The Price of Pride

Elvish translations

Perien - Hobbits

Chapter 61


I spent the night in the woods, purging my despair, searching for the balance I would need to go on with my appointed task, to represent my father at the council the next day. If we were to discuss the fate of the One Ring, Aragorn would be there tomorrow as well. He did not want to be King, but he could not avoid the reality that he was the heir to the throne of Gondor. His voice would need to be heard. And if he was there, I would have to face him.

I returned to my room to bathe and dress before I went to eat. I arrived early at the council site, wanting a chance to observe the others as they arrived. Saelbeth and Silinde found me there, asking after my whereabouts. I gave them a vague answer and returned to my observations. The first to arrive were a group of Dwarves. They watched us with barely concealed distrust. I schooled my own features to reveal nothing, though I felt the same as they. A few minutes later, the man I had seen in the library entered as well, followed by Elrond, the twins, Glorfindel and Erestor, dressed in council finery, though only Elrond wore the circlet that marked his rank. Galdor was there as well, sent by Cirdan from the Grey Havens. Aragorn came in on their heels, dressed finely but simply. To those gathered who knew him, he needed no mark of his rank. To the others, he was a Dúnedain, a Ranger from the North. Finally, Gandalf arrived, bringing with him a child. I wondered at that. What business could a child have in this council? Then, I saw Aragorn greet the boy and heard the boy call him Strider, and I understood. This was the Perian, the Hobbit who had brought the Ring to Rivendell.

The bell rang, signaling the beginning of the council, and we all found our seats.

“Strangers from distant lands, friends of old,” Elrond began. “You have 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.” His eyes traveled the council as he spoke, meeting the eyes of each member, trying to impress upon us all the importance of what was to be decided today. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.” Elrond gestured to the pedestal in the middle of the terrace on which we had assembled. I catalogued the name in my mind, sensing already the importance of this strange creature.

The Hobbit rose slowly and approached the pedestal, placing the Ring there with a sigh. He returned to his seat just as slowly and seemed to sink back into his chair. I watched him carefully as the whispers grew around me. He was an odd site to me, one used to Elvish grace and the size and strength of Men. He could not have stood much taller than my breastbone, yet I could tell that there was more to him than met the eye. There had to be, for him to have brought the Ring this far, resisting not only its temptation, but also the lure of the Nazgúl and a wound from a Morgul blade.

“So it is true...” The man whose name I still did not know spoke softly. The whispers continued until he rose. “In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark, but in the west, a pale light lingered. Voices crying, ‘The doom is near at hand Isildur’s bane is found.’” Elrond and Gandalf exchanged questioning looks as Boromir spoke. “Isildur’s bane,” he repeated, approaching the pedestal where the Ring still sat and reaching out to touch it.

“Boromir!” Elrond’s voice cut across the terrace, but it seemed to have no effect on Boromir. He would be one to watch, if the voice of the Elf-lord was not enough to sway him.

Before he could touch the Ring, Gandalf’s voice boomed out, speaking words I did not understand. “Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.” I did not understand them, but I felt them, to the very depths of my being. I could not stop myself from cringing as he spoke and the world grew dark around us. At least I was not the only one. Even Elrond seemed bothered by what he heard. Gandalf’s words had the desired effect, though. Boromir backed away from the Ring and resumed his seat, looking shocked and bemused.

When Gandalf fell silent again, Elrond looked at him with a mixture of dismay and amazement. “Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris,” he chided Gandalf. Only Elrond would have dared to chide an Istari.

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” his voice still rough from using the Black Speech. “For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West. The ring is altogether evil,” Gandalf replied, starting back to his seat as well.

“No, it is a gift,” Boromir said, rising again. “A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?” He began pacing back and forth across the floor of the council. “Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces 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!” Aragorn interjected, speaking for the first time, frustration on his face as he tried to explain what should have been obvious. “None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” I saw the look Boromir gave Aragorn, a look of contempt and disdain. He had looked at the surface and had not seen beneath. I wanted to defend Aragorn from that look, but I no longer had that right. Besides, Aragorn could defend himself if he so desired.

“And what would a ranger know of this matter?” Boromir’s voice dripped with condescension as he spoke. I knew Aragorn could defend himself, but he was obviously not going to. I could not let the insult pass.

My anger was surely evident on my face as I sprang to my feet. “This is no mere ranger,” I informed him, meeting his eyes with a steely stare and carefully avoiding Aragorn’s gaze. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

Boromir stared at me for a moment before turning disbelieving eyes to Aragorn. “Aragorn? This... is Isildur's heir?” Aragorn raised his chin subtly, a challenge, an acknowledgment of the implied insult, but he remained silent still.

“And heir to the throne of Gondor,” I added, just in case Boromir needed that reminder.

“Havo dad, Legolas,” Aragorn said softly, his eyes telling me that he could fight his own battles when he was ready. I acknowledged his words with a nod, but did not sit right away. I wanted to see Boromir’s reaction.

He gave me one last look of defiance. “Gondor has no king.” Turning to Aragorn, he added, “Gondor needs no king.” Then, he resumed his seat.

“Aragorn is right,” Gandalf said, breaking the tension between the three of us. “We cannot use it.”

“You have only one choice,” Elrond informed us gravely. “The Ring must be destroyed.” I had feared it would come to that, but to hear it stated so plainly was troubling nonetheless.

One of the Dwarves spoke, then. I did not see which one, my eyes still focused on Boromir and Aragorn. “What are we waiting for?”

The seemingly youngest of the party of Dwarves rose, axe in hand, and approached the pedestal. With a loud cry, he brought the axe down on the ring, obviously intending to shatter it. He was thrown to the ground, his axe shattering into pieces, and the Ring began to whisper again, the same harsh sounds Gandalf had used earlier. I winced at the sound.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin by any craft that we here possess.” Another name to put with a face. The name of he who became my best friend. “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.” Even as Elrond spoke, the Ring continued its sibilant whispering.

“One of you,” Elrond announced, “must do this.”

Absolute silence greeted his declaration.

Boromir broke the silence finally, saying in a tired voice, “One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And 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!”

His opinion of the matter was obvious, but his opinion did not change the facts. I stood up again, that seeming to be the only thing that would catch his attention. “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!”

It was perhaps the wrong thing to say, as it started an argument that almost ended the council before it could begin. Gimli jumped to his feet at my words. “And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!”

Boromir rose as well. “And if we fail, what then?! What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!”

This was not going well, especially when Gimli added, “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!”

My father’s councilors were reasonable Elves. Except when it came to dealing with Dwarves. They rose behind me, shouting insults at Gimli and the other Dwarves. I put myt my hand to stop them, hoping to avert a fight. Unfortunately, no one was restraining Gimli.

“Never trust an elf!” he shouted. The council descended into chaos, with even Gandalf rising to add his voice to the melee.

“Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it!”

And through it all, the Ring continued to whisper, pouring its malice among us, driving even the calmest of us to anger.

Only Elrond, Aragorn, and Frodo remained outside the fray. I noticed that only vaguely, still concentrating on avoiding a fight between Elves and Dwarves, here on council grounds. And the voice of the Ring grew louder, spurring us on.

Then, one small voice cut across the shouts and the voice of the Ring, shaming us all in its simplicity and courage. “I will take it! I will take it!” He had to say it twice just to get everyone to listen.

We all turned to stare at the little Hobbit behind us who had risen to his feet as well. “I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though… I do not know the way.” I could see the doubt in the eyes of almost everyone there, but when I looked in Elrond’s eyes, in Gandalf’s, and in Aragorn’s, I saw no doubt. That was enough for me.

Gandalf walked to Frodo’s side, his hand going to the Hobbit’s shoulder. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as it is yours to bear.”

Aragorn rose, then. “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.” He crossed the circle of chairs and knelt before the Halfling. “You have my sword.”

My father’s words returned to me. “You will have to stand beside Aragorn,” he had told me. I knew in that instant what I had to do.

“And you have my bow,” I swore, walking to Frodo’s side. The oath was made to Frodo, but it was as much a promise to Aragorn as to the Halfling. I still loved him, and I always would, but I was coming to terms with the fact that he could not be mine. Still, I would not let him do this alone. He sent me a grateful look, hearing my vow.

“And my axe!” Gimli insisted. We exchanged dark looks as he joined the growing circle around Frodo. I would give him a chance, I promised myself, if he would do the same.

Boromir took in the scene in front of him, obviously still wanting to argue, but with an Istari, a Man, an Elf, a Dwarf and a Halfling already agreed, there was little he could do but accept. “You carry the fate of us all, little one,” he said to Frodo. He had clearly not seen the strength of will that hid in Frodo’s small frame, or he would have chosen other words. Frodo’s body might have been small, but there was nothing little about his heart. “If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done.”

A shout from behind us startled us all as another Halfling appeared from the bushes. “Mister Frodo is not goin’ anywhere without me!” That was Sam, I later learned, Frodo’s friend and gardener. At the time, I did not know what to make of him, but Elrond and Gandalf met his announcement with a smile.

“No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not,” Elrond chided gently. Sam seemed oblivious to the subtle rebuke.

Then, two more shouts came from the entrance to the terrace, two more Hobbits emerging from behind pillars where they had secreted themselves. “Wait! We are coming too!”

And they ran down to stand beside Frodo as well. “You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!” one of them exclaimed.

The other, the littlest of the four, added, “Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest... thing.”

“Well that rules you out Pip,” was the caustic reply from his friend.

Elrond looked at us carefully, appraising the strength gathered before him, an alliance of races never before seen on the face of Middle Earth. “Nine companions... Nine Walkers to balance the nine Riders,” he mused. “So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!”

“Great! Where are we going?” the one called Pip asked with what I came to realize was typical lack of awareness. I met Aragorn’s eyes over the heads of the Perien and I smiled. He smiled back, obviously used to their ways. In that moment, I knew I would do what it took to find a way for us to be friends again.