The Council of Elrond

Or

The Wizard and Half-Elven Lord

A Serious Scholarly Work

After the Fashion of Lindorien

With grateful Thanks to Lewis Carroll

For his invaluable Assistance

(Though perhaps Apologies are more in order)

The Sun was shining brilliantly,
Shining with all her might.
She did her very best to make
Imladris fair and bright--
While tales were told, more suited for
The middle of the night.

The Elves were sitting sulkily
Because they thought that dwarves
Had got no business to be there,
Wearing their beards as scarves.
”I would prefer they take,” said one
“Long walks upon short wharves!”

The tale was long as long could be,
The talk was dry as dry.
And Boromir, from far, came near
And watched with wond’ring eye:
As one by one the talkers raised
Questions, and answers why.

Good Elrond and wise Mithrandir
Sat still as any rock.
(The author cringed at writing down
Such quantities of talk:
“To make it all a separate book
Would hardly be a shock!”)

“If seven dwarves with seven rings
Explained for half a year,
Do you suppose,” good Elrond said,
“That they could make it clear?”
”I doubt it,” said wise Mithrandir,
Stifling a sudden fear.

Strong Boromir told of his dream
And Bilbo gave a pome
And Frodo told the story of
His journey far from home.
(And Samwise in the corner yawned,
And wished no more to roam.)

“The time has come,” good Elrond said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoeless, woolly footed folk--
Of wanderers--and kings--
And why Mount Doom is boiling hot--
And what to do with Rings.”

”But wait a bit,” old Bilbo cried,
“Before we have our chat;
The Sun is rising up to noon;
My stomach’s feeling flat!”
“Then make it short!” wise Elrond said.
They thanked him much for that.

Then to his feet rose Aragorn
To speak into the void
But Boromir was not impressed:
Instead he looked annoyed.
“What king?’ said he. “A sword? So what?
I don’t know you from Floyd.”

“Why don’t we use this thing, this gift?”
Boromir did intone,
“For Gondor’s enemies grow strong
And we fight on alone.”
“We cannot use it!” quoth the Grey
“ ‘Twould make one Sauron’s clone.”

“A Ring-bearer,” wise Elrond said,
“Someone to hit the Road:
To carry the Ring to Mount Doom
And in  the Fire throw’t.
Now if you’re ready, everyone,
We can assign the load.”

“But not to me!” poor Frodo cried,
Turning a little blue.
“After your kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!”
“On such a Quest,” good Elrond said,
“Should we send one? Or two?”

“Not without me!” brave Samwise cried,
Running into the room.
And in the movie version came
More hobbits defying doom,
Though in the book as you might know,
These stayed in doubt and gloom.

“It seems a shame,” good Elrond said,
“To go without a song,
After we’ve told such history
Of warriors brave and strong.”
Wise Mithrandir said nothing but
“The chapter’s run too long!”

Then grubby Aragorn knelt down
And gave his pledge and word
And Legolas did pledge his bow
And Boromir his sword
And Gimli, not to be outdone,
His axe to go to Mord’.

“I’ll go with you,” the Wizard said,
“Once I have had a bath.
The Ranger here could do the same,
‘Ere facing Sauron’s wrath.
Nine Walkers against Nine Nazgul--
You see? I’ve done the math.”

“O Fellowship!” good Elrond said,
“You’ve had a pleasant rest!
I wish you all the best of luck...”
Their thoughts were not expressed.
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d left upon the Quest.