At the council
At the council we were summoned,
Held in the merry valley,
Where the door remains shut,
For anything wicked or cursed,
Given the guard of its keeper,
Ever he battled the Evil,
As the fiercest of its enemies,
Kind lord, wise beyond measure,
Purest soul in a dirty world,
Lineage of legend preceding him.
Compelled by the events,
Every race advice needed,
Grave news they had to reveal,
The One Ring came to the light,
Borne by unusual hands,
Humble, though, and never eager,
To seek dominion of such power,
That all corrupts and none spares,
Grievous lesson from days before,
The Second Age, of the Alliance.
The Keeper of the shrine knew,
They had to undo such thing,
How could one's craft succeed,
In breaking such malice of old?
Naught of common forging,
No known weapon at hand,
Useless knowledge for the case,
The answer was easy to guess,
That cursed gold, omen of doom,
It would have ceased to be.
If in the fire it had been cast,
In the original chasm,
In the land of the ashes,
At the slopes of hell,
Before the throne of the Tyrant,
In which hope is caused to fade,
Terror of ancient memory,
Stain on a free continent,
The Black Land of Mordor,
Of which Sauron is fell emperor.
Thus, fate made it so,
That a Fellowship was born,
Guided by a tiny being,
Yet resilient as very few on earth,
Bearing the worst burden,
Alone, in the voyage, in the end,
Though some companions he had,
For the common and sole goal,
Sharp sword, rapid bow and an axe,
Fellowship of the Ring, we pray.