Truth be told, Caranthir wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave when the others came. So he decided to be courteous, and mysteriously vanish a good five minutes before the first few filed in.
No, he was not being 'antisocial.'
Clearly it was more polite to leave the people who hated his very guts alone.
Not to mention the fact they'd be singing the whole night. It was remarkable, how the only thing anyone ever made music about was Eärendil (like they had the cheek to sing of him in Elrond's very house), and Beren and Lúthien with their stolen Jewel. What part did those hypocrites not understand about birthrights? No, they had to keep it for themselves and selfishly lead their various realms to their own destruction. Don't blame the villains for keeping the oaths they swore on Illúvatar, no. It's not like the happiness of two lovers was worth the deaths of thousands.
~~~
Elrond's council was to be called in the morning, an occasion Caranthir, despite his various misgivings, could not miss. Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, naturally, had been invited, yet their companions had been refused this . . . honor. Yet there were some others present: Glóin and his son Gimli, the ranger Aragorn (still clad in his old ratted clothes), and a stranger. The man had arrived in the gray hour of dawn, and seemed unable to break the habit of staring at everyone present in obvious wonder. Clothed as if for a lengthy ride, there was a fine white horn resting on his lap. He held himself with a pride, a respectable trait while sitting among elf lords.
Elrond, however, quickly introduced him. "Here is Boromir, a man from the South," he murmured in his clear tone. "He seeks answers to a dream, and counsel."
Samwise Gamgee, despite lack of invitation, had hidden himself quite cleverly behind a potted plant. Caranthir was not sure what to think of this.
Elrond stood up, breaking the silence smoothly. With a cough, he began. "Welcome, friends of old, strangers, allies." His cool stare encircled the seated council. "Whether you have journeyed with a message, or fled for counsel, now is time to answer to the One Ring, which after an age has been found."
A flurry of whispers spread through the seated council. Elrond, still standing, said nothing. Instead he looked to the famous Frodo Baggins, who twitched anxiously in his seat. He said nothing to him, however, as if waiting for something, an action that never arrived.
Silence sat heavy upon the council, like a gray thundercloud. Caranthir sucked in a breath.
"This Ring," came the dark voice of Olórin, "was found by Bilbo Baggins deep in the Misty Mountains. It is Sauron's own, and the last piece of his power. Here, we must choose what to do with it."
"No," said Elrond. "We must first tell it's story, for not all of us here know." His gaze flicked from person to person, never favoring one in particular, thank Eru. Caranthir didn't exactly feel like explaining to everyone about his time in the Halls.
So Elrond recited, slow but strong, the tale of the Second Age of Arda, never omitting a detail, in fact giving Caranthir even more knowledge than what he read in the history texts. It was almost impressive.
He spoke of the might and fall of Númenor, and Caranthir was reminded of his own people: lied to and manipulated, until it became their downfall. Except he had been his own downfall.
"I remember their great ships and banners," said the elf lord slowly, in thought. "They remind me, to this day, of the hosts and princes of Beleriand, before the fall of the first, Great Enemy." His eyes were closed.
Caranthir snorted in his seat. "Funny, as most of us were dead before you were even born."
Olórin put his hand over his face.
It seemed at this moment the council was divided into two halves: those ignorant souls gawking at Caranthir's use of the word 'us,' and the ones rolling their eyes and bristling.
Frodo Baggins, thankfully, turned out to be an exception. Ignoring Caranthir, he turned instead to Elrond, eyes wide. "You remember? But that was so long ago, how could you remember?"
"I am the son of Eärendil of Gondolin, and of Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Lúthien," he answered, once again causing Caranthir to stiffen, "born in Sirion, back when the world was young. I have seen three ages of this world, and many crushing defeats and victories." Caranthir scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"I was Gil-galad's herald as well," he continued, "and witnessed his duel with the Enemy on the slopes of Orodruin, and saw with my eyes his fall, and Isildur as he cut from his hand the Ring. From that hour Círdan and I have him council to destroy it, obliterate the last essence of evil from this world." His face darkened, and he gave a weary sigh. "He refused, and the Ring betrayed him, to his death."
At this moment, the mortal Boromir straightened in his chair, now looking upon the Ring with sudden wonder. "Isildur's bane . . ." he murmured aloud. "Even in my home, we had not learned of its fate."
Elrond nodded gloomily. "Yes, that is what became of it. Perhaps now we can right these ancient wrongs."
"But, seeing this, we cannot find the Last Alliance fruitless, as even though the foundations of evil were left untouched, Sauron lost his form and shale, and his might was pushed back. Now, in fact, his greatest strength has become his one weakness."
He continued to say more, of the fall and ruin of Arnor, and Gondor's rise and slow decline. The one named Boromir stirred at these words, at last rising to protest. "Lord Elrond, give me leave to speak of my realm. Gondor may be in such decline, but its power is not all diminished. To this day, it is the one tower that keeps the forces of Sauron at a weakness. Orcs and wild men would be running rampant if not for my people's guard."
"Then what of the other realms, Mirkwood and Lothlórien? They are not the only ones holding back the Enemy," said Caranthir, slightly -- but only slightly -- irritated. This mortal, as respectable as his pride was, overlooked the other forces in play.
At his words, Aragorn chose to add on. "Your home of Gondor, with their bright towers and swords, may boast the role of protector in the South. Here, it is the Dúnedain that hold back these armies. We work alone, in the dark, scorned. The villagers just a day's march away from the northern armies give to us degrading nicknames, never knowing we are the only reason they still stand."
Caranthir thought of Bree, specifically Butturbur the fat innkeeper, and bit back a mad chuckle. Humans were so ignorant it was almost funny. The laughter faded, though, as a lone exception came to mind.
Boromir nodded, proud but thoughtful. "This may be so, that many have overlooked your northern rangers. So let your people play their roles here, while Gondor does so in the South. But first, I wish to speak of why I came." He went on, and told of his prophetic dream he had seen once, and his brother three times. Next was his journey, over a hundred days in the wild -- of course, after losing his horse.
"Seek for the Sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand."
Boromir folded his arms and let out a reluctant sigh. "None of us, not even my father the Steward, could find the riddle's answer. This is what I have sought, and travelled through the relentless wild."
Across the porch, Caranthir caught the figure of Aragorn as he straightened in his chair. A glint of metal flickered in his lap, the faint hint of what was to come. "You said you sought the sword that was broken? Here is Narsil!" He leapt to his feet, in his hands the broken pieces of Elendil's blade. A tad dramatic, but it made the point.
"Who are you?" Boromir gaped, "And what does a northern ranger have to do with my city?"
"For your information, he is the Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of your lost king Isildur," Caranthir sighed, rolling his eyes. "So I would watch my pride if I were you, little steward-prince." The emphasis he laid on steward brought his point across well, although he did not openly seek to stir trouble.
Boromir scowled, eyeing the Noldo cynically. "I did not ask you for 'answers.'"
"Yet you came here seeking such," said Olórin, "so you might as well listen. Frodo, bring out the Ring. It is time for Boromir to see the answer to his puzzle."
All eyes followed the young hobbit as he stood hesitantly, crossing the court even more so. With a plunk, he set it, such a small thing, on a gray stone table. The gold band sat with a snaking menace; for a moment Caranthir leaned in, unsure if his ears had caught a rasping whisper.
"This is indeed the bane of Isildur?" Boromir exclaimed, and leaned in, eyes glinting, to see. His expression softened as he gazed, holding it more with enamourment than caution. "Such a wonder . . . such a little thing, to hold the weight of Middle-earth." He looked up at Aragorn, now skeptical. "If this is the doom of Minas Tirith, why would we seek a sword?"
Caranthir rolled his eyes. Had he not just heard of Aragorn's lineage?
At this Aragorn spoke up, calmly but sternly explaining the role of the heirs of Elendil, and the artifact that was passed from father to son, those same shards. More was discussed after this, mainly about Gondor and Aragorn, Boromir still looking upon him with doubt. Sometime later, Bilbo Baggins spoke up, and Elrond conveniently seized this moment to have him recite exactly how he'd won the Ring. Caranthir learned of the wretch Gollum, how that little gold band consumed him entirely. Frodo came next, and with some hesitancy told of his experience with the Ring, from the day he had found it, to the crossing of the Fords. Caranthir learned little here, despite how dull and uneventful life in the Shire was.
An elf under Círdan, whom Elrond had introduced as Galdor, heard plenty of this. "We know now of this Ring, but what about Saruman? Of all of us he knows the most when it comes to the Rings, so why is he not here?"
"Did you not hear," scowled Caranthir, rolling his eyes, "That he turned traitor? You used to call him Saruman the Wise, now it seems Saruman the Coward fits better."
Elrond hid his face in his hands, but the laughter in his eyes shone rather clear. "I believe," he said, "that this is a story for Gandalf to answer. It was him that was betrayed and held hostage in Orthanc, and therefore him that can tell us most."
Olórin nodded his head. Apart from his voice, the only thing in the air was heavy silence. "Some time ago, long before Frodo and his friends ever set off, that I sought Saruman for counsel. He greeted me sternly, and there was a . . . harshness in him that had never been unearthed. Orthanc as a tower seemed to glow with a certain power, perhaps the power of the Valar. But I never found the source of this, and even now I cannot be sure." He sucked in a breath and continued. "There, he turned on me, first questioning the powers of Middle-earth, then calling for me to join with Sauron. I was captured, and taken to the pinnacle of Orthanc. In years past, it was used to map and spy the stars, but now I can only imagine its twisted purpose. Saruman, however, underestimated whom he had betrayed. Gwaihir, lord of the eagles, found me and flew me away. By then, it was too late for Frodo, and he set off with Aragorn."
A sigh came from Aragorn as the eyes turned to him. He spoke as well, mostly of his hunt and interrogation of the creature 'Gollum.' It had not been managed well, thought Caranthir, if only he and Gandalf had joined the hunt. Had this been the days of his glory as lord of Thargelion, he would have had hunters swarming nearly all of Arda -- which meant he would have had to drag his brothers along for help. What was so entertaining about roaming the open woods, constantly scouring for nothing in particular? At least some of them happened to be 'professionals.' He shook his head, inwardly laughing at this train of thought.
Aragorn began to finish his monologue concerning Gollum, only to be rudely cut off by one of the neighboring elves.
"Alas! Alas!" came his voice. The ellon in particular seemed to be one of the Sindar, young and rather weak-looking. He was garbed in a rather boring assortment of green and brown. "Sméagol, of whom you speak of, is lost!"
Caranthir scoffed. "Well, congratulations. How did this come to pass again? My, this is certainly convenient. I suppose we should 'thank' you for your care." You Moriquendi were always lazy.
The Sinda went slightly pale. "It was not over lack of protection," he stuttered, "but rather over-kindness." His childish eyes narrowed in confusion at the one with enough nerve to scold his own people.
"Well, that's just so much better," he snarled.
"Especially as we were hardly treated the same!" added a flustered Glóin.
"You must consider," cried the ellon, "we were ambushed, not irresponsible. Back during the days of his capture, we --" he shot a scowl in the direction of Caranthir, who had leaned back and sneered"-- we would take him out, and there was this tree we might let him climb. One time, he refused to come down for a while. A few days from then, we were ambushed by orcs, and the guards had been slain; Sméagol freed and long gone."
"That sounds an awful lot like lack of watch to me," he snorted. "What kind of elves do you think you are, letting a malicious prisoner like him outside and not in your deep dungeons, where you won't lose track of him because of a tiny ambush?"
The Sinda stood up, gaping in stunned outrage. "And who do you think you are, scorning your own people?"
"Oh, I've done worse." And probably to this pathetic kid's ancestors, my bad.
Olórin took his face out of his hands. "Sit down, Legolas," he ordered, and the ellon sat (Caranthir was conveniently seated in his chair by the time the wizard spoke).
"And Caranthir," said the wizard coldly, "you ought to know better."
Legolas's mouth opened, and closed, slowly, while his face screwed itself into a tremendous manifestation of utter horror. "You -- you're him? That's impossible, all of you been dead for Ages!"
"Are you actually mistaking me for my brother?" he scoffed, voice dripping in sarcasm.
"What?"
Caranthir hid his face, as if dealing with a daft and extremely clueless child. He was sick of these fools dealing with him like he was no better than an orc, like he was less than a person. And he was sick of believing all of it. "Yes, it is the Caranthir, 'harshest and most quick to anger out of all the brothers,' which for your information is a highly biased and inaccurate claim. I'm back in Arda, no thanks to you and your Valar, so quick to condemn us, so quick to wear our own works in the sky as a 'symbol of hope.' Seeing where the world has come to, I think I might be preferring the Halls." He nearly laughed at his own cheek, saying such things in the very house and presence of Elrond, and Olórin as well.
Elrond made no outward reaction. His face was still but not calm, merely masking whatever turmoil was underneath. Legolas stared in disbelief, and Galdor of the Havens kept touching the hilt of his sword. Of course, they all recognized what a foolish thing the Noldo had said.
"Now this, I must say," cut in Olórin after a silence, "is not worth arguing over. Caranthir, you may tale a seat. Can we continue, now, from where we left off?"
Caranthir sat down, folding his arms sternly. Much more was said after this, at times circling back to Saruman, or in turn to Gollum. Olórin had already supposed he was lost, and it was no good searching for him again.
The next, and last, part of the council discussed the Ring, and what to do with it. They mused for some time on casting it away, but Gandalf spoke up, warning that nothing cast into the sea was truly lost. Caranthir twitched in his seat.
"Perhaps," Glorfindel said, "we might be able to choose a course of action that will destroy evil's roots forever. By unmaking the Ring, Sauron could be destroyed at last."
The will of the Ring swelled at this, like it had heard the grave words of the Noldo. As it pulled on each of their own minds, luring them with false promises, calls for repentance against the hypocritical Valar, glory and bitter revenge, Caranthir supposed it as listening, in its own way.
"But is this really reasonable? Isildur could not withstand its will, and that was his downfall. Who would we be to pass this test to others, that may not be able to withstand it? Even Saruman became corrupted, and he never layed a finger on it," Aragorn mused.
"The treason of Isengard is wounding, but perhaps not fatal," Elrond said. "None of us can truly withstand the evil, but many of us can do so partly. To me, it seems the ones with the least power stay strong. They may last the journey to deal with it."
"But why would we seek to destroy it?" cried Boromir, "instead of using Sauron's evil against him? Already my kingdom of Gondor fights, the last and greatest stronghold against the Enemy. For many long years have our forces pushed back at him in vain."
Apparently fueled by the exchanged looks of concern, he went on. "But for something of such power . . . why not use this? We all know this war is hopeless, despite all my home has done. Why not force this evil against him?
He had a point, Caranthir noted, but only to an extent. Being the very essence of evil, it was unnatural to even attempt to use it for good. The Ring was too powerful, and his suggestion was simply out of its nature. Caranthir rolled his dark eyes, and said, "An intriguing idea, but that simply would not work. Sauron's will cannot be manipulated, especially by the humans in whatever homeland you speak of so proudly."
"Gondor has been the last stronghold against the Enemy. In all these times, we has been the ones keeping the forces of the Enemy at bay," Boromir said indignantly. To tell the truth, Caranthir was not sure what to think of him. Another mortal, valiant in a sense, but with his own viewpoints. Not exactly worth disliking.
Caranthir leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Really? You people are having that much trouble with Morgoth's old lieutenant? How sad."
"You forget," cut in Glorfindel, "that although Sauron was certainly a mere servant, he was Morgoth's most trusted, and by far the most dangerous."
Caranthir snorted. "Yet the only harm he ever seemed to do was breed orcs with men and maul Felagund with a wolf."
"Do not joke about such things," he hissed. Especially seeing what he did to your own brother's descendant.
Telperinquar left our house. What relations I have is only blood, which he rebuked long ago. Caranthir stiffened in his chair.
Glorfindel huffed, but thought nothing back to him.
"So it is decided," Elrond continued. "The Ring must be cast into fire."
Boromir nodded, face still doubtful. "So be it," he muttered, but said nothing more.
"There are other rings, that can perhaps be used in the fight," Glóin mused. "Ones with lesser power. The Seven, although they are proclaimed lost, may not be so, if Balin's visit to Moria is successful, and he has found the Ring of Thrór."
"You will find no ring in Moria," said Gandalf. "Thrór's was not lost, but taken. No doubt Sauron has busied himself with it, as with his other schemes."
"And the Three?" Glóin went on. "They were not even touched by Sauron, so their risk would be even less."
Caranthir nearly chuckled as he caught Elrond finger his peculiar gold band. Not overly showy for a great ring, but beautiful and practical still. He smiled inwardly, wondering what in the name of Eru Tyelpe had been doing in all that time.
"The Three are kept hidden for a reason, Glóin," said Elrond. "And even though the dark lord never touched them, their gifts come at a limit. Sauron would know at once, and their secrecy would be revealed." Caranthir wondered grimly if he remembered all the other times people had placed their last hopes on 'secrecy.'
"These Rings," said Caranthir slowly, "what will happen to them when we destroy the One?"
"That I cannot say," said Elrond, "but there are many possibilities. What I believe is that, as the One is the master of them all, they would lose their great power. It is not a prospect we look forward to, but the freedom of Middle-earth is worth it."
"Then shall we reach a consensus?" said Glorfindel. "This chance is our last to destroy evil, we all know that."
"Then if we are to do so, who among us shall take this burden?" said Olórin.
A silence, long and unnatural, fell over the council like a great cloud. Evil was seeded in the air, it flowed on the winds, toying with Caranthir's broken mind. He shut his eyes.
Frodo shuffled to his feet, wary voice ringing like a bell through the clear morning. "I will take the Ring to Mordor," he chimed, and faltered. "Although I do not know the way."
Elrond sighed, eyes grave. "That is a great and terrible burden, one I do not wish to lay upon you. But if you wish to take it, truly, this I cannot deny. And if all the great fallen heroes of the elder days sat in this council, your place would surely be among them."
Caranthir resisted straightening and giving him a look. After all, he didn't exactly count as a 'hero.'
Samwise Gamgee sprung from his hiding place with a cry, "surely he can't go there alone! Can there at least be someone to accompany him?"
"Perhaps," said Elrond, smiling. "You, for example, might make a suitable companion."
Sam shrunk, and Caranthir felt the corners of his mouth twitch. The council ended shortly after this, Bilbo claiming an empty stomach and Sam staring as if he'd seen his own ghost. There was a laughter in the air, something warm and pleasant, and all the more cruel. After all, wasn't doom sitting right on the horizon?
______________________________________
A/n: At last . . . I finally managed to write something. I still can't believe I wrote all this and didn't include a one does not simply reference, I feel like some sort of traitor. The council itself took up more space than I expected, to be honest. But enough of my inner ramblings. Goodbye, my peoples! *backs mysteriously out of my room, to my secret dungeon in the depths of Barad-dûr . . .*