The Fellowship of the Novel Characters
Hi everyone! I have had a little bit of a chaotic week (had a dance recital on the weekend and started a sewing camp this week) but I am here to bring you the next chapter of my series!
Warning: Lord of the Rings is rated PG-13, and while my writing will not be excessively gory, it will reflect the darkness and death that the Fellowship had to face. Also, spoilers.
Summary: Nobody uses contractions, and Frodo’s alive!
Table of Contents:
The next day the elf woman woke me. “Hmm?” I mumbled, pulling my covers up to my chin.
“You’re attending a council held by Lord Elrond. Hurry and get dressed.” She handed me a belted red velvet tunic over a pair of black trousers, which I hurriedly changed into. She escorted me to the council. Candace was waiting outside the door in a similar outfit, only hers was blue.
“Hey,” she whispered as we stepped into the room. Strider and Gandalf were already there, along with others we hadn’t met.
“Now we are all here,” said a richly dressed man. “Strangers from distant lands and friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands on 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.” He gestured to a stone pedestal. “Frodo, bring forth the Ring.”
I watched. Even though we knew Frodo had a ring that was dangerous, I was still shocked it was this bad. Frodo set the ring on the stone pedestal and sat again. Everyone was whispering. “So it is true,” said a tall man with a beard and stringy hair. He stood, his voice growing bolder. “In a dream,” he said, stepping towards the ring, “I saw the eastern sky grow dark but in the west, a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, ‘your doom is at hand! Isildur’s Bane is found.'” He reached for the ring.
“Boromir!” said the richly dressed man warningly. Gandalf leapt to his feet and began to shout in another language. The sky darkened, and the air settled oppressively around me like a wet blanket. Everyone seemed startled, and some where clutching their heads in pain. Boromir stumbled back and sat down. Gandalf stopped chanting and the darkness faded.
“Never before,” said the richly dressed man in a strained voice, “has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris.”
“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west! The Ring is altogether evil.” Gandalf also seemed strained.
“It is a gift!” insisted Boromir. “A gift to the foes of Mordor? Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor–“
“Name-dropper,” whispered Candace, and I smiled.
“–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!” said Aragorn. His voice was quiet, his tone razor sharp. “None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”
“And what would a ranger know of this matter?” There. The gauntlet was down.
A slender young man with long blond hair stood. “This is no mere ranger,” he said angrily. “This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn! You owe him your allegiance.”
Who was his father, that they were supposed to owe Strider–apparently Aragorn–allegiance? I looked at Candace. She shrugged. “Aragorn?” asked Boromir, expression lifting from anger to disbelief. “This…this is Isildur’s heir?”
They’d mentioned Isildur before. Who was he? Blond Boy answered for us. “And heir to the throne of Gondor.”
Candace and I stared at each other. Granted, we had no clue what Gondor was, but Strider/Aragorn was a prince! We’d been somewhat rude to him; would we get beheaded?
Aragorn said something in another language, and Blond Boy sat down. “Gondor has no king,” said Boromir, his voice hot with contempt. “Gondor needs no king.” He, too sat.
“Aragorn is right,” said Gandalf, diverting the conversation back on track. “We cannot use it.”
“We have only one choice,” said Elrond. “The Ring must be destroyed.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” asked a short man that could only be a dwarf (and I’m not even a fantasy nerd). Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his axe and raced to the pedestal. Letting out a battle cry, he slammed his axe down on the Ring. It shattered. The axe, not the ring.
Candace and I covered our faces to protect them from flying pieces of metal, and when we dropped our hands, the dwarf was panting on the floor. Someone was whispering in a language like that which Gandalf was speaking earlier. “The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Gloin,” said Elrond, “by any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom, and only there can it be unmade. It must be taken to Mordor and cast into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.”
He had just described a volcano. He wanted someone to yeet an all-evil ring into a volcano.
There was dead silence before Boromir spoke. “One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that…that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust.” He leaned back, shaking his head. “Not with ten thousand men could you do this. This is folly!”
Blond Boy stood again. “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!”
Gimli leapt up. “And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it?”
“And if we fail?” asked Boromir, standing as well. “What happens if Sauron takes back what is his?”
“I will be dead,” spat Gimli, “before I see the rings in the hand of an elf!” Everyone started arguing as Gimli shouted, “Never trust an elf!”
Candace and I stared at the Ring, and at the arguing people all around us. Frodo stepped up.
“I will take it!”
Everyone stopped. “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”
Gandalf walked to him, putting his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.”
Aragorn rose. “If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.” He knelt. “You have my sword.”
“And you have my bow,” said Blond Boy, standing next to Frodo.
“And my axe!” said Gimli, glaring at Blond Boy.
As they were all declaring their allegiances, my mind was racing. We’d come this far with them; would we continue? How would we ever get home? Would we find a way? I didn’t trust anyone enough to tell them about our trouble, so we’d have to find a way ourselves. And the most important question; would Candace come with me?
“I’ll come, Frodo.”
Candace was standing, expression more serious than I’d ever seen before. I sucked in a breath. “Me too.” Together we stood by Frodo.
“Hey!” a familiar voice shouted. Sam raced through the door, pushing his way through people to Frodo. “Mr. Frodo’s not goin’ anywhere without me!”
“No indeed,” said Lord Elrond in a voice that was probably supposed to sound stern in order to mask his chuckle, “it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and he is not.” Sam just sidled closer to Frodo, looking determined.
“Wait!” shouted Pippin as he and Merry leapt into the room. “We’re coming, too!” Lord Elrond whirled around, eyebrows raised.
“You’ll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us,” added Merry.
“Anyways,” continued Pippin, “You’re going to need people of intelligence on this sort of mission…quest…thing.”
“Well that rules you out, Pip.” Pippin glared at his friend.
Lord Elrond considered us. “Eleven companions…so be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”
I could hear the epic music swelling, see the cool camera shots and lighting. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t posing a little bit.
“Great!” Pippin broke the spell. “So, where are we going?”
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