I Will Take It

I felt Its stirrings the day It entered this hallowed vale and wondered at the wisdom of allowing Its presence here. Yet, Lord Elrond had my loyalty and love. I hoped he had made a wise choice. As the days progressed, and It remained within this valley, I realized my lord’s cunning. He would take It and use It, of that I was finally certain. Sauron would be defeated by His own folly. I remembered the battles I had seen, especially the Dagorlad. My heart swelled with pride as I remembered us conquering His evil, then it plummeted in remembrance of the treachery of men.

Men are not trust worthy; I discovered that when Isildur kept the Ring against Lord Elrond’s counsel. Prior to that, I had little experience with their race and no love. Though many trusted the line of Húrin, I kept apart from them. Did not Easterlings enter our lands, side with the Spawn of Morgoth, and battle against us? Now I was supposed to forget that treachery, that betrayal, and trust them, these short-lived, mindless beings. Close kin to Yrch, I call them. Though not openly. Nay, for is not my lord…?

My heart sank at the Council as I listened in disbelief. I watched those about me; not one agreed with me. It was to be carried by the Hobbit; a great quest was to begin; It would be destroyed. Over time, eight were chosen to accompany the Ringbearer. I placed my name before my lord, but I was not chosen. ‘Mayhap,’ I thought wonderingly, ‘Lord Elrond plans to leave Middle-earth and cares not for this world we have lived in for ages almost beyond reckoning. I am not yet prepared to leave. I have naught to return to. I live under Mandos’ curse.’

Unbelieving, I waited. I began to plan. Mettarë would be upon us shortly. The scouts were returning. I knew my time was drawing near. I must make my move, else It be lost forever. Sauron would have It and conquer this land. ‘To Angband with Elrond,’ I thought wildly. ‘His wisdom is a fool’s wisdom.’ Carefully, I inquired amongst my company. Though concern mapped their faces, none questioned the Peredhel. I was not foolish enough to share my own thoughts. Just probed and prodded to see which way the wind blew. Bitterly, I discovered I would have to act alone.

I watched the Ringbearer closely, gained knowledge of his habits, and waited, but now, furtively, anxiously. I would have but one chance. If I tipped my hand and lost, they would know; I would be hunted down. I shivered. I am not one to be frightened by much, but what I proposed would seem treachery to many. I scowled. ‘Treachery? It is wisdom. It cannot go to Mordor; Sauron will find It, easily take It from the weak hands that would protect It, and crush us all. I will not fail. I will take It myself. Elrond will have to deal with me.’

The Ringbearer left the Hall. His shadow slept, did not note his master’s leaving. ‘Perfect.’ I followed, discreetly. As I walked, my brow furrowed. Never before had I skulked upon this hallowed land, yet my lord’s actions now made it necessary. Hatred flared in my breast for the Half-elf. Sneering, I thought of all I would say, once It was mine. How I would show him his folly and my wisdom. The Hobbit did not go to his rooms. I rejoiced as he walked into the gardens. ‘Easy prey,’ I thought exultantly. ‘Easier than hunting Yrch.’ I put out my hand. So easy.

“Frodo,” I smiled. “You forgot your cake. The cook would be dismayed to learn you did not eat it.” I offered it to him. “I thought you might like some. Please, sit with me and share this.” I gave him another smile and he returned it. Trusting me, he sat on the bench and took half of the piece. ‘Fool,’ I thought, ‘your passions betray you.’ I pretended I was distracted by a sound and did not bite into my half. He wolfed his down, as I had expected. I dropped mine in the grass. We chatted for a moment. So easy.

I waited, my breath catching as I saw the telltale signs. My hands shook in anticipation. His eyes began to droop. He apologized and made to leave. His legs would not hold him. I voiced my concern, said I would take him to Lord Elrond. He allowed me to pick him up. His eyes closed completely. I trembled in excitement. Walking swiftly, by devious paths, I found the stables. My horse was ready. I slung the body over the withers and mounted behind him. Another moment and I would be away. I held him; I could feel It. So easy.

I turned my horse’s head to the south. Darkness hid me; I wanted to cry aloud in exultation, yet I held my tongue. ‘Caution,’ I told myself sternly. My mind sang instead, ‘I have It. It is mine. I am conqueror of the world. I will spit in the faces of the Valar. I will hold Sauron himself in my hand. I will…’ I felt the pain - deep, mind-numbing, breath-taking pain - between my shoulder blades. An arrow! Easy enough to discern. Tears filled my eyes. I had been found. The curse had found me at last. So easy.

I tried to hold on, but my hands would not obey me. I bit my lip, trying desperately to hold on with my knees, but in vain. In utter amazement, I felt myself falling. Never before had I fallen from a horse. The hard ground rushed towards me, towards my face. I tried to avert it, but could not. I felt, rather than saw, the Hobbit’s body land next to me. I heard his gasp; consciousness returning. I choked on my blood and the laughter that forced itself from me. ‘You fool. Too easy.’

~*~

A/N - I really wanted to 'name' the Elf - but he refused to cooperate. I'm sure some of you are thinking you know who it is... Shame on you - that probably means it's your favorite Elf and your lack of loyalty and trust are abysmal!

Chapter Two - Another Perspective

The gardener was the first to send up the cry for help. Frodo was missing, he contended, he was in danger. Adamantly, my Lord Elrond refuted his statement: nothing evil could enter Imladris without the alarm being raised. Besides the guards that were stationed about the valley, there was the Ring that the Lord of Imladris wore. It would have warned him. Lastly, and to me this was the most telling, my father would have ‘known.’ Nothing happened in Imladris that he did not know of. Therefore, I put the gardener’s claim down to too much ale. However, when my father called my brother and me into his study, his face drawn, I realized the Ringbearer was indeed in danger.

It is a strange thing to be the son of a great lord. Many times, I learn of things better left unsaid. Of treachery and betrayal, of licentiousness and decadence, of infidelity and murder. It is a hard thing, this learning of the weakness of your own kind, but to hear it as the lord’s son… The full gravity of the action is reported, step by step, sometimes word for word, and, at the last, fills me with such abhorrence that my body reacts physically. I oft wondered if I had succumbed to such weakness before my mother had been taken, raped and tortured, or if it was something new. Elrohir, loyal to me as ever, suggests it began after her leaving Middle-earth. I know not. All I know is that, when called into his study, I would hear something that would once again cause me to recoil at the weakness of my mother’s race.

We stood and listened to the gardener repeat his tale. Frodo and he had been in the Hall of Fire. He had fallen asleep. When he woke, songs were still being sung; Bilbo sat by his side, sound asleep, but the gardener could not find Frodo, though his eyes swept the entire Hall. He saw the other two, Merry and Pippin, playing games with some of the younger Elves at the far end of the Hall. He stood up, walked the perimeter of the great room, ever searching for his friend, and when he could not find him, he left the Hall and went to their apartments. Discovering Frodo was not there, he ran back to find Estel, and voiced his concerns. Estel, ever cautious, waited to sound the alarm until he too had searched for the Ringbearer.

Finally, we were called. Elrohir organized a search of the buildings and I commanded the search of the valley. Extensive as it is, it was easy enough to search. The pine forests to the east are too crowded for a Hobbit to easily walk in. The area near the river and the waterfalls are too difficult for one with such short legs to navigate the rocks that embrace those areas. In the back of my mind, though I sent patrols in all directions, I still could not conceive the Ringbearer being lost. As the rest of my party scouted other areas of Imladris, I took two of my most trusted warriors and went to the gardens. We started with Celebrian’s garden, not there; then to the rose garden; not there, then to the niphredil garden. I was surprised to find a half eaten slice of cake lying on the ground by a bench. Something about it sent my senses into alarm. I picked it up and sniffed; my mind recoiled - it was poisoned. I sent the slice with Orodreth back to my father with strict instructions that it be tested by one of our herbalists to ascertain the kind of poison and its effects.

A fell thought came to me, and my stomach retched uncontrollably. I could not put the thought aside. The Ringbearer had been poisoned! But then, where was his body? I recovered quickly and ordered a search of the area. We walked around the garden looking for any signs. At last, I saw Elven footprints. They were strange, of a certain depth, barely bending the grass beneath around the bench, but as they moved away, I noted the impression in the grass was deeper, as if the Elf carried something. Horror greeted the thought as the magnitude of what the signs were telling me sank in. An Elf had poisoned Frodo and carried him away!

Elrohir came running from the House. He had been in the hallway near our father’s study when the soldier I had sent with the cake walked past. Needless to say, he questioned Orodreth, knew something was afoot, and came to find me. “Do not tell me,” he cried when he saw my face, “I do not want to know!”

There was naught for it but to tell him. We both started, at the same moment, to follow the trail. It ended at the horse barns. I could have cried when I saw whose horse was missing. Elrohir clenched his fists. Taking the horn from the barn’s entrance, I blew a quick call to arms. Within moments, twelve warriors joined us. We rode hard, towards the bridge.

“There!” cried Elrohir.

I could see Frodo clasped in front of the Elf. No time for a warning shout; they were almost to the border. I drew my bow from its sheath, nocked an arrow, and let it fly. It struck home.

I pulled my horse up. Elrohir rode ahead, jumped from his mount, and pulled the Ringbearer from under the dead Elf. He waved to me, exultantly, “He lives!” I did not wait for him to rejoin me. I turned my horse and rode, rode to my private refuge. I slid from my mount and walked into the River. Icy cold, it did naught to ease the burn in my heart. I stepped under the waterfall and let the cold engulf me. It did not wash away the shame. Nor the horror. I fell to my knees and wept.

I had become a kinslayer.