Gandalf, Galadriel, and Celeborn had resolved that the One Ring must be carried to Mount Doom if it were ever to be destroyed.
But Mordor was sealed tight under Sauron's dominion. The skies swarmed with fell beasts, the plains were patrolled by Orcs and Easterlings, and even the mountains crawled with watchful eyes. Any attempt to breach it by ground or air seemed doomed to fail.
What troubled them more was the fear that the Ring might betray its bearer. If they drew too near, Sauron could sense it, his will reaching out like a shadow, binding it back to him.
"I think we must consult Elrond," Gandalf said at last, leaning on his staff. "He understands the lore of the Ring better than any of us, and his counsel may offer a clearer path forward."
He turned toward Sylas. "Would you mind linking the Floo Network here?"
Sylas inclined his head. "Of course."
He looked to Celeborn and Galadriel. "My lord, my lady, may I borrow your hearth?"
Galadriel's lips curved in a faint smile. "Elrond has spoken of your strange magic before. I would see them with my own eyes. And perhaps this way, when Arwen wishes to visit Rivendell, she need not cross the Misty Mountains."
Her tone was calm, but a shadow flickered in her gaze.
For Galadriel and Celeborn still carried a sorrow that time had never softened. Their daughter Celebrían had once set out to visit them, only to be captured by Orcs, cruelly tormented until her spirit could bear no more. Though Elrond had healed her body, her heart was scarred beyond repair, and at last she had sailed into the West, leaving Middle-earth forever.
It was the grief of that loss that led Elrond to entrust their granddaughter Arwen into their keeping, so they might find comfort in raising her.
With their blessing, Sylas drew his wand and began weaving enchantments across the fireplace. Ancient Elvish stone warmed under runes of green fire, until the portal shimmered with connection. Then, sprinkling a pinch of Floo Powder, Sylas stepped into the emerald flames, and vanished.
Gasps rippled through the Elves gathered nearby. Even Celeborn's brow lifted faintly, though Gandalf and Bilbo simply smiled, long since accustomed to such wonders.
Arwen's grey eyes glimmered as she watched.
All her life, her world had been divided, her father and brothers in Rivendell, her grandparents in Lórien. The Misty Mountains lay between them like a wall of shadow, and after her mother's fate, none dared let her make that perilous crossing. So she had grown up in the Golden Wood, visited only when her kin could journey to her.
Now, in a single breath, this young Wizard had collapsed the distance. With this Floo magic, she could step from Rivendell's halls to Lórien's golden leaves in an instant.
For the first time, she imagined a life where she could walk in both worlds freely, daughter and granddaughter at once, no longer bound by mountains.
Her gaze lingered on Sylas, curiosity mingling with wonder.
Her grandmother had already spoken highly of him, praising the wand he had forged, an instrument said to let channel the magic in ways no craft of Middle-earth had achieved. Galadriel had even bestowed upon him the Elessar, the emerald jewel she had long kept in trust, as recognition of his gift.
And now this Floo Network, another unheard-of magic, tied their realms together with fire and green flame.
Sylas was nothing like the Wizards she had known before. His power was strange, unpredictable, yet undeniably marvelous.
Arwen's heart stirred with anticipation. She was now even more eager to see what sort of wand Sylas would craft for her.
Her thoughts were interrupted when green fire suddenly blossomed in the hearth once more.
From the emerald flames stepped Elrond of Rivendell, tall and composed, his robes as pristine as if he had walked through a garden instead of fire. Sylas emerged a moment later, brushing a speck of soot from his sleeve.
"Father!" Arwen's face lit with joy as she moved forward with graceful steps.
"Arwen." Elrond's stern features softened into warmth. He reached out, brushing a hand tenderly through her dark hair before inclining his head respectfully to Celeborn and Galadriel.
"Lord Celeborn. Lady Galadriel."
Though Elrond's station as Lord of Rivendell was equal to Celeborn's in rank, here he stood before his wife's kin, elders whose age and wisdom dwarfed his own. He bowed with genuine deference.
With Elrond's arrival, the conversation turned at once to the small golden band lying on the table.
The One Ring.
Elrond's gaze lingered on it, heavy with memory. "During the War of the Last Alliance, I marched as the herald of High King Gil-galad. I saw Sauron wield the Ring in battle, and with it, he was unstoppable. Not even Gil-galad and Elendil, fighting side by side, could overcome him."
His voice grew low, weighted with grief. "I watched as Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, was consumed by flame. I saw Elendil fall, struck down by Sauron's might. Narsil, the sword of kings, was shattered beneath his heel. We stood on the brink of ruin."
A flicker of fire shone in Elrond's eyes as he continued. "And then, Isildur. With the shards of his father's sword, he struck Sauron's hand and severed the Ring from his finger. In that moment, the Dark Lord's body was unmade, and the Last Alliance wrested victory from despair."
Elrond exhaled, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I urged Isildur then, pleaded with him, to cast the Ring into the fire of Orodruin and end it forever. But he would not. He was already ensnared by its power. And so he kept it, and in the Gladden Fields he was slain by Orcs, the Ring slipping from his grasp into the river. We believed it lost to the waters of Anduin, carried away, perhaps into the Sea."
His gaze darkened. "Never did I imagine it would return to us now."
For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the chamber. Then Elrond turned his eyes toward Bilbo, his expression softening into something almost wondrous.
"That you have borne it so long without corruption… it is a marvel. Perhaps it is as fate would have it. A people small in stature, yet simple of heart, with few ambitions to tempt them, Hobbits were wrought for such a purpose. Where the pride of kings falters, the humility of Hobbits endures."
His lips curved into the faintest smile. "I deem it no accident. Fate placed the Ring in your hands, Master Baggins. And by bringing it here, you have already set in motion the doom of Sauron."
The company spoke then of what must be done. Elrond concurred with Galadriel and Celeborn: only in the fire of Mount Doom, where it was forged, could the Ring be ended.
"But now is not the hour," Elrond cautioned gravely. "After the last battle in Dol Guldur, I sent word south to the Steward of Gondor. He dispatched scouts into Mordor, but their tidings were grim.
"Sauron grows ever more cautious. The whole of Mordor is sealed in shadow, its skies patrolled by fell-winged beasts and, it is said, swarms of monstrous bats. On the ground roam Orcs, Trolls, and corrupted Men, and in the darker pits still linger creatures descended from Ungoliant herself. The land is guarded layer upon layer, a fortress of dread."
"To walk into Mordor and reach Orodruin is as near to impossible as reaching the heavens," Elrond continued gravely.
"Then what counsel do you offer, Lord Elrond?" Gandalf asked.
"Given the present state, Sauron will not leave his stronghold willingly. He will remain hidden in Barad-dûr until his power is renewed. Only if the armies of Elves and Men should march upon Mordor might he be drawn out, and in that hour we could attempt to send a small company in secret to the mountain to unmake the Ring."
Elrond's gaze darkened. "But Arnor in the North is long fallen. Gondor in the South has no king, only a steward to sit its throne. Rohan is divided. Unless a ruler of great renown arises, one who can unite the realms of Men and stand beside the Eldar as Elendil once did, there can be no hope of such an alliance."
His thoughts turned then to Aragorn, still a boy under his roof in Rivendell. Heir of Isildur, son of Elendil, last of the Dúnedain of the North. The royal line of Gondor in the South was broken, but through him the claim of Arnor remained. If he were to take the throne one day, Gondor and Arnor might stand as one again, and Rohan by ancient oath would rally to their banner. Then the strength of Men could be gathered to march against Mordor.
But Aragorn was yet only ten years of age, too young for such a burden.
"There is another path," Elrond went on. "When Sauron regains some measure of his strength, he will seek to push outward again. If we meet his armies in the open field, his gaze may be drawn away long enough that a small fellowship might carry the Ring unseen into Mordor to cast it into the Fire."
Gandalf and the others nodded, weighing the wisdom in his words.
"But there lies another danger," Gandalf said quietly. "The Ring corrupts all who bear it. None of us here would dare to claim it. Who, then, could carry such a burden across leagues of shadow and fire, and not fall?"
Their eyes, almost at once, fell upon Bilbo.
The hobbit flailed his arms in protest. "Oh no, not me! I've had quite enough adventures, thank you. Goblins, spiders, dragon, my poor heart could never take another journey, let alone into Mordor itself!"
Seeing his terror, the others softened and let the matter rest. The quest could not yet be undertaken, and there was no need to decide who must bear the Ring so soon.
Instead, they turned to the question of its safekeeping.
"This concerns the fate of all Middle-earth," Elrond said gravely. "Should we inform Saruman of what we have discovered? He is head of the White Council. Already he was angered that he was not summoned during the last assault upon Dol Guldur. If we keep this from him, he may turn wholly against us, and that would ill serve our cause."
Gandalf frowned in thought, then nodded reluctantly. "The matter of Dol Guldur was too swift for counsel. But this...this is no passing storm. To hide the Ring from him may cost us his trust, and with it, the strength of his tower. I fear we cannot afford such division."
The others murmured agreement.
At that moment Sylas, who had been listening in silence, spoke up sharply. "If you would keep the Ring hidden, I advise you not to tell Saruman."
All turned to him in surprise. Gandalf's brows drew together. "What do you mean by that, Sylas?"
Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn watched him with equal confusion.
Sylas's gaze was calm, his voice steady. "You know I hold a palantír, and that the seeing-stones can speak to one another. During the Battle of the Five Armies, Sauron sought to reach me through it, but I resisted, and cast him back with the Light of Eärendil that Lady Galadriel gave me."
His tone hardened. "What you may not know is that Saruman, too, possesses a palantír. And I suspect he has looked too long into its depths. If you entrust him with knowledge of the Ring, do not be surprised if Sauron learns of it the very next moment."