WHISPERS OF THE RING

Introduction: A Shadow Grows in Gondor

The Road goes ever on and on
    Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
    And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
    Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
    And whither then? I cannot say.

    - Fellowship of the Rings, JRR Tolkien

[Here Follows A Part of the Ring's Journey South, and the Rise of a Dark Lord]

Three years before his one-hundred and eleventh birthday, or his eleventy-first birthday, as he called it to himself, a rather peculiar hobbit, one Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, found himself on the road, traveling quickly forward. The other hobbits-- a rather comfortable folk rather fond of eating, drinking, and simple pleasures-- often eyed Bilbo with a mix of curiosity and suspicion since he had returned from a remarkable disappearance nearly sixty years ago. But lately, they had taken to lifting eyebrows and calling him well-preserved, for since his return, he seemed rather unchanged, not a wrinkle, not a white hair gracing him at the ripe and venerable age of one hundred and eight. And Bilbo, already growing restless in the company of his less adventurous compatriots, finally decided that he'd had plenty, and bid the Shire farewell one night without word to anybody.

It had been an impulsive decision, he decided later, rather sore of foot and sorry he'd only left a note for his favorite nephew, Frodo, to find in the morning. He had already dashed the hopes of the Sackville-Bagginses in claiming Frodo his heir not a few months before; and somehow, in his mind, that had cinched everything. The deeds were done, time was rolling, the weather was fair and the roads were calling. He packed up a few things, some provisions (which he regretted not taking more of as his stomach growled on the road towards Rivendell) and of course his most secret and prized possession -- an odd thing, a mere bauble, a golden ring he had won from an equally odd creature in a game under mountain.

And here he came to Rivendell, but even in the merry home of the Elves and Elrond Half-Elven he found no peace in his heart. He had half-hoped to see his old friend, Gandalf the Grey, but the wizard had gone off on one of his 'mad pursuits', as Bilbo fondly called them, and his patience wore thin. He left after a month, with the Ranger, Strider, passing through Lorien where they parted ways; and still Bilbo's feet carried him farther. The Dunadan cautioned him: war, and danger grew in the South, towards Mordor. Gandalf had gone to investigate some great evil building there. But Bilbo wanted to see the world, he said, before he laid down his walking stick and put his feet up by the fire permanently.

Traveling towards Gondor, he found himself taking out the ring more often, and looking at it. It weighed heavy on his mind, as the road fled under his feet, and he needed to see it, and touch it, and sometimes put it on when there was no reason to. It delighted him to walk unseen, beside the caravans of men and the odd travelers, and sometimes he took a delight in "borrowing" things and putting them back. For the Dwarves had called him a thief once, to his dismay, until he had stumbled across his precious.

It seemed to him sometimes that someone else had called it that, but who or when it might have been, he seemed to have trouble recalling.

And so it was that Bilbo Baggins, the humble hobbit from Bag-End, ended up in Gondor with a plain gold ring in his pocket.

And so it also was that he ended up in the company of Boromir, son of Denethor. By some foul chance a bit of mischief had come upon him, and he had put on the ring, and in his unseen state had been tripped upon by the Man. Amazed to see not only a halfling, which was a thing of myth only to Boromir, but also one that appeared out of thin air, Boromir took to inquisitioning Bilbo, and not all his questions were unkind. Once again, by some thing which mystified him, Bilbo was compelled to reveal his most precious thing, his golden ring; and he did not see it when the Man's eyes glittered with some unrevealed lust. When Bilbo put the ring away, the desire did not leave the Man's eyes, and often he asked to see it afterwards.

Bilbo lingered a while in Gondor, but there the weight of the ring seemed even heavier in his heart, so much that he could not bear to have it off, sometimes. Some part of him thought the world somehow drawn and faded when he did not wear the ring,and often others caught him staring east, towards Mordor. Once, it was Boromir who found him gazing with peculiar expression eastward, and the son of Denethor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"A great darkness grows there. We have had portents that an evil of old slowly gains power in Mordor, and many have fled the outlying lands. My father's armies grow restless; we will not tolerate this threat much longer, and perhaps there will be war soon!"

But the eagerness in his voice made Bilbo shudder. "Perhaps I should be returning then," he murmured half to himself. "I expect Frodo will have missed me terribly, and I should like to see Gandalf, for if anyone may dispel such dread it would be him."

"Fools and Wizards! It will be the blood of Gondor spilled to stave this darkness, I assure you," exclaimed Boromir, but he pursued it no further. Instead he turned his words to the ring, which laid heavy in his thoughts also. "I would be pleased to see your strange trick once more, if you would perform for me, Halfling."

Somehow this pleased Bilbo, and he put on the ring, thinking perhaps he might sneak away when he was unseen by Boromir; but instead he simply put it on and took it off, and stuck it quickly in his pocket, or so he thought. "There," he said, "Are you satisfied?" And this time he noticed the glitter in the Man's eyes, and thought it best if he should leave at once, tonight, in cover of darkness with the company of his ring.

But though he left Gondor in cover of darkness, he did not notice that the Ring had slipped through a hole in his left pocket, and landed quietly glittering at Boromir's feet. Boromir himself had not noticed, but as he and Bilbo parted ways that day, the horn of Gondor at his belt had broken loose, and fallen to the ground. He saw the ring there next to it, golden and sweet, and he had claimed it with the best of intentions: "The strange Halfling has lost his ring," he said to himself, "Tomorrow when I meet him I will return it."

When tomorrow he discovered the hobbit gone, he said to himself also, "I shall send a company of men, to return it to him."

But he sent men without the ring, and instead of returning anything they bound the hobbit on orders, and took him prisoner. And Bilbo found himself in a dungeon at Gondor, treated contrastingly gracefully, as if an honored guest, though he sat in that dark hole. Boromir, however, did not visit him though he sent many kind apologies, and professed that his father wished the halfling held.

Possessed now of the ring, the son of Gondor told no one of it, and kept it near his breast on a golden chain always, sometimes laying the flat of his hand over it through his clothing. He knew not why he coveted it so, nor why he chose to hold the poor hobbit prisoner, though it was now deprived of its prize. He felt a secret shame for this theft, though he would not admit it as such, even in the deepness of his mind. Often he found himself looking towards Mordor, as the halfling had, and when he caught this he told himself that it was worry for the threat that dwelt there, the threat to those people that he owed his honor and protection to.

But in the year 3001, by the reckoning of Gondor, the year that Bilbo turned eleventy-one, Gandalf the Grey and Saruman the White roused a great host against Mordor, seeking to drive out the evil there. It was thought the Necromancer who had once dwelt in Dol Guldor was something more than that, and the whispers of the threat of Sauron grew. Hard they searched for the Ring Isildur had claimed and lost, and though Gandalf had his private suspicions, none could find the humble hobbit who had possessed a plain gold ring once. He had been seen in Gondor, but also seen departing; since that, none had word for the Wise of what had become of Bilbo Baggins. It was feared that he was captured and on his way to Mordor, so every company of Orcs was sewn and searched for a hobbit, yet none was found.

Not two years later, the host was diminished, nearly devastated, and Gandalf the Grey had gone missing, or dead. The number of Elves had suffered the greatest loss, immortal though they might be, still vulnerable to steel. Men had sacrificed greatly too; Denethor steward of Gondor was slain upon the field, and Faramir brother of Boromir was grievously hurt, but it was said upon the battlefield the stature of Boromir grew, and great and fierce he seemed, lit by some strange power. Strangely Saruman the White regarded him at times, but even the greatness of Boromir was not enough; the host retreated in 3003 with great casualties.

But though they had suffered greatly, it seemed the darkness in Mordor had diminished as well; a crippling blow dealt to the recuperating power of Sauron. The Wise urged hope, to gather strength and rally, though they knew all hope was lost without the finding of the One Ring.

A doubt grew in the heart of Boromir, a fear for his people, and a question of the ring he wore against his breast. Sometimes he thought he could hear it whispering, awakened somehow during the battles against Mordor. And though he had larger fingers than Bilbo Baggins had, it fit his fingers comfortably; and strangely he could perform no vanishing act as the Halfling did. When he wore it on his finger he felt a sureness of foot and pride of heart bound deeper than the root of his soul; so he took to wearing it, often and always, as he claimed the seat of his father, and rallied the people of Gondor.

The city of Minas Tirith grew strangely great and terrible, and soon Gondor was rivaled in strength by none other. Men spoke with mixed pride and fear of the new Steward, who had once been an honorable man, but was now spoken of in muted whispers. Some sought the wisdom of the Elves, and journeyed to Imladris; but elsewhere the Elves had fled, their numbers cut deeply by the past war, their love of Middle-Earth fading. Those in Mirkwood, in Lothlorien, had dwindled in number to a rare few.

Such it was that a new evil arose in Middle-Earth, a Man fallen, as the darkness in Mordor licked its wounds and waited patiently for its time to reclaim what it owned. The host of Gondor swept through its neighbors, broadened its borders, ignoring the condemnation of those that had once supported it. Strong, Boromir son of Denethor sought to make his land, strong and with no enemy worthy of fear. He would not suffer the fate of the Elves, he thought, of the host that had near-fallen to Mordor, that had one what could barely be called a victory. And in his misguided passions, he lay waste to his neighbors, and slowly altered the face of Middle-Earth.

Thus rose a new Dark Lord, they say, though he was merely a man fallen.

Here begins the tale of the Quest to find the Ring, and bring it to its destruction.

 

back to Whispers of the Ring main