Chapter 361: Making Arrangements
The choice left many in the hall stunned, Frodo himself not least.
Gandalf froze for a heartbeat, pretended he had not heard Frodo's first cry, and went on trying to calm the others.
No, lad. Turn around now. Go back. You can still be spared what lies ahead…
Even if, in truth, there was no escaping it.
"I will take the Ring to Mordor," Frodo said.
The argument broke off as if a knife had cut it.
"But I do not know the way," he added.
This time, no one could pretend not to hear.
Gandalf was the first to move. He stepped up and stood behind Frodo.
"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, for as long as it is yours to bear," he said.
"If my life can shield you, then I will not hold it back."
Aragorn went down on one knee, looking up at Frodo.
"From this day, my sword is at your command," he said.
Gandalf glanced sideways then, catching Levi's and Elrond's eyes in turn.
Levi raised his brows.
The three of them had reached an understanding.
So be it.
"And you have my bow," Legolas said, stepping forward.
"And my axe," said Gimli.
He came trudging up too, holding only the haft of what had once been an axe, and muttered under his breath, "Though someone had better get me a new one."
His old axe lay in splinters, broken on the Ring.
When Frodo stepped forward, even Boromir, with all his weight of care, was taken aback. He found himself bowing to the courage in this small Hobbit.
"You have taken up a heavy doom, little one," he said.
"If this is the council's final will, then Gondor will stand behind it."
"Hey, and me as well!"
Sam burst out of hiding.
Neither Elrond nor Gandalf was surprised. They had known he was lurking nearby all along.
The next two, however, had not been in anyone's plans.
"And us!"
Merry and Pippin popped out behind Sam.
"You will not send Frodo off without us," Pippin said. "Not unless you tie us up in sacks and carry us away."
Levi suddenly rubbed his hands together, quelling a certain unworthy impulse.
Not here. Not now. This was supposed to be a solemn occasion.
In the quiet that followed, Elrond found his voice again.
"Do you understand what you are asking to join?" he said.
"Er… some sort of mission?"
"An adventure… or something?"
The cousins looked at one another. In each other's eyes, they saw only clear, stubborn resolve.
They did not know. They meant to go anyway.
"Nine companions," Elrond said at last, with a slow nod.
"So it shall be. You shall be called the Fellowship of the Ring."
Thus, on that day, the Fellowship of the Ring was formed.
"Brilliant!" Pippin crowed, pumping his fist.
"So… where are we going again?"
Everyone else stared at him, momentarily blank.
The council wound down with the founding of the Fellowship.
At the very end, there was still the question of who should go. Some argued that the last two Hobbits were ill-suited. They were too small, too weak.
On grounds of safety, Elrond made his own view plain. In truth, he agreed. Rather than send Hobbits, he would far rather see Glorfindel go. No one in the room doubted that Frodo would be safest under his guard.
"No, my lord Elrond. I believe Merry and Pippin are exactly who we need," Gandalf said.
"In many moments, friendship and loyalty matter more than strength."
"Glorfindel, and Levi too, whom you keep eyeing, are both far too powerful. They could not go unseen."
"Their mere presence would drive Sauron to madness. He would strip Mordor to hurl everything he has at them. The Fellowship would face his full fury from the first step. Forget bearing Frodo into the heart of Mordor; they would likely be forced into a final war between Free Peoples and Shadow before they had gone a dozen leagues."
"Very well. So be it," Elrond said.
He turned again to Levi.
"And you? What say you?"
"No objection," Levi said.
"Trust them. Their friendship and their will shall show their worth."
He leaned back in his chair after that, with nothing more to add.
This was no longer something he should meddle in directly.
The Fellowship would move in shadow. He stood in the light and could stand nowhere else.
Sometimes it was a nuisance to be so very conspicuous.
With everything fixed, the council ended.
The Fellowship broke up for the time being, each member going to make ready in their own way.
That night, Aragorn went to his mother's grave to say his last farewell.
"I am not ready to bear this weight," he said softly.
"She thought that by bringing you to Rivendell she could keep you safe," Elrond said, breaking into his grief.
"But in her heart, she knew you could never flee your fate."
"Elves still have the skill to reforge the sword of kings. But only you have the right to wield it."
"I do not want that right," Aragorn said.
After decades of hardship and roaming, the sharp edge of his youth had worn away. Now, at all times, he found himself shrinking back.
"You alone bear this blood. You cannot be replaced. You cannot run," Elrond said behind him.
Aragorn bowed his head and held his tongue.
Elsewhere…
"Here. Draw it and see," Bilbo said.
He had called Frodo to his room and now pressed an Elvish short-sword into his hands.
"This is my old companion, Sting. See if it suits you."
Frodo drew the blade and his eyes went wide.
"It is so light. And it feels so sharp," he breathed.
"Oh, that is as it should be," Bilbo said.
"Back at Roadside Keep, Levi told me he had laid some kind of sharpness enchantment on it. After that, I could feel that it was not quite the same. Just as he said, it took on an extra edge, even though it was already sharp enough. Elf-work, after all."
"And speaking of Elvish work, there is this: when Orcs come near, the blade glows blue," Bilbo went on.
"I do not know if you have ever seen Levi's 'Bane'. He does not use it much now, but in the old days, it was his mark. When Bane flared, the Orcs knew he had come. They would scatter and flee, with no heart left for battle."
"Bane was forged by the Elves as well. For all we know, it comes from the same place as this little blade."
"And then there is this…"
Bilbo delved in his chest again. He drew out a small coat and helped Frodo into it: a shirt of mithril mail. Then he produced a heap of golden apples.
"One for each of your companions. Levi gave me more of these than I could ever use," he said.
Once again, Frodo was left speechless by his uncle.
Just as he had said before, no matter how many years passed, there were always more riddles hidden about Bilbo. Every time one was turned up, it left Frodo, a Hobbit long used to a quiet, settled life, deeply shaken.
…
"Do you know it?"
Outside Bilbo's room, as they strolled the paths with nothing better to do, Levi and Glorfindel happened to see uncle and nephew rummaging through chests and handing treasures back and forth.
Levi pointed at Bilbo's Elvish short-sword, Sting.
"Recognise where it came from?" he asked.
"Oh?"
Glorfindel peered with interest.
Though they were some distance away, he still caught a clear glimpse.
"It does look familiar," he said.
He smiled. There was remembrance in it, and something deeper and harder to read.
"This is the first time I have seen Bilbo draw it," Levi said.
"So you do know it?" he pressed.
Glorfindel only smiled, shaking his head, then nodding.
"Do not dance around it. Tell me its name," Levi said.
"Sting. Did not Bilbo name it so?"
"All right, all right," Levi muttered.
He raised his brows and let the matter go. It was hard to stay sharp when an Elf insisted on going round in circles like that.
Still…
If memory served, Glorfindel had used a short blade when he slew the Balrog. Or, for one of his kind, it would be nearer to a dagger.
The thought made things interesting.
Levi turned it over in his mind, then shook his head at himself.
It was only a guess, after all. Glorfindel had not said.
Very well. Let it be.