messenger's face. He rests his suddenly heated forehead on the cool door. Over eight weeks ago... if they sent a hawk then the invitation would have arrived mere days after his departure... it would have taken the council at least a week of arguing before choosing a representative... Heryld needed speed over stealth to arrive in time... meaning he didn't have to trudge through forests or up and down foothills... so much time and effort wasted...
"Captain?" A slim hand slides into his. "Is everything alright?"
If he had taken the roads, he would have never met Hermione.
He wouldn't have been there to save her.
Boromir straightens up and pulls her into a hug. "Everything is as it should be."
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Dressed in the best they have available – him in clean leathers, an embroidered tunic in his colours of maroon and gold, polished boots, and, of course, his new magic socks; her in long, billowing red blouse with orange and yellow trim, a wide, black scarf as a belt, fitted black denims, and tall black boots – Boromir escorts Hermione through the halls as he would a high ranking noblewoman. She rolled her eyes at his antics, but seems happy to play along.
Truthfully, he's indulging in theatrics hoping Heryld will take note and treat her accordingly. It would be better for everyone if that disgusting, old slug didn't give Hermione an excuse to turn him into a toad.
Not that he would blame her if she did.
"Captain Boromir!" They turn to the approaching footsteps. Commander Randulf, still in dirty leathers and chainmail, and his exhausted squire trailing a few paces behind him, greets them with open arms and a grin. "It is good to see you with my own eyes and know you are well."
They step back after a quick embrace. "Thankfully, my journey was mostly uneventful." Boromir places a hand on the small of Hermione's back and encourages her to stand at his side. "My companion, Lady Hermione. Hermione, Commander Randulf of the First Watch. He and I have served together since we were teens."
She nods slightly and gives a him a small smile, "Well met, Commander Randulf," then leans to the side to look behind him. "And young man with you?"
Randulf laughs heartily. "Come forth, Gareth! When an exotic beauty such as the lovely Lady Hermione requests your presence, you must not keep her waiting."
The squire steps forward and bows deeply. "Squire Gareth, First Form, m'lady."
"Let's see if I remember correctly... that means you serve the guardsmen of Minas Tirith, those of the First Watch, who in turn serve the lords of the Citadel, and the three bands on your arm indicate you are in your third year of training."
The teen straightens up in surprise. "Yes, ma'am. Come spring, after my sixteenth winter, I'll begin training as a guardsman and taking shifts with the Night Watch."
"You must have demonstrated exemplary service to have been chosen for this assignment," she praises, then shakes a finger at him. "But don't call me ma'am. Makes me feel old." Hermione softens the scolding with a wink, making poor Gareth turn red.
"Yes, ma'am. I mean- uh, no, ma'am. No! That is- I mean- " The squire groans and ducks his head, shrinking back as Randulf howls with laughter.
"Lady Hermione," he says between breaths, "please do not break my squire. Not only is he the best I have, he's the only one I brought!"
"My apologies, Commander," she says seriously, but with a playful curl of her lips. "I shall endeavour to treat him more kindly."
He looks over his shoulder at the still red-faced squire. "I'm not sure that would help."
Boromir smothers his chuckles sends them to clean-up, promising to exchange news later, and continues down the hall towards the courtyard where he knows the dwarrow of Erebor are likely to be found. Hopefully Nori is willing to share what they've learned about the upcoming meeting.
Today has held more than enough surprises for him.
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Hermione gives him a hard and fast hug before abandoning him to sit with Gloin and Bilbo. They started telling the tale of the journey to Erebor last night, but Bilbo sent everyone to bed as soon as Nori popped in and mentioned stripping down to bathe in the huge fountain. "It was just starting to get good!" she complained, flopping onto the bed beside him. Boromir wisely said nothing, only tossed a pillow at her head. Which she, of course, tossed back.
They were still picking feathers out of their hair come morning.
"Come on, Bilbo. What was it like being surrounded by all that muscle and hair?" Hermione asks with a waggle of her eyebrows and makes herself comfortable beside a chuckling Gloin.
Boromir shakes his head in amusement and lowers himself to the grass under the tree. Five heartbeats later, Nori drops down from above, as expected. "Heard you had an interestin' morning."
He snorts a laugh, "I'm sure you did," then sighs. "Father sent me to Rivendell. He knew I would already be here. Why send Heryld?"
Nori pats his hand. "You know why."
... in case he didn't make it... because the council saw the invitation before Father could hide it... or he doesn't trust him, his eldest son, to follow his orders and return with the enemy's weapon.
Boromir's resolve firms. It doesn't matter what his father thinks or even that he's right, because he will never take that demonic horcrux to his city. Never.
"Yes... I suppose I do."
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He never gets to hear Nori's gossip due to Glorfindel showing up to escort everyone to the meeting.
He's so nervous he could hurl.
What if The Ring pits his new friends against him?
What if The Ring pits his old friend against him?
What if The Ring takes him over?
What if The Ring enchants Hermione?
What if Heryld insults Hermione?!
... what if... what if... what if...
"Captain?" Her soft, concerned voice breaks through the chaos of his thoughts.
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Pretend I've never attended an elf lord's council before."
Boromir swallows the slightly hysterical laugh trying to bubble up. "Because you haven't?"
"Because I haven't." He can feel the mischief building. "Do they serve snacks?"
He throws his head back and lets loose his laughter. "With this many hobbits about, they must or there would be mutiny."
"Never take anything serious, do you, boy?" Boromir closes his eyes and sighs. That whiny sneer just ruined all of Hermione's effort to improve his mood.
"Lord Heryld," he greets with a false smile as he turns. Anything else he may have said sticks in his throat as he watches that fat, lazy lord leer at his beautiful best friend.
"That elf closed the door in my face when I asked for a girl to service me. Did you get the last one or bring your own?"
He spins on his heel, blocking Hermione from Heryld's lecherous gaze. "I will give you anything you desire if you don't burn him to ash, trap him in a box, or any of the hundred different punishments he deserves," he whispers rapidly.
The rage and the hurt in her amber eyes is worse than a knife to the heart.
She doesn't get a chance to answer, because a wall of warriors formed, further protecting her, as soon as he put his back to Heryld.
"Take. Your. Seat. Councilman." Gandalf sounds as livid as his magic feels.
"Now," Glorfindel adds when he doesn't move. Gimli growls, causing the frozen Lord to finally move his feet.
The sharp gait of Randulf approaches, but he walks past Heryld. The Commander comes to their side and places a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Lady Hermione, I know my apologies are worthless as it is Lord Heryld who must answer for his behaviour, but I hope you will accept them none-the-less," he says loud and clear, then quieter, "I am so incredibly sorry, milady."
Hermione's wrath turns to panic, and Boromir knows she needs help getting out of this mess. "Apology accepted, Commander Randulf, though it was not your words or deeds that caused insult," he answers formally.
"Everyone deserves a second chance," she says, though the words are forced. "Let us hope your Lord does not waste his."
Randulf breathes out a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you," he murmurs for their ears only.
A bell is rung.
"It is time," Lord Elrond looks around at the mixed group of folk from every corner of Middle Earth, "to begin."
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Commander Randulf seats Heryld two down from Hermione, removing her from councilman's line of sight while keeping the delegation from Gondor together. Gareth stands behind the chairs, between him and Randulf, awaiting orders from either.
Gloin elbows Gimli out of the way to claim the seat next to Hermione. Boromir leans forward and looks down the line, searching for Nori, but they're not in attendance. He almost laughs at himself. That secret-finder is sure to be watching from the shadows.
He lays his hand on Hermione's, but she wrenches hers away. "Hermione?" he whispers, his confusion clear. What did he do to upset her?
Her jaw looks tight enough to break teeth. "Have I ever used magic in violence against you?" she hisses.
What? "Of course not." Why is she asking- Oh. She thinks he defended Heryld against her. "No, Hermione, your beautiful magic has not once harmed me, but I have also never insinuated you were a whore," Boromir explains in a gentle tone. "You are fully within your rights to flay him for the insult, but then Randulf would have had to defend him, and I – and our friends – would have come to your defence, though we know you do not need it."
She sags. "I didn't... I would not want you to fight your friend on my behalf."
"It would have come down to who moved faster. Myself, Nori, or Glorfindel." He relaxes when she huffs, trying to hiding a chuckle. "But I think that is a question better left unanswered."
"Nonsense. Maybe when this mess is over Minas Tirith can host a tournament. Have a street party and a gala, and play loads of games to celebrate." She threads her arm through his and leans against him. Boromir masks his relief and rests his cheek upon her hair. "I'll make t-shirts, or maybe jumpers, to commemorate the occasion. 'Middle Earth Olympics, Gondor'. Erebor can host the next one, then we'll swing back to Rohan. Think the Shire would want a turn?"
"I think Pippin could convince them," he says with a grin. He can picture it now... as though a Grand Market collided with a skills tourny. But it wouldn't be City Guard verses Rangers. No, they'd organize a huge array of contests pitting all races and cities against each other in search of the best. He chuckles at his brilliant idea. "A pie eating contest. The hobbits would surely best us all."
Hermione stifles a giggle. "I think dwarrow might take it."
"Doesn't count if it ends up in their beards instead of their stomachs," he argues in good humour. Muffled chuckles – and a few not so muffled – break the tension that settled upon the courtyard. Even Lord Elrond has a soft smile and seems loath to interrupt.
But interrupt he does.
He clears his face, stands, and waits for silence. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. A great evil thought lost long ago threatens all of Middle Earth once more. We must unite against Sauron or we will all fall to darkness." He motions to Bilbo as he sits. "Let us listen to Master Bilbo's tale of how The One Ring was found."
Bilbo begins with describing a battle between stone giants during a thunderstorm, long after they had left Rivendell and well into the Misty Mountains.
It is, as Hermione would say, spoilers.
They already knew the old hobbit was a masterful wordsmith, but it seems the larger audience brings out an even grander storyteller. Bilbo weaves a daring and terrifying tale of goblin traps, falling deep into the mountain to an underground lake, and a game of riddles with Gollum- a skeletal, grey skinned creature with big eyes, a nasty grin, and far more cunning than one would expect.
No one could have suspected that the plain gold ring laying innocently on the ground was the greatest threat of all.
The invisibility it imparted to Bilbo was so helpful in rescuing the Company time and time again, he had no reason to doubt it's intentions. Yet every time he used it the world turned a little more grey and the colour of life took longer to return.
Like the horcruxes of Hermione's world, The Ring was slowly consuming Bilbo's spirit.
And now it's passed to Frodo.
"Before Master Frodo tells us of the perilous journey from the Shire to Rivendell," Lord Elrond takes a deep breath, "it is time I recount my own history with the One Ring."
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It seems impossible at times... this world she's found herself in... sometimes it feels like there's a song on the wind, teasing at her mind, begging to be heard... but floats away when she tries to listen.
What is it trying to tell her?
Hermione brushes the reoccurring and frustrating thought aside and refocuses on Elrond. The scale of the war he speaks of is comparable to World War One. Everyone fought. Elves, Men, and dwarrow on one side and orcs, trolls, and Men with dark hearts on the other. There was even a contingent of hobbit archers! The Shire was gifted to them by the King of Arnor in recognition of their service.
She hopes to visit it one day. Merry and Pippin make it sound so peaceful.
Deaths were in the hundreds of thousands. Maybe even millions. The Battle of Dagorlad's toll was so high the magic of this land turned the plains into a cursed swamp. Bodies of the soldiers of the Last Alliance – including King Amdír of Lórien and King Oropher of the Woodland Realm – rest beneath the water... unable to find peace... luring travellers to watery graves...
Boromir mumbles under his breath what sounds like a prayer for the souls trapped. Gloin, too, though she can't understand the language he's speaking. Hermione reaches over and pats his knee, unable to offer any prayers of her own.
Her gods aren't here.
The old dwarf gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank ye, lass," he whispers, the words almost lost in his enormous grey beard. She rests her brow on his temple, just for a moment, unsure if she's allowed to use the gesture.
Gloin turns and brings their foreheads together, "Yer a sweet girl," and pats her cheek.
"Adad!" Gimli hisses, and tugs his father away. "Not in front of the elfs!" Gloin retaliates by capturing his son and mussing his hair. "DA!"
Elrond pauses while anyone with a sense of fun snickers at Gimli. To a causal observer he would seem miffed at the interruption, but Hermione can tell he's pleased, if a little sad. As though he's remembering a different dwarf father and son bickering at each other.
The guy's over six thousand years old. He probably is.
He clears his throat. "If I may continue?" Elrond asks dryly. Gloin grunts and waves at him to go on, causing some of the more uptight elves in attendance to stick their noses in the air at what they perceive as an insult to their lord.
She met her first dwarf less than 48 hours ago and can confidently say that's just how dwarrow are.
"The siege of Barad-dûr lasted seven years, and in 3441 of the Second Age, Sauron appeared on the battlefield. Hundreds died by his hand, including King Elendil of the Dúnedain and Gil-galad, the High King of the Ñoldor... my mentor," he adds softly.
"Four kings?" she whispers.
Boromir leans over. "The loss of life is heartbreaking, yes, but the loss of leadership? Devastating."
Hermione hums in agreement. Nations across Middle Earth would have fallen into fear and chaos. What little population was left in them, she reminds herself. She glances across to Tauriel and Legolas. Both are silently crying, and their guards standing behind them aren't much better. Is Legolas a descendent of King Oropher? Or did another branch of the family take the title?
"King Durin IV led an army from Khazad-dûm to join the Last Alliance," Gloin says, not bothering to whisper, thus drawing everyone's attention.
"He did," Elrond says with small smile for the old dwarf. "Though relations between Durin's Folk and the First Born were fraught with tensions, he chose to stand with us against evil and help save Middle Earth." He blinks away tears. "He was my friend, long before the Alliance was formed and long after."
Elrond moves his sad gaze to Tauriel. "It was wrong of me to hold his friendship close to my heart and not speak of it. The pain of losing him did not diminish my love, but it did cloud my judgment. I am sorry, Daughter of the Forest." Legolas pulls the weeping Tauriel to his shoulder, nodding once at Elrond.
Hermione makes a note to investigate that odd interaction later.
"Did ye- " Gimli starts, but is elbowed by Gloin. "I wanna know!" he snaps at his father, and turns back to Elrond. "Did ye keep anythin' of his? Durin IV?"
"I did," he admits. "It is my shame that I did not share any of it with Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli when I had the chance. For if any dwarf deserved to wield the weapons or wear the royal tunics of Durin IV, it would have been Thorin Oakenshield."
"Melhekhel!" the dwarrow shout.
A quiet voice pierces the resulting silence. "I want you to know that I am deeply upset with you." Bilbo is staring daggers at the ancient elf lord. "We will talk about this later," he says, as though warning a child their misdeeds will not be forgotten, only that this isn't the time or place to deal with them. Elrond bows his head to the old hobbit in acceptance.
Gandalf taps his staff on the stone pavers. "Please finish your tale, Lord Elrond."
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The murals surrounding the statue were of the Last Alliance and the defeat of Sauron, Boromir realizes. They must have been made from Lord Elrond's descriptions, as they match his words perfectly.
"I saw Isildur, son of Elendil, knocked down by Sauron and tried to rush to his aid, though I knew I would never reach him in time.
He did not need me.
Isildur took up his father's shattered blade and slashed desperately at Sauron, slicing off his fingers and with them the One Ring.
Sauron, no longer able to hold physical form, faded into the wind and his armies fell into chaos. But the Alliance was weary and most did not give chase, letting the orcs and other filth slink back into the dark corners of Mordor."
Lord Elrond seems to age before their eyes. "I went with Isildur up the mountain, into the cavern of Mount Doom, and urged him to destroy it. To toss it into the fires from whence it came." He slumps. "He could not do it. I used to believe that the Race of Men failed that day... that Men were weak... Isildur had become so easily ensnared... but I know better now." He looks at Hermione. "Any one can fall."
"You allowed him to leave?" she asks, her face blank but her voice scathing.
"Yes," he whispers and falls into his seat. "I allowed him leave. And now, 3000 years later, I do not know if it was me or The Ring that made that decision."
Hermione spins on her seat, bumping her knees into him. Boromir turns and faces her. "Yes, Hermione?" he asks when she continues to stare at him, but doesn't speak.
"I want you to know that if The Ring corrupts you I would tackle you into the lava and we'd both die a painful, fiery death." She blinks. "Because you're my best friend and I love you."
He grins then bursts out laughing. "Friends don't let friends be corrupted by evil jewellery?" he manages to ask while trying to catch his breath.
She grins back. "That's right." Her face falls, turning serious once more. "I expect the same in return."
Boromir panics. Could he do it? Could he kill Hermione to save her from turning evil? Her magic is so powerful... if he were to have a chance at succeeding, he'd have to do it while she was still mostly in her right mind... while she was still Hermione...
"Promise me," she demands, desperation beginning to show. "The things it could do through me... please..."
"I promise," he whispers, knowing she's right and hating it. "I will not let The Ring take you." He cradles her face and swears, "I will not let any evil take you."
Because they both know there are a great many things worse than death.
She breathes a sigh of relief and falls onto him. "Thank you."
The sombre mood is broken by Tauriel declaring, "My Prince, it would be an honour to push you into the fires of Mount Doom."
Legolas frowns at his friend. "Aren't you supposed to say if I'm corrupted by the One Ring?"
She casually responds, "If it will make you feel better." Aragorn grins at them, Bilbo starts giggling, and Gloin snorts a chuckle as Legolas pouts. And Boromir swears he can hear a muffled laugh from the trees behind him, but it's too high pitched to be Nori.
"That sounded like Pippin," Hermione mumbles into his shoulder. He coughs to cover a laugh. Of course the hobbits are watching. After they raided the kitchens, he's sure.
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Hermione straightens up when Gandalf starts banging his staff again. "As much as it lightens my heart that joy can still be found in these dark times, decisions must be made." The grey wizard motions to the young hobbit sitting beside Bilbo. "Frodo Baggins, bring forth The One Ring."
It takes everything she has not to jump up and blindly Apparate to Éomer at the sight of it.
Frodo sighs in relief once it's out of his hands, but most around the courtyard lean towards the stone pedestal it's laid upon, eyes slightly glazed.
She meets Aragorn's gaze across the courtyard and sees the same terror she feels looking back at her.
"Lady Hermione?" whispers Gareth from behind her. "Are you well? Why does everyone look..."
"I'm fine." She tries to sound reassuring, but she's sure she failed. "Wait." Hermione turns and meets the young man's eyes.
Clear.
"It's not affecting you?"
Gareth shrugs. "I'm just a squire, m'lady. No one of importance."
A Doctor Who quote spills from her lips without thought, "I've never met anyone who wasn't important before." She smiles at the furrow in his brow. "That is to say, everybody's important to somebody, somewhere."
His summer sky eyes soften. "That's very kind of you to think so."
"I know so," Hermione firmly replies. Gareth gifts her a small smile and steps back to his post.
Gimli's grumbling reaches her ears. He's shaking his head and murmuring, "Ye won't git this Son of Durin," over and over.
The Ring is trying to ensnare someone – anyone – to it's cause!
She looks at Boromir – her Captain, her rock. He, too, is fighting an unseen battle.
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"It's a gift," floats through his thoughts. "A gift for Gondor."
"It's not," Boromir mumbles, blinking rapidly as though it will clear his thoughts.
Heryld whispers, "It's a gift."
"With me you can save them," it tries again. "You can save them all."
"Demon!" he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temples. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" he yells in his mind.
"I can save them," Heryld continues greedily.
"Take me! Use the enemy's weapon against them!"
"Never!" he yells and throws himself back into his chair, the force jostling Randulf and Hermione. Her eyes are clear and concerned, but Randulf is rubbing his as though waking from a deep sleep.
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After her Captain's forceful refusal of The Ring, minds around the courtyard begin to clear. It's as though his voice broke the enchantment.
All except one.
Lord Heryld – disgusting waste of flesh – stands and proclaims. "It is a gift! A gift to the people of Gondor!"
"No!" Aragorn stands, radiating fury. "The Ring answers to no one, but it's master. None here can use it."
"It must be destroyed!" Legolas moves to Aragorn's side, declaring his loyalty – and that of the Woodland Realm – to all.
"Aye!" Gimli yells in agreement as he jumps up. "Not that an elf could do it!" he throws at Legolas. The elf prince scowls at the red bearded dwarf. If this wasn't so serious, Hermione would roll her eyes at the two of them. They're worse than her and Ron, or Harry and Malfoy.
Gandalf joins the fray. "The Ring is all together evil. It will not save your city. It would only bring ruin!"
"Our people are dying," Randulf says quietly, but all fall silent to listen. "Dying every single day holding back the hordes of Mordor from the rest of Middle Earth. Where are the elves? Where are the dwarves? Who is helping Gondor? He scoffs, "No one. We must help ourselves."
Gareth takes a step back from the Commander when Boromir stands and faces him. "Randulf, I'm sorry it's come to this," he says steadily.
Then backhands him so hard he falls into Heryld!
"Hermione," Boromir kneels in front of her and grabs her hands, "can you do something to lessen it's influence? Perhaps that ward you mentioned?"
The last thing she wants is to get any closer to that thing.
But... "For you, my Captain," Hermione holds Boromir's anguished gaze and summons every bit of courage she has left, "I'll do anything."
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No! That's not what he meant!
Boromir wants to retract the request, sit her back down, and find another way. She smiles sadly, as though knowing what thoughts run rampant in his mind, and steps around him.
Her wand falls from her sleeve into her hand.
"Sir?" Gareth helps him off the ground and into her chair. "What's Lady Hermione doing?"
"Magic." Boromir swallows his tears and trepidation. "She's going to do magic."
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Melhekhel: king of (all) kings
Thanks, Dwarrow Scholar.