Chapter 80

Unexpected Developments

Boromir told me later what happened. When the wall blew up he had been exactly where I thought he was. He had been blown upwards and backwards into the air, that much he remembered clearly. His memory of the landing was a little bit more hazy. He reckoned that he had landed on people rather than hard ground, otherwise he would surely have died. However, he could not be certain, because the blow had knocked him out. He'd hit his head and when he woke he could barely remember which way was up, never mind the fact that one of the greatest battles of this age still raged around him. Self-preservation had taken over and he had crawled to the nearest safe place that he could find, the makeshift cave, where he had passed out again. He had not woken again until I found him.

The healers called it a miracle and so did I. The explosion should have killed him and, if not that, an orc passing close could not have reasonably have been expected to pass up an opportunity to stick a sword into someone who wasn't moving. The only explanation that I can give is that he was somewhat out of the way and out of sight and anyone who saw only his boots might have come to the conclusion that the owner had died.

This was not to say that he had got away scot-free. He had bumps and bruises all over and he had twisted his left ankle rather badly, presumably when he had come down. The worst however were the cut across his arm and the headwound. The headwound was only shallow, but it had bled a lot and Boromir was a little out of it for a while. The wound on his arm ran parallel to the scar he had identified as his first, something that escaped neither of our notice.

All things considered, we had been very lucky. The price we had paid for our victory was high, but very many people had firmly believed that there would never be a victory at all. The Rohirrim who had defended the Hornburg had lost half of their fighting men to death, and half of those who remained could barely move for their injuries. The elves had not fared much better; only around eight hundred remained of the two thousand Haldir had led through the gates and they looked as battered as the rest of us.

But of the army of Saruman that numbered tens of thousands nothing remained. The orcs that had not been slain in battle had fled towards a treeline that offered no safety. Gandalf told us that we should not fear for their return and the book backed this up. I believed him.

The wizard did look rather pleased with himself and I was certainly pleased to see him. He had found Éomer and his men for us and their arrival had turned the tide of the battle. They were hailed as heroes and rightly so. But I think that without the elves hurrying to our aid, we would never have lived long enough for their arrival to make a difference. The elves were doing a lot of that recently…

Cathy

Elvaethor had found Cathy before Dwalin ever made it to Thoren's study, so she was at the gates before her brother, looking at the army that marched on Erebor. It had started off as a dark speck on the horizon, but it had steadily grown larger until she could at last distinguish individual shapes.

But these are not our enemies.

Scouts had come upon the elves of Lothlórien two days ago near the Long Lake and, when they realised that neither side meant the other harm, contact had been made and messengers dispatched to announce the arrival of guests the likes of which this region had not seen in a very long time.

Most of Erebor had emptied to watch the arrival, but Cathy was in luck; because of her royal blood she had a place at the very front. Behind her many dwarves, elves and men had to stand on tiptoes to see what was happening. As it was, nothing much was taking place as of yet, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that this was not something that was going to last for very long.

'Why have they come at all?' Cathy asked. It didn't make any sense whatsoever.

'I cannot say.' Fortunately Elvaethor was equally as clueless, which made her feel slightly better.

Thráin had written to them everything of use that he had found in this mysterious book that originated in their mother's world. According to that the elves of Lothlórien had their own struggles to deal with, but now they'd come to Erebor. It had been written down exactly nowhere.

Was it because of what Thoren had done? Cathy supposed it could be. According to Thráin no such alliance had existed in that book, so it stood to reason that Thoren had done no less than what their mother had done. Nothing was the same. So why should it come as a surprise that the unexpected happened at all?

'We'll have to ask them then.' It was easy to be optimistic for once. She almost wished she could nip back to the healing rooms to fetch Harry; she'd no doubt that this was something he'd love to see. But Duria had him under guard and she didn't think she'd be able to sneak past her sister. Duria seemed to have made it her personal mission to stop both Harry and Jack from going walkabout. 'Ah, there's Thoren.'

Her brother looked baffled, for lack of a better word. He was, as usual these days, in the company of Elvaethor's sister, but Glóin and Lufur trailed after him too, as well as Dwalin, who had alerted him.

'How?' he asked when he reached her side.

She shook her head. 'I don't know. Did Thranduil send for them?' She had not yet seen him around.

'If so, he would have mentioned,' Thoren replied, which spoke of a very irrational trust in the elf. 'I do not believe it was of his making.'

'Whose then?'

Neither of them had an answer. Thoren turned out to be right when Thranduil at last came out in the company of Brand and Thorin Stonehelm and every single one of them seemed as surprised at this as Thoren and Cathy herself. It was hard to read any emotion from an elf's face, but Thranduil made it easy for them this once.

By then the elves had come close enough to dismount and approach the rest of the way on foot. The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, dressed all in whites and soft greys, led the way, flanked by two guards each. They were very tall and very fair. They did not seem to belong to this world in the same way that dwarves and men did. And while the Mirkwood elves had their head perpetually stuck in the trees, they were nevertheless grounded, very much a part of this world. These elves were closer to something that drifted out of a legend from distant times.

'Well met, Thoren son of Thorin, King under the Mountain.' It was the Lady who spoke. Her voice was lower than expected.

Thoren never hesitated. 'Well met, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien. You are most welcome in these troubled times. Be welcome in my halls.' He did not wear his crown, but he sounded kingly.

'We have travelled far and long and have encountered many troubles on our path.' Celeborn spoke now. 'We gladly accept your offer.'

'I should be glad to hear any news you may have,' Thoren replied. 'I invite you to dine with me tonight and tell me of it.'

The invitation was accepted, which was how it came to be that Cathy, accompanied by Halin, made her way to her brother's private quarters some hours later. Duria and Narvi were invited as well and although Harry had begged and pleaded, he was denied. Thora told him he was not recovered and that he was allowed to see the elves before they left at least and that placated him some, but not much. It consoled him that Jack was not allowed to go either.

The gathering was only small. Besides Thoren and his immediate kin there were only Elvaethor and Tauriel – who once more seemed to have attached herself to Cathy's brother and was she really the only one who did not believe this strange? – and Fíli and Síf. She thought that was it, but a little later Thranduil arrived with Brand and that seemed to be the total number of people invited.

The Lord and Lady had come alone. They had not brought any guards with them. When Thoren remarked on this, the Lady only said: 'Your halls are well guarded, King under the Mountain. I fear no attack tonight.' It was rumoured that she had the gift of foresight and so nobody contradicted her.

Thoren had been thoughtful enough to make sure that the meal included plenty of green food to satisfy the elves, though Cathy took more meat than vegetables and she noticed that her kith and kin did the same.

Conversation was somewhat awkward at the beginning. Cathy was only too aware of how ill these visitors fit in. It had never been like that with Elvaethor or even Tauriel. So they talked of the road and just how dangerous the world had grown.

'You have achieved great victory here,' Celeborn said. 'But you have only gained a respite. Even as we speak, another army marches against you, greater in number.'

Thoren inclined his head. For only a brief moment she saw the emotions flash across his face: fear, anger and then at last resignation. He had always known it. Others might have clung to foolish hopes of victory, but never him. Out of everyone, he was perhaps the only one under this whole Mountain who had never once underestimated the danger they were all in.

'Then we must fight once more,' Thoren said. His voice betrayed no hint of any inner turmoil; in this he was like a true dwarf, as calm and unmoveable as the very Mountain that was his kingdom.

'Do not despair,' Lady Galadriel counselled. 'Even now hope remains.' She looked at Thoren, Duria and Cathy in turn. 'Your brother yet lives and his quest continues.'

Cathy dropped her knife. 'You've seen Thráin?' Formality went right out of the window when she heard that news. Nothing had been heard from her brother since Glóin brought them the news of what he was up to and that news dated back to before the time that Thráin set out from Rivendell. But since then there had been nothing, not news of his progress nor confirmation of his survival.

The Lady inclined her head. 'He was our guest for some time before his road took him south.'

To Mordor, was what she didn't say, but Cathy heard it loud and clear all the same. They all knew here. Perhaps that was why their number was so small tonight. Everyone in attendance knew what Thráin was doing and that what he did would mean they won the war at the end. Thoren had chosen them all with care.

Galadriel was not yet done. 'I spoke with him then,' she said. 'And he spoke wisely.'

Duria's eyebrows made a jump up all the way to her hairline and even Cathy had to suppress a similar reaction. Thráin was no fool, but he often spoke before he thought and this was not a quality often valued in other races. If Thráin had been his usual self – and there was no reason to assume otherwise – she expected that it had rather rubbed the elves the wrong way. Wisely? Thráin?

'What about, my lady?' Síf asked politely.

'The war and the future.' Elves were nothing if not infuriatingly cryptic. 'He reminded us that elves belong in this world. This war is as much ours to fight as it is yours. He also reminded us that long ago we had chosen to live here and that in doing so we have an obligation to this world. He is right, so we have come to join you in your struggles.'

This was an alliance undreamed of. Cathy had no words for it, nor did anyone else. She could have understood it if the elves of Lothlórien had decided to get off their arses to help Thranduil and his people, because they were all elves and they were all on good terms. This was nothing like that. Elves coming to the aid of dwarves at one dwarf's urging was new. From the corner of her eyes she saw Síf scribbling something down on a piece of parchment that she slid out of her sleeve, probably so that she could record it for posterity.

Still something did not add up. She could not say why, but there was something there that the Lady neglected to mention. She was well within her rights to keep her motivations to herself, but if Cathy was really honest with herself, she really was as nosy as her sister and she wanted to know.

'I am beyond words,' Thoren said. He didn't ask about motivations either. 'Flabbergasted, as I think my mother used to call it.' She did, Cathy remembered. And Galadriel was one of the few to know what her mother was and where she had come from.

'Her kinswoman accompanies your brother,' Galadriel reported. 'She is well. I believe that news is of some interest to you.'

'To her son,' Thoren said. 'The child is unable to be with us tonight.' On account of nearly having been murdered. The image was quick to jump in front of her mind's eye.

'The Ring moves south.' Celeborn clearly had enough of the careful dancing around the topic and, in a manner most unlike an elf, gave it to them straight. 'And yet another army moves north from Mordor. At the same time in the East another force is being raised. It is already moving. What time you have bought for yourselves is nearly gone.'

That effectively put an end to the small talk and instigated the kind of war talk that Cathy had very little to add to. All she heard was that the Easterlings were close and that Thoren would soon ride out again to do what damage he could before retreating to Erebor. With Jack still tied to a bed and Duria practically camping out in the healing rooms he charged the day to day running of Erebor to her again. She asked why not Fíli and was told in no uncertain terms that every able-bodied male dwarf was committed to the defence of the Mountain.

Sorting out the men of the Lake is about to become my job. She couldn't hold that against her brother – he had done what he could in the short time that he had been home – but it was not a prospect she relished.

Most folk left after the meal, Cathy herself among them. Much as she didn't like to admit it, she grew more easily tired the further her pregnancy advanced. It was natural, everyone told her so. But she had little time to spare on things like this. There was so much that was to be done; she could simply not afford to sleep more.

'Ready for bed?' Halin asked.

'More than ready,' she admitted. 'And I fear I shall do nothing more than sleep in it tonight.' Three more months before the child was born, she reminded herself. It was only three more months. And we might not be here by the end of them. It had become increasingly hard to escape thoughts of such a nature. Once she might have believed that the gates of Erebor could withstand all the Enemy could throw at them, but that had been before all the treachery and all the bloodshed. And most of it had come from within.

But that is over now.

But the war was not and she had seen enough of what that did to folk now to discard its effects anymore. Not so long ago she had been naïve, but since those days she had tasted heartache, treachery, fear and vengeance. That innocent faith in all that was good had taken a beating from which it might not ever recover again.

They walked in silence until they heard voices. The voices in question appeared to come from a hallway to their left. Halin, who had Opinions about eavesdropping, gently pulled her along, but Cathy resisted. She had her own opinions on the subject, and they centred around the notion that if people wanted to keep their business private they should not discuss it out in public where anyone wandering along might hear them. In fact, when it was put this way it was basically a crime to walk past; what if the very reason this conversation was taking place in this location was because one or both of the participants wanted witnesses to it?

Halin rolled his eyes indulgently and slowed his pace, well-used to her antics by now. 'On your head,' he reminded her.

She took that for all that it was worth; he'd never let her face things alone if he could help it and today was no exception.

Tauriel's voice was the first she recognised. 'What do you mean, my lady?'

'You may yet make a choice none other of our people has ever made before.' That was Galadriel's voice. Cathy knew that they knew each other, but what were they doing talking in an abandoned hallway at this time of night? 'It is a lonely road you shall face.'

The silence lasted for so long that Cathy almost feared they had gone, but then Tauriel spoke again: 'I have not made my choice. I cannot yet, not while this war still drags on.'

Cathy had a lingering suspicion that she knew what this was all about. Far-fetched, is it, Thoren? The elf Lady doesn't seem to think so. And Tauriel had denied exactly nothing. She side-stepped and as a self-proclaimed expert on that, Cathy knew very well what that meant.

Another silence followed. Knowing that Galadriel could communicate with her thoughts as well or better as other people could with their words, it was very well possible that a whole conversation was taking place that she could not possibly overhear.

Fortunately Tauriel preferred to use words. 'Have you seen it?' she asked.

'That future is not set in stone.' Another brief silence. 'But it grows more certain with every passing day.'

I bloody knew it. It could be that she did not know what she heard, but her intuition was not often wrong. Never mind that what Tauriel was planning had never been done before, Thoren did not usually follow the beaten path either. She recalled that he had not denied anything either when she confronted him about it.

She had heard enough, so she gently pulled Halin along. His face reflected bewilderment which strangely only grew when he saw that she did know what had gone on there.

'What was all that about?' he asked once they had reached one of the more crowded roads.

'It means that my brother's love life just became heaps more interesting,' she said and laughed when Halin at last pieced everything together.

Thráin

'This way,' Thráin said with some confidence. A bit of flooding that had blocked their road just hours before they should have left the Marshes had meant another detour and another night in the swamps. But they were out now and if anything, he liked this road better. It had led them out of the Dead Marshes a little more to the south, which meant that they were further away from the Black Gates and any resulting orc patrols.

Not going to the Black Gates ought to save us a few days.

They'd need those few extra days, because they had lost too many in the Dead Marshes due to those wretched rains. Eight nights they had spent in that thrice-cursed marshland where ordinarily two or three should have sufficed to see them safely to the other side.

The journey had taken its toll on all of them. Last night Sam had developed a cough that nobody liked the sound of. The only upside to this was that Frodo had become so concerned about this that all thoughts of the Ring seemed to have vanished for a time. Now he hovered near Sam's side. The moment they had found firmer ground, Gimli offered to carry Sam and now the hobbit appeared asleep on his back.

Thráin remembered Merry and worried.

We need a healer.

'You know these lands?' Legolas asked.

'I have wandered them before,' Thráin replied. 'Though not recently. You may recall that my relationship with Gondor's Steward is somewhat complicated.'

Legolas shook his head. 'The hot-headedness of the dwarves will never cease to amaze me.'

'The quickness of elves to judge others will not cease to baffle me,' Thráin retorted. 'We dwarves may not respond to insult with the same grace that other races do, but we do not mince our words either.'

'Nor your fists.' There was no real malice in the comment.

'Nor indeed our fists,' Thráin agreed, because that was the truth of it. 'But I should think you would have responded ill too if you had been accused of being a spy for the Enemy by one so ignorant and rude as Lord Denethor.'

'I cannot speak to that as it has never happened to me.' Naturally he side-stepped the issue in a manner very much like his father. But, having reflected on this matter for some time, Thráin had come to the conclusion that this elf was not half as vexing as his father.

So he returned to the matter in hand. 'I know these lands, but my knowledge is not recent. The land itself is still the same, though when last I came here, people yet lived here, though even then their number steadily dwindled.'

And they were all gone. They had chanced upon an abandoned farm house not an hour after leaving the Marshes. Thráin judged that it had been empty for at least a decade if not longer; identifying such had been considerably hampered by the fact that much of it had been burnt. He recognised the hand of Sauron in that. He had no doubt that they would find many other such places as they continued.

'No men have lived here for a very long time.' Legolas looked at the land with a rather different view. 'The evil drove them away and they dare not return.'

'After the war they will perhaps reclaim that which they lost,' Thráin said.

Was that not the best way to claim victory over Sauron for once and for all? So much had been taken by his darkness, Ithilien among them. Thráin himself had grown up in the shadow of Mirkwood, that which had once been known for its many healthy green trees. His own people had been forced out of Khazad-dûm by a Balrog. The waking place of Durin the Deathless had been taken by orcs ages ago. All of those places had never belonged to the orcs and he would see them restored to their proper people, to be filled with life as they were meant to be.

Legolas looked at him oddly. 'Perhaps,' he allowed and then said no more.

Thráin looked back at the rest of their group. Gimli followed a little way behind them with Frodo at his side. They appeared deep in conversation and the still sleeping Sam did not wake from the sound of their voices. He was not much of a healer, more at home with injuries than illnesses, as was the way with his people, but he misliked the look of this. They needed Sam and Frodo needed him more than anyone else.

Something was amiss with the picture beyond Sam's clear illness and it took him a moment or two to lay his finger on it. 'Where is Gollum?'

Everyone stopped, but looking around them did not magically produce the creature. He was nowhere to be seen.

'Who saw him last?' he asked.

Curse his own neglect in foregoing to make Gollum swear an oath to stay close and within sight when the moment had come to leave the Marshes. He knew that creature could not be trusted and Gollum was sneaky and secretive by nature. We should never have allowed him to come with us. He ought to have drawn steel and ended it there and then. It would have troubled his conscience, no doubt, but it would trouble his conscience more if the war was lost on the account of his own tender-heartedness.

'He was with us an hour ago,' Frodo volunteered. 'He said he knew a place to catch some rabbits for our dinner.'

'Rabbits that we cannot cook?' Thráin frowned. He had been very clear in his command that no fire should be made. 'Did he perhaps volunteer to make a fire too so that the orcs would find us without too much effort on their parts?'

Frodo had the grace to at least look a little bit sheepish.

Well, there was nothing he could do about that now. The damage had already been done. 'Has anyone seen him after?'

He was greeted by a silence so loud it could have deafened him. Durin's stinking… He realised that was perhaps not a phrase he wanted to use in abundance now and almost cursed at that too.

'We cannot stop to look for him,' Gimli said. He'd never liked Gollum either and certainly did not trust him any farther than he could throw him. 'Leave him. Let him run to the orcs. We'll be long gone when he returns.'

It was not that simple. 'He may yet tell them our purpose.'

'He does not know our purpose,' Gimli retorted.

But that was no longer true either. Thráin had forgotten himself yesterday when he spoke to Frodo. When he tried to get through to Frodo he had spoken of letting the Ring go for good. No, he had not said in so many words that their intent was to destroy it, but Gollum was no fool. He knew what they intended. And his obsession was such that the mere thought of the Ring's end was unbearable to him. And so I have driven him away and into our Enemy's arms. He was not proud of that.

There was however nothing to be done about it now. The deed was done.

Legolas understood it too and only a moment later he saw realisation dawn in Frodo's eyes. 'He knows.'

'He knows,' Thráin agreed. 'My fault, I am aware. I should have taken more care with my words.' It was not the first time that his quick tongue caused untold trouble. If his luck had at last run out, this might be the last time.

'You didn't do anything wrong.'

Thráin was not the only one to be surprised that Frodo was the one who spoke the words. He did not meet anyone's eyes – they were fixed on his feet – but the tone was sincere and not a little ashamed.

'I was not myself,' Frodo continued when nobody else spoke. 'The fault was mine.'

'This allocation of blame does not help us,' Legolas decided. 'Let us agree that it was the Ring's doing and say no more about it. We have more pressing issues. Does Gollum know these lands?' The question was aimed at Thráin.

'Yes.' It was not an encouraging answer, but it was the only one he could give. 'Our only hope is in speed now that secrecy is gone.' There was no doubt in his mind that Gollum would spill all that he knew the moment he encountered an orc patrol. The rabbit excuse sounded false to his ears. We should never have taken him with us. 'I know a settlement some two hours walk from here. It had some defences and, as memory serves, a watchtower of modest size.'

'The walls may work against us if they should find us and trap us inside,' Legolas pointed out.

'It is for the watchtower that I wish to go there, to see from which direction the danger comes,' Thráin said. The last thing they needed was to become trapped within those walls. They had not looked sturdy thirty-odd years ago and decades of abandonment were unlikely to have improved them any. He did not intend to linger. 'We move south, and Gollum knows this. I do not intend to walk into a trap.'

Legolas nodded. 'Two hours, you say?'

'Shorter if we move fast.' Time was not their friend. It had never been, but it was their undoubted foe now. 'Frodo, if you will allow me, I shall carry you so that we may make more speed.'

Frodo still did not meet his eyes, but he nodded.

They moved faster after that. Thráin walked at the front, Gimli walked behind him and Legolas made sure they were not being followed. It was his turn to bear the Ring today. It enhanced already keen senses even further, though he had complained that it did so in a way that was uncomfortably unnatural. Be that as it may, no threat may slip past him now.

Ithilien was silent in a way that was also unnatural. All life had seemingly abandoned it. Thráin could discern no wildlife of any kind, no birds nor the rabbits Gollum had claimed. If not for the growing trees and bushes it could have been mistaken for dead. In a way Ithilien was not unlike the land of Hollin that was similarly deserted and where every sound they made was amplified by the absence of any other noise. Every footstep was a beating drum signalling their whereabouts.

But the orcs suffer a similar disadvantage, he thought before another thought put an end to that. Unless the sorcery of Sauron masks their movement. Sauron had grown so powerful in these past years and these lands were close to the place he ruled. Nothing could be taken for granted any more. The odds are stacked against us.

Nobody spoke much. Legolas occasionally reported that he could neither see nor hear anything that indicated the presence of orcs. More worryingly, he could also detect no trace of Gollum.

'He is too clever to show himself,' Thráin replied. 'I believe that he was not too unlike a hobbit before the Ring ensnared him.' And a hobbit could slip past an elf with only a little effort. They were that quiet on their feet. 'Do not blame yourself.'

They continued on in silence. Sam had not woken since this began – he was to wake up to an unpleasant surprise later – and Frodo was so quiet that he might as well be asleep. The land was as Thráin remembered it and although some paths were overgrown, they were not so bad that they were unusable. After an hour of walking he saw the watchtower in the distance.

'Half an hour more,' he promised and prayed that orcs had not found it an equally useful vantage point. From the little he could see he'd say that it was abandoned and Legolas offered no contradiction.

Thráin feared the state of the settlement. He found his worst fears, but even worse; the palisade rotted away where it stood and where the gate had once been there was only a gaping hole. This was not a good place to be should they be found. Most of the houses lacked roofs and walls, others had fallen down entirely. This place offered little enough protection from the weather, never mind from those with ill intent.

'We must not linger,' Legolas said.

'I did not intend to.' The sooner they were gone from this place, the better. He put Frodo down next to the most stable house he could find, which did not mean much. 'I will climb the tower and see what can be seen. Legolas, if you would accompany me?'

Gimli stayed behind to guard the hobbits and to explain to a recently woken Sam what had happened. Thráin and Legolas climbed the tower. The stairs existed in an equal state of rot as the palisade, but it was still possible to climb them. The tower itself was only high enough to see over the tops of the trees that surrounded the village, but the land was relatively flat and they could see some way in the distance.

It was the south that concerned him most. He did not know in which direction Gollum had gone – they might have found out, but as time was against them it seemed foolish to waste a minute on it – but once the orcs knew their purpose, they would seek to cut them off before they ever even glimpsed the tunnels that would see them into Mordor. But the way appeared free.

'I see nothing that should not be here,' he reported to his elvish companion. They still had some hours of daylight left. By the time dusk fell he hoped to be a long way away from this. The orcs would look for them first in a place that could offer them some shelter, especially since he had mentioned this morning that he would do his best to provide at least a roof for the Fellowship this night after so many long nights of exposure. That would now never be.

There will be no roofs for us before this quest is done.

'Look to the north, my friend,' Legolas said. The tone did not bode well for the news he had to deliver.

That title had previously been bestowed on Gimli, but although they were on better terms than a year ago, Thráin might not have gone so far in using it. Then again, were they not all friends in this war? Ordinarily he might have dwelled on being called "my friend" for some minutes, but this was not the time. Thráin stared in the direction Legolas indicated, but his eyes were weaker and he did not see.

'I do not see what you see,' he said and hated admitting to it. He did not doubt what he was told, but nevertheless preferred to see it. At least they are still behind us. It was a small comfort.

'Movement,' the elf provided. 'But not orcs. Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell of Sauron's, these are men.' He squinted. 'Your friend Faramir appears to be among them.' He looked at Thráin then. 'They are headed in our direction.'

Thráin heard the question he did not ask.

'Let's wait for them,' he decided.

Well, Gollum's really becoming a problem now, isn't he?

Next week: Beth has some major decision making to do.

As always, thank you for taking the time to read this story. If you have any commentary/feedback to offer, feel free to leave a review. I'd very much appreciate it.