Oltha an Ithilgal

*Author’s note* I felt that much of importance was left out in the movie regarding the Council, so I have attempted to smoothly merge the book and the movie…Sorry it took so long, it was frustrating and YOU try writing 13 pages in 2 days!

Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership for Sailor Moon or Lord of the Rings.
Nearly all the speech in this chapter is copied directly from the Lord of the
Rings books and movies, and I do not claim any of it as my own work. The
rest of this chapter is my own writing, however.

CHAPTER FOUR

The golden sun filled the clearing with its warm light, the round stone porch habited by a strange gathering of all the races of Middle-earth. They sat in wood carven chairs with high backs, arranged in a semi-circle facing the Lord Elrond. Elrond was robed in rich shades on red, brown and ivory, with a gold circlet upon his brow, sitting tall and proud in his large throne-like chair beneath a magnificent oak tree. The oak spread its sheltering branches overhead, its golden leaves flashing and catching the sunlight as they fell to rest upon the stone floor. Legolas sat within the company of Elves, his green and brown apparel setting him apart from the Elves seated by him clad in fine clothes in shades of grey and silver. Glorfindel, Erestor and several other members of Lord Elrond’s household, and also Galdor, an Elf from the Grey Havens sat with Legolas in calm silence. Mithrandir sat near them, wearing his long thick robes of grey wool, and a wood staff gripped in his hand, his wise blue eyes peering from beneath thick grey brows and his suntanned face surrounded by a mass of long, thick grey hair and beard. At his side were two Hobbits. One of the Hobbits was Bilbo Baggins, who was currently staying in Rivendell, his wispy hair whitened with age, and his pale skin marked with wrinkles and fine lines from the passage of time, though his grey eyes were still bright and held sparks of his love for adventure and excitement. He wore a brown wool petticoat over a white cotton shirt, and brown pants with a hem reaching to just below his knees. His large feet covered with long white hair were bare, as Hobbits dislike wearing shoes. The young Hobbit was Frodo Baggins, his pointed ears peeking out from his long brown curls, and his startlingly blue eyes filled with his good nature, and signs of a gentle heart being slowly broken by the hardness of the world. He wore a brown wool petticoat over a white cotton shirt as well, under a brown wool jacket with a collar, and brown pants ending after his knees, his large feet bare. The dwarf Gloin from the Lonely Mountain was robed in rich blacks and shining armor showing from beneath his tunic. His thick brown beard and hair on his bare head reached to his chest and shoulders. His dark brown eyes under thick brown brows conveyed strength and a determined nature. At his side was his son, Gimli, who wore a sleeveless brown tunic over a green tunic, its sleeves tucked into his large brown gloves. A thick charcoal-coloured belt cinched his wide waist, and his loose brown pants were tucked into his boots. Two pieces of his brown hair were plaited at both temples, and each set with a cylindrical gold clasp. Seated a little apart from the Dwarves was a tall man with piercing grey eyes, soft auburn hair reaching to his shoulders, and a short beard trimmed close to his skin. He wore a dark grey-blue leather tunic reaching to mid-calf, over a rich burgundy silk shirt with fine gold embroidery with sleeves reaching to his elbow. A thin light brown belt was tied ‘round his waist, and his arms covered with chain mail and thick armor cuffs with delicate designs of curving lines. Alone in a corner, sat Aragorn quietly, his grey eyes studying all members on the Council carefully. He wore a grey velvet tunic with long sleeves, its hem ending at his knees, his legs covered in loose black leggings tucked into boots.


Each person took their turn to tell their tale to the rest of the Council, bringing news of the world outside, especially concerning the South and the lands east of the Mountains. Legolas found himself listening closely to the story of the dwarf Gloin, as he spoke of his troubles in the Lonely Mountain.


“It is now many years ago that a shadow of disquiet fell upon our people. Whence it came we did not at first perceive. Words began to be whispered in secret; it was said that we were hemmed in a narrow place, and that greater wealth and splendor would be found in a wider world. Some spoke of Moria: the mighty works of our fathers that are called in our own tongue Khazad-dum; and they declared that now at last we had the power and numbers to return.” He paused a moment to remember, his heavy sigh filled with regret and a hint of sadness. “Moria! Moria! Wonder of the Northern world! Too deep we delved there, and woke the nameless fear. Long have its vast mansions lain empty since the children of Durin fled. But now we spoke of it again with longing, and yet with dread; for no dwarf has dared to pass the doors of Khazad-dum for many lives of kings, save Thror only, and he perished. At last, however, Balin listened to the whispers, and resolved to go; and though Dain did not give leave willingly, he took with him Ori and Oin and many of our folk, and they went away south. That was nigh on thirty years ago. For a while we had news and it seemed good: messages reported that Moria had been entered and a great work begun there. Then there was silence, and no word has ever come from Moria since.”


Lord Elrond rose when Gloin had finished and taken his seat, speaking in his clear voice. “You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy. There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone. You will learn that your trouble is but part of the trouble of all the western world. The Ring! What shall we do with the Ring, the least of all rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies? That is the doom that we must deem. That is the purpose for which you are called hither. Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world. Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. And first, so that all may understand what is the peril, the tale of the Ring shall be told from the beginning even to this present. And I will begin that tale, though others shall end it.”


“It began with the forging of the Great Rings in the Second Age of the world. The Elven-smiths of Eregion and their eagerness for knowledge were ensnared by the Dark Lord Sauron who did not yet have the name of evil that he holds now. Rings were made with the strength and will to govern each race. The three rings possessed by the Elves, while they were not ever touched by the hands of Sauron, still fell under the control of the One Ring that Sauron had forged in secret, a Master Ring to control all others. One by one, the Free Lands of Middle-earth fell to the power of the Ring. But there were some who resisted. A Last Alliance of Men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor. And on the slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-earth. Victory was near. But the power of the Ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had failed, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father’s sword and cut with the hilt-shard the Ring from the black hand of Sauron. Sauron, the enemy of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy the evil of the Ring forever. But he took it for his own, and it betrayed him to his death; and so it is named in the North Isildur’s Bane.”


They listened to the tale of the One Ring, their eyes filled with fear and wonder as he spoke. He sighed heavily, recalling the great host of Men and Elves, and the splendor of their banners and the great strength of their valor and numbers.


“Never again shall there be any such league of Elves and Men; for Men multiply and the Firstborn decrease, and the two kindreds are estranged. And ever since that day the race of Numenor has decayed, and the span of their years has lessened.”


Boromir rose abruptly as Elrond paused in his speech, his grey eyes flashing with pride and anger as he defended his people. “Believe not that in the land of Gondor the blood of Numenor is spent, nor all its pride and dignity forgotten! By our valor the wild folk of the East are still restrained, and the terror of Morgul kept at bay; and thus alone are peace and freedom maintained in the lands behind us, bulwark of the West. But if the passages of the River should be won, what then? Yet that hour, maybe, is not now far away. The Nameless Enemy has arisen again. Smoke rises once more from Orodruin that we call Mount Doom. The power of the black land grows and we are hard beset. When the Enemy returned our folk were driven from Ithilien, our fair domain east of the River, though we kept a foothold there and strength of arms. But this very year, in the days of June, sudden war came upon us out of Mordor, and we were swept away. We were outnumbered, for Mordor has allied itself with the Easterlings and the cruel Haradrim; but it was not by numbers that we were defeated. A power was there that we have not felt before. Some said that it could be seen, like a great black horseman, a dark shadow under the moon. Wherever he came a madness filled our foes, but fear fell on our boldest, so that horse and man gave way and fled. But still we fight on, holding all the west shores of Anduin; and to those who shelter behind us give us praise but little help. Only from Rohan now will any men ride to us when we call.”


Boromir took his seat again, his face flushed slightly with indignation. Standing before the assembled Elves, Men and Hobbits, Elrond gazed upon each person, and addressed the group as a whole.


“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old…you’ve 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, this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”


All eyes turned to the young halfing, who rose nervously in his sudden shame and fear, and reluctantly approached the stone dais in the center of the gathering. He placed the smooth, unadorned gold ring on the level surface of grey stone, the ring gleaming and flickering with an inner fire.


“So it is true,” Boromir whispered, his eyes gazing upon the Ring thoughtfully, raising his hand up to his chin. Taking a breath, he stood, addressing the Council. “In a dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark…” All eyes were upon him as the slowly approached the Ring on the stone dais, his grey eyes locked to it as he spoke. “But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur’s Bane is found.”


“Isildur’s Bane,” he murmured as he reached out for the Ring.


“Boromir!” Elrond shouted, jumping quickly to his feet.


A grey shadow fell upon the clearing, suffocating them with the heavy, dark words of Gandalf’s speech, as Boromir’s hand recoiled from the Ring, and the Elves covered their ears against the dreadful sound.


“Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg tlrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!”


The sun again shone its soft golden light upon the clearing as the harsh words faded, and all dared to draw breath again.


“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris,” Elrond told Gandalf angrily.


Gandalf returned evenly, “I do not ask for your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil.”


Boromir’s hushed voice filled the silence. “It is a gift,” he said as Gandalf looked spun ‘round to look upon him.


“A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor kept the foes of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him.”


“You cannot wield it. None of us can,” Aragorn told Boromir.


Boromir turned to regard the man who had spoken, sitting silently in the corner, as Aragorn continued speaking. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”


The contempt was clear in his voice as he openly sneered at Aragorn. “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” He said, dismissing him immediately.


Legolas stood to defend his friend from Boromir’s arrogance and ignorance, he said to Boromir, “This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”


Boromir turned his head to regard Aragorn again, the respect and awe evident in his expression at the naming of the title. “Aragorn. This is Isildur’s heir?” Boromir asked.


“A heir to the throne of Gondor,” Legolas answered him.


“Havo dad, Legolas,” Aragorn told him, raising his hand in reassurance to calm the irritated elf.


At Legolas’ words, Boromir turned to him an arrogant sneer once again upon his face. “Gondor has no king.” Turning to Aragorn, he spoke challengingly, “Gondor needs no king.” He sat down heavily, his aura full of pride and the smallest hint of fear.


Eyes were drawn again to Aragorn as he spoke. “Doom and great deeds are indeed at hand. For the Sword that was Broken is the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fell. It has been treasured by his heirs when all other heirlooms were lost; for it was spoken of old among us that it should be made again when the Ring, Isildur’s Bane, was found. Now you have seen the sword that you have sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?”


“We hard pressed, and the Sword of Elendil would be a help beyond hope – if such a thing could indeed return out of the shadows of the past,” Boromir answered.


Obviously annoyed on his friend’s behalf, the halfling Bilbo rose to speak.


“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”

“From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.”

“Not very good perhaps, but to the point – if you need more beyond the word of Elrond. If that was worth a journey of a hundred and ten days to hear, you had best listen to it.”


“Now the world is changing once again,” Aragorn said. “A new hour comes. Isildur’s Bane is found. Battle is at hand. The Sword shall be reforged. I will come to Minas Tirith.”


Still standing before the Council, Bilbo paced deep in thought before the group, for the first time telling the tale of his finding of the Ring truthfully. When he finally sat down again, Frodo then spoke up, telling of the tale of his perilous journey to Rivendell; the pursuit of the Nazgul, his meeting of Aragorn, or Strider, as he first was introduced, and also the rare occurrence of Gandalf not keeping his promise to meet him at the inn in Bree. All regarded the two Halflings with a new respect as they told of their adventures.


Galdor the Elf from the Grey Havens rose to speak. “The Wise may have good reason to believe that the Halfling’s trove is indeed the Great Ring of long debate, unlikely though that may seem to those who know less. But may we not hear the proofs? And I would ask this also. What of Saruman? He is learned in the lore of the Rings, yet he is not among us. What is his counsel – if he knows the things that we have heard?”


Gandalf stood, drawing all eyes to him, to address the questions of Galdor and also to explain to Frodo the strange occurrence of his broken promise. “Some here will remember that many years ago I myself dared to pass the doors of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, and secretly explored his ways, and found thus that our fears were true: he was none other than Sauron, our Enemy of old, at length taking shape and power again. Some, too, will remember also that Saruman dissuaded us from open deeds against him, and for long we watched him only. Yet at last, as his shadow grew, Saruman yielded, and the Council put forth its strength and drove the evil out of Mirkwood – and that was in the very year of the finding of this Ring: a strange chance, if chance it was. But we were too late, as Elrond foresaw. Sauron also had watched us, and had long prepared against our stroke, governing Mordor from afar through Minas Morgul, where his Nine servants dwelt, until all was ready. Then he gave way before us, but only feigned to flee, and soon after came to the Dark Tower and openly declared himself. Then for the last time the Council met; for now we learned that he was seeking ever more we learned that he was seeking ever more eagerly for the One. We feared then that he had some news of it that we knew nothing of. But Saruman said nay, and repeated what he had said to us before: that the One would never again be found in Middle-earth.” Gandalf paused, looking to the Misty Mountains in the distance, their steep slopes a purple-grey and their tips in the clouds white with snow. He sighed, recalling his many mistakes regarding Saruman.

“There I was at fault. I was lulled by the words of Saruman the Wise; but I should have sought for the truth sooner, and our peril would now be less. From the first my heart misgave me, against all reason that I knew, and I desired to know how this thing came to Gollum, and how long he has possessed it. I let the matter rest, watching and waiting only, as we have too often done. Time passed with many cares, until my doubts were awakened again to sudden fear. Whence came the hobbit’s ring? What, if my fear was true, should be done with it? Those things I must decide. But I spoke yet of my dread to none, knowing the peril of an untimely whisper, if it went astray. In all the long wars with the Dark Tower treason has been our greatest foe. That was seventeen years ago. Soon I became aware that spies of many sorts, even beast and birds, were gathered round the Shire, and fear grew. I called for the help of the Dunedain, and their watch was doubled; and I opened my heart to Aragorn, the heir of Isildur.”


“And I counseled that we should hunt for Gollum, too late though it may seem,” Aragorn added.


“Messages came to me out of Lorien that Aragorn has passed that way, and that he had found the creature called Gollum. Therefore I went first to meet him and hear his tale,” Gandalf said.


“Watching him day and night, making him walk before me with a halter on his neck, gagged, until he was tamed by lack of drink and food, driving him ever towards Mirkwood,” Aragorn said. “I brought him there at last and gave him to the Elves, for we had agreed that this should be done. Gandalf came and endured long speech with him.”


“Yes, long and weary,” Gandalf agreed. “But not without profit. I learned then first that Gollum’s ring came out of the Great River nigh to the Gladden Fields. And I learned also that he had possessed it long. Many lives of his small kind. The power of the ring had lengthened his years far beyond their span; but that power only the Great Rings wield. Upon this very ring which you have seen held aloft, round and unadorned the letters that Isildur reported may still be read, if one has the strength of will to set the golden thing in the fire a while.”

“Know also, my friends, that I learned more yet from Gollum. He was loth to speak and his tale was unclear, but it is beyond all doubt that he went to Mordor, and there all that he knew forced from him. Thus the Enemy knows now that the One is found, that it was long in the Shire; and since his servants have pursued it almost to our door, he soon will know, already he may know, even as I speak, that we have it here.”


They sat quietly, their minds turning over and considering that disturbing thought. Breaking the silence with his voice, Boromir spoke to Gandalf, “He is a small thing, you say, this Gollum? Small, but great in mischief. What became of him? To what doom did you put him?”


Aragorn answered, “He is in prison, but no worse. He had suffered much. There is no doubt that he was tormented, and the fear of Sauron lies black on his heart. Still I for one am glad that he is safely kept by the watchful Elves of Mirkwood. His malice is great and gives him a strength hardly to be believed in one so lean and withered. He could work much mischief still, if he were free. And I do not doubt that he was allowed to leave Mordor on some evil errand.”


Hearing Aragorn’s words, Legolas was filled with a sudden dread and dismay. “Alas! Alas!” He cried. “The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told. They are not good, but only here have I learned how evil they may seem to this company. Smeagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped. Not through lack of watchfulness, but perhaps through over-kindliness. And we fear that the prisoner had aid from others, and that more is known of our doings than we could wish. We guarded this creature day and night, at Gandalf’s bidding, much though we wearied of the task. But Gandalf bade us to hope still for his cure, and we had not the heart to keep him ever in dungeons under the earth, where he would fall back into his old black thoughts. In the days of fair weather we led Gollum through the woods; and there was a high tree standing alone far from the others which he liked to climb. Orcs came on us at unawares. We drove them off after some time; they were many and fierce, but they came from over the mountains, and were unused to the woods. When the battle was over, we found that Gollum was gone, and his guards were slain or taken. It then seemed plain to us that the attack had been made for his rescue, and that he knew of it beforehand. How that was contrived we cannot guess; but Gollum is cunning, and the spies of the Enemy are many.”


“Well, well, he is gone,” Gandalf said. “We have no time to seek for him again. He must do what he will. But he may play a part yet that neither he nor Sauron has foreseen. And now I will answer Galdor’s other questions. What of Saruman? What are his counsels to us in this need? Not far from Bree I came upon a traveler sitting on a bank beside the road with his grazing horse beside him. It was Radagast the Brown.”

“ ‘Gandalf!’ he cried. ‘I was seeking you.’ “

“ ‘What do you want with me? It must be pressing. You were never a traveler, unless driven by great need.’ “

“ ‘I have an urgent errand,’ he said. ‘My news is evil.’ Then he looked about him as if the hedges might have ears. ‘Nazgul,’ he whispered. ‘The Nine are abroad again. They have taken the guise of riders in black. I have been told that wherever they go the Riders ask for news of a land called Shire.’ “

“ ‘The Shire,’ I said; but my heart sank. For even the Wise fear to withstand the Nine, when they are gathered together under their fell chieftain. A great king and sorcerer he was of old, and now he wields a deadly fear. ‘Who told you, and who sent you?’ I
asked. “

“ ‘Saruman the White,’ answered Radagast. ‘And he told me to say that if you feel the need, he will help; but you must seek his aid at once, or it will be too late.’ “

“And that message brought me hope. For Saruman the White is the greatest of my order. Saruman has long studied the arts of the Enemy himself, and thus we have often been able to forestall him. It was by the devices of Saruman that we drove him from Dol Guldur. It might be that he had found some weapon that would drive back the Nine.”

“ ‘I will go to Saruman,’ I said.”

“ ‘Then you must go now,’ said Radagast, ‘for I have wasted time in looking for you, and the days are running short.’ “

“I stayed the night in Bree, and decided that I had no time to return to the Shire! Never did I make a greater mistake!”


His face darkened at his thoughts. “Saruman has betrayed us,” Gandalf sighed, drawing shocked looks and gasps of surprise from all. “He has turned from all wisdom and light. Saruman has been corrupted by his greed for the Ring, and works closely with the Dark Lord. He has openly displayed his treason to me, bidding me to join him and imprisoning me in his tower. By foul craft, Saruman has crossed Orcs with Goblin-men. He’s breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight and cover great distance at speed. Saruman is coming for the Ring.”

“Well, the Tale is now told, from first to last,” he said. “Here we all are, and here is the Ring. But we have not yet come any nearer to our purpose. What shall we do with it?”


Breaking the trance held upon the group by Gandalf’s shocking and dark news, Elrond spoke. “This is grievous news concerning Saruman, for we trusted him and he is deep in all our counsels. It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or ill.”


Galdor rose to speak, his strong, clear voice sounding for all to hear its words. “What power still remains lies with us, here in Imladris, or with Cirdan at the Havens, or in Lorien. But have they the strength, have we here the strength to withstand the Enemy, the coming of Sauron at the last, when all else is overthrown?”


“You have only one choice,” Elrond told them. “The Ring must be destroyed.”


“What are we waiting for?” Gimli shouted out, rising quickly to his feet, taking up his axe, and in two strides reaching the Ring on the stone dais, and swung his axe, bringing all his strength down upon it. His axe shattered in his hands on contact, the force of the blow throwing him back on the ground. As Gloin helped him up, his eyes stared disbelieving at the Ring, untouched and undamaged by his axe.


Elrond spoke loudly and clearly. “The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.”


Complete silence filled the clearing, the only visible movement the falling of the golden oak leaves.


Raising his hand to his temple, as if plagued by an annoying headache, Boromir scoffed at Elrond’s words, speaking under his breath, but clear for everyone to hear. “One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is an evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever-watchful. It is a barren wasteland…riddled with fire, and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.”


At his words, a great disquiet and doubt filled the hearts of those who listened to his words. A feeling of anger surged in Legolas’ heart at the dispiriting words of Boromir, and sprung to his feet, speaking harshly.


“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed.”


Anger filling the dwarf Gimli at Legolas’ insulting words, he shouted out, “And I suppose you think you are the one to do it!”


Boromir rose to his feet, speaking loudly, his lack of trust and hope echoing in his voice, his face distorted with his anger. “And what if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”


Gimli stood, staring Legolas down in his anger. “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!”


The Elves sitting behind Legolas rose as one to defend their honor, and to meet the dwarf’s challenge, their voices rising as once, drowning each other out. Legolas spread out his arms, restraining them, studying the angry dwarf before him calmly. All sprung to their feet with the Elves, their angry voices rising in discord as they argued and shouted, none listening or understanding, only trying to override all others with their voice. A shadow passed over them, the air heavy with a darkness and malice that could be felt, cold and weighted upon the heart.


Attempting to halt the fighting, Gandalf stood, his voice loud but still drowned out by the shouting of the others. “Do you not understand? While you bicker amongst yourselves, Sauron’s power grows! None can escape it! You’ll all be destroyed!”


Taking quick, shallow breaths, Frodo watched the Ring, a dark chanting filling his mind, as he sensed the evil unleashed by their angry words, and perceived hot fires of chaos and destruction burning in his mind’s eye. The horror rose inside of him till he could no longer stand it. He stood, speaking the words that summoned themselves to his lips, unheard and unseen by those caught up in their anger and fighting.


“I will take it.”


His brave words went completely unnoticed, and he raised his voice, a hidden strength filling him and his words.


“I will take it.”


Hearing his words, a sadness and resignation filled Gandalf’s blue eyes as he slowly turned to regard the young hobbit. The hate-filled voices faltered at his words, and then faded, all turning to stare at the small figure standing proud and with an inner strength.


“I will take the Ring to Mordor.” Frodo told them.


They regarded him with respect and wonder at his bravery and valor, silence falling upon them. Noticing their expressions, Frodo continued in a quiet voice, “Though…I do not know the way.”


Approaching him, Gandalf spoke. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins,” he told him, resting his hand reassuringly on the young hobbits shoulder, looking down at him, and then moving to stand behind him. “As long as it is yours to bear.”


Rising from his wooden chair, Aragorn followed Gandalf’s example, moving to stand before the young halfling. “If by my life or death I can protect you…I will,” he told Frodo, kneeling down on one knee to pledge himself to him. “You have my sword,” Aragorn promised.


Moved by the scene before him to speak, Legolas stepped forward. “And you have my bow.”


Not to be outdone by the elf, Gimli spoke up. “And my ax.” He looked up at Legolas sheepishly as he moved to stand beside him.


Speaking softly, Boromir strode slowly to the growing group standing at Frodo’s side, his eyes gazing upon the young hobbit. “You carry the fate of us all, little one,” he told him. Looking upon each person standing by Frodo’s side with his grey eyes, he spoke again. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”


A sudden sharp cry breaking the quiet, Elrond turned in surprise to find a hobbit with a mass of blonde curls, Sam Gamgee, rushing from behind some bushes at the edge of the clearing to run to Frodo’s side.


Frodo turned to look at Sam as he spoke. “Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me.”


With wry amusement filling his voice, and his grey eyes sparkling with laughter, Lord Elrond said to Sam, “Now indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not.”


Elrond turned in surprise, the dismay evident on his face at the fact of his secret Council apparently not being so secret after all, as two hobbits appeared from behind stone pillars, running to the group, Merry shouting out, “Oi! We’re coming too! You’ll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us.”


“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on his sort of mission,” Pippin told Lord Elrond, as Merry turned to face Elrond, crossing his arms in finality. He turned his head to glare at Pippin’s stupidity as he blundered on. “Quest. Thing.” Pippin exclaimed.


“Well, that rules you out, Pip,” Merry told him mockingly, annoyed at being embarrassed in front of Lord Elrond and all the other important persons assembled.


Regarding the small group standing together before him, Elrond’s grey eyes flickered over each one, studying them intently, seemingly satisfied with what he had found. “Nine companions,” he spoke musingly.


Raising his voice, proclaiming his decision, he said, “So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”


“Great!” Pippin exclaimed. “Where are we going?”


Merry turned to Pippin with a look of exasperation on his face, suppressing a strong urge to clobber him.