Title: More Than Mithril

Author Pen-name: Arwen Baggins

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything relating to the Lord of the Rings in this story, which would include virtually everything.

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“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms.”

“Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo a chance.”

                                                            - Return of the King, teaser trailer

Chapter One: A Fool’s Hope

Setting: North Ithilien; March 16, 1419, Shire-reckoning

            The leaders of Middle-earth had finally come to a consensus.  War must be declared upon Mordor, if for no other purpose than to draw the Eye away from Orodruin, if the Ring-bearer were to fulfill his request.  So that is what they had set out to do just that and were now riding towards Doom, in a last-ditch effort to aid the imperiled Ring-bearer.

            Gandalf rode upon Shadowfax, alongside Aragorn, allowing his mind to stray for once from the present and to the past – to Frodo.  He had told Pippin back in Minas Tirith that there was no hope for Frodo, only a fool’s hope.  Yet Denethor had called him the “Grey Fool” to his face, and he somehow did not resent the Man for it.  For indeed to a Man of war like Denethor, sending two small Hobbits into the land of poison that was just coming into view would surely be seen as folly.  Yet Denethor’s own pride and corruption at the hand of Sauron – for indeed he had been corrupted through a palantír – forbade him from seeing the true circumstances surrounding the decision that had been made at the Council of Elrond, no more than a few short months ago.  Though for all that had happened it may well have been many years.

            The Council of Elrond!  Gandalf sighed.  That brought back more memories than he cared to think about.  He remembered arguing with Elrond about the fate of the Ring the day before the Council.  He had first begun to fear that Frodo’s troubles were not over upon hearing the Elf-lord speak of the Hobbit’s resilience to the Thing’s evil with such admiration.  All throughout the lonely nights, sitting by Frodo’s bedside with Bilbo and Samwise, he had berated himself constantly for not having found another Ring-bearer.  But when Frodo had recovered his hopes had soared until he had seen it: the Light.  The Light that had seemed to radiate from his body, seemed to fill it as though there was nothing else inside of him.  Gandalf didn’t claim to understand everything regarding all of the Enemy’s weapons – the Morgul blades least of all.  But when he had seen Frodo glowing he had known – right then and there – that he would never be the same again.  The accursed blade had been removed from his shoulder, and yet the effects of it somehow still lingered.  By Frodo’s own words the feeling in his left arm had been returning – a sign of the poison’s diminishing, and yet Gandalf could still see that some effect of the poison still lingered.  Why it left such an impact of Light, and not one of encompassing Darkness, Gandalf did not even pretend to fully understand.  But one thing was for sure: it would never go away. 

            At that point, he had wanted to take Frodo, grab Shadowfax from the stables and return the Hobbit to the Shire – where he rightfully belonged- as quickly as possible.  But it was not to be.  Elrond had insisted that Frodo rest and regain his strength.  He had further argued that Frodo must be present at the Council to present his story, to answer any questions that may be brought up.  Every piece of information he could give them – and he certainly would be able to give them the most after his recent ordeal – would be of a great service in helping them rid Middle-earth of the accursed Ring. But no one, none of all the Wise in Middle-earth could have foreseen Frodo standing up in front of the world leaders, volunteering to do that which made warriors of the “Big Folk” tremble with fear.  But that was what had happened – and nothing could change it now.

            The fact that the past was inalterable could not be denied, but why would he even want to change it?  Surely the life and well-being of one Hobbit, no matter how innocent and loving, could not be placed above that of all Middle-earth!  If going back, knowing - as Elrond seemed to have – that Frodo was the only one capable of accomplishing that task, would he change what had happened that fateful afternoon of October 25, 3018?  Nay, he would not.  Much as he might want to, he would have to do all over again what he knew was right for Middle-earth.  And that was for Frodo to bear the Ring.  But then again, if he could go back – not that it was even an option – but if it was, how could he take the responsibility into his own hands?  It was Frodo’s life, Frodo’s decision.  No one else could make it for him.  And it was in this knowledge that Gandalf found himself able to release some of the guilt that he had been harboring for Frodo’s and Samwise’s current predicament.  Hhe had asked them merely to see the Ring to the safety of Rivendell, and that they had done.  Having accomplished that task alone was enough to earn them the respect of the Elves.  No one had forced them to extend their commitment to the War against Sauron.  Indeed none had even thought of such a thing until they themselves had volunteered to do the unthinkable.

            To destroy the One in the Fire of Doom was an impossible task for one to accomplish by oneself.  With the Ring so close to Mordor, the weight of it would no doubt be heavy on Frodo’s heart and mind, and the thought of the torment his young friend must be going through was so great that it felt like a physical pain in his chest.

            The only comfort that he could find was in the fact that Frodo had Sam.  Nothing could separate those two – as Elrond himself had said even before the Council – and if they had each other, then their hope would not die.  And as long as they had hope – they had a chance of survival, however slim it might be.