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b2memB2MeM Prompt and Category:(March 11 Daily Prompt.) The sound of running and falling water was loud, and the evening was filled with a faint scent of trees and flowers, as if summer still lingered in Elrond's gardens. (Fellowship of the Ring, “Many Meetings”)
Format:Vignette
Genre:Gen
Rating:Gen
Warnings:None
Characters:Elrond
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes: The characters, places and main events all belong to JRR Tokien.
Summary:I have always wondered about Elrond's interaction with the One Ring. I suppose JRRT did not include it because it would create an unnecessary beat of drama. I have no such constraints.
The sound of running and falling water was loud, and the evening was filled with a faint scent of trees and flowers, as if summer still lingered in Elrond's gardens. (Fellowship of the Ring, “Many Meetings”)
POWER CALLS TO POWER
I don't own the characters or main events in this scene. They all belong to JRR Tolkien, and this is only a fanish exploration.
-0-
Elrond removed the little dagger, in its bejewelled sheath, from a pocket deep within the layers of his robes. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he slipped it carefully beneath a pile of cut paper, before locking it away. Frodo Baggins was finally upon the road to recovery, and Elladan was seeing to the destruction of the shard of morgul blade. The dagger had not been required to prevent the Nine from becoming the Ten.
The elven healer rubbed at his temples, where an insidious headache lurked; a headache caused, not by the effort to remove the metal that Frodo had borne within his body, but rather by that metal which he wore upon his body. In the garden below blackbird heralded the dawn of a new day, and Elrond slipped quietly down the steps from his terrace, shunning the presence of others, to glide along a sheltered and little used path.
Before long the narrow grassy path was joined by a sparkling rill of clear water, the two running side by side for many yards, before parting at a stand of ancient willow trees. Pushing aside hanging branches, which had not yet shed autumn's yellow leaves, Elrond stepped into a living pavilion and settled himself upon the white marble bench at its peaceful heart.
Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply. Imladris rushed in to soothe, flooding his soul with the scents of rich, damp loam beneath his feet, the almost cloying sweetness of a bracket fungus in the branches above, and a distant mingled perfume, from the last of the summer roses within Celebrian's walled garden. Beyond trailing branches the rill trickled merrily, and he could feel the rumble of distant waterfalls within the very fibres of his body. On occasion beyond numbering, this bower had been his refuge from the cares of being Loremaster, Healer, Lord of Imladris, and Ringbearer.
Elrond winced as the headache resisted his best efforts to push it away. With a sigh he opened eyes that had seen too much over too many years, grateful for the dimness within the thick golden curtain of leaves. The colour drew him in, echo of that which he remembered from long ago, and of that which he had seen again, resting on its silver chain against the pale flesh of Frodo's small chest.
During his long hours at the little one's bedside Elrond had tried to build walls within his mind, to baffle the calling of the One. But with each passing hour those walls had weakened and even now, with some distance, he could still hear the insidious whispers. His thumb found the band of Vilya about his finger, then slid away. To use Vilya's aid would be to declare it's presence and that he could not do, with Sauron's ring so close. Many suspected but, as yet, few knew for certain that one of the three untouched elven rings resided within this valley.
Mithrandir knew. He had almost pushed Elrond from the room in his son's wake, as soon as Frodo's wound was bandaged. No doubt, he too heard the murmurs, although a Maiar would perhaps have more resistance to its enticements than a mere elf. Elrond hoped that was the case, for Mithrandir now sat alone with Frodo and the One. Even the little gardener had been sent away at the last, although he seemed blissfully unaware of the true nature of the evil that his master carried.
'Why would Mithrandir be more resistant to it?' Elrond mused. The One called to those seeking power, as power always called to power, and perhaps that was rightly so. Elrond stirred uneasily upon the bench. Should he return, lock the One away in some safe place until it's final disposition could be discussed? Who would be equal to that discussion? The White Council? Perhaps it was a matter for discussion only with the bearers of the three rings. After all, they were best placed to understand the nature of a ring of power. Should Mithrandir have any say? He bore a ring, yes, but as a messenger of the Valar he was not even of Middle earth. Galadriel was locked within her own destiny and remained only because she must. That left only Elrond.
He blinked as the air began to take on a blue hue, and looked down to discover Vilya glowing softly. Clasping his be-ringed hand within the palm of his other, Elrond concentrated, calming his wildly spinning thoughts until he felt that the walls of his will were sufficiently robust, and the glow had faded. He held his breath, listening, waiting for the whispers to grow louder; waiting for some sign that he had given himself away, and let out his breath when he detected nothing beyond the underlying murmurs. How easy it had been to let go, and how quickly the One had slipped beneath his defences. The disposition of Sauron's ring was too much for one person to determine.
Yet, still the One murmured. Elrond had power enough to heal and rule a valley. How much more healing could he bring with the power of the One? Why limit his sphere of influence to just one valley?
Elves had nurtured and maintained this Middle earth for three ages, but the men of Numenor had failed within but one. Illuvatar had sung both races into being with his own breath, and yet surely He could see that Man had not lived up to expectation. There were those who could argue that Elrond had some claim even to the throne of Gondor, for was he not also a scion of the house of Earendil? No doubt Elros would approve of the rebuilding of their line, through his brother.
Elrond had already seen Sauron upon the field of battle, and with the One upon his hand, he would surely be at least an equal to what remained of the Ring Maker. With Sauron banished to his deepest dungeon Elrond could bring together elves and men at last. The land could be remade, better than before, beneath his benign rule. He would not use might, but reason, to change the minds of any who objected. They would soon acknowledge the error of their thoughts, to settle peacefully within his lands. In a thousand years, when Middle earth was rebuilt to his liking, Elrond would gather his children and carry the ring into the West, where there was more healing to be wrought. The mortal Aragorn would be long dead and there would be no need for Arwen to marry him, so she would sail with her father and brothers, to be reunited with her mother.
No need? Once more Elrond blinked, clutching hands tightly in his lap. There was indeed no need for Arwen to marry, but love was not need. Arwen wished to bind herself to Aragorn, not through a need to rejoin their two houses, but because she loved him and he, her. That thought, of all others, cut through the miasma that swirled within his mind. Was Elrond's acquisition of power more important than the love of Arwen and Aragorn?
Looking down at his hands Elrond's gaze was drawn, not to Vilya, but to a simple gold wedding band. Was the acquisition of power worth postponing, for so long, his own reconciliation with Celebrian? Could power replace love? Surely wielding so much power would change him. By the time he reached that farther shore would he be the same Elrond that Celebrian had married? Would she still love this new Elrond? A tiny thought dropped into the waiting pool of his mind.
With the One Ring, he could make her.
Bile arose and, turning aside, he expelled the bitter contents of his stomach, before staggering across the bower to push through entangling golden veils, and fall upon his knees at the tiny rill. There he rinsed his mouth before splashing the icy water upon his face.
Mithrandir had hinted that perhaps the One could be hidden in Imladris for a time. Elrond knew now, that it would not be safe here. It must be utterly destroyed.
END
Format:Vignette
Genre:Gen
Rating:Gen
Warnings:None
Characters:Elrond
Pairings:None
Creator’s Notes: The characters, places and main events all belong to JRR Tokien.
Summary:I have always wondered about Elrond's interaction with the One Ring. I suppose JRRT did not include it because it would create an unnecessary beat of drama. I have no such constraints.
The sound of running and falling water was loud, and the evening was filled with a faint scent of trees and flowers, as if summer still lingered in Elrond's gardens. (Fellowship of the Ring, “Many Meetings”)
POWER CALLS TO POWER
I don't own the characters or main events in this scene. They all belong to JRR Tolkien, and this is only a fanish exploration.
-0-
Elrond removed the little dagger, in its bejewelled sheath, from a pocket deep within the layers of his robes. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he slipped it carefully beneath a pile of cut paper, before locking it away. Frodo Baggins was finally upon the road to recovery, and Elladan was seeing to the destruction of the shard of morgul blade. The dagger had not been required to prevent the Nine from becoming the Ten.
The elven healer rubbed at his temples, where an insidious headache lurked; a headache caused, not by the effort to remove the metal that Frodo had borne within his body, but rather by that metal which he wore upon his body. In the garden below blackbird heralded the dawn of a new day, and Elrond slipped quietly down the steps from his terrace, shunning the presence of others, to glide along a sheltered and little used path.
Before long the narrow grassy path was joined by a sparkling rill of clear water, the two running side by side for many yards, before parting at a stand of ancient willow trees. Pushing aside hanging branches, which had not yet shed autumn's yellow leaves, Elrond stepped into a living pavilion and settled himself upon the white marble bench at its peaceful heart.
Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply. Imladris rushed in to soothe, flooding his soul with the scents of rich, damp loam beneath his feet, the almost cloying sweetness of a bracket fungus in the branches above, and a distant mingled perfume, from the last of the summer roses within Celebrian's walled garden. Beyond trailing branches the rill trickled merrily, and he could feel the rumble of distant waterfalls within the very fibres of his body. On occasion beyond numbering, this bower had been his refuge from the cares of being Loremaster, Healer, Lord of Imladris, and Ringbearer.
Elrond winced as the headache resisted his best efforts to push it away. With a sigh he opened eyes that had seen too much over too many years, grateful for the dimness within the thick golden curtain of leaves. The colour drew him in, echo of that which he remembered from long ago, and of that which he had seen again, resting on its silver chain against the pale flesh of Frodo's small chest.
During his long hours at the little one's bedside Elrond had tried to build walls within his mind, to baffle the calling of the One. But with each passing hour those walls had weakened and even now, with some distance, he could still hear the insidious whispers. His thumb found the band of Vilya about his finger, then slid away. To use Vilya's aid would be to declare it's presence and that he could not do, with Sauron's ring so close. Many suspected but, as yet, few knew for certain that one of the three untouched elven rings resided within this valley.
Mithrandir knew. He had almost pushed Elrond from the room in his son's wake, as soon as Frodo's wound was bandaged. No doubt, he too heard the murmurs, although a Maiar would perhaps have more resistance to its enticements than a mere elf. Elrond hoped that was the case, for Mithrandir now sat alone with Frodo and the One. Even the little gardener had been sent away at the last, although he seemed blissfully unaware of the true nature of the evil that his master carried.
'Why would Mithrandir be more resistant to it?' Elrond mused. The One called to those seeking power, as power always called to power, and perhaps that was rightly so. Elrond stirred uneasily upon the bench. Should he return, lock the One away in some safe place until it's final disposition could be discussed? Who would be equal to that discussion? The White Council? Perhaps it was a matter for discussion only with the bearers of the three rings. After all, they were best placed to understand the nature of a ring of power. Should Mithrandir have any say? He bore a ring, yes, but as a messenger of the Valar he was not even of Middle earth. Galadriel was locked within her own destiny and remained only because she must. That left only Elrond.
He blinked as the air began to take on a blue hue, and looked down to discover Vilya glowing softly. Clasping his be-ringed hand within the palm of his other, Elrond concentrated, calming his wildly spinning thoughts until he felt that the walls of his will were sufficiently robust, and the glow had faded. He held his breath, listening, waiting for the whispers to grow louder; waiting for some sign that he had given himself away, and let out his breath when he detected nothing beyond the underlying murmurs. How easy it had been to let go, and how quickly the One had slipped beneath his defences. The disposition of Sauron's ring was too much for one person to determine.
Yet, still the One murmured. Elrond had power enough to heal and rule a valley. How much more healing could he bring with the power of the One? Why limit his sphere of influence to just one valley?
Elves had nurtured and maintained this Middle earth for three ages, but the men of Numenor had failed within but one. Illuvatar had sung both races into being with his own breath, and yet surely He could see that Man had not lived up to expectation. There were those who could argue that Elrond had some claim even to the throne of Gondor, for was he not also a scion of the house of Earendil? No doubt Elros would approve of the rebuilding of their line, through his brother.
Elrond had already seen Sauron upon the field of battle, and with the One upon his hand, he would surely be at least an equal to what remained of the Ring Maker. With Sauron banished to his deepest dungeon Elrond could bring together elves and men at last. The land could be remade, better than before, beneath his benign rule. He would not use might, but reason, to change the minds of any who objected. They would soon acknowledge the error of their thoughts, to settle peacefully within his lands. In a thousand years, when Middle earth was rebuilt to his liking, Elrond would gather his children and carry the ring into the West, where there was more healing to be wrought. The mortal Aragorn would be long dead and there would be no need for Arwen to marry him, so she would sail with her father and brothers, to be reunited with her mother.
No need? Once more Elrond blinked, clutching hands tightly in his lap. There was indeed no need for Arwen to marry, but love was not need. Arwen wished to bind herself to Aragorn, not through a need to rejoin their two houses, but because she loved him and he, her. That thought, of all others, cut through the miasma that swirled within his mind. Was Elrond's acquisition of power more important than the love of Arwen and Aragorn?
Looking down at his hands Elrond's gaze was drawn, not to Vilya, but to a simple gold wedding band. Was the acquisition of power worth postponing, for so long, his own reconciliation with Celebrian? Could power replace love? Surely wielding so much power would change him. By the time he reached that farther shore would he be the same Elrond that Celebrian had married? Would she still love this new Elrond? A tiny thought dropped into the waiting pool of his mind.
With the One Ring, he could make her.
Bile arose and, turning aside, he expelled the bitter contents of his stomach, before staggering across the bower to push through entangling golden veils, and fall upon his knees at the tiny rill. There he rinsed his mouth before splashing the icy water upon his face.
Mithrandir had hinted that perhaps the One could be hidden in Imladris for a time. Elrond knew now, that it would not be safe here. It must be utterly destroyed.
END
no subject
Date: 2018-03-14 10:28 pm (UTC)