Chapter 10: The Company

'I will take the Ring,' he said, 'though I do not know the way.'

Elrond raised his eyes and looked at him, and Frodo felt his heart pierced by the sudden keenness of the glance. 'If I understand aright all that I have heard,' he said, 'I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck? 'But it is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right; and though all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Húrin, and Túrin, and Beren himself were assembled together your seat should be among them.'

'But you won't send him off alone surely, Master?' cried Sam, unable to contain himself any longer, and jumping up from the corner where he had been quietly sitting on the floor.

'No indeed!' said Elrond, turning towards him with a smile. 'You at least shall go with him. It is hardly possible to separate you from him, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.'

Sam sat down, blushing and muttering. 'A nice pickle we have landed ourselves in, Mr. Frodo!' he said, shaking his head.

The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Elrond rose and the room fell silent, all eyes turning from the hobbits to him, many still reflecting a hint of amusement and kindled hope at Sam’s words.  Most had not realized the gardener was in the room, and those who had noticed his presence at the beginning of the council had forgotten it as the tales were told.  Elrond, however, had not forgotten.  The moment Sam had entered behind Frodo and Bilbo, he had known the hobbit was meant to be there.

“Many words have been spoken this day, and the full tale of the Ring told for all to hear. Our hope lies in secrecy. Speak of this to none outside of this room, and among yourselves only privately, for even in Rivendell all care must be taken. This Council is ended.”

Bilbo scrambled from his chair. “At last!  Surely lunch has been kept for us. Come, Frodo, and we will see.”

Elrond stepped in front of the hobbits. The Ring still hung on the outside of Frodo’s waistcoat. He had seen the loathing in the Hobbit’s eyes when he had drawn it forth, the shame when he had held it up for all to see.  Elrond did not touch It, but lifted the chain, and when Frodo held open his collar, dropped the ring behind the fabric.  He smoothed the wrinkles from the coat, using that moment to feel the healed wound on the hobbit’s shoulder.   The temperature was again normal, and no longer was there any feel of the evil he had felt from the blade. Yet even though the wound was healed externally, Elrond knew it would never fully heal. Frodo looked at him for a long moment, meeting his eyes fully, and Elrond felt the openness of his mind. He had spent days communicating to Frodo through his thoughts, though he doubted the hobbit remembered any of it, and he did so again now, brushing only the surface of his mind.  Frodo’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but at the same time he relaxed and allowed Elrond to send him comfort and strength.

He stepped back as Bilbo grabbed Frodo’s hand and began pulling him from the room. “I am sure they have waited the meal on us,” Bilbo was saying, “and Cook usually saves some of my favorite bread, which you will like.”

Elrond watched them go, Sam trailing along behind Frodo and Bilbo, all three now discussing which dishes they hoped would be served and whether adequate mushrooms would be in the soup and he smiled. 

“They are amazing,” said Mithrandir. “Trust a hobbit to volunteer to take the ring to Mordor, though he doesn’t know the way, and in the next breath turn all of his attention to his next meal.” He paused. “Yet it is that exact trait that will see him through. I think I shall join them.”

Elrond turned back to those who remained.  The dwarves had also gone in search of their meal. Boromir was examining the shards of Narsil and speaking quietly to Aragorn, while across the room his sons and Glorfindel were speaking to the elves sent by Thranduil.

The quiet Lathron, who had listened much and spoken little since his arrival, was deep in conversation with Elrohir. Elrond had spoken briefly with Lathron the day before, but the elf had delivered his message to Mithrandir and seemed to melt into the background thereafter, the two guards that had come with them remaining quiet and watchful behind him.  Legolas he had not yet met, for he had been latched on to by the younger hobbits, who had gladly shown him all about Imladris.  Elrond watched as Elladan approached the younger son with a gleam in his eye.

“Ai, Legolas!” cried Elladan in greeting.  “I wish to show you around Imladris!”

Legolas looked confused for a moment, then a grin spread across his face and he stepped forward to grip Elladan’s arm - tightly, by the slight narrowing of Elladan’s eyes. “Elladan Elrondion!”

“Not an elfling anymore,” said Elladan speculatively.

“Indeed not,” replied Legolas, eyes twinkling.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel questioningly, and the warrior laughed as he moved to stand at Elrond’s side.

“Elrohir invited a very young Legolas to visit Imladris one day, promising him an adventure.  Elladan, however, may have a different kind of adventure in mind for Legolas, for he has not forgotten it was Legolas who caused Elrohir to be thrown to the ground and restrained while injured. Now that Legolas is grown, Elladan will want to know if he is a worthy competitor,” explained Glorfindel. “I do not think bearing news of Gollum’s escape was what any of them had in mind.”

Elrond smiled and stepped forward. “Legolas, I am pleased to meet you.”

Legolas bowed, greeting him in return, “My lord Elrond” but Elrond barely heard the words. Instead, in that moment when their minds touched, a vision flashed before him: Legolas on a vast rolling plain, dirty and battle-worn, with Aragorn nearby as well as a dwarf, although the dwarf’s face was hidden from him.  The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“I am glad to visit Imladris, though I wish we had not come bearing the news that we did, said Legolas. “It is beautiful here, and we are, of course, glad to see Bilbo again.”

“There is much we should discuss,” said Elrond, drawing Lathron into the conversation as ideas took shape in his mind.  “The fate of the Nine must be known before the Quest is undertaken and companions must be chosen to accompany Frodo.  You shall join us for lunch,” he invited.

Lathron nodded his acceptance for their whole party, but as their eyes met Elrond knew instantly that the elf had seen the vision too, and his eyes reflected both an intense pride and a profound grief.

* * *

Glóin sighed and finally lowered his eyes. He stood and walked to the balcony of Elrond’s study, his eyes looking east to his home. Elrond waited patiently until the dwarf had returned to his seat.

“A dwarf should be among the representatives accompanying Frodo on his Quest,” agreed Glóin.   He stared at Elrond long and sighed again. “I fear I am too old to make such a journey.”

“You have been on your Quest, Glóin son of Gróin,” replied Elrond with a smile.  He had taken tea with the dwarves after meeting with the elves, and known instantly that Gimli son of Glóin was the dwarf he had seen in his vision.  Yet he knew enough of the customs among the dwarves to know the decision on whom to send must come from the highest ranking among them. That was Glóin, and pride dictated that his own son should go, which was fortunate for Elrond. Had the dwarf been out of Glóin’s own line, convincing him would have been nigh impossible.

“Ai, then there is none other to send than my son, Gimli,” replied Glóin, pride and grief in his voice.

“No commitment will be asked of any of the companions to go further than they would,” reminded Elrond. “The call of the One is great and none can know the strength of their hearts until tempted.”

Glóin bristled. “Gimli will be faithful.”

Elrond only smiled, for he did not doubt the dwarves.  Their rings had held little power over them, save increasing their desire for gold and riches.  Yet Elrond did have other doubts. While it made sense to send Boromir south with Frodo, for their road was shared for many hundreds of miles, the desire he had seen kindled in Boromir’s eyes had discomfited him, despite the man’s later acquiescence and announcement that ‘Gondor would see it done’. While he saw honor and courage in the man, the man lacked insight into the strength of his heart.

Alone after Glóin had excused himself, Elrond took the opportunity to sit in silence, but his mind would not rest.  While the hardest decision had been made – sending the ring to its doom – there remained much to do.  Already Elrond felt as if his vision had lessened, that Shadow crept ever closer to Imladris. 

They could not send Frodo out without knowing if the Nine were still abroad and seeking him, yet he had to consider what to do if any of the Nine had escaped and were again searching for the hobbit.   They would be watching the lands around Imladris closely. He believed they had been unhorsed and would need time to return to Mordor, or wherever they called home, and find new mounts, which should give Frodo the time he needed to trek to Mordor.

Which led him back again to the companions he should choose for the hobbit: should they be great warriors, capable of protecting him from servants of the enemy? Glorfindel did not fear them, nor did some others of his household.   How many should they be?  Already in his mind he had chosen Legolas for the Elves and Gimli for the dwarves, representatives of their races and peoples.  Erebor, Dale, Laketown and the Woodland Realm stood poised on the brink of war, already pressured by Sauron’s servants from the east.  The fate of the dwarves was as tied to Middle-earth as the fate of men.   While the Moriquendi could sail west, leaving behind the troubles that men and dwarves could not, Elrond knew the Woodland Realm would outlast all of the other elven realms. It was important to include them both.

A knock on his door drew him from his thoughts, and at his bidding Erestor and Glorfindel entered the room.   Neither spoke, but looked expectantly at him.

“We must discover if the Nine are still abroad, as we discussed earlier,” he began. “I would find it unlikely the horses survived that flood.  If the Úlairi must return to the east and find new mounts, then we have time, time that we need for Frodo to gain strength and for us to plan for their departure. We should send out scouts in all directions, Glorfindel.”

“Who will you send with Frodo?” asked Erestor.

Elrond looked at the two before him thoughtfully.  There was no greater warrior than Glorfindel; no better scout than Erestor.  His own sons were formidable, as were other warriors he might find among those of his House.

“Samwise. Mithrandir. Boromir, for their path and his will run together for many leagues. Aragorn, for it is time for him to go to Minas Tirith.   I shall pick representatives for the elves and dwarves.” He paused, then decided he was sure. “Gimli shall be for the dwarves and Legolas for the elves. The rest I am still considering.”

“You have chosen Legolas, rather than an Elf of your own house?” asked Erestor, surprised.

“Perhaps,” answered Elrond non-committally.  “Whether he is the only elf or one of several remains to be seen.”

“I have already sent word to the Dúnedain, who will cover the lands west to the Shire, and sent scouts to the south along the river. I will send others north and east,” replied Glorfindel.

“My sons will scout Dol Guldur and bring word to Lothlorien,” interjected Elrond.  He paused as he thought of the consequences of informing Celeborn and Galadriel. 

He had not told them about Estel or the foresight he had had of Aragorn’s future.  They had learned of these from Arwen, when she returned there after meeting Estel as a young man. 

But the stakes were at their highest right now.  Galadriel, as keeper of Nenya, needed to know of the threat to her, both of the One being abroad and the high risk of it falling into Sauron’s hands - and the resultant dominion it would have over Nenya - but also of the loss of power that Elrond thought likely to occur if the Ring-bearer were successful.  In addition, The Golden Wood was near to one of the paths the Ring-bearer and his companions might take and could be a refuge for them if their need were great.   Lothlorien also needed to know of the heightened threat that would against it, for Elrond feared they were on the brink of war and the shadow of Dol Guldur already darkened the Anduin between them.

He had forced himself to consider the risk, however slight, of the ring in Galadriel’s hands.  Galadriel had long desired power. She had wished to leave Aman in search of lands to rule before Morgoth had stolen the Silmarils and Fëanor had led the Noldor rebellion. She had been the first to use her ring. Yet Elrond harbored no doubts that if tempted, she would reject the One.  He knew the sea-longing had grown in her steadily over the years, but, if anything, this thorn in her side had not weakened her resolve, but strengthened it.  He also knew that as Glorfindel stood by his side, Celeborn would be at hers. They would not falter now, but even if they did, their keepers would not fail them.

“Send scouts to Thranduil. Lathron and Glóin will wish to return home soon, but we will not wait on them,” finished Elrond.

“Even if we find no signs of the riders, the earliest Frodo and his companions might expect to depart is mid to late December, then,” noted Erestor.

“I do not expect that the hobbits will mind having these days to relax,” said Glorfindel.  “Perhaps we can entice them to learn some necessary skills during their sojourn.”

Elrond turned to Glorfindel at his use of ‘we’, surprised that Glorfindel would not be riding out with the scouts. The gaze that met his was steady and unflappable, and Elrond raised a brow in question. Glorfindel looked from him to Erestor. Elrond sensed that some unspoken communication passed between them, then Glorfindel spoke.

“I will not be leaving your side until the fate of the One is known,” explained Glorfindel. “As long as it is in Imladris it is a temptation to any who know of its existence. If Frodo fails in his Quest and the One falls into the hands of one able to wield it, Vilya places you at risk.”

Elrond smiled and tapped his quill against his desk. “You will protect Middle-earth from me and me from anyone stronger?”

Glorfindel did not take the bait. “I protect you. Period.”

“Yet you are one of the few who could ride against the Nine.”

“That is true,” acknowledged Glorfindel.

Elrond watched the flicker of emotion that passed through his friend’s eyes, including one he had seldom seen: hesitation. Glorfindel was nothing if not decisive. He had at times feared he had failed in his mission, when Elrond had been in the thick of battle or anyone of his family was in danger, but he had known and done what he thought was best. Now he seemed unsure.

“If the Úlairi remain near, then I will consider ceding my responsibility for you to Erestor. The risk to you would be greater if the Ring-bearer is dodging the footsteps of those who would return the One to its owner,” said Glorfindel finally, his face troubled. As he looked on Elrond, though, his eyes cleared and face brightened. “I do not think the Úlairi will be found.”

Elrond smiled. “We will hope not.”

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn entered the room.  They were dressed for travel in warm, sturdy clothing, and Elrond’s heart surged with pride that he spoke of only through his eyes as he stood to speak to them.   He had spoken with them only briefly after the Council had ended, and while he had met with the wood elves and dwarves, they had planned their journey.  He listened as Elladan reviewed their plans – the three of them heading south along the mountains, then the twins would head east through the Redhorn Pass and on to Lothlorien, while Aragorn joined the Rangers who had followed the western shore of the Loudwater down to Tharbad.

“Expect our return by mid-winter’s day,” said Elladan.

Elrond walked with them to the front porch of the house, where their horses awaited them. He embraced them and spoke the words of blessing he had been speaking over them when they went out on errantry for centuries, reminders to use all care and return safely to him.  Then they disappeared into the dusk.

* * *

Laughter floated up from the gardens below, drawing Elrond to the window of his study. He watched as Legolas leapt into a tree, followed by the two younger hobbits, though they did not leap gracefully like the wood elf. Pippin swung back and forth from a low branch before swinging himself up and over the branch on his belly, while Merry scrambled up the other side.  Elrond quickly lost sight of Legolas in the fall leaves. Only when Legolas popped his head out from the branches and called to the hobbits did he see him.

Pippin looked speculatively at the distance between the branches separating him from Legolas. Twice he stretched a furry foot out, as if measuring how far he could reach.  Elrond knew the hobbit could not jump that distance, no matter how great his desire. Just as his paternal instincts passed words to his lips and he opened his mouth to call out a warning, he saw Merry reach over and swat his cousin up alongside the head and Legolas suddenly appeared, tucking the hobbit under his arm and jumping with him to the ground. Merry landed lightly next to them a moment later, and Elrond heard them arguing as they went off to show Legolas something up by the waterfall.

“They are the most lively guests Imladris has hosted in many a long year.”

Elrond turned at the sound of Glorfindel’s voice. “Hobbits are fascinating creatures. Those two are young and curious. They seem to have taken a liking to Legolas.”

“He also is young and curious,” replied Glorfindel, “though I doubt the hobbits realize he is also a deadly warrior.” He joined Elrond near the window. “A message has come from the Dúnedain; they have traveled the road to Bree and beyond and found no trace of the Nine.”

“No signs from the north or east either.  As soon as my sons return, if the news is good, the company will set out,” said Elrond.

“How many will you send?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.

Elrond hesitated. He noted the caution in Glorfindel’s voice and felt a glimmer of regret for having been so terse with the elf the last time he had asked. “Nine,” he finally answered. “Nine against the Nine.”

“Then you have two more to appoint,” replied Glorfindel.

Elrond felt Glorfindel’s gaze lingering on him. Mithrandir had been no better  - both had pestered him about who else might be sent.   He knew both had their own ideas as to who it should be, but Elrond had not asked them. He had spend hours in meditation, hours wandering the grounds of Imladris through the long cold nights, seeking wisdom from the stars, from his father, from Elbereth, but as his visions became clearer, his peace had diminished and disquiet had grown.

He could see Aragorn before the Black Gates, surrounded by his captains; men Elrond could guess the names of by their banners.  He had seen Legolas and Gimli. He could also see his sons. It seemed that the remaining two of the company should be Elladan and Elrohir. Indeed, it made sense to send them.  They knew the lands to the south well; they knew Men and Dwarves and Elves, and more of Hobbits than any other but Aragorn.  They were well acquainted with the history of the Ring; none other in the company understood the consequences of failure more.  They would protect the Ring-bearer unfailingly and Elrond knew the strength of their hearts. 

Though his sons had not spoken to him, they had also not shielded their hearts from him: they wished to be with Aragorn when his time came. Yet despite the sense it made, despite his vision, he had no peace about sending them.

“I do,” replied Elrond, answering Glorfindel’s question after silence had stretched out between them.

He turned from the window, walking back to his desk and the map that lay open there – a map he had no need to study for he knew it by heart.   As he ran his finger over Dagorlad to the Morannon, he nostrils were filled with the stench of Mordor, of the decaying bodies of Elves and Men and Orcs. He saw Elendil and Gil-galad challenge Sauron; saw Aiglos penetrate Sauron’s armor under the arm, toppling him upon the Kings of Elves and Men. He saw Isildur take up the shards of Narsil and strike at Sauron’s hand. He was again at the cracks of Orodruin, begging Isildur to destroy the Ring. Before his eyes, Isildur shrank in stature and before him stood a hobbit, holding the Ring up before eyes so tortured that Elrond shrank away, his voice fading. The heat of the mountain began to diminish and suddenly Elrond was at the Black Gates.  Before him stretched an army of Men, with their King standing upon a hill.  Not Elendil, but Aragorn, he realized. There also were Legolas and Gimli, Elladan and Elrohir.  But unlike the mighty army Gil-galad and Elendil had led three thousand years earlier, this entire army was less than the vanguard Elrond had commanded.

Fear filled him at the hopelessness of the scene before him. He was sending them to their deaths.

“Elrond!”

Elrond gasped and looked up into fierce blue eyes. Glorfindel gripped him by his upper arms, and he shook Elrond again, though more gently. “What do you see?”

Elrond slowed his breathing and calmed himself, then stepped back from the map and away from Glorfindel.  “I see only pieces of the puzzle, never a complete scene.” He paused and took a deep breath, then met Glorfindel’s gaze solidly. “I do not see enough to provide Frodo with guidance or wisdom, and what little I see does not give me hope.  Nonetheless, with hope or without it, we must go forward, for there is no hope if we do nothing.”

Glorfindel blew out an exasperated breath. “Sending it to the sea’s bottom or beyond the sea, to the Valar, could still be attempted.”

“No,” answered Elrond sharply. “This problem belongs to Middle-earth.” He bowed his head. “This problem no longer belongs to us, Glorfindel. It belongs to Men.  They must make an end of it.” He looked at his old friend and saw the lack of understanding in his eyes.  “It is in their song, Glorfindel. It is different than ours. Men are not content to live in peace within the confines of Arda.  They must rise ever and anon beyond what their fathers have accomplished, shaping and ordering the world as they wish. For Men to take on the rule of Middle-earth and order it in the new age, they must unite and destroy Sauron.  This cannot be done for them.   They must prove their mastery of him, or die trying.

“If the Valar protect them, or the Elves provide them with safety and comfort in refuges, they will destroy themselves.  They do not find contentment in the beauty that is, only in the beauty that might be.”

Glorfindel bowed his head.  They had had this discussion before, though Elrond had perhaps been less impassioned in his defense of Men. He knew that Glorfindel blamed his mortal blood in jest, for while the elf knew that Men were different, he could not understand them.

“Does your blood ever conflict within you, the Man in you seeking beyond the contentment desired by the Eldar?” asked Glorfindel suddenly.

Elrond shook his head to clear it of the conflict caused by the sudden change in direction of the conversation.  “No.  Yes.  Perhaps,” he conceded.  “I do not know what it is not to have the blood of Men running within me any more than you can imagine what it would be like to have that blood.  Yet my choice was made two ages ago. I do not seek the freedom or gift of Men.”

Silence fell between them. Elrond sank down into his chair. “I see Elros more clearly as time passes, despite his departure beyond the circles of this world long ago.  His hopes, dreams and desires were a fulfillment of what Ilúvatar intended for Men. When Men crossed the mountains into Beleriand, they fled some great evil of which they would not speak.  Andor was more than a gift; it was a rebirth of Men.  Elros was an embodiment of what they were meant to be.”

Glorfindel sat on the edge of the desk, moving the map out of reach. “Aragorn restores what has been lost in this age, a rebirth of the dignity and glory of Númenor,” he said softly.

Elrond nodded. “That rebirth cannot be a gift this time; Men must earn it. Aragorn must earn it, for with it comes the whole of Middle-earth. Only a victory hard won will steer Men long into the future on the path of good.” His next words came slowly, the thought behind them long buried. “For many long years, I did not consider that any of my children would choose the freedom and gift of the Second-born. Only after Celebrían sailed and I saw in Elladan the desire to conquer and order the world, change it to his will, did I think that my twins might choose as I and my twin had chosen. I did not fear for Elrohir, for he is more like me, but in Elladan I could see Elros.

“Then Aragorn came to Imladris, and I knew immediately he was the child I had foreseen.  Hope grew in me that an end to this evil in Middle-earth was near, yet my love for that child was for his own sake, not for his future.  And while my heart was occupied with him, I suddenly realized that Arwen had been looking beyond Imladris for many years.  Discontent kept her from home, yet not even the tranquility of Lothlorien would silence the call on her heart for long. Galadriel tried to warn me, but I ignored her words. I was glad when Arwen was in the protected heart of Caras Galadhon, for Galadriel allowed none within her borders, unlike here, where many find refuge.”

He felt Glorfindel’s hand cover his own, and accepted the comfort it offered.

“Where Elros embraced the way of Men and shaped it to his will, Arwen has allowed her heart to wander, at times content, but always open and seeking.  She loves Aragorn and it is for him she makes this choice, but it is not only for love that she so chooses.  She knows that they will shape the world of Men together, and she desires this fate.  She allows this desire to roam freely within her, ever growing as the time draws near.” Elrond’s voice grew hoarse. “Yet she does not understand. Her knowledge is complete, but she does not understand that with the freedom comes the gift.”

“Elros infused the line of Men with the nobility of the Elves and grace of the Maiar; Arwen will renew that strain,” said Glorfindel softly.

“Arwen knows this,” replied Elrond. “She even takes some pride in this, though she may not recognize it as such.”

Glorfindel raised a questioning brow, but Elrond waved his hand, dismissing the conversation. He was not yet willing to speak of Arwen’s choice with anyone, nor admit that he and Arwen had discussed only that her choice was made and not the consequences of it. He had broached the topic with her once, but she had silenced him with a finger to his lips, saying that events needed to pass as they would.  Not long after, she had returned to Lothlorien, where she had stayed until Elrond finally called her home.  He could not help but feel that she was running from him and a discussion she did not wish to have. A little voice inside him reminded him how alike they were, for his sons and Glorfindel and others might say that Elrond avoided the discussion with them as well.

The play of fading sunbeams across his desk announced that nightfall was near, and Elrond rose. “I will be in the garden.”

* * *

Aragorn returned from the south next, his report bringing the count of dead horses to eight and adding a torn black cloak.  The tear was consistent with reports of what Frodo had inflicted with his sword. Aragorn had brought the garment back with him, but none would touch it with their hands. Glorfindel had lifted it with tongs, inspecting the damage, then taken it to be burned.  Elrond had watched him go, noting how brightly the elf shone at that moment, and how terrible he appeared.  One could understand why the Witch-King had once fled before him.

Snow had begun to fall outside the valley when Elladan and Elrohir finally returned.  They arrived late in the evening and came directly to Elrond.

“We saw no sign of the Nine,” began Elladan without preamble.  “The marchwardens reported increasing orc activity, but there was little activity near Dol Guldur.”

“The Company must leave soon then,” replied Elrond as he waved his sons to seats and poured them wine to drink. He sat down with them.

“We spoke at length with Celeborn and Galadriel,” continued Elladan.  He paused, as if seeking the right words.  Elrond smiled as his sons seemed tongue tied over how to relate the conversation, and he knew they were hoping to be diplomatic.

“You may cast your tale in verse if you wish, or merely tell it as it happened,” he said, laughing when his sons smiled sheepishly. “I have known your grandparents a very long time; their words will not offend me.”

“Very well, Adar,” answered Elladan.  “I am too tired for verse, unless Elrohir wishes to try his hand, thus you will have to hear it as it happened.” And he launched into their tale.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elladan watched as an orc idly kicked at the dead wood scattered in the clearing, then tore a hunk of stale moldy bread with his teeth before walking the eastern perimeter of the clearing.  They had watched the orcs listlessly patrolling the black tower for several days.  He and Elrohir were as bored as the orcs, though their food at least was better.

Elrohir slithered up next to him, lying so close that their arms overlapped and heads nearly touched.  He heard the faint sound of Elrohir sniffing. “You smell just as bad as me, muindor.”

Elrohir grinned. “Not possible. Come, let us leave here.”

They backed down the small ridge, moving silently through the dead trees and the oppressive air, timing their departure so as to not be noticed by the guard whose line they had to cross. They moved faster once beyond the patrolled area, until they finally came to living trees near the Vale of Anduin.  The sun had just risen. At Elrohir’s low whistle, their horses came galloping to them. Elladan’s mount sniffed him suspiciously.

“If one must crawl about with the orcs, it is to one’s advantage to smell like one,” chided Elladan. “Stop turning your nose up at me; you have smelled worse before and will so again.”  The horse tossed its head as Elladan mounted. “Let us ride to the Anduin – I want nothing more than to bathe and rid myself of these foul clothes.”

They rode hard, knowing that they could reach Lothlórien by nightfall. They did not speak or stop for rest until they reached the river.  Elladan had his tunic off before he dismounted, and despite the cold air, he plunged into the water, his horse nudging him needlessly.  Elrohir followed more slowly, as usual preparing properly by obtaining soaproot and an absorbent cloth with which to dry off.  Then he stripped and dove into the freezing water.

“There is something about being so near to evil that makes me feel unclean all the way to my soul,” muttered Elrohir as he scrubbed his skin.  “Not even the dens of orcs have a feeling so pervasive, regardless of how much I hate them.”

Elladan dipped his soapy hair into the current before responding.  He carefully twisted his hair, wringing the water free, while he watched his twin.   Over five centuries he had forgiven himself for nearly causing Elrohir’s death, yet he still found himself watching Elrohir closely.  He had not spoken to his father of his concerns, but he had to Glorfindel, who had agreed with him.  Elrohir was noticeably different to his eyes, and he was surprised their father did not see it.  Perhaps he did and just chose not to speak of it, mused Elladan.  He tended to agree with Glorfindel’s theories, that the poisoned wounds that Elrohir had received, while very minor compared to what their mother had suffered, had changed him, affected him to the core of his being.

“As evil as it was, I do not think any of the Úlairi have returned there,” he finally answered.  “The guards were bored and undisciplined. We could have taken them out and tossed out anyone remaining inside the tower.”

Elrohir looked up at him, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I thought that as well. Perhaps one day. . .”

“We have been seen,” commented Elladan suddenly.

“We were seen when we crossed over Anduin,” noted Elrohir.  He looked up, searching south to the trees of Lórien’s eastern border near where the Celebrant emptied into the Anduin. “Daeradar.”

They dried and dressed, then rode further upstream to a ford where their horses could safely swim.  The current pushed them downriver, and they managed to exit the river near the Celebrant, where Celeborn waited for them. They dismounted and bowed before him, but he stepped forward and drew them upright and embraced them.

“The shadow of Dol Guldur rests on you still,” said Celeborn. “What led you there and what did you find?”

They began their walk to Caras Galadhon, the guards that had accompanied Celeborn walking a discreet distance behind them.  Celeborn kept one hand on Elrohir’s shoulder.

“We found nothing of interest at Dol Guldur,” explained Elladan. “Bored guards with little to eat and nothing to do. Though,” he hastened to add, “we did not enter the inner perimeter or the tower itself. The Nine are abroad, as you have may have heard, but they were swept away in the Bruinen.  We learned that eight of the mounts were found downstream. Scouts are looking for any sign of the Úlairi.”

Celeborn’s brow had lifted higher with each sentence Elladan spoke, and his eyes showed his surprise, but he refrained from questioning them further.  They walked in companionable silence into the heart of the city and climbed the stairs to the home of their grandparents.

Galadriel was waiting for them, a table prepared with dinner, and she greeted them and insisted they eat before speaking.  Then Elladan began, telling of all they had learned at the council.

When he finished, his grandparents looked at him with a measure of surprise that Elladan would not have anticipated. Surely Galadriel had foreseen at least some of this?

“So the creature Gollum was caught by Sauron, told of ‘Baggins and the Shire’ and then conveniently escaped. He was found by Aragorn and delivered into Thranduil’s keeping, where he conveniently escaped again.  Mithrandir has confirmed that the One has been in the keeping of a Perian in The Shire since the year the dragon was killed, yet was unable to have a timely message delivered there once he knew this; or better yet, send a few rangers who could escort the Perian bearing the ring to Imladris.  Thus, by the time the Perian set forth, the Nine were abroad seeking him, as they now had his name and knowledge of the Shire. Mithrandir was not there to aid them, for Saurman, who has betrayed us, had taken him captive. The Periannath, with Aragorn’s aid, made it to Imladris after being attacked by the Úlairi.  Elrond brought the wrath of the Bruinen down upon the Nine, unhorsing them.  A Council was held, though most of the Wise were not present, and Elrond decided that the Perian and his gardener should take the One and trek to Mordor, breach the Morannon and destroy the One in the fire?”

Elladan met his grandmother’s piercing stare unflinchingly, contemplating his response, when a sound broke the silence.  He looked at his twin, and found him shaking with laughter.

“Yes, Daernaneth, I believe you have summed up the course of events correctly,” replied Elrohir, his eyes twinkling.

Galadriel shook her head and sat back, quiet for a moment.  “What of Aragorn?”

“Aragorn is going to Minas Tirith. I believe Elrond will send him and Boromir, the messenger sent by his father, the steward of Gondor, along as companions to Frodo, as they will share the road for many miles.”

“Mithrandir?”

“Mithrandir told us he plans to accompany the Ring-bearer.”

Celeborn frowned at this.  “I see great advantage to Mithrandir accompanying the Ring-bearer. This is, as Elrond has said, the culmination of his task. Yet might his presence also attract the eye of Mordor to him?”

“Or be used to draw the eye of Mordor away from the Ring-bearer,” said Galadriel.

Elladan listened as they discussed the Quest of the Ring-bearer, used to them each asking a question and the other answering it, as they worked out between them the answers. He drew in a deep breath. “Should Frodo and his companions pass this way, will they find refuge in Lothlórien?”

“The Gap of Rohan would be the safer route in winter,” interjected Celeborn. “Should the snow fall even you two will have difficulty in the Redhorn Pass.”

“Frodo would not be turned away,” said Galadriel softly.

Elladan felt the tension grow, the air static with some spark that was occurring between them.  Celeborn’s eyes flashed with fire, while Galadriel’s darkened until nearly black, then it seemed stars appeared and sparkled brightly within them.   As their discussion grew more passionate, Elladan could sense the gist of their argument.  Celeborn did not want the One brought into Lothlórien.  If Frodo came seeking refuge, they would grant it outside of Caras Galadhon, in the woods under the protection of the Marchwardens.  They would provision them and send them on.  Galadriel insisted otherwise.  Frodo should be brought into the heart of the Golden Wood and refreshed, giving them both opportunity to assess any hurts, relieve weariness and provide counsel.   Elladan thought it plain to see that Celeborn’s position was solely based on keeping Galadriel and the One apart and that Galadriel would win the argument.  Then he realized this was not an argument, for they would agree in the end, but another discussion designed to ensure that all risks and possibilities were explored.

“You must trust me,” said Galadriel finally. “All these long years we have dwelt together, you have known the desires of my heart.”

Celeborn took her hand in his and leaned close to her.  “I have. And if the old desires should return?”

Galadriel smiled at him, and Elladan had to look away, for the love in her eyes was not meant to be witnessed by any but Celeborn. “Then you will do what you must.”

In the end, they did not answer his question, but Elladan knew that he could tell his father that Frodo and his companions would find refuge should they seek it in the Golden Wood. 

“Adar had one further message,” said Elrohir quietly.  “Should the Ring-bearer fulfill his quest, he believes the Three will be shorn of their power. Should the One fall into the hands of Sauron, the hearts and minds of the keepers of the Three will be laid bare before him.  He sends a reminder, discussed long ago amongst some of the Wise, for preparations to that end.”

Elrohir eyes were fixed on Celeborn as he spoke, and Celeborn nodded to him in acknowledgement.  Galadriel did not respond.

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts, then Galadriel stood, bringing her husband and grandsons to their feet.  “We will speak again before you leave tomorrow.  Now you must rest, for I see weariness in your eyes and remnants of Dol Guldur’s shadow on your hearts.”

They left in the morning after bathing in the hot baths, provided with fresh clothing and well fed.  They spoke to the wardens on the northern marches and then set a fast pace for Imladris.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond studied his sons as they finished their tale.   He was well pleased with them. Everything he had just heard confirmed for him that of all the candidates for the final two companions of the Ring-bearer, his sons were the best choices.  Yet despite this conclusion, he hesitated to speak to them.

“Well done, my sons,” he said instead, and he stood, drawing them to their feet.   He kissed them each on the brow. “Go and sleep; we will speak tomorrow.”

Elrond sat in darkness as Ithil rose and Eärendil sailed his nightly journey. When the house was silent, he walked to the chamber where he knew Frodo slept, a room set apart from those of the other guests. Frodo did not know it, but he was in the quarters of family and close members of his house.  Entering, he stood in the moonlight, watching the hobbit sleep.  Burrowed under the covers, the hobbit’s faint translucence was less obvious to Elrond’s eyes, but present nonetheless.  As he had done nearly every night since Frodo’s arrival, he sat beside the bed and laid his hand upon the hobbit’s heart.  He found his sleep unencumbered by dreams or visions of what lay ahead, or what lay behind.  The Ring lay silent, its attempts to tempt Elrond having ceased some weeks earlier. Yet Elrond knew that if he were to drop his guard even the least bit, the seductive voice would resume.  He sent a measure of his strength to Frodo and filled his mind with peace.  He could only hope that the weeks of subduing the ring and strengthening the body and mind of the hobbit would be enough for Frodo to resist its call at the end.

The next morning, he called all involved in the council’s decision to him.  

He looked gravely at Frodo. 'The time has come,' he said. 'If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. But those who go with it must not count on their errand being aided by war or force. They must pass into the domain of the Enemy far from aid. Do you still hold to your word, Frodo, that you will be the Ring-bearer?'

'I do,' said Frodo. 'I will go with Sam.'

'Then I cannot help you much, not even with counsel,' said Elrond. 'I can foresee very little of your road; and how your task is to be achieved I do not know. The Shadow has crept now to the feet of the Mountains, and draws nigh even to the borders of Greyflood; and under the Shadow all is dark to me. You will meet many foes, some open, and some disguised; and you may find friends upon your way when you least look for it. I will send out messages, such as I can contrive, to those whom I know in the wide world; but so perilous are the lands now become that some may well miscarry, or come no quicker than you yourself.

'And I will choose you companions to go with you, as far as they will or fortune allows. The number must be few, since your hope is in speed and secrecy. Had I a host of Elves in armour of the Elder Days, it would avail little, save to arouse the power of Mordor.

'The Company of the Ring shall be Nine; and the Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil. With you and your faithful servant, Gandalf will go; for this shall be his great task, and maybe the end of his labours.

'For the rest, they shall represent the other Free Peoples of the World: Elves, Dwarves, and Men. Legolas shall be for the Elves; and Gimli son of Glóin for the Dwarves. They are willing to go at least to the passes of the Mountains, and maybe beyond. For men you shall have Aragorn son of Arathorn, for the Ring of Isildur concerns him closely.'

'Strider!' said Frodo.

'Yes,' he said with a smile. 'I ask leave once again to be your companion, Frodo.'

'I would have begged you to come,' said Frodo, 'only I thought you were going to Minas Tirith with Boromir.'

'I am,' said Aragorn. 'And the Sword-that-was-Broken shall be reforged ere I set out to war. But your road and our road lie together for many hundreds of miles. Therefore Boromir will also be in the Company. He is a valiant man.'

'There remain two more to be found,' said Elrond. "These I will consider. Of my household I may find some that it seems good to me to send.'

'But that will leave no place for us!' cried Pippin in dismay. 'We don't want to be left behind. We want to go with Frodo.'

'That is because you do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead,' said Elrond.

'Neither does Frodo,' said Gandalf, unexpectedly supporting Pippin. 'Nor do any of us see clearly. It is true that if these hobbits understood the danger, they would not dare to go. But they would still wish to go, or wish that they dared, and be shamed and unhappy. I think, Elrond, that in this matter it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom. Even if you chose for us an elf-lord, such as Glorfindel, he could not storm the Dark Tower, nor open the road to the Fire by the power that is in him.'

'You speak gravely,' said Elrond, 'but I am in doubt. The Shire, I forebode, is not free now from peril; and these two I had thought to send back there as messengers, to do what they could, according to the fashion of their country, to warn the people of their danger. In any case, I judge that the younger of these two, Peregrin Took, should remain. My heart is against his going.'

'Then, Master Elrond, you will have to lock me in prison, or send me home tied in a sack,' said Pippin. 'For otherwise I shall follow the Company.'

'Let it be so then. You shall go,' said Elrond, and he sighed. 'Now the tale of Nine is filled. In seven days the Company must depart.' *

He watched in amazement as Merry and Pippin cheered at what they considered their good fortune, still in disbelief that he had just agreed to send them. He lifted his head to look above the hobbits and saw his sons leaning against the wall. They were smiling at the hobbits, then Aragorn joined them and the three departed together.

“If I were not witness to your decision, I would think insanity had gripped whomever told me of it,” said Glorfindel.

Elrond glared at him, but before he could speak he heard Mithrandir. “Sometimes, Glorfindel, one must be led by friendship and love, not by wisdom, for it is impossible to see all ends. It is not by might that this quest will be accomplished.”

Elrond let his words die on his lips, for he tended to agree with Glorfindel.  Wind swept through the nearby trees and he turned slightly to see the branches swaying.  Branches turned to arms and he saw Merry lifted high. He blinked and saw the hobbit sitting comfortably on the again straight limb, and then the old oak was empty once more. Elrond looked back at the hobbits, confirming they were all still present in the room with him, then he looked back at the tree.  His heart sped up when what seemed to be two eyes appeared, and the tree winked at him.

He turned back to Mithrandir and Glorfindel. The wizard had his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, speaking to him in a low voice. Glorfindel finally seemed to acquiesce to what Mithrandir was saying, though his eyes reflected his true thoughts.  Mithrandir seemed pleased enough with the decision for all of them.

Elrond was in his study when Mithrandir appeared.  He sat down, making himself comfortable, and stretched his long legs out before him.  Elrond noticed the state of his boots and made a note to himself to ensure they were repaired before he left.

“You say you see little of what is ahead.  What do you see?” asked the wizard.

“Bits and pieces, most of which I cannot connect and little of which I understand.  I do not know if these are scenes of what will be or only might be,” replied Elrond.

“This is no longer your fight,” said Mithrandir lightly.

Elrond looked at him sharply. They had discussed this before. He was a bystander now, someone who could provide guidance and provisions, but he was as the beams of his own house – necessary, but fixed in place and not useful anywhere but where they were.

“Yet you may receive wisdom or foresight of other actions that should be taken, of other aid you might send.  You will be glad for swift and trustworthy messengers then.”

Elrond had not spoken to Mithrandir about the details of the visions he had seen. The wizard had agreed to the companions Elrond had chosen without question, inserting only himself.  Peace slowly settled on him. 

“Come, you have an appointment with the shoemaker,” he said. “You will never walk to Mordor on those.”

* * * *

A/N:  References to the woodelves are based on my series set in the Woodland Realm. Lathron’s vision of Legolas occur in ‘May the Valar Protect Them’, when Legolas is missing.  Legolas met the twins in ‘Hunting’.   Someday, I may write the Quest and aftermath from the Woodland Realm’s POV, and thus had to include these little bits, irrelevant as they are to this story.

*From The Ring Goes South, The Fellowship of the Ring.

Special thanks to Karri for beta reading this monstrosity chapter.