The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Council of Elrond

Visenya stood silently at the edge of the council circle, her mind sharp and her senses attuned to every subtle shift in the conversation. The courtyard where they had gathered was still and solemn, but a weighty tension hung in the air. Elrond, wise and unyielding, began to address the gathering. His words were heavy with the gravity of their situation, and each of the gathered beings—Men, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, and even a Maia—seemed to feel the full brunt of what was at stake.

"Strangers from distant lands ... friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite... or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate... this one doom..."

Visenya scanned the faces of the others as Elrond spoke. To her left sat Gandalf, his face grim but resolute. Aragorn sat across from her, looking every bit the king he was destined to be, though he had yet to claim that mantle. Legolas, the Elven prince of Mirkwood, held a steady, quiet strength, while Gimli, the Dwarf from the Lonely Mountain, sat next to him, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe.

And then, there was Boromir.

His gaze kept wandering toward her, a glint of interest in his eyes that Visenya had long since grown weary of. She had been careful to avoid him in the days leading up to the council, but here, there was no escape. She could feel the weight of his gaze even as Elrond's voice filled the air.

"Bring forth the ring, Frodo," Elrond continued, his voice calm but commanding.

All eyes turned to Frodo, who sat quietly amidst the gathering. His small figure seemed to shrink even further under the weight of the responsibility placed upon him. Slowly, hesitantly, Frodo rose and approached the stone plinth in the center of the circle. His fingers trembled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the One Ring, placing it gently upon the stone.

A heavy silence fell over the council. The sight of the ring, so small and innocuous, filled the air with a palpable sense of dread. Visenya's eyes locked onto it, her heart sinking as she felt the subtle pull of its dark power. She had never seen anything quite like it, but the malevolent aura that radiated from the ring was unmistakable.

"So it is true!" Boromir's voice rang out, his tone filled with awe and disbelief.

Sauron's ring.

The others spoke in turn, each grappling with the realization of what lay before them. Gimli's voice was low and grim as he muttered, "The doom of man." And then, Boromir spoke again, his voice rising in fervor.

"It is a gift... a gift to the foes of Mordor!" he proclaimed, his eyes gleaming with the fervor of a soldier. "Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy—let us use it against him!"

Visenya felt a chill run down her spine as Boromir's words echoed in the courtyard. She had heard this line of thinking before—men who thought to use darkness to defeat darkness. It never ended well.

"You cannot wield it," Aragorn said quietly, his voice cutting through Boromir's fervor. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone... it has no other master."

Boromir's gaze shifted to Aragorn, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

Visenya's eyes flicked to Legolas, who stood abruptly, his voice cool and sharp. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

A ripple of shock passed through the council, and Visenya saw Frodo's wide-eyed stare fix on Aragorn, clearly surprised by this revelation. Boromir, too, seemed taken aback, though his disbelief quickly morphed into something darker.

"Aragorn?" Boromir's voice was quiet but filled with disbelief. "This is Isildur's heir?"

Legolas stood tall, his voice unwavering. "And heir to the throne of Gondor."

Aragorn shifted in his seat, murmuring something to Legolas in Elvish, but Visenya could feel the tension between him and Boromir growing. The man from Gondor seemed unwilling to accept Aragorn's claim, his pride as the son of the Steward overriding his reason.

"Gondor needs no king," Boromir said, his voice laced with bitterness. Almost out of Visenya's control she muttered, "I guess it has no need for a Steward then either."

Before the argument could escalate further, Gandalf spoke, his voice grave. "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."

Elrond, too, intervened. "You have only one choice. The ring must be destroyed."

The air in the courtyard grew heavy as Elrond's words hung over them. Gimli, ever impulsive, suddenly stood and, with a growl, rushed forward, swinging his axe down on the ring. Visenya tensed as she watched the axe shatter into pieces with a deafening crack. Gimli stumbled backward, stunned, while Frodo winced and clutched his head, clearly in pain.

"The ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin," Elrond said, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "It was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade."

Visenya's gaze shifted to the others as the weight of Elrond's words sank in. Boromir's face darkened, his expression turning grim as he muttered, "One does not simply walk into Mordor."

A storm of debate erupted around them, with Legolas and Gimli exchanging heated words, and Boromir's warnings of failure and ruin filling the air. The tension grew thick, and Visenya's eyes flicked between them, her own frustration mounting. She understood Boromir's concerns, but his pride blinded him to the greater truth.

"Enough!" Visenya's voice cut through the clamor, sharp and commanding. The council fell silent, all eyes turning toward her. She stepped forward, her gaze steady and unwavering.

"I have seen what pride and greed for power can do," she said, her voice strong. "This ring is a corruption, not a gift. It will twist the will of whoever wields it, even the most noble among us. We cannot hope to defeat Sauron with his own weapon."

Boromir opened his mouth to speak, but Visenya raised a hand, silencing him. "Do not let your pride, Boromir, blind you to the truth. We must destroy the ring. There is no other way."

Boromir's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze shifting away from her in frustration. A heavy silence settled over the council once more, the enormity of their task sinking in.

And then, a voice rang out—soft but clear.

"I will take it," Frodo said, standing from his seat. All eyes turned to him, the small hobbit who seemed so out of place amidst the warriors and lords of Middle-earth. His voice grew stronger as he repeated his words. "I will take the ring to Mordor."

Visenya felt a surge of admiration for the hobbit. Despite his fear, despite the darkness that lay before him, Frodo was willing to bear the burden.