Observations on the Council at Imladris (By Bilbo Baggins)

Within the secret council, gazing, eyes to wond'ring eyes,
we hear the doom laid forth. The tale makes weary faces fall
as Elrond, aye, and Gandalf, with the lore of all the Wise
at his command, make plain the fate that lies before us all.

All drawn, none knowing why, to Rivendell to hear the tale,
the sons of Men and Elves and Dwarves, suspicious and aloof,
attend and hear, then close their ears.  Young Frodo’s face grows pale.
Aghast, I, that such discord should arise beneath this roof!

The noble Son of Denethor casts wisdom all aside
for seeing (who can blame him?) hope, where hope was all but lost.
He cannot see the folly, for the fear long hid inside
that Minas Tirth shall fall. He cannot comprehend the cost.

See Gimli, Son of Gloin, his hatred all he has within
for all things Elvish, on his feet and crying out his wrath.
Who can say what made such deep despite grow in his kin?
But how, to trust his axe? How, let him share the fated path?

The Child of Kings, so somber, keeps his counsel as he may
yet speaks at last, for how be still when folly fly so free?
Still Gondor’s son cries out his need, that none should say him ‘nay’,
and even to Isildur’s heir, no ear nor heed gives he.

At last, the point grows plain, and e’en a fool could see the truth,
and though I speak beyond my place, I speak, and say my piece.
Yet Mithrander, old friend, who knew me since my long-gone youth,
forestalls: It’s gone beyond me, and the part I play has ceased.

Then, lost amid the hateful cries and shouts of blame and doubt
That voice I love, and feared to hear, says what I knew he’d say!
Again, above the din, he speaks. It’s over. It’s come out.
“I will take the Ring to Mordor…though…I do not know the way.”


©2003 by eric lee