3. In which a Council is called
And, as Elrond had found out, this someone was expected to be him. Encouraged (and a bit threatened) by his mother-in-law, Galadriel, he set out to summon a Council. And not just any council. This council, which would later on be known as The Council of Him Who We All Blame, was to take place as soon as possible, a.k.a as soon as everybody had got his ass over there. Which had better be soon, since Rumour said that the Mary Sues were planning to marry the most important (and sexy) guys they could possible lay hands on. This would mean Kings, Princes and elven Lords. And a dragon, said Rumour.
Rumour is not always to be trusted though, mind you. But then again, who knows which talents a dragon might have in bed? Hm. That might, however, be a tale better unfinished.
Anyway, Elrond had sent messengers to all of the free people of Middle Earth. Those would arrive soon. Salvation was on its way.
This was not going to be just any council. Galadriel had a plan.
Faramir, son of Denethor, was having a dream. It was the strangest dream he’d ever had, and it was really creepy.
“I am the dream you’ve sought to catch, the breeze which will kiss your forehead. I am the wine which will ease your thirst, the love you’ve long wished to find!” said a soft voice. Faramir looked around, but the one who’d spoken was nowhere to be seen.
“Hello?” he called out, “Where are you?”
“The lady whom you’ll crown as your Queen! Come to me, my love!” the voice sang.
“Er... queen? I’m not a king, you know,” said Faramir. He turned around again, but he still couldn’t see anything.
The voice went silent, but there were some muffled noise coming from... somewhere. Finally, someone said;
“Say again, please?”
This, Faramir noticed, was a different voice than the first. He tried to peer into the soft darkness, which surrounded him.
“I said; I’m not a king. I’m not even a steward. I am, in fact, the Steward’s younger son. Er... sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong person,” he said, eventually.
This caused a lot of excitement. The voices started to argue, and Faramir listened, in terrified fascination;
“I told you so! I told you!” one voice hissed.
“Well, yeah, blame me, huh? I said, let’s try the older guy, I said, but would anyone listen? Noooo!” another answered.
“Well, but excuse me for preferring the younger, I thought you said you did, too!” said the first.
“Yes, but...”, the other started, but was interrupted by a new voice coming out of the nowhereness;
“Faramir, man of my desires, come to me, my love, and let me make you a happy man,” it said.
There was a silence. Then the first voice said;
“Isëablérion? Is that you?!”
There was a new silence.
“Malivária! What are you doing here?” the newest voice finally said.
“And Rapúnzelidion, mind you, and anyway, we were here first!” said one of the other voices.
“You mean I was here first,” said the one which would be Malivária angrily.
“Hey, we’re in this together!” hissed the one which would be Rapúnzeidion.
“But I saw him first! I know I did,” Malivária hissed back.
This was followed by some hissing and whispering out of earshot, and Faramir wondered whether this was where the dancing oliphaunts he’d heard of would appear. And then yet another voice slipped into his mind, as sweet as honey;
“Faramir, my love, fly away with me and love me forever, and I’ll be your-...” it managed, before it was interrupted by a chorus;
“Bugger off! We were here first!”
Faramir tried to cover his ears, and realized that this didn’t work, since it was a dream.
“But I wanted to take him home to Imladris,” one voice whimpered.
Faramir made an effort, and tried to wake up.
Faramir opened his eyes and stared into the ceiling. He thought he could hear those voices mumble in his mind, still, but far away now, like echoes.
“Damn it, we lost his attention!”
“Yeah, like it was my fault!”
“I hate you!”
He shivered. That nightmare had been... well, scary. He got out of bed and put some clothes on. He couldn’t sleep after a dream like that. Those voices had been... seductive, yes, but not in a nice way. And, considering how insanity tended to run in the family, Faramir felt that he did have reason to worry. He needed to talk to someone, so he lit a candle and went over to his brother’s chamber.
Boromir was asleep, but he turned around and moved his lips as if he was talking to someone. His eyebrows frowned, and then his lips moved again.
“No. No... I... What? No, I’m...” he mumbled.
Faramir shivered again. It was cold, he told himself, as he reached out and shook his brother’s arm.
Boromir sat upright in his bed and stared blankly at his brother. Faramir looked back, vigilantly. He thought he could hear something again, just out of earshot. It sounded like;
“Hey, you had a bad dream, I think...” he said.
Boromir blinked, and then he nodded.
“Yes,” he said, eventually, “A bad dream. Sure. Dream.” He looked relieved.
“Only that...” Faramir hesitated. “It was a dream, right?”
“What?” Boromir grunted.
“Well,... I, I just don’t think it actually was a dream.” Faramir said.
“How do you mean?” Boromir asked, “It seemed dreamy enough to me, what with the voices and all...” his own voice faded away.
“Hm. Yes. About those voices...” said Faramir. “I just think that... well, I kinda’ had the same dream. I think,” he added.
Boromir looked concerned. He, too, was aware of the meteorite of insanity, which seemed to be quite attracted to their father’s gravity. Dreaming odd dreams was never a good sign.
“So... you’re sure about that?” he asked, “I mean, we are talking about the dream with the voices which were sort of... um...”
“Arguing,” Faramir said. “Yes, that would be the one. Totally creeped me out!”
Boromir moved his feet and urged his brother to have a seat. Faramir sat down on the bed and sighed.
“So... Any idea of what to do?” he asked.
Boromir thought about this. Eventually, he recalled something from the dream.
“I thought I heard them mentioning a place,” he said. “Or possibly a name. Could have been a name.”
“What was it, then?” Faramir asked.
“Ima-something or other. Imaraldis? Iramis?” Boromir mused.
“Imladris!” Faramir exclaimed, happily. “But what is that?” he added, a bit puzzled.
“Let’s go to the library and have a look!” Boromir suggested.
And so it came to be, that the sons of Gondor left their home the following day, and went on a journey to Imladris, also known as The Home of Him Who We All Blame.
Elrond looked around at the men who were gathered in the hall. He nodded to himself. They would do. He rose from his chair, and exchanged a glance with Galadriel, who smiled at him and nodded approvingly. Elrond cleared his throat.
“Friends of old and friends of new,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention towards him.
“We are here today to make decisions and to make plans. Some of you have been summoned, some have come to seek advice and answers,” he continued.
Faramir and Boromir glanced at each other.
“And answers are what I’ve got to offer,” Elrond carried on. “We, that is to say, I have, um... ”
Galadriel stood up.
“Allow me,” she said. Elrond nodded unhappily.
“Ill tidings have come from most of you, about the state of your countries. All is not well in Middle Earth,” said Galadriel. She was interrupted by a small voice;
“I thought it went on quite well until Rosie walked into the room and yelled at me”.
Galadriel glanced down.
“I mean, I didn’t know she’d be back so soon, or else I would have... ”
“Silence, Samwise,” said an old man, dressed up in gray robes. “It is not polite to interrupt when a lady speaks!”
“Sorry, Gandalf,” Sam mumbled.
“As I said,” Galadriel continued, “Middle Earth is under a threat. Men act like morons and women like madmen!”
“Madwomen”, said Elrond.
“Whatever.” Galadriel snapped. “My point is, we can’t have this. No one acts normally, which includes the Rulers of the Free Countries! If nothing is done, the world will come crashing down like a... a...”
“Like a pie?” one of the hobbits suggested.
“Fool of a Took, how often do you have pies coming crashing down on you?!” said Gandalf.
“It happens,” Pippin, for it was he, said calmly.
“Now you’ve made me hungry,” said Merry.
“Order!” Elrond groaned.
Galadriel sighed. “Call it what you want, that is not the point. The point is that it will.” she said.
Boromir raised a hand. Galadriel looked at him and frowned.
“Is this a question about pie?” she demanded.
Boromir hesitated. “Well, no. But then again, if you’ve got some... I mean...” he tried.
“No questions about food answered,” said Elrond firmly.
“How about drinks?” Pippin asked.
“No!” Galadriel hissed.
“Just checking!” said the hobbit.
Faramir cleared his throat and stood up.
“I think,” he said, “that what my brother meant to ask was something like ‘why is the world suddenly all messed up?’ We come here from Gondor, mind you, and we’ve both had some very frightening dreams, mainly about young women trying to seduce us. I, for one, find this a bit concerning.”
“Don’t you like young wom-...” Pippin started, but was shut down as Frodo firmly placed his hands over Pippin’s mouth.
Elrond sighed deeply.
“Yes,” he said, “It is indeed concerning. These young women, you see, exist not only in you dreams, but are real. And they’re man-eaters.”
This was followed by a confused silence, during which most part of the Council tried to put an equal sign between ‘Young women’ and ‘Cannibal’.
“A woman who really likes men,” Galadriel clarified, eventually. This resulted in some muttering, as the Council tried to specify the word ‘likes’.
One hour later, they decided to just drop the question.
“So,” asked Faramir, “Who are these women? Which evil force has set them loose?”
“Er...” said Elrond, who was growing uncomfortably red, “That would have been me, I’m afraid...”
The Council gawped at him.
“You what?!” Boromir growled.
Elrond looked unhappy.
“Look, I’m sorry, OK? It was just that I, you know, wanted to... well, I, that is, when...” he stammered.
“You of all elves created this evil?” said an elf known as Legolas, seizing Elrond fiercely. “What were you thinking?!”
“You... you created them?” whispered Merry, in shock.
“Um, yeah, sort of.” Elrond mumbled.
“By magic?” Gandalf asked.
“No, not exactly. You see, they are my... my daughters.” Elrond quaked.
He was, again, met by silence. Only this time, the silence was of the kind that speaks. And what the silence said was this;
“Now, now,” said Galadriel after a while. “All is not lost. We’ve got a plan, but we need your help. That’s why we’ve called upon you”.
“Why should we help you? You were the ones who let them loose in the first place!” said Gimli, who’d been chosen to represent the dwarves, since he was a handsome guy by dwarven standards. “We dwarves don’t trust elves.” he continued, “And especially not the Witch of the Golden Forest, whom in dwarven tongue is known as ‘deVille’!”
“Please understand me, I just wanted some sleep,” Elrond moaned, but no one paid him much attention.
Galadriel looked around her and straightened up in a very graceful and elflike manner.
“Each and every one of you is known to be the most popular man in each of your countries and species,” she said. “We’ve called for your aid to set a trap. The only thing these Mary Sues desire is men. Handsome men. That’s what you are, and that’s why you’re here. Now, what say you?”
There was a pause, as the men looked around at each other. But this time, the silence seemed to be a rather flattered one. Finally, Éomer of Rohan spoke up;
“Aye, says I. Rohan isn’t at its best, even without the trouble the Mary Sues have caused us. Those matters need to be taken care of. That requires men who can pay attention to politics instead of sex. You’ve got my aid.”
Legolas stood up. “And you’ve got my looks,” he said.
“And my rough manliness,” said Gimli.
“And our adorableness,” said Frodo, who spoke for all the hobbits.
Faramir looked at Boromir, who nodded.
“You’ve got our aid, as well,” he said.
Yes, all of the Council proved to be loyal in this. As they all settled down again, Elrond said to Galadriel;
“Now, would you pray tell us your plan?”
Galadriel smiled and turned towards the rest of the Council.
“I have a dream,” she said. “I want my son-in-law, Elrond the Tailor, to make me a coat. And I wish it to be made out of the hair of The Mary Sues!”
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.