The next day, Miril woke early feeling rather refreshed.  She took a walk before the Council was called and just returned to the main garden when a clear bell tolled.

Miril walked quickly in to the Council chamber where she found Aragorn sitting in a corner by himself.  Elves had already filled many of the seats; she saw Erestor, Glorfindel, Galdor, and Elrond of course.  There were other elves with them both of the Gray Havens and of Rivendell.  There was even the Prince of the Silvan Elves, Legolas.  Gloin and a younger dwarf, probably his son, sat in on the Council as well.

Taking her seat next to Aragorn, her eyes fell on a man clothed as if for a long journey on horseback.  Across his chest was a great horn tipped with silver.  The man looked upon Frodo and Bilbo who entered the room with wonder.

“Who is that,” Miril whispered to Aragorn.

Before he could answer, Elrond introduced him, “Here is Boromir, a man from the South.  He arrived in the grey morning, and seeks for counsel.  I have bidden him to be present, for here his questions will be answered.”

The first topic discussed concerned the dwarves.  Gloin was here to report several things, including that of a failed expedition into Moria that Balin and some followers had undertaken.  But then he spoke of an even graver matter.

“Then about a year ago a messenger came to Dain, but not from Moria- from Mordor: a horseman in the night who called Dain to his gate.  The Lord Sauron the Great, so he said, wished for our friendship.  Rings he would give for it, such as he gave of old.  And he asked urgently concerning hobbits, of which kind they were, and where they dwelt.”

Everyone was surprised and many disturbed prompting Gloin to continue.

“And so I have been sent at last by Dain to warn Bilbo that he is sought by the Enemy, and to learn, if may be, why he desires this ring, this least of rings.  Also we crave the advice of Elrond.  For the Shadow grows and draws nearer.  We discover that messengers have come also to King Brand in Dale and that he is afraid.  We fear that he may yet yield.  Already war is gathering on his eastern borders.  If we make no answer, the Enemy may move Men of his rule to assail King Brand, and Dain also.”

Elrond replied with assurance, “You have done well to come.  You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy.  There is naught that you can do, other than resist, with hope or without it.  But you do not stand alone.  You will learn that your trouble is but part of the trouble of all the western world.  The Ring!  What shall we do with the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies?  That is the doom that we must deem.  That is the purpose for which you are called hither.  Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands.  You have come and are here met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem.  Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.”

Miril looked around the room at the faces before her.  They were all filled with anticipation, with questions, and some with foreboding.  Legolas seemed twitchy, Gloin’s son uncomfortable being surrounded by all the elves, and Boromir rather curious.  Aragorn’s face was grave, and she herself felt a chill roll down her back when she thought about the Ring.

Then Elrond began to speak about Sauron and the forging of the Rings of Power.  Miril knew the tale well, as she had been taught it during her childhood in Rivendell.  However there were some details that were wholly new to her, no doubt because of Elrond’s firsthand experience.  He spoke of how Sauron had preyed upon the elves’ thirst for knowledge and together they had crafted the rings of power.  Seven were created for the dwarf lords, nine for the lords of men, and three for the elven kings.  Sauron did not touch the three, and these alone were hidden from him by Celebrimbor the elf-smith when he became aware of the Ruling Ring.  For while the nineteen rings were being created in the open, Sauron was in secret creating a master ring, the One Ring, to rule over the others.

Then he spoke of Numenor, its glory and its fall.  He spoke of the return of the great kings of Men to Middle-Earth out of the sea upon the winds of the storm.  He told of Elendil, of Isildur and Anarion, and the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor.  He spoke of the Last Alliance between Elves and Men where Gil-galad and Elendil banded together and defeated Sauron.

“I remember well the splendor of their banners,” he said, “It recalled to me the glory fo the Elder Days and the hosts of Beleriand, so many great princes and captains were assembled.  And yet not so many, nor so fair, as when Thangorodrim was broken and the elves deemed that evil was ended forever, and it was not so.”

Miril nearly laughed at Frodo’s expression as he burst out, “You remember?  But I thought, I thought that the fall of Gil-galad was a long age ago.”

Elrond then explained to Frodo and to those unfamiliar with his lineage to the council, that he was an elf of the Elder Days.  For he was the son of Earnedil and Elwing, who themselves were children of great elves and men of the Elder Days, tracing back not far to Luthien herself, daughter of Queen Melian the Maia.

Miril wondered very much who she herself was descended from.  No doubt it was some nameless elf, but in her dreams she liked to pretend she was the product of some sort of famed elf and man.  Little did she realize just how true this was.  Though, infamous might have been a better word for the elf.

Elrond then went on to explain how Isildur had kept the One Ring as compensation and as a memorial for the death of his father Elendil.

“So that is what became of the Ring,” Boromir cried, “If ever such a tale was told in the South, it has long been forgotten.  I have heard of the Great Ring of him that we do not name, but we believed that it perished from the world in the ruin of his first realm.  Isildur took it!  That is tidings indeed.”

“Alas, yes,” Elrond nodded, “Isildur took it, as should not have been.”

Miril nodded sadly, absentmindedly.  It was a tale kept alive in the main houses of the Dunedain, ones closely linked with Aragorn.  So far nothing she had heard so far was news.

“Fruitless did I call the victory of the Last Alliance?  Not wholly so, yet it did not achieve its end.  Sauron was diminished but not destroyed.  His Ring was lost but not unmade.  The Dark Tower was broke, but its foundations were not removed,” Elrond supposed.

After Elrond had spoken of the ruin of Arnor in the North, he spoke then of Gondor in the South.  He spoke of its waning, and to this Boromir protested.

“Give me leave, Master Elrond, to speak more of Gondor.  Believe not that in the land of Gondor the blood of Numenor is spent, not all its pride and dignity forgotten.  By our valor the wild folk of the East are still restraine and the terror of Morgul kept at bay.”

Boromir went on to speak much of the valor of Gondor.  But then he came to the real reason he was at Rivendell.

“I come to ask for counsel and the unravelling of hard words.  For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me.  In that deam, I though thte eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:  “Seek for the Sword that was broken: in Imladris it dwells; there shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells.  There shall be shown a token that doom is near at hand, for Isildur’s Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand.”

Miril and Aragorn exchanged a quick look of understanding.  The sword that was broken.  Both knew of this oft-spoken of blade.

“Here in the House of Elrond more shall be made clear to you,” said Aragorn, standing up and casting his sword upon the table all saw it was in two pieces, “Here is the Sword that was broken!”

“And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith,” Boromir asked quickly.

Miril nearly choked with laughter but a quick stare from Gandalf and Elrond shut her up.

“He is Aragorn son of Arathorn,” said Elrond, “And he is descended form many fathers from Isildur Elendil’s son of Minas Ithil.  He is the Chief of the Dunedain in the North, and few are now left of that folk.”

Frodo jumped up in surprise, “Then it belongs to you, and not to me at all!”

“It does not belong to either of us,” Aragorn said, “but it has been ordained that you should hold it for a while.”

“Bring out the Ring, Frodo.”

All then understood the remainder of the riddle.  Boromir fretted the Doom of Minas Tirith, but Aragorn corrected him.

“The words were not he doom of Minas Tirith.”

It was explained in words what all realized in that moment, that the sword that lay broken on the table was indeed Narsil, the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fought Sauron.

Many things were discussed concerning Aragorn and Boromir, all of which greatly interested Miril.  For she felt that each time Boromir looked in doubt upon Aragorn, her own heritage was being doubted.  But she looked upon her chieftain and friend Aragorn with pride whenever he spoke.

Bilbo was then asked to continue the tale and he himself told the full story of how he received the ring.  However this is written of elsewhere, and I will not go into it.  In the end, however, it was enough to know that the ring passed from Gollum, to Bilbo, to Frodo.  Frodo went on to tell his part of the tale up from when he received the ring to the very crossing of the fords not many days ago.

“It is quite a long tale,” Frodo told them, “But the story does not seem complete to me.  I still want to know a good deal, especially about Gandalf.”

Galdor, who sat nearby, overheard this comment and reiterated it adding also, “What of Saruman?  He is learned in the lore of the Rings, yet he is not among us.  What is his counsel, if he knows the things that we have heard?”