"Legolas."
Aragorn waved in greeting to the guest who had just arrived in Rivendell.
It had been a long time since they last met, and seeing Legolas again filled Aragorn with emotion.
This fellow, when they first met, he had claimed to be just an ordinary Elf. But in truth, he was the prince of the Woodland Realm.
Across from him, Legolas felt much the same.
This fellow, when they first met, he had claimed to be just an ordinary Ranger. But in truth, he was the Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and the last man alive with the royal blood of both Gondor and Arnor.
"You certainly kept that from me for a long time."
"You did the same."
The two exchanged a knowing smile and chose not to dwell on it.
Since their travels years ago, after Aragorn's return from the East, the two had met again in Rhovanion and spent a long while together. By now, they knew each other well and shared a deep friendship.
They chatted about old times, smiling as old friends reunited.
Nearby, Boromir frowned slightly. He looked at Aragorn, a man who seemed about his own age, but felt a strange sense of foreboding.
Hard to describe, hard to name.
If one had to put it into words, it was destiny. There was a sense of fate about that man, one that felt closely bound to his own.
While old friends met and factions gathered, each with their own thoughts, elsewhere, on a quiet terrace overlooking the waterfall, a smaller, private meeting was already underway before the Council itself began.
"To have carried the One Ring so far without succumbing to its corruption... that alone shows Frodo's resistance to its evil is quite extraordinary."
Elrond gazed at Frodo, who was chatting leisurely with Bilbo, lost in thought.
Gandalf said quietly beside him, "Yes, indeed. But such a burden should not be his to bear. He is but a Hobbit, a gentle soul who dislikes adventure and would rather stay at home in peace. A quiet life suits him far better than all this."
"But sometimes, we do not get to choose," Elrond said, shaking his head slowly.
"Our long-slumbering enemy has begun to stir once more. His armies are vast, greater than those of Elves and Men combined. His strength grows day by day. Though he cannot yet take form, his spirit is no weaker than it was in the days of old."
In other words, the days of the Last Alliance.
"Saruman mentioned the same. I learned from Garrett that he was nearly ensnared by Sauron's deceit in the past, and not long ago he was seized by the Nazgûl. He's now imprisoned in Dol Guldur. I still cannot guess what purpose they have in holding him. Whatever their reason, the loss of a wizard's freedom is a blow to us all. We must find a way to rescue him. Do you have a plan?" Gandalf asked.
Elrond fell silent again.
After a long pause, he finally said, "Legolas of the Woodland Realm brought word from Dol Guldur. According to him, the place is shrouded in dark shadows, a vast darkness growing within, enough to fill one's heart with dread. I suspect there lies a hidden army, lurking in wait, deterred only by the strong defenses of the free realms nearby. Even if they fear our strength, breaking into Dol Guldur will not be easy."
"Easy or not, it must be done," Gandalf said firmly.
"Of course. We will see to it. I have already chosen those who will go. Glorfindel will join the effort, and with Garrett's help, breaching Dol Guldur will not be impossible."
"Then I am relieved," Gandalf said, his brow easing slightly.
When they had finished discussing Saruman's fate, the two turned to the matter of even greater urgency, the Ring itself.
"Whether in Wayfort or in Rivendell, the Ring cannot remain hidden forever. You know as well as I that as long as it exists, Sauron has a chance to rise again. This is the fate that all the peoples of Middle-earth must face. No one can stand apart from it. The age of the Elves has already ended. Even with the power of the Rings to preserve what remains of our strength, more and more of our kin are leaving, sailing to the Blessed Realm to rejoin those who went before. When the last of the Elves have departed, the strength of the Free Peoples will wane yet further. When that time comes, you will have no choice but to turn to..."
Tap.
Footsteps echoed softly. Someone arrived late, crossing the bridge from afar toward the two, clearly intending to join their private meeting.
"Fortunately," Elrond said with a sigh of relief, "there is still this new rising power."
"Men have grown weak. Since the Second Age, their race has been in decline. The blood of Númenor runs thin among them, diluted and fading. Their strength and lifespan are but half of what their ancestors once possessed. The glory and pride of Númenor have long since vanished. But the rise of the Free Cities has renewed my faith. In them, I glimpse again the brilliance of Men in ages past. Yet they also give me cause for concern."
As Garrett drew nearer, Elrond continued speaking, "In its day, Númenor was far stronger than these Free Cities. Even the Great Enemy would not fight them openly. He cowered in fear before their might. And yet, they too were seduced and fell into ruin in but a moment's folly. Later, in the War of the Last Alliance, their descendants were again ensnared by the One Ring's corruption. It escaped destruction then, and that failure has led us to the world we face now. I saw it with my own eyes, Gandalf. I stood beside him."
He had truly been there.
"When Isildur took the Ring, I witnessed firsthand the frailty of Men."
He wasn't exaggerating. At that moment, he had felt a powerful urge to kick Isildur into the fire himself. But Isildur's forefathers were his own kin by blood.
Kinslaying among Elves is an unforgivable crime. He could not do it, nor did he wish to. And even if he had forced himself to bear that terrible sin and executed Isildur on the spot, it would have meant open war between Elves and Men, war without end. After all, Isildur was the sole heir of the royal line of Men, the last living descendant of the High Kings.
Even if Elrond had defied all reason and acted, the Ring would not have been destroyed. It would only have seized upon that moment of chaos and guilt, slipping from Isildur to Elrond himself, making him its next host.
To make such a choice would have meant he was already lost to its power.
From every angle, Elrond had been bound. He could only stand there, helpless, crying out to Isildur in vain, hoping he might yet come to his senses. At that moment, only Isildur had the power to decide the Ring's fate. No one else could intervene.
But he failed.
"Still, we are not without hope. Many Free Cities now stand beside us. The Men who dwell there may be weaker than the Númenóreans of old and live far shorter lives, but their spirit, their forward-reaching will, never fails to move me. In them, I find joy and hope. And as for Garrett, by my count, it has been eighty years since we first met. Though there are still many mysteries about him that I cannot unravel, I have come to understand the kind of man he is. The North has prospered because of him, and will continue to do so. But as for the rest..."
"The rest," Gandalf interjected softly, "the one who can unite all Men, you've been watching him here in Rivendell all along."
Elrond and Gandalf both turned their heads.
Garrett said, "Aragorn has been rather listless lately, or perhaps it's better to say he's done little of note. But I've seen enough to know, there's a fire of will hidden in his eyes."
With that, he sank into a nearby chair and exhaled deeply.
Thanks to the Ring of Stars, his senses were anything but ordinary. Even from afar, he had heard every word Elrond and Gandalf had spoken.
These two really do think far too much, he mused.