This was a decision that shocked not only many others but even Frodo himself.
Gandalf froze for a moment, pretending not to hear Frodo's first outcry, and continued to persuade the others.
"No, my boy, turn back now. Go home, and you can still avoid all that pain..."
Even if it might be something inevitable.
"I will take the Ring to Mordor."
The argument came to an abrupt halt.
"Though... I do not know the way."
This time, Gandalf couldn't pretend not to have heard. He was the first to step forward, standing behind Frodo.
"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."
"If I can protect you with my life, then life or death, I will not hesitate."
Aragorn knelt on one knee, looked at Frodo, and said, "From this moment on, my sword is at your command."
At that, Gandalf glanced sideways, exchanging looks with Garrett and Elrond.
Garrett raised his eyebrows slightly.
The three reached a silent agreement.
So be it.
"And my bow," said Legolas, stepping forward.
"And my axe."
Gimli followed, clutching what was left of his axe handle, and muttered under his breath, "Though I'll need a new one."
His axe had been shattered by the Ring.
When Frodo stepped forward, even the heavy-hearted Boromir was taken aback, moved by the Hobbit's courage.
"You carry a heavy fate, little one."
"If this is the council's final decision, then Gondor will lend its support."
"Hey, and me!"
At that moment, Sam jumped out.
Neither Elrond nor Gandalf seemed surprised by his appearance. They had noticed the fellow hiding nearby long ago.
But the next two were not part of the plan.
"And us!"
Pippin and Merry popped out right after Sam.
"Don't think you can separate us from Frodo, unless you tie us up and carry us off in sacks!"
Garrett suddenly rubbed his hands together, suppressing an untimely urge to laugh.
This was hardly the right setting... not now.
After a moment of silence, Elrond regained his composure and asked, "Do you understand what it is you're getting yourselves into?"
"Uh... some kind of mission?"
"An adventure... maybe?"
The two looked at each other, eyes clear and resolute.
They didn't know, but there was no way they'd leave.
"Nine companions," Elrond said at last, nodding in confirmation.
"So be it. You shall be called the Fellowship of the Ring."
That day, the Fellowship was born.
"Brilliant!" Pippin pumped his fist.
"Right, uh... where exactly are we going again?"
Everyone froze for a moment. The council came to a close with the formation of the Fellowship.
In the final stage, people discussed the team's members. Some believed the last two Hobbits were unsuitable. They were too small and weak.
For safety's sake, Elrond expressed his own view. In fact, he agreed. Instead of having the Hobbits accompany them, he thought Glorfindel's presence would better ensure Frodo's safety.
"No, Lord Elrond," Gandalf countered, "I believe Merry and Pippin's inclusion is just right. At times, friendship and loyalty matter more than strength."
"Whether it's Glorfindel or Garrett, whom you've been glancing at since earlier, their power is too great. They cannot move unseen. Their presence would only drive Sauron into greater frenzy. He would send forth every force at his command, launching his fiercest assaults. Then, not only would the Fellowship fail to reach Mordor, but the Free Peoples might be forced into their final war with the Shadow before ever leaving Rivendell."
"Very well. Then it is settled," Elrond said, nodding.
He turned once more to Garrett and asked, "What say you?"
"I have no objection," Garrett replied.
"Trust them. Their friendship and resolve will see them through."
With that, Garrett leaned back in his chair, having nothing more to add.
This matter was no longer something he should personally intervene in.
The Fellowship of the Ring would move in secret, while he would remain in the open, and could only act in the open.
Sometimes being too conspicuous was its own kind of trouble.
Everything was now officially decided.
Thus, the council was concluded.
The Fellowship temporarily dispersed, each member going to make their own preparations.
That night, Aragorn came before his mother's grave to bid his final farewell.
"I am not ready to bear this burden..."
"She thought that by bringing you to Rivendell, you would be safe," Elrond interrupted Aragorn's sorrow.
"But deep down, she knew you could never escape your destiny. The Elves still have the power to reforge the Sword of Kings, but only you have the right to wield it."
"I do not want that power."
After decades of wandering and hardship, the once-fiery young man now seemed to have lost his edge. For some reason, Aragorn hesitated.
"You alone bear this bloodline. None can replace you, none can escape it," Elrond said from behind.
Aragorn lowered his head in silence, saying nothing.
---
Elsewhere...
"Go on, draw it out and have a look."
Bilbo called Frodo into his room and handed him an elven short sword.
"This is my old companion, Sting. See if it suits you."
At his words, Frodo drew the blade, wonder spreading across his face.
"It's so light... and feels so sharp."
"Oh, that's right. Back at the fortress by the road, Garrett told me he'd added some sort of sharpness enchantment to it. Since then, it's felt different, just as Garrett said, sharper. Even though it was already sharp to begin with. Well, elven work, after all."
"Speaking of elven craft, there's something else you should know. When orcs are near, the blade glows blue. I don't know if you've ever seen Garrett's sword, Bane. He doesn't use it much anymore, but back in the day, it was his signature. When Bane began to glow, the orcs would know Garrett had come, and they'd scatter in terror, losing all will to fight. That sword was elven-made too. Who knows, maybe it came from the same forge as Sting."
"Oh, and this."
Bilbo kept rummaging through his chest, pulling out a mithril shirt for Frodo to put on, and then a bundle of golden apples.
"One for each of your companions. Garrett gave me plenty of these."
That day, Frodo was once again left speechless by Bilbo.
Just as he'd always said, no matter how much time passed, Bilbo always seemed full of mysteries that Frodo could never quite unravel. Even the smallest revelation from him was enough to astonish a Hobbit so used to a peaceful, ordinary life.
"Do you recognize it?"
Outside Bilbo's room, Garrett and Glorfindel happened to pass by, catching sight of them rummaging through boxes and handing over items.
Garrett pointed at Bilbo's elven short sword, Sting, and asked about its origin.
"Oh?"
Glorfindel looked over with interest. Even from afar, he could see it clearly.
"It does look familiar, hmm..."
He smiled, a smile filled with reminiscence, and a hint of something deeper, hard to describe.
"This is the first time I've seen Bilbo take it out."
"So, you do know it?" Garrett pressed.
Glorfindel only smiled, shook his head... then nodded.
"Could you not be so vague? Just tell me what it's called."
"Sting. Didn't Bilbo name it himself?"
"Fine, fine."
Garrett raised an eyebrow, exasperated by the Elf's roundabout way of speaking.
Still...
If he remembered correctly, the weapon Glorfindel used to slay the Balrog had been a short sword or, by elven standards, a dagger.
Now that was interesting.
He thought for a moment, then shook his head to himself.
Just speculation, after all. Glorfindel hadn't said anything.
Forget it. Best to let it be.