Elrond sat and looked about him
At the Council chamber filling,
Filling with the many peoples
Gathered from the farthest corners
Of fair Middle Earth in swiftness.
Seated on his right was Gandalf.
On his left was brave Glorfindel,
Valiant Elf, so oft forgotten,
Golden haired and fair of feature,
He whose destiny is never
To be in a film appearing.
Dwarves there were in chain mail mighty,
Axes waiting at the ready,
Pesky elves to smite and bludgeon
At the slightest provocation.
Gimli, noble son of Gloin,
Gloin of the Lonely Mountain,
Stared with mistrust round the table
At the many Elf-folk gathered.
Thus spake Gloin to his bold son
Wisdom gathered from his travels:
“Just remember what I told you –
Never trust a wood-elf further
Than, dear Gimli, you can throw him!”
Elrond, hearing Gloin’s council,
Thought unto himself in sorrow,
“Should have seated vengeful Gloin
Further from the Elf from Mirkwood,
Pretty, blond-haired Elf from Mirkwood.”
Turning then Lord Elrond’s vision
Fell upon a man from Gondor,
Boromir from Minas Tirith,
Clad in garments stained from travel,
With a great horn, tipped with silver,
Staring boldly at the hobbits.
“He,” thought Elrond, “looks like trouble!”
Bilbo Baggins and young Frodo
Sat on cushions piled aplenty,
Cushions high to lift their faces
Up above the oaken table,
Otherwise the little halflings
Would be speaking Council matters
With the other people’s kneecaps.
Finally the Elf Lord’s stern gaze
Took in Strider, doughty ranger,
He whose sword, alas, is broken,
He whose face is grim and careworn,
Weather-beaten but determined.
Thought then Elrond of his daughter,
Lovely Arwen, elven beauty,
And his face did turn to thunder
At the prospect, nearer looming,
Of a son-in-law so scruffy.
“Right, let’s get this meeting started.
Can we have a bit of hush now?
Much to talk of and consider.
Who will make a fair beginning?
Who will get the ball a-rolling?”
Gloin then, with voice of wonder,
Told them all of dwarvish troubles,
Troubles with the Dark Lord, Sauron,
He who seeks the Ring of Power,
Domination to accomplish.
Elrond too expounded swiftly
On the history of the One Ring,
For he was the Elven herald
In the noble Last Alliance.
Kings Elendil and Gil-galad
Knew he well and lauded greatly.
At his words young Frodo Baggins
Wondered at the Elf Lord’s birth date,
Wondered how Elrond Half-Elven
Kept his skin so youthful looking.
When the hobbit’s scant attention
Back to Council matters tended,
Boromir was speaking loudly
Of a dream and dodgy poem
That to Imladris had sent him.
Then did Aragorn the Unwashed
Stand up to the man of Gondor
And reveal the shards of Narsil
And his heritage so royal.
Boromir with brows a-furrowed
Thought unto himself in anger,
“If this ranger gets to Gondor,
Dad will soon be made redundant.”
At the ranger’s words smiled Frodo
And with much relief he spake thus:
“Aragorn should have the One Ring!
Aragorn, please take it from me,
For my heart is weary with it.”
“Nay!” spake Strider. “Frodo Baggins
Shall not pass the buck so lightly.”
“Drat!” thought Frodo. “Worth a try though.”
Then said Gandalf, “Get the Ring out!
Let us see this evil trinket
That hath wrought such death and chaos.”
Frodo stood with palm outstretching
And the golden Ring was gleaming,
Gleaming brightly in the sunlight.
But saw Frodo – dreading, fearing –
Boromir’s grey eyes gleamed brighter.
Bilbo, next, Lord Elrond called on
To explain how unto hobbits
Came the Dark Lord’s evil weapon.
“And,” insisted Elrond firmly,
“Can we have the truth please this time?”
Bilbo blushed and started talking,
Telling all the strange adventures
He had had upon the journey
With the dwarves to steal the treasure.
And he talked with words aplenty.
On and on the hobbit rambled.
Elrond tried to interrupt him,
“Thank you, Bilbo. That’s enough now!
Let me get a word in edgeways!
Please allow your plucky nephew
To the curious tale continue.”
Frodo’s voice took up the story
Of the journey he had taken
From the Shire to Elrond’s dwelling.
He included every detail
Save for all the time they wasted
Meeting Bombadil the Hippy,
“For,” he thought, “it’s fearful drivel.
No one sane would want to hear it.”
When he’d finished, trusty Gandalf,
Gandalf of the Beard Unending,
Gave the Council proofs in number
That the ring in Frodo’s keeping
Was the One Ring of the Dark Lord.
Words he spoke then, in the Black Tongue,
Showing off his knowledge mighty.
But the Elves with fearful trembling,
Grimaced as in pain relentless
For his accent was atrocious.
Boromir then posed a question:
“What became of wretched Gollum?”
“Worry not!” said Strider boldly.
“Gollum now is held a prisoner
By the Elves of northern Mirkwood,
King Thranduil’s watchful wood-elves.
On them are our hopes depending.
“Whoops!” cried Legolas, embarrassed,
And his face was blushing hotly.
“Time has come for my confession.
Smeagol, who is now called Gollum,
Truth be told, has done a runner!”
“Sodding wood-elves!” muttered Gloin.
“Couldn’t organise a piss-up
In a brewery! Bloody useless!”
“Well he’s gone now,” said old Gandalf.
“Let’s continue with our Council.
Come now, Gloin, put your axe down!”
Then spake Gandalf of misfortune
He’d encountered with his leader,
Saruman the White, of Orthanc,
Saruman, most wise in ring-lore,
Saruman, the spineless traitor.
He had tried to tempt poor Gandalf:
“Let us wield the Ring together!”
But Mithrandir had seen through him.
“Pull the other one,” said Gandalf,
Laughing loudly. “It hath bells on!
Rings are meant to fit one finger
And, in truth, I do not trust you,
Saruman, to share it nicely!”
“Right!” said Saruman, quite miffed now,
“You shall be my guest forever.
Up on top of lofty Orthanc
You shall sit through wind and weather,
’Til your rheumatism’s murder!”
Gandalf then described his rescue
By the Lord of all the Eagles.
“Swift and sure but rather draughty
Was the ride I took with Gwaihir,
But through many gruelling travels,
Rivendell I reached by tea-time.”
“Well, the tale is told,” said Elrond,
“But the question still remaining
Is the fate of Frodo’s jewellery.
What to do, now, with the One Ring?
Shall we make our great pronouncement?
Shall we come to our conclusion?”
“Chuck it in the sea!” Glorfindel
Shouted boldly, bored and hungry.
“Good decision! Let’s have dinner!”
Bilbo added, nodding keenly.
“No!” said Gandalf, frowning sternly,
“Such an act would not be clever,
For the Ring would not stay hidden;
At a future date some dolphin
Would be tyrant o’er our nations.”
Boromir, his fingers twitching,
Raised his voice in angry protest.
“As a fighting man of Gondor,
I think we should use this weapon.
Take it and go forth to victory!”
“Cloth ears! Have you not been listening?
Shouted Elrond in frustration.
“No one here can wield the One Ring
Without going power crazy.
Don’t you see, we must destroy it?”
“So be it,” the man of Gondor
Muttered grimly, knuckles whitening.
Glancing sideways, added slyly,
“Maybe Ranger-Boy could help us,
If his knackered sword was mended.”
“Who can tell?” said Strider archly,
“One day may my sword be tested
’Gainst the forces of the Dark Lord.”
Boromir just raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll not hold my breath, then, Strider!”
Seeing lunch was overdue now,
Elrond tried to urge the Council
Once again to break the One Ring.
“Listen folks, I must insist now,
Someone’s got to take this damn thing
Back to Mordor and destroy it!
Cast it in the fiery mountain!
Volunteers are what is needed.
Silence reigned o’er Council chamber.
Minutes ticked by, passing slowly.
Shadows lengthened. No one answered.
All were staring hard at Frodo.
At length Gandalf took a parchment
And a quill pen, writing swiftly.
Passed the letter on to Frodo,
Whispered, “Read this out, you numbskull!”
So, naively, read young Frodo,
“I will take the Ring to Mordor!”
“Great!” cried Elrond. “That’s decided!”
Rising quickly moved the Elf-Lord
To the buffet on the sideboard.
“Glad I am to have it sorted!”
Elrond said his plate well loaded.
But a hobbit’s voice cried loudly,
“You can’t send him off alone, Sir!”
“No indeed!” said Elrond turning.
“You at least, Sam, shall go with him!”
Samwise blurted, shocked and fearful,
“I meant Aragorn should go too!”
But Lord Elrond was not listening.
Busy was he, scoffing lembas
By the truckload, chomping cheerfully.
Everyone was tucking in now,
Save the hobbits, Sam and Frodo,
Sitting quietly, sad and thoughtful.
Sighing, Samwise turned to Frodo,
Speaking of their situation:
“Mister Frodo, what a pickle!”
Frodo nodded to his gardener,
You are right, my faithful Samwise,
To be sure our future’s dismal.
Thanks to Gandalf and Lord Elrond,
We’ve been stitched up like a kipper!”
~*~*~*~*~